10 Short Novels Magazine — page 64: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

62 +* *% *& Ten Short Novels Magazine door, you know.” His gesture indicated the northern side of the citrus grove. “Did you see anyone call here last night, around six-seven?” “Naturally not,” answered Alvarez. “The grove doesn’t permit me a view from my windows. Furthermore, Simon Carter—of Carter, Quentin and Carter— was dining with me. Thus, I’d not notice who approached the place.” McDonald nodded, asked a few routine questions as to the late Professor Kane’s domestic arrangements, and habits, then added: “That’s all, Dr. Alvarez. The coroner will want a statement later.” “Another blank!” grumbled Flint as Alvarez returned to his car. “Remarkable how little that guy knows about his pa- tient! But let’s look the joint over, I’m still wondering who was eating chili with Kane.” His second survey of the house yielded no new information; but the fingerprint man’s findings gave significance to Flint’s last question. “Kane’s prints are all over,” he an- nounced. “Except on the spoon next to that bowl! on the other side of the table. And it’s blank—wiped clean.” “How about the desk and that door knob?” Flint cut in. “Where the China- man was pawing around?” “‘Wiped clean,” was the answer. Saas nodded, for a moment | watched his men carry on with their routine, then said: “Flint, that drive of yours, following a busy day in San Francisco, isn’t going to help a lot with what’s ahead of you. Get yourself a nap, and this evening Tu have all the dope sorted out for you.” _ MeDonald was right. Flint took the wheel of Robles’ car. And as he passed Alvarez’s house, which adjoined the aban- doned grapefruit grove that surrounded Kane’s place, he saw that the doctor could scarcely have noticed the psychic’s call- ers. That evening Flint reviewed the evi- dence McDonald presented. | Alvarez’s story checked perfectly. The coroner confirmed the Spanish doctor’s opinion as to the time of Kane’s death. “The old Mexican woman who comes in several times a week to clean the house,” said McDonald, “made that batch of chili. Kane liked it. And he always ate early, around six. Rarely left the dobe —naturally not, with the line he was run- ning! Prepared his own meals. And ac- cording to the autopsy—based on undi- gested frijoles and chili—Kane was knocked off not long after he ate.” “That,” growled Flint, “is damn help- ful. But who wiped the spoon handles clean? And did that prowling Chink leave any marks?” “Wait a minute!” McDonald broke in. “Till I tell you the rest. A Spick—Ramon Guevara—did odd jobs of gardening for Kane. Supplied him with cordwood for the fireplace. And peddled garden truck here and there in town. “One of the neighbors saw Guevara in his Model-T truck heading down toward Kane’s place with a load of wood. That was around six. And not long after he came out, empty.” “Have you located Guevara?” “No,” admitted McDonald. “He comes from San Cristobal, right across the Mex- ican line. The customs inspectors tell me he hasn’t crossed today.” “And from now on he won’t!” declared | Flint. “So ’'m going over to get him.” AN CRISTOBAL was a collection of squat dobe shacks centering about Estrella Blanca: the White Star now agleam with light, blatant with musie and laughter and the tinkle of glass. Some one would know Ramon Guevara, and by now Flint had obtained a fairly good description of him. Flint plunged into the smoke banded air, picked his way among the dancers, and found himself a booth where he could observe the White Star and its patrons. The bar was to his left. To the right was a side door opening into the desert night. It afforded a ready approach to the dobe shacks facing on the side street. He eyed the crowd as he waited for his drink. He heard a woman in the booth behind him saying in Spanish: “Ramon, you’re so unreasonably jealous! That pendant isn’t a present. I bought it my- self in San Francisco.” A wrathful muttering; and then, still tinged with suspicion, came Ramon’s warning: “Oh, all right, you bought it! But listen, Valencia—if I ever find cut you’re lying to me, I’ll take you to pieces by hand!” Ramon and San Francisco were de eidedly intriguing. Flint moved to an- other booth. That cut off his eavesdrop- EOPMICL OOO (G cS)