West of Guam (58 page)

Alwin nodded. “There are three white men there,” he said very carefully. “Erich Rooder, the German, and Bill Carter and Harry Tate, both Americans. Know any of them?”

Jo Gar shook his head. “I’ve seen Rooder and Tate, at the Manila Hotel, but not for months.”

Alwin spoke softly. “They haven’t come in from the plantation for months. The last time Branders came in he didn’t speak of them, or of Carter. Never mentioned them.”

The Island detective lighted the cigarette he had placed between his thin lips.

“It is your idea that Branders did not intend to fly again, yet that he did fly. You think he might have been forced to fly?”

Alwin frowned. “Branders was a good business friend of mine. I think something went wrong at the plantation. Something that made him change his mind. I want to know what it was.”

Jo Gar spread his browned hands in a gesture of acceptance. He smiled just a little.

“It is my business,” he said quietly. “I shall be at the plantation by midnight. It is called Plantation Rosita, I believe.”

Alwin nodded, his eyes still grim. “The woman he loved was named Rosita,” he said. “He was mad about her. I know. And I know that when he said he would never fly again, I understood why. And I know he didn’t intend to fly again.”

Jo Gar looked narrowly at the glowing tip of his cigarette. He said nothing.

The big man frowned. “What do
you
think, from what I have told you?” he asked.

The Island detective shrugged. “It is strange,” he said. “Yet, except for one thing I would say that Branders
had
changed his mind, had gone up for one I last flight. And had crashed.”

Alwin spoke very quietly. “And what is the one thing?”

The Island detective raised his eyes and watched a ceiling fan as it slowly circled.

“It is the worst time of the hot season,” he replied. “Since Branders called you at ten, and since you have already heard from Herr Rooder that he is dead, he must have made the flight at the worst time of day. Greater heat and more difficult air. And the ones who heard the crash were taking their
siesta.
It is very strange that Branders was not taking his, too. He is a veteran and should not be foolish.”

Alwin said: “I can afford to pay a good fee, Señor Gar. But if I were you—I would not go up there unarmed. Personally—I think he was trying to escape from something—”

Jo Gar shrugged. “A crash while trying to escape from something—that is not murder,” he said gently. “And it would be very difficult to prove.”

Alwin swore thickly. “It might not be difficult to prove it to
me,
” he muttered. “I’ll handle it in my own way.”

The Island detective looked at the big clock again. He rose slowly from the chair.

“I will telegraph you from Carejo, as soon as I learn something of importance,” he said. “If I think it was an accident—I will wire that it was an accident.”

Alwin muttered to himself, then said more clearly: “Take a gun along—there might be
another
accident.”

Jo Gar’s eyes were very almond-shaped and small. “It is one of the simple reasons for carrying a gun,” he said tonelessly. “The chance of an accident.”

Erich Rooder was a tall, lean man with blond hair and a blond mustache. His eyes were blue and his face round for his build. The sun had burned him brown; he wore a soiled khaki shirt, khaki trousers and a khaki sun helmet. He shook hands with Jo, after the Island detective had descended from the train. His face was serious.

“Hello, Señor Gar,” he said. “I’ve seen you around Manila, of course. This is a bad business.”

Jo Gar smiled a little. “Death is always bad,” he said. “It has the feeling of finality.”

Rooder’s blue eyes narrowed a little. He led the way towards a battered flivver, behind the wheel of which sat a Filipino of middle age. He opened a rear door and Jo got in. The sky was cloudless and there was a crescent moon. It was very hot.

When the flivver jerked forward along the dirt road that led from the station Rooder spoke thoughtfully.

“I was a bit puzzled by Alwin’s wire saying you were coming out here. Of course, Alwin was a good friend of Brander’s. But I didn’t know you were an expert on airplanes.”

Jo Gar smiled. “I’m interested in them,” he replied. “Alwin thought I might learn something from the wreckage.”

Rooder’s eyes remained half closed. He looked ahead, and not at Jo Gar. The headlights showed the white dirt of the road, and thick, tropic foliage on each side. The country was hilly, and the road rough. They traveled at fair speed.

“My idea is that the heat got Jack,” Rooder said steadily. His voice had a faint, guttural quality. “The thing that beats me is why he went up when he did—a half hour after noon. The hottest time of the day.”

Jo Gar frowned. “Has he ever done it before?” he asked.

Rooder shook his head. “Not that I know of,” he replied. “Bill and Harry were doing
siesta.
I was taking a shower, and with the water making racket coming down, and a lot of it in my ears—I didn’t hear the crash. The Filipinos were in their quarters, but a Chinese cook for the hands was getting some water outside, and saw the plane go up. It seemed to bank and fall sidewise, on a wing. The nose dropped and then the crash came. The engine was running all the time, apparently—that’s why I think Jack fainted at the controls.”

Jo Gar nodded. “He wasn’t ill?” he asked.

Rooder said: “He had a touch of fever—
dengue.
But he was pretty strong, you know. He hadn’t said anything about taking the ship up. I thought he was taking
siesta
—so did Bill and Harry. It was a bad smash and he was dead when they got him out of the wreckage. The plane didn’t burn.”

“The Chinese who saw the plane fall—what did he do?” Jo Gar asked.

Rooder frowned deeply. “He got scared, of course—and ran towards the plantation house. Harry and Bill met him, and the three of them went out to the wreck. Jack was pretty badly smashed up.”

Jo offered Rooder one of his brown-paper cigarettes, and they both lighted up.

“No urgent business, or anything that would have caused Branders to fly anywhere in a hurry?” the Island detective asked.

Rooder shrugged. “Not that I know of—and I probably would have known. Personally, I think he had a stronger touch of the fever than he thought. Maybe he went a little off his head and thought he wanted to fly. He might have fainted, or the ship might have just hit a bad spot and side-slipped down.”

Jo nodded. The flivver bumped along over the rough road, made a turn and started up a fairly steep grade. Rooder said slowly:

“We’re all pretty upset about it, naturally. And we can’t help thinking that Alwin seems to feel there is more to it than just an accident.”

Jo Gar’s gray-blue eyes stared blankly ahead. “Why?” he asked softly.

Rooder made a gesture with his lean hands. “You’re a private detective,” he said. “He sent you up here.”

The Island detective smiled. “It is because of my knowledge of planes,” he replied. “Naturally, Alwin would like to know what caused the accident, if possible.”

Rooder looked straight ahead. “Naturally,” he agreed. “He was a good friend. But I doubt that you’ll learn anything more than I’ve told you.”

Jo Gar continued to smile slightly. “It is quite certain that I will not,” he said very slowly, “if there is nothing more than that to learn.”

Carter and Tate were about the same size—tall, well-built Americans. Carter was dark and thin faced, with a good chin. Tate had brown hair and eyes; he walked with a slight limp. They sat now, in wicker chairs in the living-room of the rambling plantation house. Tate spoke in a flat, almost toneless voice.

“The last I saw of Jack was about twenty minutes before the crash. He was going into his room, and said he was going to try to get some sleep. The heat has been fierce—he had a touch of
dengue.
Not much of one. Bill saw him about ten minutes before I did. Neither of us heard him leave the house, though he must have gone within five minutes or so after I saw him. The field is about ten minutes away. The ship is kept under a canvas hangar, but she was always ready for the air—that is, loaded with gas and oil.”

Jo Gar said slowly: “Always ready—why was that?”

Bill Carter spoke in his rather heavy tone. “Jack liked to feel he could always work the electric starter and get right off the ground. If he was out on a long flight he always fixed her for the air, before he left the hangar.”

Jo Gar looked at the low ceiling of the room. “Why do you suppose he felt the ship must always be ready for flight?” he asked steadily.

Carter and Tate exchanged glances, with little expression in the eyes of either. Erich Rooder shrugged.

“There was no reason, Gar,” he said a little sharply.

“It was just a habit with him. Time didn’t mean anything—and no one was after him, if that’s what you think.”

Jo Gar smiled with his lips. “I do not think,” he said pleasantly. “I ask questions.”

There was a little silence. Then Jo said quietly:

“So far as you three men know Branders had no enemies.”

Carter and Tate shook their heads. Rooder said in his guttural voice:

“Not an enemy. Everyone liked him.”

Jo Gar nodded. “Yet he always kept his plane ready for the air, and today he flew at the worst possible time.”

Carter stood up abruptly, his face twisted. “Look here, Señor Gar—” he started, but Rooder interrupted.

“Take it easy, Bill. Alwin has sent Gar up here to find out what happened. Gar is a detective, and he approaches death with the idea that it couldn’t very well be caused by an accident—ever.”

Jo Gar’s eyes held little expression. “At the moment I am more curious about Branders’ motive for the sudden flight, at such a time, than in the cause of the ship crash,” he said calmly.

Tate said: “My theory is that he felt like flying—the fever made him restless. He went out and flew. There was an accident. You’ve seen his body—no bullet holes in it, are there?”

Jo shook his head. “No bullet holes,” he agreed. “His head was badly battered and there are bones broken. I think he was killed instantly.”

Rooder nodded. “We had Doctor Cordozo over from his place.

He said death was instantaneous.”

Jo Gar looked at his wristwatch. It was almost three o’clock.

“I think I shall sleep in the room you have so kindly had prepared for me,” he stated as he stood up. “In the morning, as soon as it is light, I shall want to see the plane wreckage. It has not been touched?” Tate spoke nastily. “Certainly it’s been touched—we had to pull things apart to get him out of the wreck.” Jo Gar nodded. “Naturally,” he agreed.

Rooder spoke grimly. “But if there any bullet holes in the wings or wood—they’ll still be there for you, Señor.”

The Island detective let his eyes move from one face to another.

He was smiling almost pleasantly.

“I do not expect to find any bullet holes,” he said quietly. “That would be too much of a piece of luck.”

Tate’s eyes were very small and hard.

“Just what do you mean by that?” he demanded.

Jo Gar bowed slightly. “Nothing,” he said very precisely. “Very often I mean nothing by what I say.”

Rooder led the way from the room, and there was silence except for footfalls. Tate and Carter remained behind. At the room that had been prepared for the Island detective, Rooder stood aside.

“I am older than Bill and Harry,” he said. “I’ve been in the Islands longer. The fact that Alwin sent a detective out here doesn’t bother me so much. My feeling is that the crash was an accident.”

Jo Gar smiled. “It would seem that way,” he agreed. “Branders was a wealthy man?”

Rooder shrugged. “He wasn’t poor,” he replied.

A kerosene lamp gave wavering light to the room. Night tropical sounds reached the two men. A lizard moved across the ceiling, making a sound at intervals like soft kissing.

“There was a will?” Jo said slowly.

Rooder’s voice was toneless. “Yes,” he said. “I happen to know about it. Branders had only a few relatives, distant. He didn’t care anything about them. He left most of his money—a couple of hundred thousand—to Roger Alwin. The plantation here was left to us.”

Jo Gar said very quietly: “Us?”

Rooder said: “A half interest to me—and a quarter each to Harry and Bill. We got along very well together—Jack liked us enough to do that. He knew we’d keep things going.”

Jo Gar said: “The fruit is good?”

He could hear Rooder breathing heavily. “Fine,” the German replied. “About the best yield we’ve ever had.”

The Island detective looked towards the screened windows of the room.

“How much would you say the plantation was worth—counting the fruit, of course?”

Rooder said instantly: “Around a hundred thousand—probably more than that.”

There was silence, then the German spoke slowly: “And now you have your motive for this murder, Señor Gar.”

The Island detective smiled and shook his head. He said in a gentle tone:

“No—now I have a
possible
motive for a
possible
murder.”

Rooder bowed his head slightly. “Good night, Señor Gar,” he said.

Jo stood very still.

“Good night, Herr Rooder,” he said pleasantly.

Rooder went along the corridor; his sandals made faint slap sound. Jo Gar inspected his automatic, removed his duck coat and stretched out beneath the mosquito netting on the bed. He did not undress. At intervals he heard the murmur of voices in the living-room. Then he heard them no more. A door slammed, somewhere in the house. Jo Gar breathed very softly:

“Alwin gains several hundred thousand. Rooder fifty thousand. Tate and Carter twenty-five thousand apiece. Because there was an accident, and Branders was killed.”

His gray-blue eyes were half closed in an ironical smile. He said very slowly:

“Branders might have lived many years—if there had been no accident.”

After that he dozed for a while. At four o’clock he rose, pushed the mosquito netting aside, and got his small flashlight from a bag. He changed to duel trousers that were black and put on a black shirt. Then he removed a screen noiselessly from a window, waited a short time, climbed outside. The room was on the level with the patio. The crescent moon made light, and there were the stars. He moved very quietly away from the house, in the direction that Rooder had told him the field and the wrecked plane were. He moved slowly, carefully. He was less than five hundred yards from the house, in a fairly thick palm grove, when he noticed a red glow ahead. He moved more rapidly up a slope. The crackling sound reached his ears before he was at the crest of it. The glow was becoming steadily brighter. There was a sudden roar.