CHAPTER XII.

A HOUSE OF MYSTERY.

They went.

As Bob raced down the rutted roadway, there were only two thoughts in his head. Would they be able to keep Ramirez in sight? And would their commandeered car hold together? It creaked, groaned, squeaked, grated, whined and wheezed, but—it covered the ground. And, gaining confidence in his vehicle, Bob opened the throttle to its fullest extent. The ancient car seemed to leap from ridge to ridge of the rutted road like a mountain goat jumping from crag to crag. And like the goat it made most amazing speed.

So much so, in fact, that when again Bob caught sight of the midnight blue car ahead, he had gained on it. His first question was answered. At this rate of speed he most certainly would be able to keep Ramirez in sight. In fact, he cut down his speed in order not to close upon Ramirez to the point where he might arouse the latter’s suspicion.

Thus the two cars, parted by the length of a city block, burrowed by means of the bumpy dirt streets deep into Nueva Laredo. The sun shone hot and dust, whirled up by a brisk wind and further stirred by their passage, settled upon them in choking clouds. Here and there some ancient crone slumbered in the open doorway of a hut, seeking the comparative coolness created by the draught of heated air through the doorway. But otherwise the streets were deserted. Everybody who could walk, crawl or ride had gone to the bull fight.

This way and that bounced Captain Cornell on the frayed seat beside Bob.

“Great guns, boy, take it a little easier, can’t you?” he pleaded in gasps.

Bob clutched the wheel more tightly as a hole in the road almost twisted it from his grasp.

“Slow up and we’ll lose ’em,” he said.

The flyer groaned.

“Expect that’s right,” he managed to say between gasps. “Ouch. Have a heart. How are they getting away with this pace? That’s what I’d like to know.”

“Balloon tires on that baby,” said Bob, “and snubbers. They’re riding in a Pullman and—”

“And we’re in a freight car,” groaned the flyer.

“Don’t find fault with the gift horse,” laughed Bob, narrowly avoiding a particularly atrocious hole with the front wheels of his chariot of joy only to flop into it with the rear wheels.

Captain Cornell almost bounced out of the car.

“Have a heart, Bob,” he begged.

But Bob held grimly on. They were on the outskirts of the town now. For the last several blocks they had been driving through a particularly low quarter. The huts were of the poorest, being mere jumbled collections of shingles and tin or of ’dobe, with here and there a little patch of desert grass enclosed in a rickety picket fence before the more pretentious. As if satisfied with having done its worst, with that last dreadful jouncing given them, the roadway had become a little better. Bob was still keeping his distance of a block behind the leading car. He was wondering whether Ramirez and Ramon were aware of his presence behind them and, if so, whether their suspicions were aroused. He was likewise beginning to ask himself whether the chase would lead beyond the outskirts which now loomed ahead, the thinning out of the houses giving warning of approach to the open country beyond.

“If they lead us out into the country we’ll be out of luck,” he commented. “Don’t know how much gas we have. Probably not much. That’s always the way when you need it. We’d look fine, wouldn’t we, if we got ten or twenty miles down into Mexico and the old bus died on us? Besides, if we get out of town, they certainly will know we’re following ’em.”

“Uh-huh.” Captain Cornell grunted. He was thinking along similar lines.

“Maybe, they’re not suspicious of us yet, however,” Bob said, as another thought came to him. “Notice we haven’t turned any corners for blocks? Sticking to a straight road that way, it doesn’t look so much as if we were following them. Might just be going the same way.”

The car ahead slowed down before a two-story frame house on the right hand side, and halted alongside the wooden fence enclosing a small weed-grown plot of ground in front. The house stood in the next block. A street intervened.

“Turn right up this street,” commanded Captain Cornell quickly, and big Bob complied without asking why.

At the same time he slowed down, but the flyer shook his head.

“Keep going until the next cross street, then turn left and we’ll stop. That way, if they’re watching us, we’ll get out of sight. Then we can leave the car and sneak back to have a look from cover at that house.”

Bob turned the next corner, finding himself in a street as deserted as any they had passed through, and with only a few houses in the block. All were mere huts. Not a person, man, woman or child, was in sight. The only signs of life were a few chickens pecking dispiritedly at the ground under a drooping pepper tree in the shade of which Bob brought the car to a stop.

“Whew,” he ejaculated, whipping out a handkerchief and wiping his streaming face. “That was what you might call a real joy ride.” He climbed out and looked curiously at the springs of the old car. They were rust-covered but sound. Bob shook his head, marvelling. “How those springs stood it, I don’t know,” he said.

“Come on. Let’s hurry,” said the flyer. “We’ll hike up to the next corner and then turn back toward the street we left them on. That’ll put us beyond them and, unless they’re watching for us, we ought to be able to spy on that house without much trouble.”

Bob fell into step beside his companion and they moved along briskly despite the oven-like heat which brought out a profuse perspiration before they had taken a half dozen paces.

Turning the corner to the left, they saw open ahead of them a somewhat more pretentious street. At least, it possessed a plank sidewalk upon that side along which they proceeded, and the houses, which were more numerous, seemed better built and the enclosures before them were better kept.

Captain Cornell’s glance roving above the low line of the single-story ’dobe houses was quick to observe the rear of a two-story house on the intersecting street ahead, and he called Bob’s attention with the remark:

“There’s the house. Maybe, we can find a vacant lot ahead which will permit us to approach it from the rear.”

But Bob paid little attention for at that moment he, too was noting something of interest—nothing less, in fact, than a lofty three-strand aerial of considerable extent in the rear of a small ’dobe house which they were approaching. As they drew abreast of the swinging gate in the picket fence which, for a wonder, was not a-dangle from only one hinge, but was neat and trim as were all the immediate surroundings of the place, a boy in his ’teens stepped to the door and glanced at them inquiringly.

Acting on impulse, Bob halted at the gate and, smiling at the lad, whose dark, olive-tinted face was bright and intelligent in expression, he pointed toward the aerial and asked in Spanish:

“Radio? You have a receiving set?”

“Oh, yes, senor,” the boy replied, moving forward a step or two, “but more than that, I send, too. I have a two-way station.”

Captain Cornell had halted a step of two beyond Bob. No man on the Border Patrol could go long without acquiring a knowledge of Spanish, and as a matter of fact he had fluent command of the language. He understood, therefore, the nature of the remarks exchanged by Bob and the young Mexican lad, but he wasn’t interested. His thoughts were taken up with the problem of how to approach the rear of that house of mystery without detection. So now he turned to Bob with a trace of impatience and said in English:

“Come on. We’ve got work to do.”

Bob glanced aside so that the Mexican boy would not observe and winked by way of reply. Captain Cornell was mystified, he didn’t understand. But he had a good deal of respect for his companion, little though he knew him, so he decided to hold his hand a moment until he could discover what Bob had in mind. For that Bob was up to something, he felt assured. He moved closer.

Bob laughed, leaning on the gate as if he had nothing in the world to do but exchange pleasant conversation with the Mexican boy.

“Radio certainly is fascinating,” he replied in Spanish. “But I shouldn’t have thought it would keep you from the bull fight.”

“You are an American, senor, aren’t you?” asked the boy, a trace of scorn on his features. “The senor speaks my language well. But I can tell. Well, that accounts for your mistake. Not all Mexicans are animals.”

“Oh, here, here,” cut in Bob, apologetically, “I didn’t mean any harm. Why, I’ve just come from the bull fight myself, and I thought it mighty exciting.”

The boy’s expression became somewhat mollified.

“You see,” Bob hurried on, anxious to overcome the bad impression he obviously had created, and still a bit puzzled as to just why the boy had taken offense; “you see,” he said, “I, myself, am a radio enthusiast, and I know just how wrapped up in it a fellow can become.”

“Oh,” the boy moved closer. “The senor Americano will forgive my hasty temper. You see, he added, breaking into more hurried speech, “my mother is a widow who lets me do as I will in working with radio. But all her friends, they say”—and he shrugged—“they say she is foolish, touched in the head, to let me do so. They say, senor, that the good God did not want us to hear through the air for long distances or he would have equipped our ears. They say what I do is sacrilege.”

He laughed with a touch of bitterness.

Bob was taken aback. He saw now why his remark about the bull fight had given offence. The boy was embittered against people of his own race. Poor kid, thought Bob, what a tough time he must have! Fortunately his mother supported him. Though how a Mexican widow, living in this poor quarter of the town, should possess enough money to enable her son to indulge his hobby was a facer.

While he still struggled mentally for a reply, Captain Cornell cut in with:

“Come on, Bob. They’ll get away, maybe. Thought you had something up your sleeve! But just chinning this kid isn’t getting us anywhere.”

Bob saw he would have to inform his companion of what was in his mind, so he replied rapidly:

“Just a minute, Captain. What I wanted was to get the boy’s interest and then ask him about that house.”

“Oh.” Captain Cornell saw the light, and his impatience in a measure abated.

“Well,” said Bob, addressing the boy again, “my friend here is anxious to be gone, so I suppose I’ll have to stop. I’d like to talk some more to you about radio, though. Maybe, some time, you’ll let me have a look at your set.”

“Oh, yes, senor,” said the boy, all eagerness. “Right now, if the senor wishes.”

“No,” said Bob, “I’ll have to be moving. By the way, though,” he added, letting his glance rove toward the rear of the two-story house on the next street, the upper windows of which could be seen above the low ’dobe adjoining the boy’s home; “by the way, though, do you know who happens to live in that house?”

The boy stepped closer, in order to face about and see what place Bob was indicating.

“Oh, that house. Why, senor, it is somewhat of a mystery in this neighborhood. A Japanese gentleman lives there, and many Japanese come and go continually. But none of us has ever spoken to those people. The windows, as you see, are always shuttered.”

He turned around to face Bob and drew closer. Instinctively, his voice dropped as he added:

“Every now and then there are many cars which come up there at night and then depart—nobody knows where. They are closed cars. And last night, senor, there was a scream, a terrible scream. I was sitting up very late at my radio, and had just gone to the door to get a breath of air. Then I heard it.”

“Hey, Captain,” said Bob, excitedly, turning to his companion, “hear that?”