CHAPTER XIII.

CAPTAIN CORNELL INVESTIGATES.

Indeed, Captain Cornell had heard, and he immediately moved into place at the gate beside Bob and began asking excited questions in Spanish. Was it a man or a woman who screamed? A man? Oh, and the Captain’s face betrayed disappointment. Mere mention of the fact that a scream had shattered the midnight quiet in this remote quarter had aroused his sense of the romantic to a point where, with nothing else to go on, he had imagined the beginnings of a pretty mystery centering about a damsel in distress.

What a come-down to find not a woman but a man had screamed! Still he was an incorrigible romanticist. His imagination leaped to other possibilities. He shot other questions at the boy. There had been a fight, not so? Shots had been fired? The Mexican police had appeared on the scene?

But to all these questions the boy shook his head by way of reply. No, nothing. Only that first blood-curdling scream, such a scream as made the hair stand on end. He, Juan Salazar, was his mother’s sole defender. He had therefore not deemed it advisable to leave the house defenceless and go to investigate. And at that statement, both Bob and Captain Cornell found it difficult to repress their smiles. But they managed to do so and thus avoided giving the boy deadly offense. On the contrary, continued the boy, he had withdrawn indoors, barred the door and put out his light in order not to call attention to his house, in case—in case——

Captain Cornell came to the youth’s rescue with a grave nod.

“That was the right thing to do.”

“But, oh, the senor must believe me,” said the boy. “It was a terrible scream.”

Bob and the flyer looked at each other. “Couldn’t have been Don Ferdinand,” said Bob. “He didn’t disappear until this morning. At least, it was only a few hours ago that we got his telegram.”

“Mind reader,” accused the flyer. “That’s just what I was thinking of. But—then who was it?”

“Don’t ask me,” said Bob. And then a daring light came into his eyes. “What do you say to our making an investigation?”

“Huh. How?”

“Why—why—I don’t know. How would you go about it? Just mosey up to the door and say to whoever comes: ‘Who made that noise last night?’”

The flyer gave a short laugh. “We’d get far, wouldn’t we?”

“Well, we might go up to the front door and ask to see Don Ferdinand. Just say we noticed his car in the street and dropped in to see him.”

“Huh.” The flyer grunted disgustedly. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

“Well, then, think of something yourself,” said Bob. “What’s the matter with that last idea, anyhow? We’ve got—no, by George, I haven’t any weapon. But you’ve got your service automatic. I know, because you pulled it out back there outside the bull ring. We’d certainly take ’em by surprise, and something might come of it.”

Captain Cornell shook his head pityingly. “You’ve been out in this sun too long, old man,” he said.

While this semi-humorous conversation had been going on, the Mexican boy had withdrawn a short distance and stood with his hands thrust into his pockets and his eyes bent toward the ground in thoughtful contemplation. Now he looked up and glancing toward Bob said:

“The Americano might like to know that there is something strange about that house. I found it out by accident one day. On that street beyond”—pointing toward the lane on which the two Americans had abandoned their commandeered car—“there is a deserted house. It is only a poor sort of place of ’dobe. But one day I saw a man come out of it, carefully, looking around as if to make sure he was not observed. So, then, I happened to pass that house later and, seeing that it was a time when nobody was in sight, I tried the door. It was open, and I went in. There, senor, I found a trap door which I opened. Beneath it were steps. I even went down them and found at the foot a tunnel. Senor, it was really none of my business, so I did not investigate farther. But that tunnel leads to the house of the Japanese.”

“Hey? How do you know?” barked Captain Cornell.

Conscious that he held their interest, the boy regarded the flyer with a superior air. Then he unbent. What good was it to possess a secret, if you couldn’t share it?

“Oh, senor, that is not difficult,” he said. “The man who came out of the door of the little house was a man I had seen entering the house of the Japanese. He is of my race, and he has a crooked nose and a limp of the right leg. I could not be mistaken.”

“Ramirez,” ejaculated Bob, and Captain Cornell nodded.

“You know this man?” asked the boy quickly.

“Yes,” said Bob hastily, “we know of him. He is a rascal.”

As for Captain Cornell, he appeared to be lost in thought. After a long moment he turned to Bob. “Well, we’re on the track of something, that’s sure. Let’s walk up to the corner and see if the car we followed is still there. Then we can talk it over. Guess, we’ve learned all we can from this kid.”

Bob nodded, and turning to the Mexican lad he again dropped a warm word about radio, promising to return some time and examine the boy’s apparatus. The lad beamed, his earlier offended state forgotten. Then Bob and the flyer walked briskly toward the distant street intersection, a long block away.

“What do you make of this?” Bob asked. “This house owned by a Japanese—with lots of other Japanese there—people driving away at night—the secret passage—that scream last night?”

“I don’t know,” confessed the flyer. “I’m beginning to get the glimmerings of a vague suspicion. Not all we have learned, however, fits in with it.”

“What is it?” pressed Bob.

“Not worth mentioning yet,” said the flyer. “But here’s the corner. Now for a look—see.” And halting at the edge of a building on the corner, he peered around it and along the length of the thoroughfare down which they had jounced and jolted not long before.

Bob likewise stole a glance from shelter, chuckling as he did so.

“We must look like a couple of conspirators in a melodrama,” he said, “pussyfooting up to the corner and then poking our heads out this way. Good thing everybody’s gone to the bull fight or we’d rouse somebody’s suspicions and, maybe, have the place down about our ears. But there isn’t a soul to see us. The place is like a village of the dead.”

Little enough, however, was there to see. The long street was deserted as far as the eye could rove. It lay baking under the late afternoon sun, and the only object of interest anywhere apparent was what they had looked to find—the handsome car midway down the block.

“Calle Lebertad,” read a battered and defaced street sign on a post on the opposite side of the street. Doubtless, a similar sign appeared on the post ahead of them on their corner, but, as it faced outward, they could not note it. Bob called the flyer’s attention to the sign, remarking that at least they now knew what street the mysterious house stood on.

“A lotta good that does us,” said Captain Cornell, slangily, in disgust. “I’d like to get closer to that house, Bob. I have a hunch we might overhear something.”

“So would I?” Bob promptly agreed. “I’ll bet Don Ferdinand is in there, and I’d like to get him out.”

“Not much chance of that right now,” said the flyer. He was silent, thinking. Finally he gave a decisive little nod. “By George, it’s better than doing nothing.”

“What is? Shall we have a try at storming the place?”

“No, of course not. But I think I’ll take a stroll down the street. Maybe I’ll hear something. The house is isolated. It’s probably open on account of this heat. If people are talking inside, I may catch a hint of what’s going on.”

“You’ll take a stroll?” said Bob. “Why not ‘we’?”

“No, I’ll go alone. Best not to put our eggs in one basket. Besides if by any chance, somebody jumps me, I’ve got a gun and can defend myself. You haven’t.”

“Huh. Guess I can swing a mean fist.”

The flyer grinned. “Nothing doing. I’ve got charge of this expedition, and orders are that you stay here and watch me. Besides, if I get into trouble, you’ll be free to bring aid, while if you were along and we both were done in—just supposing the worst that might happen—where would your friends look for us?”

Bob grumbled, only half-convinced.

“I’ll stroll around the block and join you here again,” said the flyer. “Nothing’s going to happen. Really, there’s not much sense in my going, only I do feel that there’s a chance of learning something. In case anything does happen to me, hop back to our stolen flivver and light out for Laredo and when you get near the Bridge abandon the car so that you won’t be stopped in case the owner has sent out a police warning. We’ll square accounts for that car later. Cross the Bridge and go to the nearest telephone and call the Border Patrol. Ask for Captain Murray. Remember that name, Murray. Tell him what’s what, and he’ll attend to the rest. And don’t by any chance make the mistake of trying to come to my rescue single-handed, because without a gun you’d be a goner. And you’d be throwing away my chance, too. I don’t think anything’s going to happen, but if it does, I want to be sure you’ll stick to that plan. How about it?”

“Oh, all right,” said Bob, ungraciously. “I’ll do as you say. Only you must see that it doesn’t give me a chance for action.”

“That remains to be seen. If you should have to call for Murray, you’ll have to be his guide. And that would bring you action a-plenty.”

“Wouldn’t he be out of luck, invading a foreign country?” asked Bob, curiously.

“Leave that to him. Anyway, what are we doing?”

“Oh, we’re just acting on our own,” said Bob. “That’s different.”

“Not much. Well, so long. See you in a couple of minutes.”

“So long,” answered Bob. “And the best of luck.”

Thereupon Captain Cornell strolled nonchalantly around the corner, and set off at the dawdling pace of the loafer, toward the house of mystery and the car of midnight blue.