Joey Buell’s eyes glassed over.
“We think we’re strong, Joey, and then we run into somebody stronger,” Ellery said. “We think we’re the smartest, and someone comes along to outsmart us. We beat the rap a dozen times, but the thirteenth time the rap beats us. You can’t win, Joey.”
Joey burst into tears.
Louise Carpenter made an instinctive gesture toward him. Ellery’s head-shake warned her back. He went close to the boy and tousled the red head, murmuring something the others could not hear. And after a while Joey’s tears sniffled to an end and he wiped his eyes on his sleeve in a puzzled way.
“Because I think this is going to work out all right, Joey,” Ellery said, continuing their curious colloquy aloud. “We’ll have a session with Mr. Hinsdale, and then with some pretty right guys I happen to know at Police Headquarters. After that it will be up to you.”
Joey Buell gulped. “Okay, Mr. Queen.” He did not look at his two friends.
David and Howard communicated silently. Then David turned to Ellery. “Where do we stand, Mr. Queen?”
“You and Howard are coming along.”
The blond boy bit his lip. Then he nodded, and after a moment the dark boy nodded, too.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Ellery dipped briskly into the jacket pocket that held his pipe and tobacco. His hand reappeared with a wrinkled envelope, its flap written over. From the envelope protruded the corners of some one-dollar bills. “Your Helen McDoud wedding gift fund. Miss Carpenter. With Joey’s compliments.”
“I did forget!” gasped Louise. “Where did you find it?”
“Where Joey in desperation slipped it as I was frisking the other boys. The only thing in the room I didn’t think of searching — my own pocket.” Ellery winked at the three boys. “Coming fellas?”
Victor Canning
Death in Morocco
It was cool on the hotel verandah. The fans made a gentle noise as they swung round and round, water sparkled from a little fountain in the garden, and beyond the white, flat-topped houses the Red Sea stretched away under the noon sun like a sheet of beaten brass. Listening to the girl talk, Dr. Kang reflected that the stupidity of some women was a bottomless well. He sat there, a plump, broad-faced man nearing his middle forties, wearing a well-cut silk suit — a man of bearing and presence. Behind his thick-lensed glasses, which he had recently taken to wearing, his dark eyes never left the girl’s face.
“So when this job was offered to me I jumped at it. After the death of my father I was all alone and I had to find something to do.”
English and attractive, a swan to send any hunter’s hand to his bow, thought Dr. Kang... but with as much understanding of the ways of the world as a young goose.
“It is wise to consider before one jumps,” said Dr. Kang, and he frowned a little so that for a moment his face was Buddha-like and severe. “I know this Monsieur Charap who has brought you here. He is, indeed, an agent of the Emir of Debussa. It is true that the Emir has a palace fifty miles from here and that he has daughters.”
“Then you agree, it’s a wonderful job? I’ve always had an itch to travel, to see the world.”
Dr. Kang sighed gently. At the moment he had no love for the Emir of Debussa, through whom he had recently lost money on an illicit arms deal. It would be some compensation, he decided, to spoil at least one of the Emir’s pleasures.
“He has daughters, yes. But that they need an English governess... Well, quite frankly, young lady, you have much to learn.”
“But I don’t understand—”
“It is not difficult. Four or five times a year Monsieur Charap arrives here at Port Rabat with governesses for the Emir’s daughters. French, Portuguese, Italian... his daughters must have a command, mademoiselle, of more languages than my illustrious self. You understand now?”
The girl was suddenly embarrassed. She stammered, “Well...”
“Quite. The Emir has European tastes. Once a governess arrives at the palace she finds it difficult to confine her duties to teaching a language. Fifty miles inland from Port Rabat it is five hundred years back in civilization. Have you any money?”
“None.” The word was backed by a note of fear.
“Friends, perhaps in Cairo?”
“Yes.”
“Then go back to them. A plane leaves here in an hour for Cairo. Take it.”
Dr. Kang pulled out his wallet and handed the money in it to the girl. Maybe, he was thinking, it is the first sign of age that he should be so generous with the last of his money. Or maybe it was just that he wanted to annoy the Emir.
Later that afternoon, as Dr. Kang came out of his hotel bedroom, a door two rooms away from his own opened and a short, sallow-faced man came toward him. He wore a panama and carried a heavy stick. He stopped alongside Dr. Kang and his face was working with anger.
“So...” he spluttered. “Dr. Kang has become a good angel.”
“Dr. Kang has no hope of ever achieving such an elevated condition, Monsieur Charap. Why are you so angry?”
“Why?” Monsieur Charap’s eyes narrowed. “The girl is gone. And it was you who explained things to her. She left me a note saying why she has gone, and mentioning your name.”
For a moment Dr. Kang was silent. The girl indeed was a fool to have mentioned his name.
“I merely explained that the climate would be bad for her. She must have misconstrued my words. But why should you worry? Governesses are easy to find even for the Emir.”
“Not English ones. And the Emir has already paid me.”
“Then pay him back, monsieur.” But although he said it calmly, Dr. Kang was not fool enough to think that Charap would part with any money he already had, or let this interference with his arrangements go unrevenged. He had a feeling that it would be wise for him to leave Port Rabat. One did not steal titbits from a lion and wait around to see how the beast would take it. But unfortunately Dr. Kang no longer had any money.
“Somebody shall pay,” snapped Monsieur Charap.
An hour later the matter of repayment was being arranged. Monsieur Charap, worried over the loss of his charge and the anger of the Emir, was with an Arab in a small room over a shop in the native quarter of Port Rabat. He and the Arab had often worked together.
“It will indeed be hard to explain to the Emir,” said the Arab, flicking the sleeves of his robe back and reaching delicately for his cup of mint tea. “He was looking forward to the arrival of the English person. Also, I remember, that some weeks ago it was this same Dr. Kang who was involved in the matter of an arms deal. He had done this to spite the Emir.”
“Nothing short of the death of Dr. Kang will satisfy the Emir for the loss of this English person,” said Monsieur Charap. “The Emir has carried her photograph around with him for weeks.”
“You wish me to soften his disappointment?”
“I do,” said Monsieur Charap savagely.
“It is easily managed. Tell me, what is the number of Dr. Kang’s room at the hotel?”
“It is on the same floor as mine. Number ten.”
“Then tonight I shall pay him a visit. It will be easy to bribe the hotel clerk for a passkey. Leave it all to me. It shall be taken care of, and when he is dead it is possible that the Emir — since he has no love for Dr. Kang — will not ask for his money back.”
That night Dr. Kang — who had often been short of money before — was regretting his generous impulse. Port Rabat, he knew, had become unhealthy for him. The girl had been very stupid to have said that he had warned her. But then if she hadn’t been stupid she would never have needed help. He sat in the lounge after dinner and kept an eye on Monsieur Charap. But the other man took no notice of him, and eventually went up to his room.