Burke jerked the curtains aside and caught Desta Dwight’s arm as she jumped back from her eavesdropping position with a little squeal of fright. Marvin Moore stood beside her with a vacuous grin on his face. They had both changed to sport clothes and it was evident that they had kept right on drinking after leaving us on the lawn.
Burke said: “You need a paddling, young lady,” and Desta swayed close to him, gurgling, “Why, Mr. Burke.”
“Leggo her arm.” Marvin tried to push between them, his peevish face abruptly hard — surprisingly so.
Burke gave her an impatient shove into the arms of her escort. “Take her away,” he growled. Then, to me with a sigh: “What a madhouse. The logical way to hunt a murderer here would be to count them out with an eeny meeny miney moe. Come on outside where we can talk and try to think.”
The sun was below the treetops when we stepped outside. The peaceful hush of evening lay softly upon the sloping hillside. Murder seemed remote and intangible. “How does it add up?” I asked Burke as we strolled across the velvety grass.
He shook his head with a frown. “It doesn’t add worth a damn. Every time I untie one knot I come on two more tangles. It isn’t over yet.” He was talking more to himself than to me. He paused beneath a tree to light his pipe. A car was coming up the driveway, screened from our eyes by the thick hedge. His gaze rested somberly on the Young cabin across the narrow valley, and I wondered what he was thinking about.
The front door slammed loudly behind us. We turned and saw Raymond Dwight hurrying across the grass, waving a newspaper over his head. He was apoplectic with anger.
“Who’s responsible for this outrage?” His voice reminded me of a bull’s infuriated bellow. “Someone, by God, will pay for this.” He kept on howling unprintable threats while Burke reached out and took the afternoon edition of the El Paso Free Press from him. A two-inch headline screamed:
While Dwight stamped up and down, pulling out his hair and cursing, Burke began reading aloud:
On unimpeachable authority it was learned late this afternoon that a local oil magnate has brought pressure upon the State Department in Washington to arrange a private settlement with the Mexican Government on his personal claims arising from the recent expropriation of petroleum properties.
An exclusive source of information to this newspaper brings to light what appears to be an unsavory conspiracy between persons in high authority in the two governments to arrange a secret settlement for the benefit of one man at the expense of other claimants.
In a downtown hotel late today, Senor Rodriguez admitted to Free Press reporters that he is empowered by the president of Mexico to negotiate the settlement of certain property claims with a representative of our State Department, but refused to comment on the identity of the party or parties for whose benefit this secret deal is being arranged.
Indignation ran at white heat in the breasts of honest citizens of both countries late this afternoon, and as we go to press the streets of El Paso and Juarez are seething with angry mobs carrying banners protesting the negotiation of any private settlement.
There is more to this than meets the eye, and this newspaper is reliably informed that a thorough investigation will bring to light a connection between the parties to this iniquitous proposal and the cold-blooded murder of at least one public-spirited American citizen who sought to prevent this disgraceful incident from blackening the records of our diplomatic friendship with our Sister Republic to the south.
If this charge is susceptible of proof, the Free. Press takes the lead in demanding the immediate arrest of the malefactor or malefactors that our citizens may know the power of unlimited millions is not stronger than the consciences of public officials sworn to uphold the torch of Justice.
Jerry Burke is personally conducting this investigation and the Free Press will be interested to observe what facts he will find it convenient to bring to light.
As an independent and fearless crusader for the Right, the Free Press will not hesitate to bring the truth to the attention of the people; and if corruption becomes evident in the mishandling of this case, as has been suspected in certain other unsavory incidents in Burke’s high-handed methods in the past, the Free Press will be the first to demand a grand jury investigation to determine whether or not criminal charges may be preferred against this self-styled Dictator in our midst.
Burke folded the paper with a shrug and a grimace. “Someone seems to have been talking out of turn. The Free Press is still after my scalp and is using this as a basis for another personal attack. It doesn’t even mention your name, Dwight. What the hell are you raving about?”
Raymond Dwight waved clenched fists above his head. “What am I raving about? Good God, man! don’t you realize that this publicity is likely to be absolutely fatal? People will be sure to misinterpret and condemn what is in reality a legitimate business coup. If I could get my hands on the dirty louse who caused these filthy insinuations to be printed...”
“I thought it was a pretty swell piece of reporting,” a cool voice interrupted Raymond Dwight.
We all wheeled about to confront Laura Yates, who had come up behind us soundlessly on the thick grass. She had a mocking smile on her lips, and appeared as unruffled as though she were guest of honor at a pink tea and making a correctly late entrance.
12
I hadn’t thought of Laura in connection with the news story, but Jerry Burke didn’t seem at all surprised. He said:
“You didn’t lose any time getting that stuff into print.”
“It’s making headlines all over the country this minute,” she assured him, while Dwight glared at her.
“Who is this woman?”
Burke introduced her to Dwight and she said: “We met rather informally last night... south of the Rio Grande.”
Dwight ignored that. He gestured fiercely toward the paper in Burke’s hand and asked: “Did you cook up this? Are you responsible for this outrageous and libelous attack?” A thick vein throbbed in his forehead.
Laura nodded proudly. “Your name isn’t mentioned, Mr. Dwight, so it’s hardly libelous. I thought it rather good... considering how few actual facts I had to work with.”
Raymond Dwight started toward her with a murderous light in his eyes. “I ought to choke the life out of you! By God, do you realize what your little item is likely to cost me?”
Burke got in front of him, but Laura Yates stepped aside and asked tauntingly:
“How many million, Mr. Dwight?”
The oil man snarled, “Plenty,” and tried to shoulder Burke aside.
Laura laughed. “You admit the private deal you were trying to put over with Rodriguez. Thanks. I’ll quote you on that.” She whirled and started toward her parked coupe.
Struggling with Dwight, Burke snapped curtly at me: “Stop her, Asa. Don’t let her drive away.”
I caught her just as she was getting in her car. With my hand on her wrist I held her from getting under the wheel. “Hold it,” I panted. “Jerry wants you to stick around.”
She gave me a withering glance and tried to jerk loose. “Aren’t you forgetting yourself?”
It was the first word she had addressed to me since she had come up. She might just as well have slapped my face. I jerked her away from the car and for the first time in my life I understood how wife-beating husbands get that way. More than anything in the world, I wanted to crack that mask of cynical hardness on her face.