Swinging his legs off the bed, Adam came to his full height. His fists clenched, then relaxed. Suddenly he sat down again. It could have been done and with little risk of a bullet. But what then? He was nearly naked and it would have been madness to leave by the window like that. He would have to bind and gag them all, dress and collect his money before making his escape. The fight would cause a racket; before he could gag them it was certain that one or more of them would be yelling for help. Even if their cries did not bring a crowd of other people on the scene, where could he go once he had left the hotel? He would only get himself hopelessly lost in the jungle.
Glowering at the officer, he said, `All right. I'll come with you. but first I must have a bath.'
`No time for that,' came the sharp reply. `Get dressed at once, or I will take you as you are.'
Ignoring the command, Adam walked over to the basin, cleaned its teeth and washed. Then he began to dress. Meanwhile the two policemen were packing his other clothes and belongings into his suitcases. As soon as he had finished dressing, one of the men snapped another pair of handcuffs over his wrists.
`How about paying my bill?' he asked.
`The manacles will not prevent your signing a traveler’s cheque,' was the reply. Ignominiously they led him along past the swimming pool and the curious stares of other guests to the office. there he asked for Chela's bill as well as his own and paid both.
`So you knew that the Senorita had left the hotel?' the officer remarked.
`Yes,' he admitted. `Where are you taking me?'
`To Police Headquarters in Merida. Do you wish to leave a message for her?'
`No. She will not be coming back,' Adam lied. But he had achieved his object. The desk clerk had heard the conversation and would pass it on to Chela.
The officer shrugged. `Whether she returns or not, we'll soon pick her up.'
Adam's heart sank still further on learning that Chela was to be pulled in, and he wondered whether they knew how deeply she was involved in the conspiracy. Even if her father could later arrange for her release, it looked now as though she would have to spend some time in gaol and the thought of his beautiful beloved confined, ill fed and treated as a convict, depressed him unutterably.
Outside, a police car and chauffeur were waiting. The officer put him in the back between himself and one of his men; the other man was left at the hotel, presumably to arrest Chela if she returned there.
Twenty minutes later they passed through the village near which the ambush had taken place, but this time there was no ambush. As against that, there were no signs of anything unusual having occurred there that morning; so it looked as though the police had realised the futility of carrying out an investigation among its inhabitants. For their sakes and that of the courageous Father Suarez, Adam prayed that might be so.
At the Police Headquarters in Merida general particulars about him were entered in a register and he was then locked in a cell. It was reasonably clean, but starkly comfortless. In the early afternoon he was brought a meal of tortillas and chili peppers which were so fiercely hot that he could hardly get them down, and in the evening another meal of tortillas and beans. Otherwise he was left there all day, with nothing to occupy his mind except his gloomy thoughts.
Soon after eight o'clock he was called out of his cell and, with an escort of the officer who had arrested him and another policeman, taken to the airport.
When he had arrived there with Chela five nights earlier they had been whisked away so efficiently by the porter from the Pan Americana that Adam had not realised what a miserable little place it was. Although the city of Merida had two hundred thousand inhabitants to Oaxaca’s seventy five thousand, the airport at the former was less than one third the size of that at the latter. It was
now packed with people, nine out of ten of whom must have been
killing time by seeing off the limited number of people who could travel by the evening plane.
Adam estimated that there must be at least two hundred men, women and children jammed into the small waiting hall, and it had only three chairs. Under the electric lights it was intolerably hot, everyone was sweating freely and numerous mosquitoes were pinging and stinging about people's faces and necks. Every time one of the little pests settled on Adam he was unable to disturb it without displaying his handcuffs and, he was so much taller than neighbours, he soon became the fascinated focus of most pairs of eyes in the room. His efforts to get at the back of his neck caused great amusement and the little Indian children were held up by their elders to join in the fun. If anything could have possibly added to his misery it was an announcement, made after he had been standing pressed in the smelly crush for some twenty minutes, that the aircraft had been delayed and it would be another, hour before it took off.
The natives did not appear at all concerned, but seemed to welcome the information as extended time for a social gathering. They continued to chatter away happily and laugh hilariously each time a local humorist displayed his wit at poor Adam's expense.
At last this taste of what the Black Hole of Calcutta must have been like came to an end. Almost in a state of collapse, Adam was led out to the plane. To gasp in the clean night air was an incredible relief. But the plane had no heating and he was dressed only tropical clothes; so, soon after it had taken off, he was shivering with cold. It struck him that he might get pneumonia, but by then he was too weary to care. With wry humour it occurred to him that if he ever got round to writing his book with a Mexican background he would be able to portray a very different side of it such places as the luxury of the El Presidente Hotel. A few minutes later he fell asleep and did not wake up until they reached Mexico City.
As they had arrived on an internal flight, there were no formalities at the airport and Adam's suitcases were identified and handed over to his escort without delay, whereas had he been on his own he would have had to slip the baggage man ten pesos as the only alternative to kicking his heels for a quarter of an hour. He was then taken to Police Headquarters, a drive of little more than two miles from the airport, as it lay in the Plaza de los Presidentes on the eastern outskirts of the city.
There he was duly checked in and locked in a cell. By then it as close on midnight. The previous night he had not got to bed
until past three in the morning; the strain of the long, anxious day and the nightmare he had gone through at the Merida airport had left him like a limp rag, and his hour's sleep in the plane had done nothing to refresh him. Regardless of the brick like pillow, he gratefully stretched himself out on the truckle bed and pulled the solitary, tattered blanket over him.
But he was not to be allowed to occupy his hard couch for long. He had been asleep for less than a quarter of an hour when the steel door of his cell was thrown open with a clang and he was ordered out. A brawny warder with the face of an ex pugilist took him up some stairs to an office which had the appearance of being occupied by someone of importance. Behind a big desk sat a squat, bald man who, from his uniform and several rows of medal ribbons, Adam judged to be a Police Chief. With him was a younger man with a very sharp nose, dressed in plain clothes: evidently a detective.
The Police Chief told Adam to sit down opposite him and opened the proceedings by saying, `Senor Gordon. We know all about you, so it would be pointless to tell us any lies. If you speak the truth we will make things much easier for you. Now I want you to give us in your own words an account of everything you have done since you arrived in Mexico on January 2nd.'