"So this afternoon, today, he saw his opportunity. We presented it to him, you and I. By killing your wife, he would force you into summary action against me to establish your own innocence. Inevitably the facts of our organization would be brought to light. It would be impossible for us to operate, if ever, for a very long time… That is why your wife was killed, Mr. Kent. So that this man might avenge himself upon me and free himself of an association which has become distasteful to him."
Toddy frowned dubiously. "I don't know," he said, slowly. "It seems to me like he had his own neck out pretty far."
"Not in his opinion. Like many persons who confess to cleverness, he is inclined to overlook the fact that others may be shrewd also. He felt certain, no doubt, that I would never see through his plan."
"Only you and they know who he is, is that right?"
"That is correct." Alvarado smiled sympathetically. "You have a right to know also, and you shall very shortly. I must lay the matter before my superiors and wait for their instructions, but that is a mere formality. The man will pay for his crime. There is not the slightest doubt about it."
"How?"
"Well"-the chinless man pursed his lips-"I imagine he will become conscience-stricken, Mr. Kent. Remorse will compel him to confess to the murder-in writing, of course-after which he will commit suicide."
He grinned mirthlessly. Toddy hesitated.
"I still don't see," he said. "I don't see why your people would go to such trouble to soak the guy. My wife meant nothing to them. He tried to get you, but you were trying to get him, too. He's never said he wanted to pull out of the racket, and-"
"I will tell you why," Alvarado interrupted. "Our work is sponsored by my government. It is a poor government, financially speaking, and an unpopular one; a ragged pariah among the commonwealth of nations. It must have gold to survive. It can get gold in this way. Lately, there have been indications that it might be able to secure loans from this country. There is much sentiment against them here, but there is some cause for hope. Can you imagine what would become of that hope if I, an agent of this already unpopular power, was charged with murder? With specifically the murder of a woman and an American citizen?"
"Yes," Toddy nodded, "I can."
"You Americans are a peculiar people, Mr. Kent. You are undisturbed by what amounts to mass murder, but let one of you be killed- -a woman, in particular-and your entire nation is one voice demanding vengeance… That is why this man will be severely and promptly punished. For actually jeopardizing the security of my government for his own purposes."
"Can you prove that he did?"
"I shall be able to. Within the next twenty-four hours, I hope. And please do not ask me how; I cannot tell you. In the meantime…"
"I'd better hide out?"
"Yes. It may not be necessary, but we can take no chances. We do not know what the police have been told. It is dangerously futile to guess. Tijuana will be safe. I have contacts there."
With a muttered word of apology, Alvarado took a bus timetable from his pocket and held it up to his eyes. He studied it, squinting, for a moment, then fitted a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles to his nose and peered at it again. Abruptly he thrust it toward Toddy.
"Will you examine this abominable thing? The fine print-even with glasses I cannot read it."
Toddy repressed a smile; the print wasn't particularly fine. "Sure," he said. "What are we looking for?"
"I thought it would be best to depart from one of the suburban stations. If you will select one, I will drive you there. I would take you all the way to Mexico, but to do so, I am afraid, might endanger both of us."
Toddy's finger traced down the columns of print, and paused. "How about Long Beach?"
"That should do, I think. When does the next southbound bus leave from there?"
"Two o'clock." Toddy glanced at his wristwatch. "About an hour from now."
"Then we had better be going. On the way I will tell you what you must do when you reach Tijuana." Alvarado rose and reached for his hat. "You have money, I believe. Good!… Come, Perrito."
16
Bathed, shaved and wearing the freshly pressed clothes and the new shirt the bellboy had brought up, Toddy sat on the bed of his San Diego hotel room and poured out the last of his breakfast pot of coffee.
The bus had arrived at six o'clock. It was now almost eight. Except for Elaine's death and his own precarious position, he would have felt pretty good. He actually felt pretty good despite those things. He had a sensation of being at peace with himself, of being able to relax after a lifetime of tension. He was not tired-he felt invigorated, in fact-yet there was a strong desire to sit here and rest. Just rest and nothing else.
And he knew that the quicker he got out of this town, the better off he'd be.
San Diego's unique semi-tropical climate was not the only thing it was noted for. Nor its great aircraft plants, nor Navy and Marines bases. Among the denizens of the world to which Toddy belonged, it was also known as a swell place to steer clear of. Its vagrancy laws were the harshest in the country. To be "without visible means of support"-a surprisingly elastic category in the hands of local cops and judges- was a major crime. In the same month here a vagrant-an unemployed wanderer-and a woman who had murdered her illegitimate baby were given identical prison sentences.
Despite the earliness of the hour, a crowd of holidayers was already waiting for the bus to the Mexican border. Toddy hesitated, thought for a moment of making the seventeen-mile trip in a cab. There'd been nothing about Elaine's death in the morning papers; apparently, there was no alarm out for him. Still-he took his place in the waiting line-he couldn't be sure. It was best to stick with a crowd.
He stood up throughout the thirty-minute ride to the border. The bus unloaded, there, on the American side, and he made himself one with the mass which crowded through the customs station.
He had no trouble in crossing the international boundary. The busy United States guard barely glanced at him as he asked his nationality and birthplace. The Mexican customs officers did not bother to do even that much. They simply stood aside as he and the others filed past.
Toddy climbed into a Mexican taxicab, jolted over a long narrow bridge, and, a minute or two later, stepped out on Tijuana's main thoroughfare. He strolled leisurely down it, a wide dirty street bordered by one- and two-story buildings which were tenanted mainly by bars, restaurants and curio shops.
It was a bullfight day, and the town was unusually crowded. Americans jammed the narrow sidewalks and swarmed in and out of the business establishments. Most signs were in English.
Toddy walked to the end of the street, to the turn which leads off to the oceanside resort of Rosarita. Then he crossed to the other side and walked slowly back. Near the center of town, he turned off onto a side street and strolled along for a few doors. He passed a curio shop, lingeringly, then paused and went back.