Soon after eight o’clock next morning, Richard and Simon drove out to the airport and, at nine o’clock, took off for Punta Arenas. It was an eight-seater, and all but two of the seats were occupied. For most of the journey they flew at about two thousand feet. The first lap down to Bahia Blanca was across the great cattle country: flattish land of an almost uniform colour, on which they occasionally saw a great herd grazing far below. After refuelling, they flew down the coast, at times over it, at others over the sea, with land to be seen only in the distance. When they passed within a few miles of the port of Trelew, they saw that inland from it mountains rose steeply with, in the distance, lofty, snow-covered peaks. Further south they crossed the great Golfo San Jorge, then came down for the second time at Deseado. From there on they flew overland again and, even at the height at which they were flying, they could see that it was wild, hostile country. But, as they approached Punta Arenas, instead of the grandeur of great, rugged mountains falling precipitately to deep green fiords—as they had expected would be the case—the landscape flattened out into barren, undulating plains which stretched as far as the eye could see. Beyond them lay the grey Straits of Magellan, a few miles in width, and the equally unimpressive coast of the great island of Tierra del Fuego.
The airport, like those at which they had come down to refuel, consisted of a few low hangars, grouped round a watch tower and waiting room, manned only when an aircraft was expected. Two aged hire cars carried the passengers and crew along a coast road to the town, which proved to be as disappointing as the landscape. The majority of the buildings had been erected at the turn of the century and were only two storeys high. The long main street, leading to a central square, boasted only the sort of shops to be found in a suburb in which the population was far from wealthy; and the place had the unnatural appearance of a Scandinavian town inhabited by Spaniards. Simon had telegraphed for rooms at the best hotel. It was called the Cabo de Hornos, and lay on the seaward side of the square.
To their surprise, they found it, in contrast to the town, not only modern and cheerful, but with a restaurant that was really excellent. Their flight had taken a little over nine hours; so, after freshening themselves up, they had a cocktail, then went in to dinner. As their main course, they selected freshly-caught bonito and found it delicious. Now, too, that they were across the border into Chile, they were able to wash it down with a wine greatly superior to those grown in any other South American country.
After they had dined, Richard had the telephone operator put him through to Silvia Sinegiest’s house. Having got on to her, he said that he had a letter of introduction from Baron von Thumm, and asked when he might present it.
‘If you have made no plans, why not drive out here tomorrow morning?’ she replied. ‘Say about midday. You will find me in my garden, a much more pleasant place to be in than that dreary town.’
Next morning they learned that her house was some way along the coast, so they hired a car to take them there. As they went out to the car, a blustering wind made them grab their hats. The previous evening it had been blowing hard, but they had thought that to be the after-effects of a storm.
The road ran eastward within sight of the cliff, through bare, inhospitable country unfit for growing crops. Dotted about there were a few small factories and, here and there, barns which were the winter quarters for the flocks of sheep that are almost the only means of support available to the inhabitants of Patagonia.
Although it was high summer, the sky was only a pale blue and the green waters of the Straits were made choppy by the strong, gusty wind. When Simon remarked on it, their driver laughed and said:
‘You should come here in winter, Señor. A tempest rages almost constantly, for here the currents of both water and air from the Atlantic and the Pacific meet and clash. Even in our best months, the sea is rarely calm, and the wind is always with us.’
After a few miles the car turned up a side road towards a belt of trees on the edge of the cliff. They were not tall, and no roof of a house stood out above them; but, having passed through a gate in an iron fence that enclosed this patch of woodland, a drive descended steeply, revealing an utterly different scene. On the landward side, the trees protected a cove between two headlands that sheltered it from east and west. In the centre stood the house. It was entirely surrounded by a succession of terraces that ran down to the beach, and the whole area was a kaleidoscopic mass of flowers.
As the car pulled up in front of a wooden porch, a woman emerged from a path on its far side, carrying a gardening basket. She was tall, broad-shouldered and carried herself very upright, walking towards them with unstudied grace. Her hair, above a broad forehead, came down in a ‘widow’s peak’, from which it rose in a strawberry-blonde halo several inches deep. She had a regal air and was beautiful in an unusual way. Her mouth was perfectly modelled; her cheeks full, below high cheek bones; her eyebrows well-marked and her eyes bright with the joy of life. She gave them a ravishing smile, that displayed two rows of even teeth, and said in a lilting voice with only a slight American accent:
‘Hello! I’m Silvia.’
As she spoke, a small shaggy dog that was pattering along beside her suddenly began a furious barking. ‘Be quiet, Boo-boo!’ she chid him. ‘Stop it now! D’you hear me?’ But evidently inured to such mild reproofs he ignored her and continued his excited yapping.
When, at last, his barks subsided Richard took the hand his mistress extended, bent over it with an old-world courtesy that would have done credit to the Duke, and murmured, ‘Madame, my congratulations on having created in this bleak land a small paradise that forms a perfect setting for yourself.’
She gave a ready laugh. ‘How nice of you to say that. But I cannot really take the credit for the garden. I only lease this house. It belongs to one of the Grau-Miraflores, whose family practically own Punta Arenas. But I enjoy keeping it in good order.’
As she shook hands with Simon, he said, ‘Never seen such lupins. What a riot of colour. Pleasant change, too, to find all the old English flowers here, instead of the exotics one sees everywhere in Buenos Aires.’
Again she gave her dazzling smile as she replied, ‘It’s that which attracts me to the place. One of my husbands was an Englishman, and I became very fond of England. We had a house in the Cotswolds and, before the war, I had a lovely garden there.’
Her words came as a sharp reminder of the fact that she must be nearly fifty; yet neither of her visitors could believe that. With her bright hair, not even the suggestion of a wrinkle, and tall, sylph-like figure, No one would have taken her for a day over thirty.
She went on, ‘I love people and adore parties, but one can have too much of anything. After burning the candle at both ends during the winter season, I enjoy coming here to vegetate for a few weeks: sleeping a great deal, reading quite a lot and, during the daytime, pottering in the garden.’
Richard smiled. ‘Few women are so sensible. They want to be the centre of attraction all the time. But I think you have discovered the secret of perpetual youth.’
Throwing back her head, with its crown of strawberry-blonde hair, she gave a happy laugh. ‘Nonsense. I’m an old woman, or at least getting on that way. Anyhow, I’m old enough to have grown-up children. But you must need a drink, so come into the house.’
It was not a large place and far from pretentious. The furniture was mostly good, solid oak, of the type favoured by people of moderate fortune in late Victorian times. As a background for Silvia, it struck Simon as incongruous. Even in the simple clothes she was wearing, she had an air of great elegance, and her height gave her a commanding presence. He felt sure whenever she entered a strange restaurant, the head-waiter would at once single her out for special attention.
They followed her through a dining room to another, larger room which had a big bay window overlooking the cove. Over her shoulder she said, ‘I am going to make myself a dry Martini. Would you care to join me?’
Richard shook his head. ‘You must forgive me if I refuse. Martinis always give me indigestion.’
‘Champagne then?’ she suggested, as she opened a corner cupboard that contained a fine array of glasses and assorted drinks. ‘I always keep a bottle on the ice.’
‘You are very kind. I should enjoy that.’
Simon nodded. ‘Me, too, if I may.’
She pressed a bell and a Spanish manservant appeared, to whom she gave the order. While the wine was being brought, she mixed herself an outsize cocktail with professional efficiency. Watching her long, slender hands move with swift precision, Simon grinned and said, ‘In the unlikely circumstance of your ever needing a job, you’d make good money as a bartender.’
Her spontaneous laugh came again. ‘I was one once for a few weeks, and in a luxury joint that was a very shady spot. But I made it clear that the couch was not in the contract. I’ve never got into the sack with anyone I didn’t care about.’
Richard found her frankness refreshing, and said with a smile, ‘Were I not happily married, I should endeavour to make myself one of the men you did care about.’
She gave him a steady, appraising look. ‘So, Mr Eaton, you are the faithful kind. That is rather a waste of good material in a man who is so good-looking. We must go into that some time. But not for now. How long do you intend to stay in Punta Arenas, and what do you plan to do?’
‘We don’t expect to be here for long, as our only purpose in coming to Punta Arenas was to talk to you.’ As he spoke, Richard handed her the Baron’s letter.
Raising her well-marked eyebrows, she took it. While her man poured the champagne, she glanced at the few lines of writing, then said: ‘This is only a formal introduction. Why has Kurt von Thumm sent you to me?’
‘Because you are the only person he could think of who might be able to help us.’ Richard gestured towards Simon. ‘Mr Aron and I are very anxious to get in touch with an old friend of ours. It seems that he has gone off on a holiday, and he’s left no address. Von Thumm told us that, before our friend left Buenos Aires, he was seeing a lot of you, so we thought you might be able to tell us where he has gone. His name is Rex Van Ryn.’
‘I see.’ Silvia’s voice had taken on a sharp note. ‘And I suppose that ugly little gossip led you to believe that I am Rex’s mistress?’
‘Were that so,’ replied Richard smoothly. ‘I should count Rex an extremely lucky fellow, and you a lucky woman.’
She smiled then. ‘You are right on both counts. And I am—or, rather, was. I’ve never seen any reason why a woman should conceal the fact that she has taken a lover—unless it is going to harm the man. To be open about it makes things far easier, and the only people who show disapproval are women who, through circumstances or lack of attraction, are prevented from taking a lover themselves. If they don’t want to know me, I couldn’t care less. In fact, I’m rather sorry for the poor things. About Rex, though, I don’t know what to say. He had a very good reason for going off on his own, and I’m certain that he does not want his whereabouts known.’
‘Thought as much,’ Simon put in quickly. ‘But he told you where he was going?’
‘I did not say so.’
‘But you implied it. And we’ve got to find him.’
‘I’m sure he would rather that you didn’t.’
‘Don’t want to seem rude, but you’re wrong about that. Richard Eaton and I are Rex’s best friends. Rex is in a muddle. We’re certain of it, and we’ve come all the way from England to help him out. Now, please tell us where he’s got to.’
She shook her head. ‘What proof have I that you are his friends? Even if I were sure of that, and did know where Rex is, I wouldn’t tell you, because you might lead others to him. And, as you are right about his being in trouble, I could not risk making his situation worse than it is.’
‘Do you know what sort of trouble Rex is in?’ asked Richard.
She looked away from him, and lit a cigarette. ‘Yes, I know. But I’m not prepared to discuss it.’
‘It’s clear that Rex has gone into hiding, and one of the things that worries us is that he may have had to leave in a hurry. If so, it is possible that he is leading a grim life somewhere up-country and is desperately short of money.’
This subtle approach by Richard proved abortive. Either she was unaware that Rex had absconded with a million; or, if she knew it, did not mean to give away the fact. With a shrug of her shoulders, she replied: ‘I don’t think you need worry about that. Rex is a rich man, and he would not have been such a fool as to take off without having cashed a fat cheque.’
‘Perhaps,’ Richard hazarded, ‘you will at least tell us when you last saw him?’
‘On the night before he left Buenos Aires. As a matter of fact, we had quarrelled. He was very upset by what had happened, and so anxious to make it up before leaving that he came to see me at three in the morning. Of course, my servants were used to his coming and going at all hours, so they thought nothing of it. He stayed for only twenty minutes. I forgave him for … well, that is no concern of yours … and that’s the last I saw of him.’
She had been sitting in a low chair, with one knee crossed over the other, and the thought drifted through Simon’s mind that he had never seen a more perfect pair of legs. His glance was inoffensive, but she evidently became aware of it, for she pulled down her skirt and came to her feet. Picking up the bottle of champagne, she refilled their glasses and said:
‘I do understand how worried you must be about your friend. But I really don’t feel that I would be justified in telling you any more than I have. At least, not until I’ve thought it over very carefully.’
‘It’s good of you to go that far,’ Richard said quickly. ‘When may we hope to learn your decision?’
For a moment she remained thoughtful, then she replied, There’s not a thing for you to do in Punta Arenas, so come and dine with me tonight. When I’m down here I rarely entertain. It’s an opportunity for me to slim and catch up on my sleep; but it would be a pleasant change to have a little dinner party. Presently I’ll ring up a few people I know. But don’t order your car to pick you up until half past eleven. By then the others will have gone and, if I decide to talk, we’ll be on our own.’
Her two visitors gladly accepted. When they had finished their wine, she took them for a walk round the upper part of the garden. Only Alpine flowers were growing there, but there was an amazing variety of sub-Arctic shrubs and trees. Then she gaily waved them away in their car.
As it carried them towards the town, Richard said, ‘I wouldn’t mind betting that she knows about Rex’s having robbed his bank, what led him to do so and where he is at the moment.’
‘Don’t wonder he fell for her,’ Simon remarked.
‘Yes; she’s a quite exceptional woman and, on the face of it, a very nice one. I had expected her to be completely different: vain, spoilt from having too much money, and hard as nails.’
After a late lunch, they put on their overcoats and went for a walk round the town. Having driven through the eastern side, they turned west and, at the end of the roughly-paved streets that led seaward, they caught glimpses of the dock. It was no more than a wharf, with piers projecting from it and lying off there were a few rusty steamers. The wind had never ceased blowing hard enough to make the skirts of their overcoats flap and force their trousers hard against their legs; so they gave up and hurried back to the warm comfort of the hotel.
So far south it was still broad daylight when they drove out again to Silvia Sinegiest’s retreat. Booboo was with her and again barked furiously, but evidently without animosity. His small black eyes gleaming between the hair of his long fringe, he ran round them in circles to work off his excitement.
Besides themselves, the party consisted only of the American Consul and his wife, and a member of the Grau-Miraflores’ family. They were not surprised to find that, in such a distant outpost, where commercial activities were limited, the Consul was no ball of fire, and that his wife’s conversation consisted largely of nostalgic references to the much pleasanter life she had led in her own small home town. But Señor Pepe Grau-Miraflores proved interesting.
His family was a large one. For several generations they had owned a good part of Punta Arenas and vast sheep farms in Patagonia. They had also developed many other interests in the Argentine and Chile. He was a cheerful man and showed no pessimism about the future prospects of his own family, who were in a position to increase their wealth from industry; but he spoke with deep concern of the smaller sheep farmers, for whom he foresaw a time when, although few of them yet realised it, the new synthetic fabrics, such as nylon, would make wool a drug on the market.
Silvia proved an admirable hostess, She drew her American compatriots out to talk about their children and hopes of a more congenial post, surprised Simon by showing a shrewd knowledge of stocks and shares, reminisced with Richard about Ascot and Goodwood, exchanged witticisms with Grau-Miraflores, laughed a lot and saw to it that their glasses were never empty.
At about a quarter to eleven, the party began to break up and Grau-Miraflores offered Richard and Simon a lift back into Punta Arenas; but they told him that they had a car coming for them.
When the others had gone, Silvia ordered her houseman to bring another bottle of champagne. While he was fetching it, she said, ‘I hope you weren’t too bored with the Consul and his dreary wife; but I’ve deliberately discouraged the advances of the majority of the locals and they were the best I could produce at such short notice.’
Her guests politely murmured their understanding, while both of them waited with concealed impatience to learn whether she had decided to tell them about Rex. She had been chain-smoking all the evening. As the houseman left the room, she lit another cigarette and said:
‘Well, I’ve thought things over and it has occurred to me that if I don’t tell you why Rex left Buenos Aires, you will continue your efforts to find him; and that could bring him into grave danger. In a way I am responsible for the trouble he is in, so I feel badly about it; although, of course, I had no idea that our quarrel would have the results it did.’
She paused and sat staring down into her glass for so long that Richard decided to prompt her, and asked gently, ‘What was the cause of your quarrel?’
Still looking down she replied, ‘I found out that he was having an affair with another woman. I wouldn’t have minded in the ordinary way, provided I remained first in his affections. After all, men are made like that. It’s quite natural that they should want to get in the sack with any pretty girl who shows willing and, thank God, I’ve never been cursed with jealousy. But this woman was a Negress, and the idea of having him in my bed after he had been in hers revolted me. I told him that either he must give her up, or I’d have no more to do with him.’
‘How did he react to that?’
‘He swore he loved only me, and promised not to see her again. But he didn’t keep his promise. She must have had some hold over him. What it was, I have no idea, but he freed himself of it in the most terrible fashion.’
‘In what way terrible?’ Richard enquired anxiously.
‘He murdered her.’
Simon’s eyes widened, and he clapped a hand over his mouth to suppress an exclamation of horror. Richard caught his breath; then, with an effort, keeping his voice to the same low tone, he asked: ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. He told me so on that Friday night, the last time I saw him. He said he could not bear to give me up, so he had gone to see her and told her that he had finished with her. She threatened him. They had a most ghastly row. He hit her. You know how strong he is. His fist caught her beneath the chin and jerked her head back so violently that it broke her neck.’
‘So that is why he left Buenos Aires. Are the police after him? Did they come and question you?’
‘No. But they may. I have reason to believe that I am being watched. It is quite possible that they are hoping that I will lead them to him.’
‘I see. And that is why you are anxious that Aron and I should not try to find him?’
‘Yes. Since you have been making enquiries about him in B.A., they may have learned of that. If so, they will have put a tail on you too.’
‘If they know that he killed this woman, or suspect him of having done so, it’s strange that they’ve not set on foot a public enquiry, published his photograph in the papers and that sort of thing.’
‘Their line may be to lure him into a false sense of security, hoping that he will return and that they can then pounce on him.’
‘That’s possible. Do you think anyone other than you knows that he committed this crime—members of the woman’s family, for instance?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘If they do, that could account for Rex’s having taken such a huge sum from his bank. He could dole instalments to them, to buy their continued silence.’
‘Before he left me, I asked him if he had any money, and offered him my jewels. He said he could get all the money he needed; but I did not know that he meant to take a specially large sum. Perhaps he felt that his only chance of remaining free permanently would be to change his identity. If he did that to live in any comfort he would need capital.’
‘I hope that is the explanation, and not that he expected to have to pay blackmailers.’
As Richard was speaking, a telephone began to shrill somewhere in the house. After a moment he said to Silvia, ‘We can only pray that by this time Rex is out of the country. Is it really true that you have no idea where he meant to head for?’
She nodded. ‘Our talk on that awful night was very hurried, and he told me only that he must get out as soon as he had collected some money.’
At that moment there came a quick knock at the door, and it was opened by the manservant, who said, ‘I am sorry to disturb you, Señora. You are wanted on the telephone. It is the Baron von Thumm calling you from Buenos Aires.’
Coming to her feet, Silvia stubbed out her cigarette, looked first at Richard then at Simon and said, ‘I’m sorry. This is a private call. Please excuse me if I take it up in my bedroom.’
As the door closed behind her, Simon said in a low voice, ‘Don’t believe it. Don’t believe a word of it. Never known Rex to lose his head. He’s well aware of his great strength. If he did hit that Negress, he’d never have bashed her with a pile-driver like that. Not in his character either to go off the deep end and commit unpremeditated murder.’
Richard nodded. ‘I agree. Of course, like us, he has killed before, when it has been a matter of necessity. But even if he was berserk about our charming hostess he would not have done in the other woman. However big her price, he could have afforded to buy her off. And there is more to it than that. Rex’s family come from the deep South. In the old days his ancestors would have taken Negresses as their concubines; but not in these days. Like most Southern whites, he’d have his prejudices.’
These exchanges had taken no more than a minute. Smiling at Richard, Simon said, ‘Now going to behave like a cad. But where helping one’s friends is concerned, end justifies the means.’ Walking over to the telephone, he picked up the receiver.
Silvia and the Baron had just greeted each other, and the Baron asked her, ‘How go things with you down there?’
‘Couldn’t be better,’ she replied. ‘But I wish you hadn’t called me until tomorrow. Both of them are still here. They came this morning before lunch. I led them to suppose that I knew where Van Ryn was, but refused to tell, then invited them to dinner with the bait that I might be persuaded to change my mind.’ She gave a quick laugh and went on, ‘I had no trouble selling them our story, that Van Ryn was on the run because he committed murder. I made it very clear, too, that, if they continued to try to find him and succeeded, it was likely they would lead the police to him, and so put him on the spot. They’ll not dare risk doing that, so we’ve no need to fear they will give us any further trouble.’
‘Well done,’ the Baron chuckled. ‘Well done. The Prince, he will be most pleased with you.’
‘Will he attend the barbecue at Santiago?’ she asked.
‘I think not,’ came the reply. ‘If not, for him I shall deputise. I look forward to see you there, this night next week.
They said good-bye, then Silvia rang off. Simon replaced his receiver, looked across at Richard and said earnestly:
‘Whole affair now stinks of conspiracy. Our charming hostess lied in her lovely teeth. Von Thumm concocted with her a pretty little plot. Could have pulled the wool over our eyes. But now we’ve found them out, advantage lies with us. They know where Rex is. Bet my shirt on that. And she’s going to lead us to him.’