THE door swung open. Out of the store stepped a man of about forty with a round, good-humored face and smiling eyes that were slightly magnified by his horn-rimmed eyeglasses.
“Come in if you want to look around,” said Mr. Herman, and he stepped back invitingly.
Gully led the way into the store. The cases on the wall and the glass countertop table were all jammed with a fantastic assortment of rifles.
“I have almost every type of gun that’s made. Even an elephant rifle,” the gunsmith said, smiling at Balbir.
“I’m afraid we came just for information, not to buy anything,” Gully said.
“Ask away, young man.”
“I’m Gulliver Queen. My grandfather is Inspector Queen of the Police Department—”
“And Ellery Queen is his uncle!” Prema added enthusiastically.
“No need for your whole family tree,” Mr. Herman said with a grin. “Although that last relation of yours is known to me.”
The gunshop owner ducked behind his counter, coming up with a paperback copy of one of Ellery Queen’s detective novels.
“And now, Gulliver Queen, what’s on your mind?”
“It’s background for my uncle’s latest novel,” Gully stated flatly. “He wants to know if many foreigners come into a store like this, or would they be unusual customers, who would stand out? Would you get, say, many customers from India, or Jaipur, or places like that?”
“No,” replied Mr. Herman with a laugh. “I don’t think any Indian ever came in here to buy a gun.”
“Then you’d notice if a foreigner came in, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, of course. Why, there was a man who came in just this morning,” Mr. Herman volunteered. “He had a slight accent, but spoke English well enough.”
“What did he look like?”
“Why? Can’t your uncle dream up his characters?”
“Yes, but he likes to add realistic touches.”
“Well, the man was about my height. Not too tall,” Mr. Herman said. “Thinner than me. And he had a mustache.”
“A mustache!” Balbir murmured.
“Yes, but it was hard to see more of his face. He had his whole hat brim turned down.”
“That must be the same man who almost ran you down, Gully!” Prema cried.
“Gulliver Queen,” Mr. Herman said slowly and deliberately. “This information isn’t for your uncle’s novel after all. Is it?”
“Well, not exactly,” Gully mumbled. He could never decide which was worse—being caught in a lie, or telling one in the first place.
“Perhaps you prefer to keep things mysterious, but if I knew more of what you really wanted to learn,” Mr. Herman suggested, “I might be more helpful.”
The man’s sincere voice was convincing. From the natural way the mustached man had entered the conversation, Gully knew that he need no longer fear the gunshop owner had any connection with the captors of Balbir’s father. Quickly, Gully showed Mr. Herman the slip of paper with his shop’s address. Then he explained how they were trying to track down Balbir’s father.
“Why, I read about this in the papers just yesterday!” Mr. Herman exclaimed. “He’s that missing Jalpuri guard.”
“But you haven’t seen my father?” Balbir asked.
“No, I’m sorry to say. But if there’s anything I can do to help—”
“There is,” Gully interrupted. “Did the mustached man buy something?”
“He certainly did!” Mr. Herman replied. “The moment he came in here, he pointed to just what he wanted.”
“What was that?”
“A thirty caliber rifle.”
“A rifle!” Prema gasped.
“It must be the man in the car. If only we knew where to look for him,” Gully murmured.
“I can help you there,” said Mr. Herman, opening his cash register. “He paid by check.”
His stubby fingers leafed through a small bundle of checks. “Here it is.”
The gunshop owner handed Gully one of the checks. On the back was neatly written:
Fred J. Kolar
785-A Ninth Avenue
“But are you sure that was his address? I mean,” Gully added apologetically, “did he have to show proof?”
“Why, you’re as thorough as your uncle is in his books,” laughed Mr. Herman. “Yes, he showed me a driver’s license. In this business, I don’t take anyone’s word.”
Gully quickly added the name and address to the growing collection of entries in his notebook. As he returned the red leather book to his jacket pocket, he nodded gratefully.
“Thanks, Mr. Herman. This could be the big break my grandfather needs.”
Gully started for the door.
“Come back!” Mr. Herman called. “If you’re going to call your grandfather, be my guest.” He pointed to a phone on his desk.
Gully dialed the Headquarters number and was quickly put through to his grandfather. Inspector Queen’s gruff, hurried phone manner changed as Gully told what he had learned.
“And Velie missed the notation on the pad, did he?”
“Well, it was kind of dark in that room—”
“Don’t make excuses for him. I’ll send Velie over to do the leg work on running down our Mr. Kolar. Good work, Gully.”
Before Gully could say another word, he heard the phone at the other end being slammed down. Gully thanked the gunshop owner and the three friends filed out.
“How long before Sergeant Velie will report, Gully?”
“At least an hour, Balbir. I guess we’ll just have to wait.”
“I know what we can do,” Prema said eagerly. “The United Nations is just across town. We can go there. I’d like to tell my father about Shamshir’s bracelet and what we’ve found out. Unless seeing the UN again will bore you, Gully?”
“As a matter of fact,” Gully confessed, “even though I’ve been staying in New York at my grandfather’s, I’ve never been to the United Nations.”
In a few minutes they were crossing First Avenue. Ahead rose the round, sun-reflecting copper dome of the United Nation’s Assembly Hall. Flanking it to the south and towering above it, the thirty-nine floors of the Secretariat Building reflected the clear blue sky in their bands of seemingly countless windows. To the north was a green, tree-lined park, surrounded by the black iron fence that bounded the United Nations’ territory. Six blocks of international territory, carved out of the busiest city in the world! An inspiring place. The flags of the member nations flapped colorfully in the breeze as Prema led them to a side entrance.
“This is the delegates’ entrance. We can go in here,” she said with a hint of pride.
A United Nations guard at the doorway nodded to them as Prema waved a blue pass. Gully and Balbir followed her across the marble floor and onto an escalator. Gully was still trying to study a huge tapestry hanging on a wall when the escalator reached the first floor and they stepped off.
“This way!” Prema beckoned.
They passed a uniformed girl speaking in French to a large tour group. At a side door to the General Assembly, Prema once again flashed her pass. A guard pulled back a tall, wooden door, and Gully and Balbir followed the slim figure in the sari into the huge Assembly Hall.
The towering yellow walls swept Gully’s eyes up to the round blue dome above, but his glance was quickly brought down again to the sight of row upon row of delegates seated behind long desks that curved across the spacious floor. Prema led the way and the three sat down in the special visitors’ section to one side of the Assembly floor. Gully leaned forward eagerly, entranced by the great variety of faces before him. On the desks, he could make out the signs identifying the delegations from Ghana, Indonesia, Israel, Jaipur, Japan, and Jordan. The drone of a voice speaking a foreign language turned Gully’s attention to the speaker’s rostrum. There, on a raised platform, a whitish marble desk under the United Nations emblem was occupied by three men. They were closely following the words of the speaker. who stood at a dark desk directly in front of and below them. The speaker was shuffling his papers angrily, as his voice rapped out short, staccato sentences.
“Here, put these on and turn the dial to number two—that’s the English translation.”
Gully took the earphones Prema offered him and fit them over his blond head. Suddenly, he heard a rapid flow of Spanish. He turned the indicator on the small numbered dial by his seat and made out a few French words. Then he put the indicator at number two. He slumped back in the form-fitting blue chair, listening to the English translation of the speech being given by the delegate, who was from a Central European country. The speaker’s fists suddenly pounded the rostrum to emphasize his words.
“Move the United Nations! That is the only solution to this intolerable situation. Move it from New York City. Let us bring it to some place where we will find safety from insult and provocation.”
The translator kept pace in calm, even tones, his voice flat and emotionless. Above the quiet droning in the earphones, Gully could hear in sharp contrast the excited speaker’s voice reaching heights of furious denunciation. The translator raced on, trying to keep up with the speaker’s flow of words. “What do we see when we walk from this building? Capitalist pickets carrying signs calling us, ‘Murderers! Enslavers!’ And this the American authorities permit. Have you looked at the faces of these paid agitators? Hate for us is frozen on their faces. The insulting signs, the jeering voices, they would be enough. But there will be more! Soon, these hirelings will try to attack us while we come here on our peaceful missions. Yes, fellow delegates, I say we are not safe in this country. One day, the police of this city will not be able to cope with some psychotic murderer among those pickets. Someone will be killed, killed on the steps of the United Nations, whose very dedication to peace is threatened by being in this city. Do not wait for someone to be killed. My delegation proposes the immediate removal of the United Nations from New York City … from America … to a country that will afford our entire membership respect. Respect and even more important—protection!”
Gully saw the speaker scoop up his papers forcefully, give a curt nod to the Assembly President behind him, and stride purposefully back to his seat among the rows of desks.
“The next speaker,” the Assembly President calmly called, “is the distinguished delegate from Jaipur.”
Prema nudged Gully with her elbow. Her dark eyes glowed as her father walked calmly down the middle aisle between the rows of desks and delegates. He bowed to the President and took his place at the speaker’s rostrum. He carried no papers, only a look of confidence.
“Mr. President and fellow delegates,” Dr. Sujit Jind began in English, “we have heard the last speaker’s impassioned plea to move the United Nations. I can understand the distinguished delegate’s annoyance and concern with the pickets outside the United Nations area. But no matter where we meet, we will be faced with local customs. And it seems that the custom in America is to permit peaceful pickets to protest. But he very rightly has raised the more serious question of the danger of physical harm to a delegate or delegation. Let me remind the distinguished delegate that despite the cries and signs of protest on the street outside, the New York police department has very efficiently given us adequate protection. I am certain it will continue to do so. I further suggest that the idea of moving the United Nations would be prohibitively costly. The land on which we meet, costing many millions, was given us both by the city and—if the delegate will allow me to mention it—by a renowned American capitalist.”
A rustle of laughter swept across the wide Assembly floor.
“To state our delegation’s position, in brief,” Dr. Jind continued, “we feel that all members are safe. We feel that the costs of moving would be an unnecessary burden. The international political complications of such a move cannot be foreseen. And we believe time spent discussing this question could be more usefully spent on finding ways of preserving the peace in several troubled areas of the world where the peace is threatened. That, after all, is the United Nations’ primary function.”
Flashing a brief smile at the Assembly President, Ambassador Jind walked briskly from the rostrum.
A few minutes later, the motion to place the moving of the United Nations from New York City on the Assembly’s agenda was tabled by an overwhelming vote. The Assembly President adjourned the meeting and, as the delegates left their seats, a babble of many languages filled the great hall.
As Sujit Jind made his way up the aisle, a man stepped from between the rows of seats to speak to him. It was the delegate who had been speaking so vigorously from the rostrum when Prema, Balbir, and Gully had come in. As the man turned away into the crowd, Gully saw a puzzled frown on the Jalpuri’s face.
It had vanished a moment later, though, when Dr. Jind caught sight of Prema waving to him. He quickly joined them in the gallery.
“That was a wonderful speech, Dr. Jind.”
“Why, thank you, Gulliver.”
“Father, what did ‘the distinguished delegate’ say to you down there?”
“He asked me how I could feel safe when my guard had been kidnaped. I replied that, of course, the disappearance of my guard had nothing whatever to do with the United Nations.” Dr. Jind’s voice was firm, but the puzzled look returned to his eyes.
As they walked out of the Assembly Hall, Prema spoke rapidly, informing her father of the morning’s developments.
“Well, Balbir,” Dr. Jind said, “it seems you did go to the right place for aid. Gulliver may well have given the police the clue that will locate your father.”
“I don’t think I did very much to help—”
“Nonsense, Gully!” Prema interrupted. “Even Balbir’s mynah bird calls you ‘detective’!”
“Do you think your grandfather has had time to track the mustached gentleman to his address?” Dr. Jind inquired.
Gully glanced at his watch. It was over two hours since he had spoken to Inspector Queen.
“It’s possible he’s checked out the lead, sir.”
“Then perhaps Balbir’s father is already with the police. Step in here,” the ambassador said, ushering them into an office. Gully quickly phoned the inspector.
“Grandpa, what did you find out?”
“Sergeant Velie just came back. There’s no such address—”
“But it was on his driver’s license,” Gully protested.
“No driver’s license was ever issued to anyone named Fred J. Kolar.”
“But the gunshop owner saw the man’s license.”
“Of course he did, but it was forged.”
“If it was forged—”
“That man has a reason for concealing his identity. We’re trying to find the man with the mustache. But so far, Gulliver, we’ve come to a dead end!”