Read West of Guam for Free Online Page B

go?”
    Rannis swore. “Along the river—got to get a drink. Keep away from the hotel until you see him. The heat’ll get him thinking—”
    He turned, went slowly from the soft drink café. His fingers were twitching at his sides. Jo Gar shook his head very slowly. He finished his iced lemonade. His slitted eyes watched Rannis go through the screened doors, merge with the crowd on the Escolta; Filipinos, Chinese, Japanese, English, Spaniards—and a scattering of Americans, mostly Army men.
    Jo Gar sighed. He was aware of the fact, now made definite, that Benjamin Rannis was a coward. He was afraid of death, and yet he had killed. And the Island detective had given him a promise.
    There was difficulty in getting the connection, nothing was done hurriedly in the Islands. A Chinese servant answered the phone. He was not sure that his master would speak with Señor Gar. His master was sleeping. Yes, he knew it was past siesta hours, but his master was very weary. He would see about the matter.
    Jo Gar held the receiver, waited. Several minutes passed. Then a voice came to him. It possessed a slightly English accent. It was a heavy-toned voice.
    “Are you there? Howard Craise speaking.” The Island detective said slowly:
    “It is Señor Gar. You perhaps remember me in matters of the Island police. I would like to come to you, talk with you. It is the matter of your brother’s death.”
    He paused. There was silence at the other end. Then the voice sounded again. It seemed colder in tone.
    “At six, say? Here, at the house?”
    Jo Gar watched a carromatta pass, in the street. The pony was white.
    He said:
    “At six, thank you. I will arrive.”
    He heard the click of the receiver at the other end. The Craise house was beyond the Walled City, perhaps a mile along the Bay. It was a fine old place. Spanish, built many years ago. The Craise brothers owned plantations, not on Luzon but further south.
    The Island detective left the café. It was almost five, but the heat was still very severe. He turned off the Escolta, moved down a narrow, winding street towards the Pasig. Behind him there was the clatter of a pony’s hoofs. A native voice shrilled at the animal, urging greater speed. Jo Gar stepped into an evil-smelling doorway, turned. The carromatta passed close to the broken curbing; he saw the driver clearly. Back of the little seat, in the interior of the small, two-wheeled carriage, he saw another figure. Then the carromatta was beyond him, going rapidly towards the river Pasig.
    Jo Gar stepped from the doorway, looked for another conveyance. There was none in sight. He sighed heavily. One could not answer a telephone three miles from the Escolta—and yet arrive on a narrow street just off the Escolta two minutes later. For that reason Jo Gar was very anxious to keep track of the carromatta which had just passed him, bearing as a passenger Howard Craise.
    In five minutes he obtained a carromatta, gave the driver instructions. There was no sign of the two-wheeled conveyance in which he had seen Howard Craise. After a half hour tour of the narrow streets running towards the Pasig from the Escolta, Jo Gar descended and paid the driver. It was slightly cooler; he would sip another iced drink, hire another carromatta and go out to the Craise house. Filipinos could gossip; he did not wish to give his last driver the opportunity to talk—not with some servant in the vicinity of the Craise home.
    He had his drink, hailed a native driving a good sized pony, and was driven at fair speed to the Craise house on the Bay. The Island of Cavite could be plainly seen; Jo stood on the wide porch and frowned at it. When the Chinese servant opened the door, however, he was smiling.
    He waited less than five minutes in a large room that was almost cool. Howard Craise came downstairs rather noisily; he was medium in size with blond hair and blue eyes. He was dressed in a suit of white duck, but he did not look so cool.
    “I awakened