“You mean,” asked Mercedes, as the little party sat sipping their after
dinner coffee on Splendor’s wide veranda, “that you actually approve of
Don’s risky plan? To me it seems like taking a hundred-to-one chance.
There are so many traps he might walk into whichever way he turns!”
“Aye, there’s no denyin’ the dangers,” Michael Splendor agreed solemnly.
“But there are ways of lessening them, I think. Take that treacherous
radioman, for instance, he is only too anxious to talk, and he knows a
great deal that will be useful to Don Winslow. The other captives have
not been persuaded to loosen up.”
“Then you’ve interviewed them all?” queried Red Pennington, in surprise.
“Gee, you must have been busy while Don and I were pounding our ears
this afternoon! But how’re we gonna get hold of Corba again? I heard
Captain Riggs sayin’ that he was shovin’ off again in the morning.”
“And so he is,” said Splendor. “But tonight, some time durin’ the wee,
small hours, another closed car will be comin’ out here from
Port-au-Prince. Inside of it will be Corba and our new friend, Count
Borg, under guard, of course. We’ll have a talk with them tomorrow,
providin’ Headquarters okays Commander Winslow’s scheme. We should be
hearin’ any minute from the phone call I put through to Washington.”
As he spoke, there came the faint ringing of a telephone bell, somewhere
in the villa’s spacious interior. A moment later a soft-footed native
servant approached Michael Splendor’s chair.
“_C’est pour, M’sieu’_ Don Winslow!” the man murmured in soft Haitian
speech.
“There’s your call. Commander!” the young officer’s host interpreted. “I
put it through to Captain Holding in your name. Tell him the whole
scheme as ye worked it out, and add that I’m helpin’ ye with the
details. Here’s hopin’ ye persuade him!”
With a sober nod Don followed the servant through the wide doorway into
the house. When he had gone, Mercedes turned to Splendor with a troubled
frown.
“How do you know,” she said, “that this telephone conversation won’t be
overheard? There is such a thing as wire tapping, you know. And couldn’t
a radiophone message be intercepted by anyone who turned in to the right
wave length? If the Scorpion’s agents should get wind of Don’s plan, it
would be worse than useless to go ahead!”
“Your reasoning is excellent, my dear,” the man in the wheel chair
answered. “I believe, however, that the chance of our friend’s words
being overheard is less than if he and Captain Holding were sitting in
the same room. Commander Winslow is sitting this minute in a
soundproofed booth. The wire is connected with me own private radio
room, where it is hooked up with a powerful radio beam transmitter. If
an airplane with its radio tuned just right should blunder into that
beam between here and Washington, the pilot might do a bit of
eavesdroppin’. But the chance is one in a billion, I fancy!”
Reassured, Mercedes sank back in her chair.
“I guess it’s foolish for me to worry about such things,” she admitted.
“You seem to have thought of every detail in advance, Mr. Splendor. I
don’t see any armed guards patrolling about, but I suppose we’re safer
here in your wild Haitian hills than we were on the high seas, aboard
the _Gatoon_!”
Enthusiastically Red Pennington took up the same theme. He had seen
enough of Michael Splendor’s shrewd planning to believe the veteran
capable of handling any situation, on land or sea or in the air.
That private beam radio was the last word in preparedness, the chubby
lieutenant stated. As for guards about the premises, what good would
they be, he asked, if they simply strutted back and forth in plain sight
like any cop on a beat?
Starting from there, he became really talkative. He praised his host’s
magnificent grounds and living quarters, and especially his kitchen
staff. In the meal they had just eaten all Red’s dreams of earthly
happiness had come true, he declared. With a cook like that, he didn’t
see how Michael Splendor could bear to miss a single meal at home!
“Sure, I’ve other duties than stuffin’ me face, Lieutenant!” retorted
the older man with a laugh. “I admit that I do meself well, though, back
here in the hills, and 'tis a grand place to rest up after a long trip.
I hope ye and the Commander and Admiral Colby’s daughter will enjoy your
stay with me; be it long or short!”
“I’m afraid,” spoke Don Winslow from the doorway, “that it’s going to be
short, so far as I am concerned, Mr. Splendor! I’ve just finished
talking with Captain Holding at the Navy Intelligence Office. He’s
ordered me to leave at once, by plane, for San Francisco!”
“You—you mean, Don, he’s approved your taking the place of Count Borg?”
gasped Mercedes, starting up from her chair.
“Sure, Skipper, I knew he’d do that!” Red Pennington chimed in. “But
what did he say about me? If you’re bound for 'Frisco, I’m going right
along with you, y’know. You can’t scuttle a shipmate in mid-voyage!”
There followed a lively argument, with Red and Mercedes trying to beat
down the protests of Don and the crippled Intelligence chief. The latter
pointed out, quite logically, that two disguises would be more than
twice as dangerous as one. Besides there was no real need, they said,
for Red to risk his life as a bodyguard for the pretended Count Borg. If
Don _should_ be discovered in that disguise, a whole platoon of fighting
men couldn’t save his life.
In the end, however, Red won his point. It was agreed that he should
accompany the pseudo Count as his valet, at least as far as the Empire
Hotel in San Francisco. After they registered there, of course, anything
might happen.
At present, the main task for all four friends lay in getting the two
young officers started on their long flight to the West coast. Captain
Holding had urged haste, yet there were many things to be done.
Among these was the job of pumping the Scorpion radioman, Corba, for
every scrap of information about the real Count Borg. Michael Splendor
volunteered to do the pumping, so that Don and Red might rest up for the
hard trip ahead.
Meanwhile, it was decided Panama would be overhauling Splendor’s big,
new cabin plane for a nonstop flight. The following night it would be
ready, in its hangar behind the villa, for the supposed Count Borg to
“steal.” When that was done and the “escaping prisoner” was well on his
way, the alarm would be spread. No mention, of course, would be made of
Lieutenant Red Pennington’s disappearance at the very same time!
With Don and Red taking turns at the cabin plane’s controls, they should
arrive at San Francisco fresh enough for whatever adventures lay in
store for them. The plane would be abandoned outside the city. An hour
or two later, “Count Borg” would register at the Empire Hotel, with his
valet, “Penny,” and the dangerous game would begin.