One Minute Past Eight by George Harmon Coxe Read Free Book Online Page B

scowl deepened. Then Zumeta said:
    “Is there anything any of you can add to the information we have?”
    On the other side of him Karen Holmes sat up. “I don’t know if it’s important,” she said, “but Mr. Miranda was at the hotel too. He came in right after Mr. Grayson. I remember seeing him from the writing-room windows.”
    It was then that Jeff remembered. For he was certain now that this was the man who had served as an interpreter for him with the taxi driver. But that was later, he thought. Not when Karen saw him.
    “This was about seven thirty, Miss Holmes?” Vidal glanced at Miranda as she nodded.
    “Quite true,” Miranda said, his accents precise. “I am one of the attorneys for PanAm Oil, as you know. I was included in the guest list for tonight’s dinner. In fact,” he added, “I was paged there by my home. That is how I knew Mr. Grayson wished me to come here.”
    “Did you see Mr. Grayson at the hotel?” Vidal asked.
    “Not that I recall.”
    “Or Mr. Baker?”
    “No.”
    “Mr. Spencer”—Vidal fixed his gaze on the reporter—“you say you went into the bar after you saw Mr. Grayson and Mr. Baker. How long did you stay?”
    “Quite a while. I was still there when I got the idea something was wrong.”
    “Did you see Mr. Baker?”
    “Not after the first time.”
    “But—”
    Spencer grunted and dug absently at the base of his throat. “I wasn’t in that bar, Chief. I’m a reporter. I can’t afford to pay four B’s for a Scotch and soda very often. Not when there’s a Company bar set up in the private dining-room.”
    Miranda stood up and spoke in Spanish to Vidal. Presently he nodded and turned to Grayson.
    “There seems to be no need for me here at this time,” he said stiffly. “Mr. Vidal has assured me that no one will be detained tonight and I have other business to attend to.”
    “Wait a minute!” Grayson jumped up, his eyes flaring and his voice mean.
    “You will excuse me,” Miranda said as though he had not heard.
    “But you can’t walk out on me without—”
    He stopped as the door slammed in his face, his neck red with anger and his mouth twisted. As he stood there Jeff eyed him with some amazement because, though it was obvious there was ill-feeling between Grayson and the lawyer, he could not understand the reason for the outburst. Then, the fury still riding him, Grayson wheeled on Vidal.
    “How much longer does this go on?” he demanded savagely.
    Vidal eyed him narrowly but his voice remained calm.
    “Not long,” he said. “One more question. Our records show that Mr. Baker went to Barbados on Saturday and returned yesterday morning. It has been said that you engaged his services.”
    “So what?”
    “I wonder if you would mind telling us the nature of his work and why he went to Barbados.”
    “Sure I mind,” Grayson said. “Not because it’s important but because I don’t think it’s any of your business.”
    Vidal shrugged and his mouth tightened as he reached for two sheets of paper on his desk. When he separated them Jeff could see they were cablegrams.
    “These were found in Baker’s wallet,” he said. “I will read them to you.” He gave the date of the first one and said: “This was addressed to Mr. Harry Baker, Marine Hotel, Barbados and says: ‘Accept offer. No reprisal on Lane if cash. Advise immediately where and when delivery will be made.’ It is signed ‘Westwind’ and was sent from Las Vegas, Nevada.”
    He glanced up. “I am curious about the reference to the name Lane!” He fixed his dark gaze on Jeff. “Would this be you?”
    Jeff shook his head. When he said he had never been in Las Vegas Vidal considered Grayson a silent moment. “And you, Mr. Grayson, used to be known in the States as Arnold Lane, is that true?”
    “What about it?”
    Vidal hesitated, then picked up the second cable. “This is to the same name and address. It reads: “Carl Webb will make collection Wednesday.”
    He put the message