Brett Halliday: Mike Shayne's Torrid Twelve

“Gosh, Hugo, I don’t know,” Pete said goodnaturedly. He had a deep, pleasant voice. “I mean this is, well, out of my depth. I’m along just to lend a strong back to this enterprise. Sandra is supplying the money and you the brains and me — well, thinking isn’t my strong point. Maybe Mr. Shayne has some ideas.”

“Of course.” Hugo Mollison mopped his forehead again. “Mr. Shayne, what do you think this murderous attack signifies?”

Shayne put down his cigarette. “Ordinarily,” he said, “I’d have said somebody was interested in the captain and was keeping an eye on him, saw him snatched, followed Shorty and Whitey, and blasted them to rescue the captain. Maybe to ask him questions. But since the killer told Tolliver he wasn’t interested in him, I’m assuming it was a quarrel between crooks.

“Shorty was from up north, by his accent. Whitey was a local boy, probably just on the fringe of the underworld. Maybe he did a little smuggling, something like that. My guess is, somebody had a grievance against Shorty, wanted to rub him out, and took Whitey along.”

Sandra Ames let out her breath. “I hope so,” she said huskily. “I couldn’t bear to think there was still a third group who knew about the captain’s secret. How did these two learn about it?” She looked at Tolliver. The little man seemed sheepish.

“I expect it was my fault,” he said apologetically. “Last month I got a little tipsy and was having fun telling some tourists how easy it is to find lost Spanish treasure in these waters — just stringing them along, you know. Then I had to have some help navigatin’ back to my shack. This Shorty fellow was the one who helped me. All these years I never let my tongue run free, but I remember he pestered me with questions until I told him some fool story and chased him out. Guess what I said told him too much, because it was right after that I got the feeling I was being watched and followed.

“Then you folks came along and proved to me you knowed what my secret was, and I figured I’d pushed my luck too long. Too many folks all of a sudden knew too much. That’s why I was willing to do business. This feller tonight who killed them two — maybe he wasn’t interested in me, like he said. But I got a feeling we should do our business and get it done with, fast as possible. I just don’t feel easy in my mind any more.”

“Then you’re ready to go ahead with our arrangements?” Hugo Mollison asked. “I was afraid — but that’s wonderful. Is there still time to leave tonight?”

“There’s time.” Tolliver eyed the clock over the mantel. “Providin’ Mr. Shayne is willing to come with me.”

“Are you willing, Mr. Shayne?” Mollison asked anxiously. “There shouldn’t be any danger, really. And it will be well worth your while.”

“Hell,” the redhead said, “I don’t even know what you’re asking me to do. So far no one has told me what this is all about. I can make a guess, but I don’t care for guessing games. Tell me what you have in mind and I’ll see how I feel about it.”

“He’s right,” Pete Ruggles said. “Why hasn’t anyone told him?”

“I guess things moved too fast this evening,” Sandra Ames said. She gave Michael Shayne the full benefit of a dazzling smile. “Please accept our apologies. We forgot that you never had your interview with Captain Tolliver.”

“Everybody else seemed to know my business, I sort of figured you did too,” Tolliver chuckled. He seemed to be enjoying himself, like a schoolboy on a lark. “Will you tell him, Mr. Mollison?”

“By all means,” the plump man said. “It’s a story I enjoy telling. On September fifteenth, sixteen ninety-two, Mr. Shayne,” he said, “a fleet of five Spanish galleons set sail from Havana. One of them, the flagship, the Santa Cristina, had aboard it a strong room full of treasure, collected from all over South America. There were gold and silver bars. There were loose gems and gems in the form of necklaces, bracelets, fans, hair combs and many other ornaments. There were coins minted under Spanish supervision in Mexico, Peru, and elsewhere. Accounts of the time say it was more treasure than twenty men could carry.

“Well, only a day out of Havana, the little fleet was overtaken by a Caribbean hurricane. It ran before the storm, northward toward the coast of Florida. The storm struck, the fleet was dispersed. A week later three survivors of the fleet put back into Havana, badly battered. The Santa Cristina was not one of them. It had gone down somewhere off the Florida coast, carrying to the bottom enough treasure to pay the debts of the Spanish monarchy. In present-day figures, the value of the treasure is estimated at between ten and twenty million dollars.

“And Captain Tolliver—” Hugo Mollison paused to draw a deep breath—“Captain Tolliver knows where the Santa Cristina lies today. He’s actually brought up some of that treasure. In fact, for ten years he has known the whereabouts of the Santa Cristina and he’s been mining it of treasure as if it were a private safe-deposit box.”

He shook his head, looking with admiration at Captain Tolliver. The little man seemed to enjoy being the center of attention.

“That’s right,” Tolliver said. “Once a year I go, dive down, and bring up what I need. Up till now, nobody’s suspected me. But now Miss Ames and Mr. Mollison and Mr. Ruggles, well, somehow they found me out. They’ve made me a proposition. I’m going to show them where the wreck lies, and they’ll mark it. Miss Ames is going along with me to verify I ain’t faking and that the wreck and treasure are there. I’m not taking either Mr. Mollison or Mr. Ruggles because Miss Ames can verify the wreck and I don’t think she’ll get a sudden temptation to put old Captain Tolliver out of the picture.

“When she reports back to Mr. Mollison, I get a certified check for one hundred thousand dollars, which he’s already got in his pocket. Only when I got that check in the bank do I let them chart the wreck. After that it’s all theirs and my interest is over.

“I’m talking frank talk, Mr. Shayne, because we all understand each other. These look like honest folks, but in a deal like this it don’t pay to take chances and I want somebody on my side. I asked around among some folks for a man who was tough but could be trusted and I got your name. That’s why I called you. I want to hire you to see to it I get to bank my check and then spend it later. Your fee will be a flat ten per cent. That’s the deal. What do you say?”

“Please say yes, Mr. Shayne.” Sandra Ames leaned toward him. “Captain Tolliver wants to sail tonight. I think he’s right. The sooner we do this, the less the chance of interference. So I hope you will accept.” She smiled at him. “I’m sure you haven’t a thing to fear from me,” she smiled.

Shayne finished his cigarette and stubbed it out. They were all looking at him, waiting. Sandra Ames’s gaze seemed to be willing him to say yes. He let the wait stretch out just long enough. Then he nodded decisively.

“I’m with you, Captain,” he said.

Michael Shayne lay back in the narrow bunk of the old charter boat, Golden Girl, and listened. The engines were quiet. Outside there was a small lap-lap of water against the sides. For the last hour, up until five minutes ago, the Golden Girl had been pushing hard through the Atlantic south from Biscayne Bay — at least, they had started south.

They had left Miami fast. Five minutes from the time they stopped talking, they were driving to the marina where the Golden Girl was moored. Sandra Ames had brought two suitcases with her, one of them containing skin-diving equipment. Neither Shayne nor Tod Tolliver had returned to their rooms to pick up anything. Tolliver wanted to move fast and they had moved fast.