Cargo of Coffins Read Free

an escaped convict babble about rights? See here, Lars. If you . . . Wait. You’re branded now. You can’t live inside the law. I’ve just had an idea.”
    “I am not interested in your ideas. Will you come or do I have to . . .”
    A man in brass-buttoned whites stepped between them, facing Paco. Lars was annoyed at himself. At the first flash of gold he had recoiled in fear of police. But this was not police. The man was elderly. His rum-reddened face was flabby, filled with small broken veins. His hair was white as a bleached bone. He wore a captain’s stripes and the insignia upon his cap matched Paco’s.
    “Sorry I kept you waiting,” said the strange captain to Paco. “ They won’t take less than . . .”
    Paco shot a triumphant glance over the old man’s shoulder to Lars. “Just a minute, Captain. I wish to present one of my old friends. A man who might be expected to help us.” When the officer faced around, Paco, with a mocking wave of his hand, said, “Captain Simpson, this is Captain Lars Marlin.”
    Simpson’s weak eyes showed his distrust. His freckled hand in Marlin’s was cold and moist and weak.
    Paco swept on. “Marlin is an old friend of mine, Simpson. We were together years ago on the Moroccan Queen. You recall the incident?”
    Simpson was startled. He looked swiftly from Lars to Paco, and in an incredulous voice, cried, “You mean he’s . . .”
    Paco’s smile was amused. “Yes. He just managed his escape from Devil’s Island.”
    Simpson gasped and stared at Lars. The tattered giant’s glare was hot enough on Paco to wither him. The mighty fists were drawn up in steel mauls.
    But Paco’s quietly laughing voice surged on. “I see you remember, Captain. It was all very interesting. You recall when the French authorities searched the Queen for contraband dope? They found it on me, of course. Marlin here gave them the first clue which fastened it upon me. And you remember what happened after that. It was discovered that quantities of it were in his cabin. He swore he did not know how they got there, those little tins. Naturally they packed him off with me. Lars here is a very persistent fellow. He tried three times to kill me in the Penal Colony. That scar you can see on his chest was given him by my knife on the third try. And now he is with us again. Good, kind Lars.”
    Simpson was opening and closing his mouth like a red snapper. He was struggling for air.
    “And since,” continued Paco, “we have a use for such a man, it might be well to include him in the Valiant ’s crew. I shall draw up a paper and leave it in the bank here, to be opened in case of my death, and the authorities will know exactly where to find him. Is that agreeable, Simpson?”
    “Good God, NO!” cried Simpson. “You’re mad! You are telling him a thing no one should know except ourselves!”
    “Nonsense,” said Paco, grinning easily. “He knows that where he would find me, he would find contraband. He knows that is my weakness. And besides, Simpson, it will keep you from getting a notion to rid yourself of me.”
    Lars glanced across the street. The Law was still standing there, completely unaware of anything wrong in that quiet group across the pavement. It was all so lazily peaceful in this hot afternoon sunshine. No man—or at least no sane man—would take the siesta hour to plan death.
    Lars studied Paco. He knew what to expect from the man. Paco was so plausible, so merciless, so much at his ease, that he was safe in any society. He classed murder with picking pockets.
    And Lars knew another thing. Paco would find some way to direct the police to him if he failed to follow Paco’s course. But in following that course, Lars knew that he could at last even up the mounting score. He could wait. He had learned to wait.
    Lars knew that Simpson was a fool. Paco had duped Simpson into playing a criminal role, using the man’s natural weakness and greed. Lars also knew that Paco no longer needed