Mystery Of The Sea Horse Read Free Page B

just one once in a while."
Marcus tossed him the pack. "Damn it," he said. "We know Danton is in on this business."
"We suspect he is," corrected Busino.
"You suspect; I know." He stuck a cigarette between his lips, turning his back on the window. "And we can never find a damn thing on that fancy yacht of his."
"So maybe let's forget the boat and concentrate on the island," suggested Busino. "He could be stashing it there."
"The local boys tried that," reminded Marcus, "and came up with zilch."
Busino lit his cigarette with a match ripped-out of a paper folder. "Well, then we just keep watching Danton and we keep hitting him with searches. Sooner or later well get something."
"And meanwhile he keeps bringing millions of bucks worth of the stuff up from Mexico." Back at the desk Marcus poked at a scatter of papers. "Did you ever run into Dave Palmer back East?"
"Know his name, used to be police commissioner someplace. Why?"
"He's staying out here in Santa Barbara this summer," said Marcus. "His niece is out here on a vacation, too."
"So?"
"She's been seen all around town with Chris Danton."
Busino shrugged. "He's not a bad-looking guy, and women like him. He's got a yacht."
"I don't think Palmer knows what kind of guy Danton is," said Marcus. "Maybe we ought to have a talk with him."
"Be better," said Busino, "to have a talk with his niece. She might know something. What's her name?"
Marcus consulted a slip of paper. "Diana Palmer. Right now she's among the house guests out on Danton's island."
"That's the way to live." Busino sighed out smoke. "Well, let's talk to her soon as she gets back from San Obito."
"Yeah, we'll do that," agreed Marcus.
Close to the bright ocean, on the edge of a ribbon of beach, stood a brand-new "pancake house," all glass and simulated redwood beams. It was one of the Bo Beep chain. At a booth in the back of the place, out of sight of the many windows, two other men sat discussing Chris Danton.
The one who called himself Anderson was about forty, a calm, peaceful-looking man with straight light hair and tortoise-shell dark glasses. He wore a candy-stripe shirt and bellbottom denims. Stirring his own sugar substitute into his coffee, he said, "I tell you it's him."
Across from him the man calling himself Ful- mer shook his head. He was heavyset, less casually dressed. "We're not absolutely certain yet."
Anderson smiled. His dark glasses hid his eyes completely. "There's such a thing as being too cautious." "I don't want any more mistakes, or any more . . . what you call 'accident.'"
"You should recall that you agreed about the man in Chicago."
"To my regret, yes." Fulmer held his glass of orange juice with both hands.
"I don't see that it's really that important," said Anderson, the smile still on his calm face.
"Killing a man," replied Fulmer in a low voice, "has to be important."
"So you say." He sipped his coffee. "God, I miss sugar."
Fulmer reflected, 'It seems to me Danton is possibly too young to be our man." ,
"He's nearly sixty."
"No, we haven't established that."
Anderson took another sip of coffee before speaking. "We have established that Danton spent six months in 1967 at a sanitarium in Sao Paulo, Brazil."
"I'm not certain we've established that," said Fulmer. "Though it seems likely."
"The late Dr. Lemos, who ran the place in Sao Paulo, was recognized for his rejuvenation therapy. Recognized, that is, by the select few who could afford him. After some skillful surgery, and a few other medical tricks, our man came out looking ten years younger."
"All right, it's possible," admitted Fulmer. "I grant you the death of Dr. Lemos quite soon after this man's release is suspicious."
"He didn't want anyone talking," said Anderson. "He didn't realize we'd have other ways of getting at the information."
"Other ways," murmured Fulmer. He picked up his glass to drink down the juice in one gulp.
"Perhaps I'm unwilling to believe the trail has ended."
"I assure you it has. Everything ties together this