Texas Killers Page 13

  “You’re not Lady Winifred Amelia Besgrove-Woodstole,” Dusty stated and his attitude left it obvious that he would accept no denial.

  “If that is meant to be a practical joke—!” the Lady began, playing for the time her maid would need to locate them.

  “You know it’s not,” Dusty declared. “Fact being, you heard enough back there to let you know that Lady Winifred’s up in Mulrooney, Kansas, living under the name of ‘Freddie Woods.’”

  “Now isn’t that infuriating?” the Lady sighed, speaking with well simulated exasperation, but standing as tense and defensive as a bobcat confronted by a hound dog. “I thought I would be safe using Freddie’s name. The butler and other servants at her people’s country house told me she was paying an extended visit to one of the family in Ceylon.”

  “There’s times you just can’t depend on anybody,” Dusty drawled, but there was no sympathy in his voice. “Take your maid, for instance. Don’t count on her sneaking up on me. I saw you wigwagging to her, so it won’t come off.”

  “Why not?” the Lady inquired, assailed by the bitter knowledge that her strategy had failed and nursing the worrying conviction that it was also being countered.

  “Lon’s close by and he’ll copper any bets she tries to put down,” the small Texan explained. “Aren’t you, amigo?”

  “Why sure,” replied the voice of the Ysabel Kid, imbued with such a ventriloquial quality that his exact location could not be determined. “Tell you what though, ma’am, that gal of your’n’s pretty good. She’s near to here already.”

  “It’s all right, Florence,” the Lady called, seeing the maid appear from behind a bush and stare around, trying to find the speaker. “You can go back indoors.”

  “Yes, Mi—Your Ladyship,” Florence answered. “If that’s what you want.”

  “It isn’t,” the Lady admitted with a wry smile. “But we haven’t any other choice.” After the maid had carried out her instructions by departing, she swung her gaze to the small Texan. “I don’t suppose you’d send Lon away, so I won’t ask you to pretend to.”

  “Lady,” the Kid’s voice answered, but it did not supply any suggestion as to where he was speaking from. “Happen Dusty told me—and meant it—I’d go.”

  “I believe you, even though I know I wouldn’t be able to tell whether you’d gone or were still there,” the Lady replied. “So we may as well get down to what has brought us out here, Captain Fog.”

  “Why sure, ma’am,” Dusty obliged, but his lazy drawl had an edge of steel in its timbre. “Who are you and what’re you up to?”

  “What if I tell you that neither is any of your business?” the Lady challenged, her air of defiance mingled with a sense of realization that it was futile.

  “The jail in town’s not what I’d call comfortable,” Dusty warned. “And you could find the girls you’ll be sharing your cell with aren’t the most friendly, or gentle, company.”

  “’Specially was they to be given the notion things’d go easier for ’em happen they treated you mean,” the Kid suplemented.

  “You’ll have to charge me with something before you could put me there!” the Lady protested, trying to keep any trace of anxiety from her voice. “I’m a British subject and our Government would take the most grave exception if they heard that I’d been imprisoned for no reason.”

  “You’re using an English lady from a real important family’s name,” Dusty pointed out, although he was aware that Great Britain was such an important country few other nations would deliberately incur its wrath. “Which’s good enough cause for us to hold you. And, way Congress feels about keeping the Crown Prince safe while he’s over here, they’d back us to the hilt if your Government heard and complained about us holding you.”

  “If they heard?” the Lady repeated. “Do you mean that I could be held incommunicado?”

  “Could be,” Dusty admitted.

  “You wouldn’t dare!” the Lady snapped, trying to sound more certain than she felt.

  “Don’t count on it,” Dusty replied. “Anyways, there wouldn’t be the need for us to do it. Your own police’ll likely be wanting to know why you tricked the Crown Prince into thinking you’re Lady Winifred Besgrove-Woodstole and I’d be willing to bet that your Government are just as eager as Congress to make sure nothing happens to him. So which is it to be, talk to me or stay in jail until we find out what they want us to do?”

  “Wouldn’t want you to take this into account one way or the other, ma’am,” the Kid put in, his voice seeming to change from point to point as the words continued. “But it’ll be lil ole me who takes you to the pokey. I’m not all white like Dusty, Mark ’n’ Waco, a fair piece of me’s Comanche. Way us Nemenuh—which’s Comanch’ for ‘The People’ and our name for us—figure it, a woman’s only a mite more use than a feed-dog. Fact being, she’s near’s useful as a mule, but not close to’s valuable as a good hoss or a repeating rifle. So we’re not over-choosey how we treat you gals. Which I’d be real riled happen you-all didn’t tell me everything Dusty wants to know.”

  “What a charming outlook,” the Lady said, restraining a shudder at the gentle yet frightening way in which the unseen Texan had spoken. Wondering if the threat would be carried out, she decided it might be if necessary. So, considering that her only hope was to be at least acceptably frank, she yielded to the inevitable. Exerting all her willpower to speak confidently, she went on, “My name is Amelia Benkinsop and I assure you I wouldn’t do anything to harm Crown Prince Rudolph. In fact, I came with him to try to prevent him from being killed.”

  “No offense, ma’am,” Dusty said, wondering if the blonde’s attitude of sincerity was genuine. “But I’d be obliged if you’d bring your right hand out where I can see it’s empty. And, although I’m not from Missouri—”

  “You have to be shown,” the Lady interrupted, doing as she was asked and leaving the Remington Double Derringer she had been grasping in its carefully concealed pocket at the rear of the gown. “I’ve heard the saying. Rudolph saved my life one night in Paris and I never forget a debt. Besides—”

  “Go on,” Dusty prompted, detecting nothing to suggest the blonde was lying.

  “I’ve another reason for coming to your country. As Waco undoubtedly told you, Beguinage killed my uncle. He meant a lot to me and had done a lot for me. As I said, I always honor my obligations.”

  “So you figure on getting Beguinage to avenge him?”

  “I suppose you think a mere woman wouldn’t be capable of doing it?” the Lady demanded indignantly.

  “Ma’am,” Dusty drawled. “Even afore I met Freddie Woods, who’s a real remarkable lady happen you don’t know it, I’d learned it never pays to sell a woman short. But you’ve had a long boat ride for nothing. Beguinage is dead.”

  “Dead?” Amelia gasped.

  “I killed him this morning,” Dusty elaborated.

  “I hadn’t heard about it!”

  “The marshal covered up for me by reckoning somebody else had done it.”

  “You mean that he was one of the three men who died this morning?” Amelia asked. “But none of them could have been Beguinage!”

  “Why not?” Dusty demanded.

  “I told you that he murdered my uncle,” the Lady explained. “Hoffmeyer was killed in exactly the same way, even to having an identical hole in the side of his throat and the hideous expression on his face.”

  “And so was the marshal,” Dusty pointed out.

  “I’ve heard that he was kill—!” Amelia commenced, then realized the full import of the small Texan’s words. “You mean that he died in the same way as Hoffmeyer?”

  “I haven’t seen Hoffmeyer’s body,” Dusty confessed. “But from the way Waco described it, the same thing had killed them both.”

  “You said the marshal had helped you to—cover up?—that it was you who killed Beguinage.”

  “He did.”

  “In that case,” the Lady asked. “How could he have be
en killed by Beguinage, who was already dead?”

  “We figure it was his woman who killed the marshal and Hoffmeyer,” Dusty replied, wishing there was more light so that he could form a better impression of the reaction to his words.

  “His woman?” Amelia breathed, slapping her right hand against her thigh in a gesture of exasperation. “Of course! That would explain so many things.”

  “Such as how Beguinage managed to get to your uncle?” Dusty suggested.

  “How did you guess?” Amelia gasped.

  “We figured it would’ve had to be a woman who could get close enough to the marshal,” Dusty replied. “He’d never have trusted a man.”

  “Uncle Marcel always had an eye for the ladies,” Amelia said thoughtfully. “And, although I’ve never heard so much as a hint that Beguinage worked other than alone, I did wonder how he achieved some of his successes without help. Not that anybody would admit to knowing much more than that Beguinage existed, even those through whom he could be reached with offers of employment.”

  “Did you reckon anybody would admit any more to you?” Dusty inquired, puzzled by the way in which the Lady had spoken. It conveyed the impression that she was surprised more positive information had failed to materialize.

  “I did,” Amelia stated, realizing that she had said too much and, dealing with such a shrewd and discerning person, she could not hope to bluff her way clear. “Mostly there is little that goes on in criminal circles, especially at such a high level, that one can’t learn at least some of the details if one knows who and where to ask.”

  “And you know who ’n’ where?” the Kid asked, from his still concealed location.

  “I do,” Amelia declared. “My family have long had connections with many of Europe’s leading international criminals.”1

  “You’re an owlhoot?” the Kid drawled, sounding disbelieving.

  “Nothing has ever been proven,” Amelia answered primly.

  “We had us a run in with one of them leading international criminals from Europe a piece back,” the Kid remarked, advancing to the Lady’s side from the opposite direction to where she had thought him to be. “Can’t just bring his name to mind, but he was so took by me that he gave me a right fancy pocketknife.”

  “It was the Ox,” Amelia declared, knowing she was being subjected to a test. “His full name is Octavius Xavier Guillemot2 and he is, not to put too fine a point on it, very fat. He must have been taken with you to part with that knife. I’m surprised he didn’t try to enlist you in his search for that Crusaders’ bird he’s always talking about.”3

  “Was some talk of it,” the Kid conceded, accepting that the beautiful Englishwoman was speaking the truth about her family connections. “But I didn’t cotton to the notion of going riding on a boat.”

  “How much do you know about Beguinage?” Dusty asked and the Lady decided that she had convinced the Texans of her veracity.

  “Very little, as I said,” Amelia replied. “He has such a well-run system that it’s impossible to follow the chain by which he receives requests to take employment. It was more of a guess, or hope that he had been hired, that caused me to renew my friendship with Prince Rudolph. That and wanting to help protect him.”

  “You knew that somebody was after his hide?” Dusty inquired.

  “Yes, that much I managed to find out,” Amelia admitted. “And as I was told that Beguinage would not be available for three months at least, I assumed he was hired to assassinate His Highness.”

  “I don’t suppose you know who hired him?” Dusty said, more as a statement than a question.

  “I’m afraid not,” the Lady sighed. “It could be either the Council of Noble Birth, or the anarchists. As you probably know, both factions are hoping to bring about His Highness’ death. Until tonight, if I’d had to pick between them, I would have said the Council. They’re all Bosgravnian nobles and would have sufficient money to meet Beguinage’s fee.”

  “What happened tonight to make you change your mind?” Dusty wanted to know.

  “I found out that the Comtesse de Petain is here,” Amelia replied.

  “Do you know her?” the small Texan inquired.

  “We hadn’t met until Mrs. Blaby introduced us,” the Lady answered, in a voice which suggested a deep dislike for the French aristocrat. “But I’ve heard about her and none of it was good.”

  “And you reckon that she’s here to assassinate His Highness?”

  “You said that as if the idea hadn’t already occurred to you, Captain Fog,” Amelia chided with a smile. “She’s either here to help assassinate His Highness, or to do it herself. Do you think she might be Beguinage’s woman?”

  “If she is, it wasn’t her who killed the marshal, or Hoffmeyer,” Dusty replied. “She hasn’t been out of somebody or other’s sight since well before Digbry was killed. I’ve checked on that.”

  “I thought you would have,” Amelia admitted. “However, the Council wouldn’t have hired them both. One of the few things I learned was that Beguinage will not countenance any opposition when he’s accepted an assignment. He’s warned off, or killed, other assassins who have threatened to trespass upon his tasks.”

  “Captain Fog!” called a feminine voice the Lady and the Texans recognized.

  “They do say if you talk of the devil, he shows up,” the Kid commented, looking in the speaker’s direction.

  “We’re here, Comtesse,” Dusty replied, making a gesture with his head that caused his amigo to disappear silently. Taking Amelia’s arm, he walked with her to meet the other woman. “Do you know Lady Winifred?”

  “We’ve been introduced,” Charlene answered, trying to sound disinterested. “Rud—His Highness has joined the company. So Mark and I came to look for you as we felt you would wish to be presented.”

  “Trust good old Mark to think of that,” Dusty drawled, although he was confident the suggestion had not come from the blond giant. “Have you-all been presented to His Highness, ma’am?”

  “It is hardly necessary,” Charlene replied with a touch of hauteur, the question having been directed at her.

  “Well I’ll swan, that’s right. You have!” Dusty declared. “How’d I ever come to forget when I was telling you that Lady Winifred’s coming on the hunt with you?”

  “Forget what?” Charlene demanded.

  “When His Highness heard you were in Corpus Christie,” the small Texan answered, “he straight off told Mark that he is going to ask you if you’d like to go along with us as well.”

  Chapter 12

  OR SHOULD I SAY “DUSTY FOG”?

  “YOU ARE PUNCTUAL, MR. CLINT,” COMMENTED the anarchist who had called himself “Gotz,” holding open the front door of the house he had nominated for the meeting and standing aside to allow the small Texan to enter. “Please come in quickly to make sure that nobody knows we are here.”

  In Dusty Fog’s opinion, most of the day’s events had been progressing in a generally satisfactory manner.

  On returning to the ballroom of Senator Blaby’s mansion, accompanied by Amelia Benkinsop and Charlene, Comtesse de Petain, Dusty had had his first meeting with Crown Prince Rudolph of Bosgravnia. They had taken an instant liking to one another. In the small Texan’s case, it had been enhanced by the way in which the royal visitor had reacted when the Comtesse thanked him for the invitation to join the hunting party. Nothing in his response had suggested that this was the first he had heard of the matter. Nora and she learned differently when speaking with the other men who would be involved.

  Moving swiftly and unnoticed by either of the women, the Ysabel Kid had been in the ballroom before they arrived and had warned Mark Counter and Waco what to expect. Colonel Wilhelm Liebenfrau, Major the Baron von Goeringwald and Captain Fritz von Farlenheim were absent until later. By the time they were available for Charlene to speak with them, they had been informed that she and Amelia would be accompanying them and received the Crown Prince’s orders to confirm that it had been his
decision if questioned by anybody.

  Another pleasing facet of Rudolph’s character had been displayed shortly after Dusty was presented to him. Claiming that they felt out of place in such “fancy” company, the Kid and Waco had asked permission to leave. They had said that they preferred to spend their leisure time in the part of Corpus Christie resembling the areas in which they usually found their entertainment and relaxation. When the small Texan had displayed reluctance over giving permission, the Crown Prince had interceded on their behalf. Pointing out that the Kid had already helped him to acquire a fine trophy, he had used his influence to produce a change of mind on Dusty’s part. What was more, he had insisted, against the small Texan’s advice, in rewarding the Kid handsomely. The two OD Connected hands had taken their departure with a warning from their segundo to stay sober and keep out of trouble. It had been clear to the onlookers that neither had been pleased by the restrictions which were being placed on their activities. Also that Dusty did not approve of them going.

  On Liebenfrau’s orders, Fritz and Alex von Farlenheim had been kept separated while the cause of the quarrel was investigated. All the evidence had indicated that the latter was to blame and had provoked his cousin. It had been decided by the Personal Attendant and their uncle that Alex should leave Corpus Christie in the interest of avoiding any repetition of the incident. There had been no delay in putting the decision into effect. Ludwig von Farlenheim had known the captain of a ship which was leaving for Brownsville that night and Alex, who had clearly bitterly resented the order, was instructed to be aboard when it sailed. Sheriff Elvis Tragg had accompanied Ludwig to ensure that the young man did not disobey, then had gone to take charge of investigating the murders of Town Marshal Benjamin Digbry and Liebenfrau’s orderly.

  Throughout the evening, it had been obvious to Dusty that Charlene did not intend missing anything, nor would she allow Amelia an opportunity to be alone with the Crown Prince. Although the two beautiful women had been icily polite to each other, there was clearly no love lost between them.