Secret Mission to Bangkok by Van Wyck Mason

Author:Van Wyck Mason
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: adventure, espionage, murder, adventure, spy
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2016-04-14T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Five

1.

Before he put in a call to Captain Pokh, Hugh made a swift and searching examination of the body, Wallen’s effects, and the disordered suite.

Except for a tiny cut on the dead man’s upper lip, the body showed no other wounds than the fatal stabbing. Wallen’s pockets yielded nothing at all. On the bureau were the things he would normally carry in his trousers, wallet, keys, handkerchief, lighter, cigarettes. His jacket, hung in the closet—his trunks had not been unpacked—contained nothing beyond a fountain pen; the side pockets of the coat, in fact, were still sewn shut as they had come from the tailor, apparently to keep the star from breaking the jacket’s perfect line by shoving his hands into his pockets absentmindedly.

Wallen’s keys provided those needed to open his trunks and it required only a few minutes for the G-2 colonel to explore them and come up with nothing of value—unless one counted as valuable a packet of pornographic pictures, several of which showed “models” who bore at least a startling resemblance to well-known movie stars. Hugh’s nose wrinkled as he looked at them, but through his disgust came the reminder that Lex Ross had said Wallen was not above using blackmail to pressure his way ahead in his profession, if not actually to wring cash out of his victims.

He stuck the pictures in a hip pocket (no use letting the Thai police lay hands on them until he was a little more sure of Siamese police ethics) and went on with his examination, moving into the living room. It proved a hopeless task to get any worthwhile clues from that mess if there were any there and the colonel returned to the bedroom.

This information Wallen was supposed to have about Tao Muong, was it written down, a picture, or had the actor carried it about in his head? And if Wallen did have anything tangible was it kept in some secret pocket, possibly a false heel compartment? It was a long shot, but the G-2 agent made a second swift search of the body, hunting for a hiding place on Wallen’s person such as he, North, would use.

He found no secret pocket or false heel but he found something else. As he was removing the shoe from the dead man’s right foot he smoothed over one of the folds of the rumpled coverlet. There, pressed deeply into a crease, was the emerald ring that Hugh North had last seen on the finger of the self-styled pianist, Fräulein Mary Hollberg.

North picked up the ring and stared at it, his brows lowered. So little Mary was mixed up in this thing, eh, and in what capacity? Was she the executioner They used to silence unsuspecting men They wanted removed, men who set themselves up for the death stroke when they lost themselves in anticipation of what she would bring to their bed?

Possible—hell, anything was possible with Them—but North’s instinctive answer to his own question was no.

A Red killer would

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