The Sons of Satan by John Creasey

Author:John Creasey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-10-26T00:00:00+00:00

The first report came in by half-past seven; Wray had been seen in a restaurant in the Avenida de Mayo, making no attempt to hide himself.

‘So he’s not scared,’ Bruton said, slowly.

Rodriguez frowned. ‘I am much afraid, Palfrey, that he does not fear that he will have trouble with the authorities. It ees so bad here, you know that. A little money’—he wriggled his fingers impatiently—’a little money and it is safe.’

‘He may know that he’s safe from extradition but he’ll know there’s a strong chance that he’ll be seen, and as he isn’t trying to hide himself it might be that he would like a talk,’ said Palfrey. He seemed to be half asleep and the others watched him closely. ‘Stefan or I will have to see him,’ he decided, abruptly.

‘But, my friend, the danger!’ exclaimed Rodriguez, and then stood up and walked about the loggia, his hands moving as he talked. ‘Palfrey, you remember how you regarded the Marquis. How you would have been alarmed had there been any danger to him, how he was the—the force which directed us. Now, that is you. You must not take the risks, we are here for that – is that not true, Bruton?’

Bruton said slowly: ‘I guess so. It won’t be easy for Sap to get it into his head.’

Palfrey said: ‘We can think too much about that. No one can really replace Brett. Several can replace me – Stefan, for a start.’ He stood up slowly. ‘Will you wait here, Corny?’

‘If I’m left out of this—’ began Bruton.

Palfrey chuckled. ‘You won’t be.’

‘And you’re going to see Wray?’ asked Rodriguez, unhappily.

‘I’m going to see Stefan,’ said Palfrey. ‘One of us will be back.’

He slipped out of a side gateway alone, into the heat and smell of the sunbaked streets, glad of the shade of the palms. He was followed, as he would always be followed in Buenos Aires, by a little yellow-skinned man who had been at the meeting and whose chief task was to act as a bodyguard to Palfrey. There were two others, one a man now dressed in rags who limped along, begging for alms as if he were talking to himself, the other a well-dressed man whose clothes and manner shrieked ‘Americano’.

Stefan and Brian had gone to the Hotel El Manuel, in the Avenida de Mayo.

Palfrey preferred to walk, for he wanted to know whether he was followed by anyone but his own men.

Only the three men followed.

Palfrey stopped abruptly.

Across the road, clear in the brilliant sunlight, stepped a friar in a golden habit. He walked with long strides, looking neither to the right nor the left, and disappeared.

The American quickened his pace, passed Palfrey and muttered out of the side of his mouth, ‘I’ll cover him,’ and sped towards the end of the road, turning left, like the monk.

Palfrey had not dreamed that any ‘friar’ would walk about openly even here. It shook him, although he knew that it had to be expected; not every

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