'I could lock you all up. That would give me time. There must be a place.'
He said other things but Jeff no longer heard him. For fust then some movement caught the corner of his eye. He controlled the impulse to shift his gaze but he knew that Cordovez's hand had slipped unnoticed inside his jacket, and now his stomach was suddenly tight and he stood immobile, the perspiration drying coldly on his spine.
For he felt instinctively that with a gun Cordovez was not only expert but deadly. Once Spencer tried to use that little automatic he would be a dead man, and though the reporter had little courage, he could panic. It was not that Jeff felt any great sympathy for him. Spencer had been a victim of avarice and circumstance. He had killed, but not viciously or with malice. Jeff could not stand there
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and watch him die, nor did he dare make a warning gesture lest Cordovez be the victim when Spencer sensed his peril. And so, because there was no other way, he fell back on reason and his knowledge of the reporter's character, his voice blunt, impatient, and hard.
'Be smart for once, Dan,' he said. 'You can't handle this one. It's too big for you and you know it. Nobody can accuse you of murder with premeditation, and this is not the States, you can't hang here. There's a penalty you'll have to pay, but fight it out in court and take your chances. What are his chances, Miranda?' he asked. 'What could he expect?'
The lawyer was watching Spencer. 'You would do well to follow that advice,' he said. 'You are still a young man and a few years at San Juan de los Morros in our model prison should not be too difficult. I once made an offer to Mr. Lane,' he said. 'It was not in good taste but I meant it. I told him if he was arrested I would defend him without charge. I will do the same for you, to the best of my ability, because you have done me a favor by removing Grayson, who was an evil man. Perhaps'—his glance strayed to the woman beside him, though she seemed not to hear—'you have given me a second chance.'
Spencer had been listening and the gun shifted in his hand. Fundamentally he had no heart for killing. He had always chosen the easiest way and he wavered now.
'How many years?' he said.
Miranda shrugged. 'I cannot promise, but I can tell you this. In my country there are no juries. It is the judge who decides, and often pressure is brought to bear which can influence him. The heaviest penalties come as a result of the pressure brought by the family and relatives of the victim who wish vengeance. I do not know about Baker, but with Grayson I do not believe there will be any such pressure.'
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He glanced again at Jeff to see If lie would deny this. 'With no one to cry out for vengeance and no one to care, I would say'—he tipped one hand—'perhaps five years, considering the circumstances. But this I promise you: there will be no defense by me unless you put down that gun, and at once.'
Spencer took a great shuddering breath and his mouth trembled. He looked down at the gun. Then, as though knowing in his heart that he had neither the courage nor the ability to fight alone for very long, he reached out and put the gun on the table.
Jeff felt his knees weaken and he leaned against the edge of the divan to support himself. For he was watching Cor-dovez now and knowing what a close thing it had been.
'You don't know how lucky you are/* he said in shaky tones.
'Lucky?'
Spencer frowned, brows warping. He hesitated and then, held by something in Jeff's face, he turned to see what Jeff was looking at.
Cordovez, hunched slightly in his chair, sat very still. One hand had slipped inside his open jacket and the gun was there, the muzzle pointed right at Spencer's hollow chest. Slowly then the hand relaxed and Spencer understood completely how death had been waiting for him while he made up his mind.
It may have been this that caused the reaction. It may have been a cumulative process brought on by the realization that everything he had tried had turned out badly, that even the envelope he had tried so hard to run away with proved in the end to have little value. Whatever the reason, he seemed to shrink back in the chair as his mouth opened. A sobbing, convulsive sound tore at his throat and suddenly he put his face in his hands and doubled up, rocking back and forth as his self-control disintegrated and his emotions took charge.
Jeff turned aside, unable to watch any longer. He saw Cordovez replace his gun and step over to take the automatic Spencer had discarded.
'Thank you,' the little man said. 'I did not know what to do. When hysteria touches a man there is no telling what might happen.**
'Yeah/' Jeff said. 'Yeah,' Then, when he found more words: 'Will you call SegurnalP You can talk to them better than I can.'
Cordovez glanced round until he located the telephone. When he dialed, Jeff looked at Miranda, who now sat silently beside his blond wife. Her face still showed traces of shock and her eyes were closed, but she made no resistance when he took her hand and pressed it between his own.
'Spencer was not the only one who was lucky,' he said as Jeff moved up to sit beside Karen.
He started to take her hand and found his palms wet. He took out a handkerchief and wiped them and then she took it away from him and wiped his forehead. When he retrieved it he kept her hand and found that he could smile.
There were a million things he wanted to say and there was no place to start. The dark-blue eyes were watching him closely now and her smile was sweet and suddenly he knew that what had to be said could much better be said tomorrow or the next day or the day after that.
There would be plenty of time and so he leaned back beside her, his shoulder touching hers while the strain and the worry began to drain slowly from his body. Somewhere in the distance he heard Julio Cordovez chattering in excited Spanish, but he did not listen. For the moment he
was content to sit unthinking beside this girl who understood his mood and made no demands of her own. They were still there three minutes later when the first of the radio cars arrived.
