Dead Man's Tale by Ellery Queen Page B

roar overwhelmed him; he stopped, transfixed, expecting to die. But it was only a late suburban train going by, with blobs of faces in the yellow windows. If only he were on it!
    Mueller wiped his face again and hurried on.
    When he saw the truck parked in the shadow of the deserted market under the bridge he almost sobbed with relief. It was the right one, no doubt about that, a big Diesel-driven cab with two trailer vans. Or was it? He stole closer, straining his eyes. Yes! There were the words B UDWEISER P ILSEN on the sides of both vans.
    Mueller sneaked up to the cab. “Helmut?” he called softly If it was not Helmut he would run … run.…
    But it was Helmut; the tall man with the bald spot and thin, dark face swinging down to the kerb was unmistakable.
    â€œGerhard!” he said warmly, seizing Mueller’s hand. “I still can’t believe it. I thought you’d given up the black-market business. There’s no profit in it now.”
    â€œFor God’s sake, lower your voice, Helmut!”
    â€œWe’re safe enough,” the truck driver said. “Ah, those good old black-market days. The money we made, hey, Gerhard?”
    â€œAnd the money we spent,” Mueller muttered, wiping his face again. “I don’t remember when I’ve suffered from the heat so much.… Anyway, I’m through with the black market. Why the devil don’t they come?” He kept searching the dark street. “Helmut, you’re sure—?”
    â€œRelax,” Helmut said comfortably. “There’s nothing illegal about driving a truck of Budweiser. I believe, Gerhard, you mentioned something about two thousand schillings …?”
    Mueller handed him an envelope containing twenty hundred-schilling notes, still looking around nervously. The truck driver opened the envelope and counted the bills with concentration and growing satisfaction. Mueller wondered what his friend would say if he knew that Herr Longacre had slipped him three thousand schillings and the other two Americans—the man and the woman whose names he never did learn—had given him three thousand schillings, also. Two from six left four, four thousand schillings clear profit … which Theresa, of course, had promptly taken charge of.… Where, where were the Americans?
    â€œI take your three clients as far as Ceske Budejovice,” Helmut said, stowing the money away. “That is correct?”
    â€œOnly two of them,” Mueller mumbled. “Helmut, you have the motorcycle?”
    â€œIn the second van, Gerhard. With a sidecar, as you said.”
    â€œGood. The third American, a woman, goes only as far as the border. I’ll take her back.”
    â€œA woman?” Helmut said. He seemed unpleasantly surprised. He gave Mueller a cigarette and lit one for himself. “I’m not sure I like that.”
    â€œWhat difference does it make? You drop us off this side of the border. Where are they?”
    â€œAnd the two men?”
    â€œWhen they’re ready to come back, they’ll make contact with you in Pilsen.”
    â€œAnd if I don’t happen to be in Pilsen—?”
    â€œThey’ll wait until you are. That’s not your problem.”
    â€œAnd it’s understood they’re to pay me two thousand more when I sneak them back into Austria?”
    â€œYes.”
    Helmut said suddenly, “Someone is coming.”
    Mueller’s heart jumped. He dropped his unsmoked cigarette and peered. Then he let out his breath with relief. The two figures emerging from the darkness were the American couple whose names he did not know.
    The man had a Luger in his hand. “Mueller?”
    â€œ Ja, ja .”
    â€œVery fine,” Helmut said, “Oh, very fine! I’m to take an armed man across. You didn’t tell me that, Gerhard. For God’s sake, tell him to hide that thing.”
    â€œI don’t speak English,” Mueller