Unholy Crusade

CHAPTER 21

A Bid for freedom

ON His way down the mountain Adam had had ample time to consider the bleak prospect that now confronted him. When warning him of the situation in which he might possibly find himself, Hunterscombe's advice had been to make for the coast. To do so and hope to get aboard a ship certainly seemed the best bet; in fact there appeared to be no promising alternative. But Adam had no illusions about his poor chances of keeping clear of the police. His height and red gold hair alone were a complete giveaway. Something must be done about them, and he would need a number of things for his journey.

To secure them presented a major problem, as he dared not show himself in the village. On further thought, too, he felt that he would be unwise to remain in the farmhouse, even for another night. During the morning, the wrecked helicopter might well have been spotted from a searching aircraft. If so, the authorities would assume that he and Alberuque were somewhere not far off and already, perhaps, police and troops were being mustered to scour the whole district.

Obviously, if he set out as he was, he would stand no chance at all, so he decided to enlist the help of Juanita.

When he reached the farmhouse, he found her sitting with Chela, who had come out of her drug induced sleep that afternoon. But to his considerable annoyance he learned that the old woman, after feeding her with some broth, had given her another potion from which it was unlikely that she would wake until early the following morning. As he must be on his way long before then, that meant he must go without being able to tell her why it was imperative that he should leave her, what he planned to attempt and say good bye to her. But the chance had gone and there was nothing he could do about it.

While he had been feeling Chela's pulse, Juanita had left the room and now returned with a noggin of tequila which, bobbing respectfully, she offered him. Tired after his hours of climbing, he drank it down gratefully, then said to her:

'Juanita, you are a sensible girl and I can talk frankly to you. I expect you have heard rumours about my return to earth to

lead a movement which would overthrow the present government and restore the land to the descendants of its original inhabitants?'

She nodded, and he went on, `The coup was planned to take place last night. It failed. As a result the government people are now hunting for me everywhere to capture and, perhaps, kill me.' Giving him a puzzled look, she said, `But, Lord, if you really are a god, surely…?'

He cut her short. `No. Matters are not ordered like that. I am not a god but a Man God. It is decreed that I should spend certain periods on earth and I am not permitted to shorten such Visits by a single second. During that time, as I told you last night, I am subject to all the weaknesses and needs of an ordinary man.'

`I understand,' she said gently. `You are like our Lord Jesus, end while on earth must suffer without complaint.'

At the comparison he had unconsciously led her to suggest, he felt profoundly ashamed; but, knowing that his life might depend on securing her help, he forced himself to respond. `Yes; that's it. But… well, I have work to do here, and I'm not willing to allow myself to be put to death yet. I've got to get away.' Her face glowed and in a low voice she said, `I should be proud, Lord, to have helped you.'

Again he felt shamed at taking advantage of her belief in him, but he said, `You can, Juanita. At present my appearance would give me away to the first policeman I ran into. To stand any chance at all, I've got to have my hair cut and my beard shaved off. Have you a pair of scissors, and is there a shaving kit in the house?'

`I have scissors with which I could cut your hair. The men of my family shave on Sundays and on the days of the great feasts of the Church. I will borrow their razor for you.'

He smiled at her. `Bless you, my dear. Then I'll need some sort of haversack and a good supply of food to carry in it, because for several days I don't want to enter any village in case someone identifies me. I mean to make my way through the fields and 'forests. For that my present clothes are far from suitable. Do you think you could get me some spare clothes which your men folk gave worn, and maybe a hat? Of course, I would pay for them.'

Juanita returned his smile. `All these things I will get for you, Lord. But how soon do you need to have them?'

He heaved a sigh. `After last night and the hours I spent on the mountain this afternoon, I'm very tired. I must have a few hours' rest, but I ought to leave here by about two o'clock in the morning.

There is one other thing, though. Your parents and brothers have not your education. It might prove difficult to explain my situation to them; so it would be better if they knew nothing about it. Do you think you could get the things I need without their knowledge, stay awake to give them to me and cut my hair in the middle of the night, then afterwards keep the secret of what you have done for me?'

Suddenly she knelt down, seized his hand, kissed it and, her eyes shining, exclaimed, `Dear Lord, even torture would not drag a word from me. All my life I shall remember this day with joy, and be so very proud of having had the privilege of serving you.'

Again Adam felt a qualm at being treated as though he really were a divinity. For such a situation to occur in the age of space travel seemed hardly believable. Yet the lives and mentality of the Zupangos differed little from those of a farming family living in Palestine in the first century A.D. Just as the Jews had been brought up to expect a Messiah, so the Mexican Indians had long believed that Quetzalcoatl would return to them. And Adam could not doubt that young women similar to Juanita had shown equal joy and devotion when serving Jesus of Nazareth.

Their conversation had taken only a few minutes and, as Adam had passed through the living room, he had seen that the evening meal was ready; so he and Juanita went through to join the others. Normally, he felt sure, the Zupangos would have eaten earlier and their supper consisted of a few tortillas and a beaker apiece of acid, home made wine; but the dishes provided were again a feast.

Not knowing when he would again have sustaining food, he tucked in heartily; with the result that the heavy meal, taken while he was still tired after his climb, gave him an overwhelming desire to go to sleep. But he resisted it, for he had another matter to see to before he could allow himself to rest.

After his failure to find Hunterscombe, he had to consider what to do about Chela. While he was fully confident that the Zupangos would give her every possible care, and thought it probable that the old crone's treatment of her wound would prove as efficacious as any she might receive from a proper doctor, he was most averse to leaving her with them for longer than was absolutely necessary. The fact that the bone of her leg was not broken at least meant that there was no urgency about getting it properly reset; but the Zupango household was far from sanitary and the palliasse on which she was lying would prove anything but comfortable when she was no longer under drugs; so he must get her taken to hospital as soon as possible.

The snag was that, in order to do so, explanations would have to be given; and as soon as it became known, if it was not already, that the helicopter had come down on the nearby volcano, the whole area would be alive with police. After much thought, Adam had decided that Chela's wound would not be adversely affected if he gave himself twenty four hours' start, and he could be reasonably certain of gaining that time if he sent a telegram that would not reach Mexico City until late the following afternoon.

Producing the Biro he had borrowed from Juanita, he asked her to let him have the writing pad again. Then, while the family regarded him with interest and awe, he wrote out a telegram, and a letter to Chela.

He addressed the telegram to Bernadino Enriquez, stating, with Juanita's help, where the farm was situated and adding only that Chela was there, wounded but not dangerously, and being well cared for.

To Chela he explained why he was compelled to leave her and said that, if he did succeed in getting away, immediately he was safe he would let her know. He mentioned the great debt they owed the Zupangos, then ended by saying how greatly he loved her and that, although they might never meet again, he would treasure the memory of her all his life.

By the time he had done, the men of the family were, as well as they could, politely suppressing their yawns. Knowing that in the ordinary way they would have turned in soon after sundown, he asked Juanita to thank them for all they had done and tell them to go to bed, while she and he repaired to the other room.

With smiles and deep bows they wished him good night in dumb show then, the mother included, they proceeded to spread their palliasses on the floor in front of the cooking range.

When he and Juanita had settled themselves in the bedroom, he gave her the draft of the telegram and asked if she could send it the following afternoon from the village.

She shook her dark head. `No, Lord. It is a little place and has no post office. But I could take a mule and ride in to Apizaco with it.'

`Good enough,' he smiled. `It is important, and I am sure you will not fail me in getting it off. But I don't want you to hand it in before four o'clock.' Giving her the letter for Chela, he went on, `I want you to give this to the Senorita as soon as she is sufficiently recovered to read it. She is a great lady and her father is immensely rich. You may be sure that he will reward you and your family handsomely for all your kindness to us.'

At that Juanita bridled. `We need no reward, Lord. To have you in our home is a great honour.'

He smiled again. `I am sure that your father would have felt insulted if I had offered him money in return for his hospitality. But you have promised to provide me with some clothes, the razor and other things. For those I insist on paying. There is also the telegram.'

A week or so earlier, Hunterscombe had given him approximately fifty pounds of Secret Service money to use, if need be, for bribes or in an emergency. The handful of coins concealed in his shoes had been to enable him to telephone from a public call box; by far the greater part of the money was in notes, which he had since hidden in the lining of his jacket, just below his right armpit. Fishing them out, he gave Juanita three hundred peso notes.

As she took them, she said, `That will be more than enough, Lord. I will collect the things as soon as the others are sound asleep.'

`There is one other matter,' he told her. `The day after tomorrow, the police will come here. They may take you all in to Apizaco to question you about the Senorita and myself. She, of course, will still be in bed here, but I shall be gone and they will press you to tell them all that you have learned about me. I am counting on you to say nothing about your cutting my hair before I leave or the clothes you are going to get for me. Say only that I arrived here in the middle of last night, went up the mountain today to search for my friend, and left during darkness tonight, while you were all asleep. Is that clear?'

`Yes, Lord,' she assured him, wide eyed. `Not a word more shall. they get from me.'

He patted her on the cheek. `Well said, Juanita. But you will all be subjected to a lot of unpleasantness and for that I am determined to compensate you.' As he spoke, he took the pair of magnificent ear rings from his pocket, held them up to her so that their pear shaped drop pearls glistened in the light of the lamp, and went on:

`These are for you; but you must not attempt to sell them, otherwise you might get into serious trouble. Before the Senorita leaves here you are to give them to her. They are worth several thousand pesos. She will either buy them from you, or sell them for you and send you the money. She has many jewels; so no one will question her ownership of them and what then fetch will make a handsome dowry for you, with which you can buy a pleasant house where I hope you will live happily with your man for many years.'

Hesitantly she accepted the jewels, then dropped him an awkward curtsy and murmured, `Lord, your generosity overwhelms me. I have done nothing… nothing to deserve this wonderful gift.'

`You have done more than enough,' he assured her. `As for your parents and brothers, the Seniority’s father will see to it that for all their lives they will never know want. And now I must sleep. Can you keep awake for six hours or so?'

She glanced at a cheap wrist watch she was wearing. `It is now a quarter to eight. At what time, Lord, do you wish to be awakened?'

`Let's say two o'clock. But should you feel yourself dropping off before that, you must rouse me.'

`Have no fear, Lord. I shall be doing my knitting and will wake you on the minute.'

Gratefully he stretched himself out on the palliasse. She moved the lamp so that his face was in shadow. Within minutes he was fast asleep.

Faithful to her promise, at two o'clock she shook him by the shoulder until he opened his eyes. For a moment he did not know where he was, then memories of the previous day came back to him. Sitting up, he knuckled the sleep from his eyes, and asked Juanita

`Did you manage to get all the things?'

She smiled. `Yes, Lord. I took them out after my family had gone to sleep, and they are now in the wine press shed.' Producing a pair of scissors, she added, `If you will turn round, I will cut off your hair.'

A quarter of an hour later she had given him a crew cut and trimmed his beard as closely as possible. She then brought him a saucepan of warm water that she had left on the range and gave him the family razor to shave off the rest of his beard.

Standing up, he stepped across to Chela. For several moments he looked down on her lovely face, now a little drawn. Silently he cursed the conspiracy that had been the cause of all his troubles and now forced them to separate. They had known such wonderful happiness together; but now it seemed certain that they must part for ever. Taking from his pocket the finest of the jeweled bracelets that had been put on him as Quetzalcoatl, he slipped it on over her wrist and kissed her lovingly on the forehead.

Turning to Juanita, he asked, `Do you think we can get out of the house without rousing your family?'

She shrugged. 'They all sleep like logs, Lord. But what matter if one of them does wake? They would never think of stopping you.' Having turned down the wick of the lantern until it gave out only a faint glow, she opened the door and he followed her into the living room.

The other Zupangos were sound asleep, two of them snoring loudly. Adam and Juanita tiptoed past them and eased back the wooden bar of the outer door. Once it creaked loudly; the old woman gave a grunt and turned over, but went off again. Two minutes later they were out in the cold, crisp air.

Juanita led him to the wine press shed, turned up the lantern and got out from behind a cask the things she had procured for him. The clothes consisted of a pair of blue dungarees that were just broad enough to take his shoulders but much too short for him, a checked cotton shirt and a loose fitting leather jacket with tarnished brass buttons. Quickly he changed into them then, pointing to his own clothes on the floor, he said

`I want you to burn these. And tonight. It is important that the police should not find them.'

She nodded. `It shall be done, Lord. Here are the other things.'

He saw then that she had got for him the type of pack used for countless generations by the Indians, which is worn on the back and supported by a strap across the forehead. He feared that at first he would find it awkward; but it had the advantage that, when wearing it, he would have to lean his head forward, which would make him appear less tall, and it was in keeping with his new role.

When he had tucked his torch, her scissors and the shaving kit into a corner of the pack, she helped him adjust the single strap, then handed him a battered hat. It was no high crowned, broad brimmed sombrero, such as one frequently sees in pictures of Mexicans, but a more ordinary affair, now in much more general use: a narrow brimmed, oval crowned straw. Putting it on his close cropped head; he took both her hands, kissed her on the cheek and said:

'Juanita, you have proved a true friend. I thank you from my heart for all you have done for me.'

Her dark eyes shining like stars, she sank to her knees, still looking up at him. As he turned away, she murmured, `May heaven defend you, Lord. I pray that you may come to me again in my dreams.'

With a last smile to her, he went out into the night.

At a rough estimate he believed the coast to be a hundred and twenty miles away; but that was as the crow flies. Owing to the mountainous nature of the country, the roads made many detours; so he expected to have to cover at least half as much ground again and perhaps twice that distance.

The track from the farm wound down the lower slope of the volcano. At about four in the morning he entered the village of Xalcatlan. The moon was still well up and by its light he could see that the place was the usual huddle of, mostly, one storey houses with patched roofs and plaster peeling from the walls, grouped round a small, dusty square. The village was utterly silent, the windows of the houses shuttered, the stalls in the square now empty of fruit and vegetables. There was only one road leading out of the village, and he knew that it must lead to the local town of Apizaco.

Juanita had said that it was about nine miles from the farm; so, even walking at a good pace, he could not expect to reach it before half past five. By that time people would be stirring, so it would be dangerous to enter it. In any case, he had decided to make his way round it for, although he had rid himself of his wavy hair and beard, his unusual size might still draw attention to him. Once the hue and cry was up the odds were that, had he passed a policeman, the man would remember having seen him and his only certainty of remaining uncaptured lay in keeping out of sight of everyone for several days to come.

When the first few straggling houses of Apizaco came in view, he left the road and took a turning that led east. The moon had set, but the grey light proceding the early spring dawn was now sufficient for him to see his way without using his torch. To his annoyance, the road curved south towards the town, so he had to leave it for a track. The track led only to a farm. As he approached, the sound of an empty pail set down with a clatter on the stone paved yard warned him that the inmates were already up and tending their cattle. Taking to a field, he skirted round the farm and soon found himself in open country.

By then a rosy glow crowning the distant range of mountains to the east told him that dawn was near and gave him his direction. He walked on towards it for another hour, keeping, as far as he could, to paths between patches of cultivation. During this time there were always one or more dwellings in sight, but no wooded areas, and the peasants were already coming out to work in their fields. As he looked about for a suitable place to go to earth during the day, he became increasingly anxious at not being able to find one.

At length the fields gave way to an area of coarse grass and, ahead of him, he saw a mound about fifty feet in height. As he came nearer, he recognised it as one of the smaller pyramids, still covered with the earth of centuries that are scattered about the country. When he reached it, he found that near the base at one

side there were some broken stone steps leading down to a low arch. Getting out his torch, he went down the steps and flashed it round. The arch gave on to a passage blocked about ten feet from the entrance by earth and fallen debris. It was quite roomy enough to serve as a hideout, but was by no means a pleasant one, as the floor showed that it had been used many times by the field workers to defecate. None of these unpleasant souvenirs left by human visitors appeared to be recent, which led Adam to hope that he would remain undisturbed there; and, although the place stank of urine, he decided that `beggars cannot be choosers'.

Taking off his pack, he sat down with his back against the wall and looked through the items that Juanita had secured for him. There was a good blanket, a large piece of lean bacon, a knife to cut it with, some two dozen tortillas, a slab of guava jelly, a great hunk of coarse cocoa chocolate, two packs of cigarettes and a box of matches. From what must have been the very limited supplies available at the farm he thought she could not have done better. The bacon, being smoked, would not go bad, the guava jelly would make the cold tortillas much more palatable, and few things were more sustaining than chocolate. Again he blessed his luck that he should have come upon such a well disposed and intelligent girl.

As he had fed so well the previous day, and knowing it to be important to conserve his stores, he decided that he would not eat until evening; but he had a cigarette while he calculated roughly the time it should take him to reach the coast. With his long legs he could easily cover four miles an hour, so if he walked for eight hours a day he should do it in less than a week. But it might not prove so straightforward as that. There would be times when he had to leave the road, and he meant to move only at night. If there was no moon, having to cross open country in the dark would greatly reduce his speed. Again, if clouds prevented him from using the stars as a guide, he might go for several hours in a wrong direction before he discovered his mistake. Anyhow, he would be certain to lose his way now and then and have difficulty in finding it again, for he had no map and the strange names of towns on signposts would convey nothing to him.

Although it was less than five hours since he had slept, his past two days had been extraordinarily onerous ones and he soon began to feel drowsy. Stretching himself out, he used his pack for a pillow and soon dropped off. Well before midday he awoke and had to face the long afternoon with nothing to occupy him. The minutes seemed to crawl by, but at last the sun set and he was able to leave his smelly refuge.

After trudging along paths and across fields for over two hours, he came upon a road and, taking his direction from where he knew the mountains lay, turned left along it. But now he had to use greater caution, as he was anxious not to get caught in the headlights of a car. Fortunately, there was little traffic; but each time a vehicle approached he had to get off the road quickly, crouch down with his back to it in order to remain unnoticed and keep still until the car or lorry had passed.

From time to time he took a brief rest and, at about midnight, a long one during which he made a meal off a strip of bacon and a tortilla, washed down with a draught of water from his flask, for which he again blessed Juanita, as she had had the forethought to fill it for him.

An hour later he came to a township, skirted round it and lost the road again. Another hour went by without his succeeding in finding it. Judging by the moon, he knew that there was still a long time to go until dawn; but he felt too tired to go any further, so dossed down under a hedge. At first light he woke and covered another two miles, by which time the peasants were coming out into the fields and, as he was most averse to risking an encounter, he began to look about for a hideout. Soon afterwards he came upon a burned out shack. Settling himself in a corner, he ate some of the chocolate and tried to sleep, but found that he could not get off.

The day seemed never ending, but at last sundown came and he was able to go on his way. Again, after walking for some eight hours, he had to give up and spent the rest of the night sleeping among some bushes.

And so, with little variation, matters continued. Each night, when fatigue forced him to stop and sleep, he grudged losing the hours of darkness during which he might have covered another eight or ten miles. But the days were the worst.

Again and again he went over in his thoughts scenes through which he had lived since his arrival in Mexico: Chela tall, broad shouldered, superbly gowned and incredibly lovely as she had made her entrance in her father's penthouse on that first evening they had spent in each other's company; Alberuque hawk faced, cynically smiling at the moment he had admitted that he was a reincarnation of Itzechuatl; the top of the pyramid at San Luis Caliente with the slaughtered pig and the smell of its hot blood; Chela, naked, laughing, utterly adorable, as he had known her in her villa at Acapulco; Jacko strangling the wounded warder; Alberuque, his dull black eyes radiating evil when he had threatened to sacrifice Chela; the crowd, the smell and the

mosquitoes at Merida airport; Jeremy Hunterscombe lying hors de combat in the cave; Ramon playing the gracious host at the Bankers' Club; the Zupango family falling on their knees, believing him to be Quetzalcoatl; Alberuque's face showing stark terror as he was thrown from the helicopter to die in the boiling lava of the volcano; Father Lopez discoursing genially on the life of Cortes beside the swimming pool of the Hacienda Hotel at Uxmal; Chela, wan and still under the herbal drug, as he had last seen her at the farmhouse.

These and many other memories kept passing through his mind like the pictures made by a Victorian revolving silhouette wheel. Utterly weary of them, he tried to pass the time by thinking out plots for stories, reciting all the poems he could remember, repeating the multiplication tables, endeavouring to do intricate sums in his head, playing noughts and crosses against himself and inventing other games.

Several times he succeeded in sending his spirit back to the past and lived again for a while either as Ord the Red Handed or Quetzalcoatl, whom he now knew to be one and the same. On one such occasion he found himself as the Man God, alone, tired and hungry, making his way by night through a forest. He was lost, yet dared not go into a village to ask his way in case the inhabitants proved to be enemies. Eight days earlier he had succeeded in escaping from Itzechuatl and was now about two hundred miles from Tenochtitlan; but he still had a long way to go before he could hope to rejoin his own people. He was not only still in danger from the warriors whom he knew must have been sent in pursuit of him, but sad at heart because he had fallen in love at first sight with the beautiful Mirolitlit and knew it to be most unlikely that he would ever see her again.

When Adam came out of his dream he thought how strange it was that he should have made his present journey, or a very similar one, in that long past life and in almost identical circumstances; for in this present incarnation he was again tired, hungry, lost, pursued by enemies with little hope of ever again seeing the great love whom he had had to leave behind. Nevertheless, this vision gave him new courage to endure. As Ord the Viking become Quetzalcoatl, he had succeeded in reaching Yucatan; so he should be ashamed of himself now if, as Adam Gordon, he failed to reach Vera Cruz, which was nowhere near so great a distance.

None of his other returns to the past was of any special interest and, although they gave him something to think about, they were useless for killing time. The many hours, or even days, they seemed to cover were an illusion; when he came out of his visions the sun had not perceptibly moved in the heavens, so, in fact, he had not left his body for more than a few minutes.

Travelling mainly over rough ground eight hours out of twenty four was as much as he could manage and the discomfort of his resting places made it impossible to sleep for more than six hours; the remaining ten had to be got through somehow. His every thought grew stale and, day after day, waiting for darkness to fall again so that he could go on his way almost drove him mad with impatience and frustration.

At no time could he with certainty have put a pin point on a map within twenty miles of where he was. No road led directly towards the east for more than a few miles, then it curved either to north or south. After a time the cultivated lands gave way to jungle. Often he found difficulty in finding a stream of fresh water from which he could refill his flask and sluice his face. To eke out his rations, he stole fruit from trees growing on the outskirts of villages and twice ran down chickens which he afterwards encased in mud and baked over a wood fire. Once he trod on a snake and narrowly escaped being bitten, another time when the moon was hidden by clouds he fell headlong into a pond and he was bitten by mosquitoes until he thought he would go mad.

But one thing buoyed him up. Day after day during his wearying journey he managed to avoid coming face to face with any human being. In the early morning of the twelfth day he emerged from a patch of mimosa bushes to see the sun rising over the sea.

Hardly able to believe that he had at last reached the Atlantic, he retreated into the bushes and considered his next move. The past fortnight had greatly changed his appearance. Three times during his journey he had shaved and trimmed his hair as short as he could with the scissors; but he had allowed his moustache to grow and, by feeling the bristles, he knew that it must now be an obvious feature. Even though he had remained in hiding for the greater part of each day, the torrid sun baking the lower lands had considerably increased his tan; his face was puffy from mosquito bites and his fingernails were black with grime. As he now looked, and in his cheap Indian clothes, he thought it very unlikely that anyone he had met while in Mexico, except perhaps Chela, would recognise him; so he need no longer fear to enter a town.

The great port of Vera Cruz was the obvious place to try to get aboard a ship, but the problem was how to set about it. Without a passport, he could not sail as a passenger, even had he had the money to buy a ticket. Out of the money with which Hunterscombe had provided him he had given Juanita three hundred pesos. That left him with six hundred and fifty and some small change about

nineteen pounds. Far too little to offer a sea captain as a bribe for getting him out of the country illegally.

Taking out the remaining jewels that he had worn as Quetzalcoatl, he looked them over. In addition to the beautiful jeweled serpent, there were five thick gold bracelets studded with fair sized but ill cut gems. As he examined them they brought back to his mind the treasure he had found in Scotland when a boy. So many things had happened to him since that that seemed a whole lifetime ago, although, actually, it was only a little over fourteen years. Crude as they were, these stones were much larger and, if recut, would be worth a lot of money. But no buyer would be such a fool as to remove the stones from their settings. As genuine antiques, the bracelets must be worth a small fortune and the serpent symbol be almost priceless. To dispose of them, though, was another matter. No jeweller would consider such a purchase unless he had first checked up on where they had come from, so to sell them in Mexico was impossible. With a sigh, Adam put the jewels back in his pocket.

That evening he set off north along the coast, hoping that Vera Cruz lay in that direction. Here on the sea, villages were much more frequent. At the first he came to, lights in all the houses told him that the inhabitants were taking their leisure after the long, hot day. Having for close on a fortnight gone to great trouble to avoid contact with anyone, he felt considerable reluctance to enter the village. But the plunge had to be taken some time, so he nerved himself to walk on to the little piazza.

In it there was a small eating house. No one had taken any notice of him, so the temptation to enjoy a hot meal proved irresistible. The fare offered was simple, but included freshly caught fish; and he ate voraciously, enjoying the meal more than he would have a carefully chosen dinner at the Ritz.

As he paid his bill he got into conversation with the waitress and told her that he had hiked from Puebla with the idea of getting a job as a seaman, but had lost his way the preceding night, so had only a vague idea where he was. He learned from her that Vera Cruz was about fifteen miles further north.

Proceeding on his way, he passed through three more villages and covered two thirds of the distance to the great port, then dossed down for the remainder of the night in a hut on the beach. Next morning, another two miles brought him within sight of the steeples of Vera Cruz, but immediately in his path there lay a smaller town. On entering it, he found it to be called Boca del Rio. It had quite a good harbour and, lying off it were three ships, one of which was flying the Stars and Stripes.

As he stood on the quayside looking out at them, it occurred to him that there would be many fewer officials in a small port like his than at Vera Cruz; so he would stand less risk of detection f he made his attempt here to get aboard a ship and stow away.

To do so would require careful planning and might take several days; so, although he was loath to register at an hotel, he decided that it would be better to do that than to spend the nights on the streets and risk being picked up by the police.

Choosing a small inn that looked fairly clean, he gave his name is Sancho Bracero and enquired for a room. When he was asked for his papers, he said that the previous night he had got drunk in Vera Cruz, gone to a brothel and been robbed of his wallet; then he produced some money as evidence that he could still pay his reckoning. The fat landlord shrugged, deducted the price of a room for the night, said Adam had better see the police about getting new papers, then took him upstairs.

Adam would have given a great deal for a bath, but had to make do with sluicing himself down with water from a tap in a stone floored washroom at the end of the passage. He then went out again to reconnoitre the harbour and find out where each of the three ships was bound for.

From a wharf hand with whom he got into conversation he learned that one ship was only a coastal trader, another was taking aboard a mixed cargo for Havana, and that the United States tramp had come across from Campeche with a cargo of sisal; she was now calling at Boca to load fruit on her open decks before proceeding to New York.

The American was obviously the best choice if he could get aboard her, as in New York he would at once be able to get money from his American literary agents and, on their vouching for his identity, he would have no difficulty in securing a new passport From the British Consul General. But, as she was not alongside the lock, there could be no easy business of slipping over her side in the middle of the night; so to stow away in her presented a major problem. It seemed that his only chance was to persuade one of the crew to help him.

After a hearty midday meal and a siesta, he returned to the dock, sat on a bollard and kept watch on the ship. In due course, as he expected, several of the crew put off in a boat to come ashore "for an evening's amusement. On landing they formed two groups of nine seamen or stokers and three officers, then separated, the officers evidently heading for a somewhat better place than the ratings would patronize. Adam had intended to scrape acquaintance with the members of the crew, but he chanced to overhear a fair haired, freckle faced young officer with the rings of a Second Engineer speak to his two companions in a broad Scottish accent. Following a hunch, he tailed the three men to a cafe that looked about the best the small port had to offer.

Giving them a few minutes to settle down, he went in, took up a position near them at the bar, ordered himself a Scotch and soda and plonked down a hundred peso note to pay for it. As he did so they gave him a curious glance, for his appearance was that of a down and out Mexican who would not ordinarily have ordered such a drink or have been able to afford it. They went on talking and took no further notice of him.

Having waited until the glasses of two of them were empty, he looked along at the Engineer and, reverting to the accent he had had before going to Marlborough, said, `M' name's Adam McTavish, an' seeing we baith hail fra north o' the border, I'd like tae stand ye an' ye're friends a drink.'

They looked at him in some surprise, then readily accepted. Other rounds followed and they were soon all talking in a most friendly fashion. The young Engineer, whose name was Bruce Sinclair, came from Glasgow; the others the ship's First Officer and `Sparks' were Americans. Adam gave them a partially true and partially false account of himself. Having spoken of his time in the Royal Navy, he post dated his trip as a supercargo who had been left high and dry at Recife, then spun a yarn that he had worked his way north through Venezuela, Panama and Guatemala to Mexico where, for the past few months, he had acted as a foreman in a silver mine.

Later they all had a meal together, during which Adam drew lavishly on his novelist's imagination to recount amusing fictitious happenings in which he had played a part while on his way up from Brazil. After they had eaten, he found an opportunity to leave them for a few minutes, get an order slip from one of the waiters and write on it:

`I have a good proposition to put up to you if you can meet me here alone for a meal at two o'clock tomorrow.'

By that time they were all half seas over, so he had no difficulty in slipping the note into Sinclair's hand unobserved by the others. The young man read it under cover of the marble topped table to which they had adjourned, and nodded. Roundabout midnight Adam, by then well loaded himself, saw his new friends off from the dock with mutual expressions of undying friendship.

Next day he went to the cafe well before two o'clock and wondered anxiously whether Sinclair would turn up or if, having been decidedly tight the previous night, he would have forgotten

their appointment. But on the hour, with his nautical cap at a Jaunty angle over his freckled face, the young Engineer joined him. Until they had enjoyed a good meal, Adam refused to satisfy his companion's curiosity. Then he said, `See you, Bruce, I'm in trouble. While I was working in that mine I came on a cache of old Indian jewellery, really valuable stuff. I didn't see why I should turn it in to the management, so I decided to make off with it. Unfortunately, I was rumbled and there was one hell of a row. They ran me for stealing antiques rightly belonging to the Mexican government, and I was given six months. Five weeks later I had a lucky break and managed to escape from prison. Being a cautious chap, I had hidden a few of the things I had come upon; so they didn't get them all back, and I collected the rest. But they had taken away my passport; so, although I've got several thousand pounds' worth of loot in my pockets, I can't get out of this damned country. Now, if I make it well worth your while, are you game to help me?'

Sinclair considered for a moment. `I'd like to, but it would be taking a big risk. What is there in it for me?'

Fishing out of his trouser pocket the least valuable of the bracelets, Adam showed it under the table and said, `This. I've friends in New York to whom I'll take you and I'll guarantee that they'll give you at least a thousand quid for it.'

As the young man looked at the jewel, he drew a deep breath. Considering their responsibilities, the officers in small ships are about the worst paid class in the world, and there was a bonnie lass in Glasgow that Bruce Sinclair was saving up to marry.

`All right,' he said, `but how is it to be done?'

`That's for you to say,' Adam replied. `But there can be nothing against your asking me on board some time when things are quiet, and it won't be noticed if I don't go ashore again. You'll have to think of a place where I can hide for twenty four hours. I'll come out then, and I'm quite capable of working my passage.'

`What about when we dock in New York?'

`Leave that to me. I'll find a way of getting ashore. Maybe in one of those crates of fruit you are loading. Or, if you lay off, I'm a good swimmer and could swim ashore.'

Again Sinclair remained thoughtful for a minute, then said, `Coming aboard at night would look a bit fishy. Tomorrow at about three in the afternoon would be best. Everyone will be having a shut eye then, even the deck watchman who is supposed to keep a look out while we are in port. We don't want any of the crew to see you come aboard, though; so you'd better get a boat

man to take you out to the ship and I'll be waiting for you.'

So the matter was arranged, and an hour later Adam saw Sinclair off from the dock.

The following afternoon, hopeful but nervous about the outcome, he hired a small motor boat which chugged with him out to the President Cleveland, as the American ship was named. When he reached her, he told the boatman that he might have to remain on board for some hours, and that when he had done his business one of the ship's boats would bring him ashore; then he paid him off.

Sinclair, looking far from happy, received Adam as he came over the side. But after they had had a few drinks in the deserted Mess under the stern deck, he cheered up considerably and said, `There is a spare cabin not far from mine which should be occupied by a Fourth Officer. But in this tub we don't run to one, and I don't think anyone has even looked into it for weeks; so you should be quite all right there.'

A quarter of an hour later Adam was installed, lying in the narrow bunk and, delight of delights, after being without books for so long, starting to read one of half a dozen which he had bought that morning. With him he had also brought food enough to see him through the next forty eight hours; and the President Cleveland, having completed her loading, was due to sail on the tide early the following morning.

After reading until sunset he had a meal, then undressed, got under the blankets and went to sleep. A few hours later he was rudely awakened by the door of the cabin being unceremoniously pulled open. Starting up, he blinked a few times, then saw that a big, heavy fowled man who, from the rings on his sleeves, he knew must be the Captain of the vessel, and a much gold braided Mexican Customs officer, were framed in the doorway. Behind them were grouped several other men.

`What's this?' the Customs officer snapped at the Captain. `You told me this cabin was empty.'

`So it should be,' retorted the American in atrocious Spanish. Scowling at Adam, he demanded, `Who are you? What the hell are you doing here?'

Adam's mind jumped to it that he had been caught in a search that Sinclair could not have foreseen. Instantly he decided that he must protect the young Scot who had befriended him, so he refused to explain how he came to be there. His stubborn refusal to answer all the subsequent questions fired at him resulted in the gold braided Customs officer drawing a revolver, covering him with it and ordering in a junior to search his belongings.

Within two minutes the Customs man came upon the jeweled

serpent head and the bracelets. With a cry of triumph, he held them aloft.

`Now what have you to say?' sneered the senior Customs officer at the unhappy Captain. `We were tipped off that your ship was smuggling out valuable antiques which should belong to the Mexican government. Evidently the people for whom you are acting do not trust you, so sent this man to carry the most valuable pieces himself, and keep a watch on you. I have no doubt now that we will find many lesser Mexican objects d'art hidden among your cargo.'

Adam was then locked in the cabin and left to brood on his extraordinary bad luck in having tried to get away in a ship which was under suspicion as an antique runner. Hours later two policemen came to the cabin, handcuffed him and took him up on deck.

There, under the arc lights, he saw that many of the fruit crates had been broken open and set out on the deck were a score of pieces of fine pottery, several small jade images of gods, obsidian axe heads, knives and other items which had evidently been destined for antique dealers in New York; and the Customs men were still searching.

He was taken ashore and, half an hour later, put in the local lock up. Next morning he was questioned but refused to give an account of himself. That afternoon he was transferred to the police headquarters in Vera Cruz. Again he was questioned and again he refused to talk.

They photographed him, took his fingerprints and sent them to the capital with a full description of the jewels that had been found in his possession, to find out if he could be identified as an habitual criminal.

Two days later he was brought from his cell to face the ex pugilist who had been his warder in Mexico City after he had been brought there from Merida. In vain he denied that he had ever before set eyes on this human gorilla. His denial was ignored. That night he was sent back under guard to Mexico City, to stand his trial as the man who had incited rebellion in the role of Quetzalcoatl.