West of Guam Read Online Free PDF Page A

playing a fool, Colonel.”
    “No motive—no clues,” Major Jones muttered. “Beats the devil, it does!”
    Colonel Dunbar reached for his pitcher of ice water. Civilians aboard a transport annoyed him. Ship’s bells. Midnight. Eight hours of work, and they had gotten nowhere. He looked out through the cabin door opening. The transport swung lazily towards the Islands. She was a slow boat. This trip she was a death boat. And aboard her was a killer.
    “The men know of the murder, of course?” The colonel felt foolish when he asked that.
    Jones replied. “Of course—and the roll call showed everybody was aboard, including all of the ship’s crew.”
    The colonel shook his head slowly. He was hot, tired and irritated. “We’ll work out the report tomorrow, Adjutant,” he said grimly.
    “For the present we’ll just rate it murder—west of Guam!”
    Jo Gar lay stretched on a hatch cover, aft of the radio room. He appeared to be sleeping—the hot, tropical sun beat down on his body. He was not sleeping. And the sun did not dull his brain. Jo was thinking.
    “So many motives,” he murmured to himself. “The colonel no doubt is a fine soldier. In this matter he is the great blunderer.”
    Jo Gar thought best under circumstances which would have dulled most human’s brains. But Jo had been born in the tropics, raised in the Islands. With his body slugged by heat—his brain was most active. It was almost noon now, and he had come from a chat with the colonel. He had read the colonel’s report—even in it there was a blunder. Jo Gar detested errors.
    “The murder,” he had pointed out to the colonel, “was not committed west of Guam. You have it written so here. The transport was steaming beneath the cliffs, almost, when Captain Lintwell was shot down. Agana was not to the eastward.”
    The colonel had stared, then had sworn grimly.
    “Find the killer —never mind such small details,” he had gritted. “For example—why didn’t someone hear the shot? A Colt makes a noise.”
    Jo Gar had only smiled. He felt that the commanding officer had little confidence in him. He had got away as soon as was possible. Now he stirred his baking limbs, chuckled.
    “So does steam escaping—make a noise,” he murmured. “There is the Marine post, atop the cliffs. And the flag that is dipped. And the salute by whistle. Three blasts. That is good!”
    He sat up on the hatch, swung his legs over the edge. Up on A Deck he caught a flash of white. A woman was swinging along rather briskly. It was very hot—and the woman was Lieutenant Solter’s wife. She was very young and very beautiful. The night before the transport had reached Guam her husband had told her, heatedly, that she was a fool. He had pointed out that Captain Lintwell’s reputation was not an enviable one. He had suggested that his wife walk the deck less in the captain’s company.
    Jo Gar smiled faintly. Helen Solter was doing so, at the moment. It was she who had told him, with reluctance, that her husband had rather hated Captain Lintwell. The captain was owed much bridge money by Lieutenant Briggs. Charlie Briggs was her husband’s best friend. Her husband disliked gamblers, anyway. Captain Lintwell had been a gambler. And Helen Solter had also assured Jo Gar that her husband had been at her side, watching the Island of Guam slide out of sight, for fully a half hour after the transport had started to steam out from her anchorage beyond the coral reefs.
    As for Lieutenant Briggs, he had been below, with his company. Sergeant Walker had accompanied him during an inspection. The alibis of the two lieutenants were excellent.
    “So many motives,” Jo Gar murmured as he got to his feet, “and not a clue.”
    He went to his quarters and dressed rather immaculately in white. Outside the colonel’s cabin he found a private with red hair and a cheerful grin. Privates were not allowed on A Deck, so Jo Gar guessed out loud.
    “You are possibly the