The Kiwi Target

answered. “There’s no way anyone could have gotten the word about me back there in the middle of the night and sent that cable here so fast.”
    Winston nodded. “I confess I thought of that too when I read it.”
    “There are some other points you wouldn’t know,” Peter continued. “My boss and I are close friends, over and above our business association. He’d never be that abrupt with me, even in telegraph language. Or with anyone else; it simply isn’t his style.”
    “I see,” the superintendent said.
    Peter wasn’t through. “Another thing: he’s always Charlie, even to the night watchman. He’d never send me, or anyone else, a wire and sign it Charles.”
    Winston was impressed. “You have me convinced,” he said. “Then let me put the ball in your court,” Peter countered. “If you can find out who sent that wire and why, you may have something.”
    “Oh, I intend to do that.” The superintendent spoke with a fresh briskness in his voice as he picked up the telephone. “Put me through to Wellington,” he said.
    When he had reached his party, he spoke quite openly. “Winston here. I’ve been visiting with Mr. Peter Ferguson here in Greymouth. He’ll be returning to Queenstown shortly; ask Woodley to arrange his accommodation as before. Mr. Ferguson should arrive sometime later this evening. He’ll be driving. Woodley has the number of his car. One moment.”
    The superintendent covered the mouthpiece and spoke to Peter. “Would you mind taking a passenger with you?”
    “I’d be glad of the company.”
    Winston spoke again in to the telephone. “Sergeant Holcomb will be coming with him.”
    He hung up and then turned. “Peter, you’re free to go, with our official thanks for your help and cooperation. I’m sorry I had to be rough with you, but there’s a valid reason. To make up for it in part, I’ll tell you that your mother had a sister who’s presently living in Te Anau. That’s not far from Queenstown. Sergeant Woodley has her name and address.”
    Peter swallowed hard. “Thank you very much” was all he could think to say.
    “Now, since you’re obviously capable of keeping a confidence, I’ll give you some additional information. You’re not to discuss what I’m about to tell you with anyone, barring commissioned police officers—is that agreed?”
    “Yes,” Peter answered, “absolutely.”
    “Pricane isn’t the only outside agency that’s creating difficulties at the moment. Some very undesirable people from Australia have recently come here illegally. They are already causing some serious problems.”
    “I could be mistaken for one of them,” Peter suggested.
    “Yes, exactly, which is one reason why we checked up on you. I suggest that for the present you remain in the Queenstown area and perhaps look up your aunt.”
    Peter rose to his feet and held out his hand. “I hope the dead man was one of those you’re after,” he said. As soon as he had spoken, he realized how bad that sounded, but he knew that Winston would understand.
    For a moment a shadow seemed to pass across the superintendent’s smooth features, then he spoke very factually. “I wish that were true also, Peter, but it isn’t. He was a police officer.”

CHAPTER 10

    It was still early evening when Sergeant Holcomb pulled into the parking lot of the Mountaineer Establishment in Queenstown. He had driven the whole distance, despite Peter’s offer on several occasions to relieve him.
    They were cordially greeted at the desk, where Peter was assigned his old room at his request. After a quick shower and some fresh clothes, he went down to the lobby and straight into the dining room. He did his duty by looking around quickly to see if Holcomb was there, then gratefully took a table by himself.
    He was indulging in dessert when a tall young policeman came into the dining room. He looked about in a quiet, businesslike manner. He spotted Peter and approached his table. “Mr. Ferguson?” he asked.
    “Yes,” Peter answered, indicating the vacant chair at his table. He hoped that in this small community it was clear he wasn’t being busted. He was just about to offer the policeman coffee when a waitress set a steaming cup of tea before his guest instead.
    Sergeant Woodley produced a notebook. “Mr. Ferguson, we understand that your late mother was a kiwi—a New Zealander, that is.”
    “That’s right, she was.”
    Woodley consulted his notes. “There was a lady named