The Kiwi Target

respond to that. Instead, he waited until the waitress returned with his breakfast. She set it in front of him with just enough of a smile to let him know he was favored.
    Winston ignored Peter’s silence. “You know this is a small and isolated country. In some respects we’re unique; for one thing, we may be the only country with a declining population. A few weeks ago a survey team came here and began checking out all of our hotels, tourist attractions, and transportation facilities. Naturally, we took an interest. Before long, we learned that Pricane had hired them. Go ahead and eat your breakfast.”
    Peter began to butter his pancakes. When he had eaten his first mouthful, Winston continued.
    “Right now, we’re much concerned about a Chinese syndicate in Hong Kong. It controls huge sums of money that it’s very expert in keeping out of sight. Interpol tells us that it’s heavily involved in the narcotics traffic. When this organization recently sent some people here, we set up a special task force within the police. I was asked to look after it.”
    The waitress appeared once more and set a hearty breakfast before the superintendent. As she left, she glanced back at Peter for a moment.
    “I think the lady likes you,” Winston said.
    “I hope so,” Peter retorted. “Go on.”
    Winston did, as he ate. “The Chinese have always had the problem that their own people are too easily identified. Unlike the Japanese, they don’t travel much outside their own country. So for any kind of undercover operation, they have to go elsewhere for help.”
    “Like Australia.”
    “Yes. The Australians are our good friends and neighbors, but they do have a few very rough types among them. We’ve had a bit of experience with them from time to time. Now a particular group has turned up here with stolen or high-quality forged passports. We think they’re working for the Hong Kong syndicate. They’re also showing interest in our tourist industry.”
    The hostess came to the table to tell Peter he had a phone call. He excused himself and went to the lobby.
    Ray O’Malley was on the line. “We’re to appear before Phil Matthews tomorrow morning at ten at Lumsden to determine if you are a true and proper heir under your grandfather’s will, if he rules that you are, there’ll be some papers for you to sign in order to take formal possession. Be ready at eight—I’ll pick you up.”
    When he returned to the table, Winston was patiently waiting. “I want to ask a question,” Peter said after he sat down. “The man who was thrown onto my car—he was an undercover policeman you had planted to watch them. Is that right?”
    Winston was silent for several seconds. “Yes,” he said finally. “A very good man, and one of my close friends.” Then he jerked his head upward and returned to the present.
    “He was dead when I picked him up,” Peter said.
    “Jarvis told you that.”
    “Yes, but it was his deduction at the time. How was he killed?”
    “A knitting needle, or something like that, thrust into his ear.”
    “Not too nice a way to go.”
    “No, I should think not.” Winston paused. “Have you figured it out yet?” he asked.
    “I think so.” Peter began to spread jam on a piece of toast. “It was raining heavily that day. Traffic on the road was very light; I met only two other cars from the time I picked up the body until I reached Greymouth. You just confirmed that the man was murdered. I thought so, but I wanted to be sure.”
    He bit into the toast and enjoyed its crisp warmth. As soon as he had swallowed, he continued. “Now, although I’m an American and am uncomfortable driving on the left, no one could foresee that I would give in to impulse and drive on the right past that particular point.”
    “True,” Winston agreed.
    “Put those two facts together, and the odds of a body accidentally coming down just at the moment I was going past are impossible.”
    He stopped and ate a bit of sausage. “When I picked the man up,” he continued, “despite the rain, I would have sensed if his body had been cold. He was wet, but he still felt warm. So he could only have been dead a short time.”
    Winston pursed his lips but remained silent.
    “The body was on a fairly high bank. The heavy rain had made the leaves slippery, so the man could have begun to slide at just that moment. Or he could have been climbing about, fallen, hit his head on a rock and died as he slid down toward the