"I don't know what it was," Rick said. The phrase could have been a warning, but of what? And how had the colonel known where they were dining? He put the question aloud.
Scotty shrugged. "Doesn't the constabulary come under the Department of the Interior? Maybe Lazada told him. A colonel would be pretty high rank in the constabulary; he could even be the commander."
The Philippine constabulary had a long and distinguished history. It was similar to a police force, but was a military organization. It was, Rick thought, something like a cross between the American state militia, the Texas Rangers, and any good state police force.
"I'm snowed," Rick said at last. "The only thing I'm sure of is that he wasn't looking for information when he asked what good is hay to a dead horse. Come on. Let's start for Lazada's."
The way led across busy Taft Avenue, named for the American president, across the Ayala Bridge which spanned the Pasig River, and past Malaccan Palace. The palace was the equivalent of our White House. In its time Spanish, American, and Japanese conquerors of the Philippines had lived there. Now it housed the president of the Republic of the Philippines.
It was very dark by the time they passed the palace. They left the street-lighted area and entered an area of old Spanish houses. The Pasig River was very close. They could smell the water hyacinth which floated endlessly down to the sea.
The air was heavy with unshed rain. The boys had long since shed their jackets and were carrying them. Now the heat seemed to push down on them, muffling even the sound of their leather soles on the cobbles. They passed a solitary street light and Rick read the sign. They were on the right track. The hotel clerk's directions, obtained before they ate, had been very good.
"Almost there," Rick whispered, then wondered why he hadn't spoken aloud.
Apparently Scotty was feeling the same physical oppression because he didn't comment on the whisper.
The houses were two-story, old Spanish style, with much wrought-iron fancy work. Few lights showed. Such houses presented only blank faces to the street. The life inside them found its open air in secluded patios in the rear.