Seawitch

Chapter 6

Jtto BERTSON looked up from the radio console. «Chief McGarrity.»

Mitchell took the phone. «Mitchell? We've found the kidnapers' estate wagon. Down by the Wyanee Swamp.» McGarrity sounded positively elated. «I'm going there personally. Tracker dogs. Til wait for you at the Walnut Tree crossing.» Mitchell replaced the receiver and said to Roomer: «McGarrity's got it all wrapped up. He's found the estate wagon. Well . . . someone did, but of course it will be made clear eventually that it was McGarrity.»

«Empty, of course. Doesn't that old fool know that this makes it more difficult, not easier? At least we knew what transport they were using. Not any more. He didn't mention anything about bringing along a newspaper photographer that he just sort of accidentally bumped into?»

«Tracker dogs were all he mentioned.»

«Did he suggest anything for the dogs to sniff at?» Mitchell shook his head, Roomer shook his and called to Jenkins. «Will you get Louise, please?»

Louise appeared very quickly. Roomer said: «We need a piece of clothing that the ladies used to wear a lot.»

She looked uncertain. «I don't understand—»

«Some things we can give bloodhounds to sniff so that they pick up their scent.»

«Oh.» It required only a second's thought. «Their dressing gowns, of course.» This with but the slightest hint of disapproval, as if the girls spent most of the day lounging about in those garments.

«Handle as little as possible, please. Put each in a separate plastic bag.»

A patrol car and a small closed police van awaited them at the Walnut Tree crossing. McGarrity was standing by the police car. He was a small bouncy man who radiated goodwill and only stopped smiling when he was vehemently denouncing corruption in politics. He was a police chief of incomparable incompetence, but was a consummate and wholly corrupt politician, whi^h was whv he was police chief. He shook the hands of Mitchell and Roomer with all the warmth and sincerity of an incumbent coming up for re-election, which was precisely what he was.

«Glad to meet you two gentlemen at last. Heard very good reports about you.» He appeared to have conveniently forgotten his allegation that thev gave a lot of trouble to the local law. «Appreciate all the co-operation you've given me—and for turning up here now. This is Ron Stewart of the Herald.» He gestured through an open car window where a man, apparently festooned in cameras, sat in the back seat. «Kind of accidentally bumped into him.»

Mitchell choked, turning it into a cough. «Too many cigarettes.»

«Same failing myself. Driver's the dog handler. Driver of the van is the other one. Just follow us, please.»

Five miles farther on they reached the turn-off—one of many—into the Wyanee Swamp. The foliage of the trees, almost touching overhead, quickly reduced the light to that of a late winter afternoon. The increase in the humidity was almost immediately noticeable, as was the sour, nose-wrinkl i n g miasma as they neared the swamp. A distinctly unhealthy atmosphere, or such was the first impression: but many people with a marked aversion to what passed for

civilization lived there all their lives and seemed none the worse for it.

The increasingly rutted, bumpy road had become almost intolerable until they rounded a blind corner and came across the abandoned station wagon.

The first essential was, apparently, that pictures be taken, and the second that McGarrity be well-placed in each one, his hand preferably resting in a proprietorial fashion on the hood. That done, the cameraman fitted a flash attachment and was reaching for the rear door when Roomer clamped his wrist not too gently. «Don't do that!»

«Why not?»

«Never been on a criminal case before? Fingerprints is why not.» He looked at McGarrity. «Expecting them soon?»

«Shouldn't be long. Out on a case. Check on them, Don.» This to the driver, who immediately got busy on his radio. It was clear that the idea of bringing fingerprint experts along had never occurred to McGarrity.

The dogs were released from the van. Roomer and Mitchell opened up their plastic bags and allowed the dogs to sniff the dressing gowns. McGarrity said: «What you got there?»

«The girls' dressing gowns. To give your hounds a scent. We knew you'd want something.»

«Of course. But dressing gowns!» McGarrity was a past master in covering up. Something else, clearly, that had not occurred to him.

The dogs caught the scents at once and strained at their leashes as they nosed their way down a rutted path, for the road had come to an abrupt end. Inside a hundred yards, their path was blocked by water. It wasn't a true part of the swamp but a slow, meandering, mud-brown creek, perhaps twenty feet across, if that. There was a mooring post nearby, with a similar one at the far bank. Also by the far bank was a warped and aged craft which not even the charitable could have called a boat. It was built along the lines of an oversized coffin, with a squared-off end where the bow should have been. The ferry—probably the most kindly name for it— was attached to the two posts by an endless pulley line.

The two dog handlers hauled the boat across, got into it with understandable caution, and were joined by their dogs, who kept on • disolaying considerable signs of animation, an animation which rapidly diminished, then vanished shortly after they had landed on the far bank. After making a few fruitless circles, they lay down dejectedly on the ground.

«Well, ain't that a shame,» a voice said, 'Trail gone cold, I guess.»

The four men on the near bank turned to look at the source of the voice. He was a bizarre character, wearing a new panama hat with a tartan band, gleaming thigh-length leather boots (presumably as a protection against snakebites), and

clothes discarded by a scarecrow. «You folks chasin' someone?»

«We're looking for someone,» McGarrity said cautiously.

«Lawmen, yes?»

«Chief of Police McGarrity.»

«Honored, I'm sure. Well, Chief, you're wasting your time. Hot trail here, cold on the other side. So the party you're looking for got off halfway across.»

«You saw them?» McGarrity asked suspiciously.

«Hah! More than one, eh? No, sir. Just happened by right now. But if I was on the run from the law that's what I'd do, because it's been done hundreds of times. You can get out midway, walk half a mile, even a mile, upstream or downstream. Dozens of little rivulets come into this creek. You could turn up any of those, go a mile into the swamp without setting foot on dry land. Wouldn't find them this side of Christmas, Chief.»

«How deep is the creek?»

«Fifteen inches. If that.»

«Then, why the boat? I mean, with those boots you could walk across without getting your feet wet.»

The stranger looked almost shocked. «No sirree. Takes me an hour every morning to polish up them critters.» It was assumed that he was referring to his boots. «Besides, there're the water moccasins.» He seemed to have a rooted aversion to snakes. «The boat? Come the rains, the creek's up to here.» He touched his chest.

McGarrity called the dog handlers to return. Mitchell said to the stranger: «Anyplace in the swamp where a helicopter could land?»

«Sure. More firm land out there than there is swampland. Never seen any helicopters, though. Yes, lots of clearings.»

The dog handlers and dogs disembarked. Leaving the stranger to flick some invisible dust off his boots they made their way back to the station wagon. Mitchell said: «Wait a minute. I've got an idea.» He opened the two plastic bags containing the dressing gowns and presented them to the dogs again. He then walked back up the rutted lane, past the two cars and vans, beckoning the dog handlers to follow him, which they did, almost having to drag the reluctant dogs behind them.

After about twenty yards the reluctance vanished. The dogs yelped and strained at their leashes. For another twenty yards they towed their handlers along behind them, then abruptly stopped and circled a few times before sitting down dispiritedly. Mitchell crouched and examined the surface of the lane. The others caught up with him.

McGarritty said: «What gives, then?»

«This.» Mitchell pointed to the ground. 'There was another vehicle here. You can see where its back wheels spun when it started to reverse. The kidnapers guessed we'd be Using dogs—it wasn't all that hard a guess. So they carried the girls twenty yards or so, to break the scent, before setting them down again.»

«Right smart of you, Mr. Mitchell, right smart.» McGarrity didn't look as pleased as his words suggested. «So the birds have flown, eh? And now we haven't the faintest idea what the getaway vehicle looks like.»

Roomer said: «Somebody's flown, that's for sure. But maybe only one or two. Maybe they've gone to borrow a helicopter.»

«A helicopter?» The waters didn't have to be very deep for Chief McGarrity to start floundering.

With a trace of weary impatience Mitchell said: «It could be a double bluff. Maybe they reversed the procedure and took the girls back to the station wagon again. Maybe they're still in the swamp, waiting for a helicopter to come arid pick them up. You heard the old boy back there—he said there were plenty of places in the swamp where a helicopter could set down.»

McGarrity nodded sagely and appeared to ponder the matter deeply. The time had come, he felt, for him to make a positive contribution. «The swamp's out. Hopeless. So I'll have to concentrate on the helicopter angle.»

Mitchell said: «How do you propose to do that?»

«Just you leave that to me.» Roomer said: «That's hardly fair, Chief. We've given you our complete confidence. Don't you think we're entitled to some in return?»

«Well, now.» McGarrity appeared to ruminate, although he was secretly pleased to be asked the question, as Roomer had known he would be. «If the chopper doesn't get in there, it can't very well lift them out, can it?»

«That's a fact,» Roomer said solemnly. «So I station marksmen round this side of the swamp. It's no big deal to bring down a low-flyine chopper.»

Mitchell said: «I wouldn't do that if I were you.»

«No, indeed.» Roomer shook his head. «The law frowns on murder.»

«Murder?» McGarrity stared at them. «Who's talking about murder?»

'We are,» Mitchell said. «Rifle or machine-gun fire could kill someone inside the helicopter. If it brings down the helicopter they'd all probably die. Maybe there are criminals aboard, but they're entitled to a fair trial. And has it occurred to you that the pilot will almost certainly be an innocent party with a pistol pointed at his head?» McGarrity, clearly, had not thought of that. «Not going to make us very popular, is it?»

McGarrity winced. Even the thought of unpopularity and the forthcoming election made him feel weak inside.

«So what the devil do we do?»

Roomer was frank. «I'll be damned if I know. You can post observers. You can even have a grounded helicopter standing by to chase the other one when it takes off. // it ever comes in the first place. We're only guessing.»

«No more we can do here,» Mitchell said. «We've already missed too many appointments today. We'll be in touch.»

Back on the highway Roomer said: «How do you think he'd do as a dogcatcher?»

«Place would be overrun by stray dogs in a few months. How much faith have you got in this idea that they might use a helicopter?»

«A lot. If they just wanted to change cars they wouldn't have gone through this elaborate rigmarole. They could have parked their station wagon out of sight almost anyplace. By apparently going into hiding in the swamp they wanted to make it look as though they were preparing to hole up in there for some time. They hadn't figured on our backing—your backtracking—up the lane.»

«We're pretty sure their destination is the Seawitch. We're pretty sure they'll use a helicopter. Which helicopter and pilot would you use?»

«Lord Worth's. Not only are his pilots almost certainly the only ones who know the exact co-ordinates of the Seawitch, but those distinctly marked North Hudson helicopters are the only ones that could approach the Seawitch without raising suspicion.» Roomer reached for the phone, fiddled with the wave-band control and raised Lord Worth's house. «Jim?» «Go ahead, Mr. Roomer.» «We're coming back there. Look for Lord Worth's address book. Probably right by you in your radio room. Make us a list of the names and addresses of his helicopter pilots. Is the gatekeeper at the heliport on the radio-phone, too?»

«Yes.»

«Get that for us too, please.»

«Roger,»

Roomer said to Mitchell: «Still think we shouldn't warn Larsen about our suspicions?»

«That's for sure.» Mitchell was very definite. 'The Seawitch is Larsen's baby, and the kind of reception he'd prepare for them might be a bit overenthusiastic. How'd you like to explain to Lord Worth how come his daughters got caught in the crossfire?»

«No way!» Roomer spoke with some feeling. «Or even explain to yourself how Melinda got shot through the lung?»

Roomer ignored him. «What if we're wrong about Worth's pilots?»

Seawitch

'Then we turn the whole thing over to that ace detective, McGarrity.» «So we'd better be right.» They were right. They were also too late.

John Campbell was both an avid fisherman and an avid reader. He had long since mastered the techniques of indulging his two pleasures simultaneously. A creek, fairly popular with fish, ran within twenty feet of his back porch. Campbell was sitting on a canvas chair, parasol over his head, alternating every page with a fresh cast of his line, when Durand and one of his men, stocking-masked and holding guns in their hands, came into his line of vision. Campbell rose to his feet, book still in hand.

«Who are you and what do you want?»

«You. You're Campbell, aren't you?»

«What if I am?»

«Like you to do a little job for us.»

«What job?»

«Fly a helicopter for us.»

«I'll be damned if I will!»'

«So you are Campbell. Come along.»

Following the gesturing of their guns, Campbell moved between the two men. He was within one foot of Durand's gun hand when he chopped the side of his hand on the wrist that held the gun. Durand grunted hi pain, the gun fell to the ground and a second later the two men were locked together, wrestling, kicking and punching with a fine disregard for the rules of sport, altering position so frequently that Durand's henchman at first found no opportunity to intervene. But the opportunity came very soon. The unsportsmanlike but effective use of Campbell's right knee doubled Durand over in gasping agony, but enough instinct was left him to seize Campbell's shirt as he fell over backward. This was Campbell's downfall in more ways than one, for the back of his head was now nakedly vulnerable to a swung automatic.

The man who had felled Campbell now pulled him clear, allowing Durand to climb painfully to his feet, although still bent over at an angle of forty-five degrees. He pulled off his stocking mask as if to try to get more air to breathe. Durand was Latin American, with a pale coffee-colored face, thick black curling hair and a pencil-line mustache; he might even qualify as handsome when the twisted lines of agony ceased to contort his face. He straightened inch by inch and finally obtained a modicum of breath— enough, at least, to allow him to announce what he would like to do with Campbell.

«Some other time, Mr. Durand. He can't very well fly a chopper from a hospital bed.»

Durand painfully acknowledged the truth of this. «I hope you didn't hit nun too hard.» «Just a tap.» «Tie him, tape him and blindfold him.»

Durand was now a scarce twenty degrees off the vertical. His helper left for the car and returned hi moments with cord, tape and blindfold. Three minutes later they were on then1 way, with a rug-covered and still unconscious Campbell on the floor at the back. Resting comfortably on the rug were Durand's feet—he still didn't feel quite up to driving. Both men had then* masks off now—even in the free-wheeling state of Florida men driving with stocking masks on were likely to draw more than passing attention.

Mitchell glanced briefly at the list of names and addresses Robertson had given them. «Fine. But what are these checks opposite five of the names?»

Robertson sounded apologetic. «I hope you don't mind—I don't want to butt in—but I took the liberty of phoning those gentlemen to see if they would be at home when you came around. I assumed you'd be seeing them because you asked for the addresses.»

Mitchell looked at Roomer. «Why the hell didn't you think of that?»

Roomer bestowed a cold glance on him and said to Robertson: «Maybe I should have you as a partner. What did you find out?»

«One pilot is standing by at the airport. Four of the others are at home. The one whose name I haven't checked—John Campbell—isn't home.

I asked one of the other pilots about this and he seemed a bit surprised. Said that Campbell usually spends his afternoons fishing outside the back of his house. He's a bachelor and lives in a pretty isolated place.»

«It figures,» Roomer said. «A bachelor in isolation. The kidnapers seem to have an excellent intelligence system. The fact that he doesn't answer the phone may mean nothing—he could have gone for a walk, shopping, visiting friends. On the other- hand—»

«Yes. Especially on the other hand.» Mitchell turned to leave, then said to Robertson: «Does the gatekeeper have a listed phone number as well as the radiophone?»

«I've typed it on that list.»

«Maybe we should both have you as a partner.»

Mitchell and Roomer stood on Campbell's back lawn and surveyed the scene unemotionally. The canvas chair, on its side, had a broken leg. The parasol was upturned on the grass, over an opened book. The fishing rod was in the water up to its handle and would have floated away had not the reel snagged on a shrub root Roomer retrieved the rod while Mitchell hurried through the back doorway—the back door was wide open, as was the front. He dialed a phone number, and got an answer on the first ring.

«Lord Worth's heliport. Gorrie here.»

«My name's Mitchell. You have a police guard?»

«Mr. Mitchell? You Lord Worth's friend?»

«Yes.»

«Sergeant Roper is here.»

«That all? Let me speak to him.» There was hardly a pause before Roper came on the phone.

«Mike? Nice to hear from you again.»

«Listen, Sergeant, this is urgent. I'm speaking from the house of John Campbell, one of Lord Worth's pilots. He has been forcibly abducted, almost certainly by some of the kidnapers of Lord Worth's daughters. I have every reason to believe—no tune for explanations now—that they're heading in your direction with the intention of hijacking one of Lord Worth's helicopters and forcing Campbell to fly it. There'll be two of them at least, maybe three, armed and dangerous. I suggest you call up reinforcements immediately. If we get them we'll break them— at least Roomer and I will; you can't, you're a law officer and your hands are tied—and we'll find where the girls are and get them back,»

«Reinforcements coming up. Then I'll look the other way.»

Mitchell hung up. Roomer was by his side. Roomer said: «You prepared to go as far as back-room persuasion to get the information we want?»

Mitchell looked at him bleakly. «I look forward to it. Don't you?»

«No. But Til go along with you.» Once again Mitchell and Roomer had guessed correctly. And once again they were too late.

Mitchell had driven to Lord Worth's heliport with a minimum regard for traffic and speed regulations, and now, having arrived there, he realized bitterly that his haste had been wholly unnecessary.

Five men greeted their arrival, although it was hardly a cheerful meeting: Gorrie, the gateman, and four policemen. Gome and Sergeant Roper were tenderly massaging their wrists. Mitchell looked at Roper.

«Don't tell me.» Mitchell sounded weary. «They jumped you before the reinforcements were to hand.»

«Yeah.» Roper's face was dark with anger. «I know it sounds like the old lame excuse, but we never had a chance. This car comes along and stops outside the gatehouse, right here. The driver—he was alone in the car—seemed to be having a sneezing fit and was holding a big wad of Kleenex to his face.»

Roomer said: «So you wouldn't recognize him again?»

«Exactly. Well, we were watching this dude when a voice from the back—the back window was open—told us to freeze. I didn't even have my hand on my gun. We froze. Then he told me to drop my gun. Well, this guy was no more than

Seawlteh

five feet away . . , I dropped my gun. Dead heroes are no good to anyone. Then he told us to turn around. He was wearing a stocking mask. Then the driver came and tied our wrists behind our backs. When we turned around he was wearing a stocking mask too.»

«Then they tied your feet and tied you together so that you wouldn't have any funny ideas about using a telephone?»

«That's how it was. But they weren't worried about the phones. They cut the lines before they took off.»

«They took off immediately?»

Gome said: «No. Five minutes later. The pilots always radio-file a flight plan before take-off. I suppose these guys forced Campbell to do the same. To make it look kosher.»

Mitchell shrugged his indifference. «Means nothing. You can file a flight plan to anyplace. Doesn't mean you have to keep it. How about fuel—for the helicopters, I mean?»

«Fuel's always kept topped up. My job. Lord Worth's orders.»

«What direction did they go?»

'Thataway.» Gorrie indicated with an outstretched arm.

«Well, the birds have flown. Might as well be on our way.»

«Just like that?» Roper registered surprise.

«What do you expect me to do that the police can't?»

«Well, for starters, we could call in the Air Force.»

«Why?»

«They could force it down.»

Mitchell sighed. «There's a great deal of crap being talked about forcing planes down. What if they refuse to be forced down?»

«Then shoot it down.»

«With Lord Worth's daughters aboard? Lord Worth wouldn't be very pleased. Neither would you. Think of all the cops that would be out of a job.»

«Lord Worth's daughters!»

«It's all this routine police work,» Roomer said. «Atrophies the brain. Who the hell do you think that helicopter has gone to pick up?»

Once clear of the heliport, Roomer extended an arm. « 'Thataway,' the man said. 'Thataway' is northwest. The Wyanee Swamp.»

«Even if they'd taken off to the southeast they'd still have finished up in Wyanee.» Mitchell pulled up by a public booth. «How are you with McGarrity's voice?» Roomer was an accomplished mimic.

«It's not the voice that's hard. It's the thought processes. Til give it a try.» He didn't say what he was going to try because he didn't have to. He left for the booth and was back inside two minutes.

«Campbell filed a flight plan for the Seawitch»

«Any questions asked?»

«Not really. Told them that some fool had made a mistake. Anyone who knows McGarrity would know who the fool was that made the mistake.»

Mitchell started the engine, then switched off as the phone rang. Mitchell lifted the receiver.

«Jim here. Tried to ring you a couple of times, fifteen minutes ago, five minutes ago.»

«Figures. Out of the car both times. More bad news?»

«Not unless you consider Lord Worth bad news. Touchdown in fifteen minutes.»

«We got time.»

«Says he's coming up to the house.»

«Sent for the Rolls?»

«No. Probably wants to talk private. And it looks as if he's planning to stay away some time. Ordered a bag packed for a week.»

«Seven white suits.» Mitchell hung up.

Roomer said: «Looks as if we're going to have to do some bag-packing ourselves.» Mitchell nodded and started up again.

Lord Worth was looking his old self when he settled in the back seat of their car. Not quite radiating his old bonhomie, to be sure, but calm and lucid and, to all appearances, relaxed. He told of his success in Washington, for which he was duly and politely congratulated. Roomer then told him in detail what had happened in his absence: this time the absence of congratulations was marked.

«You've notified Commander Larsen of your suspicions, of course?»

«Not suspicions,» Mitchell said. «Certainties. And there's no 'of course' and no, we didn't notify him. Tm primarily responsible for that.»

«Taking the law into your own hands, eh? Mind telling me why?”

«You're the person who knows Larsen best. You know how possessive he is about the Sea-witch. You yourself have told us about his anger and violence. Do you think a man like that, duly forewarned, wouldn't have a very warm reception waiting for the kidnapers? Stray bullets, ricocheting bullets, are no respecter of persons, Lord Worth. You want a daughter crippled for life? We prefer that the kidnapers establish a bloodless beachhead.»

«Well, all right.» The words came grudgingly. «But from now on keep me fully informed of your intentions and decisions.» Lord Worth, Roomer noted with sardonic amusement, had no intention of dispensing with their unpaid services. «But no more taking the law into your own hands, do you hear?»

Mitchell stopped car and engine. Roomer's amusement changed to apprehension. Mitchell twisted in his seat and looked at Lord Worth in cool speculation.

«You're a fine one to talk.» «What do you mean, sir?» There were fifteen generations of highland aristocracy in the glacial

voice.

Mitchell remained unmoved. «For taking the law into your own hands by breaking into and robbing that arsenal last night. If Roomer and I were decent citizens and law-abiding detectives, we'd have had you behind bars last night. Not even a billionaire can get away with that sort of thing, especially when it involves the assault and locking up of the arsenal guards. John and I were there.» Mitchell was not above a little prevarication when the need arose.

«You were there.» Most rarely for him, Lord Worth was at a loss for words. He recovered quickly. «But / wasn't there,»

«We know that. We also know you sanctioned the break-in. Ordered it, rather.»

«Balderdash. And if you actually witnessed this, why did you not stop it?»

«John and I take our chances. But not against nine men armed with machine guns.»

This gave Lord Worth pause. They had their figures and facts right. Clearly they had been there. He said: «Supposing any of this rigmarole were true, how in God's name do you tie me up with it?»

«Now you're being a fool. We were also at your heliport. We saw the truck arrive. We saw nine men unload a fairly massive quantity of more than fairly lethal weaponry into one helicopter. Then a man drove the truck away—an army truck, of course—back to the arsenal from where it had been stolen. The other eight men boarded another helicopter. Then a minibus arrived, carrying twelve heavily armed thugs who joined the other eight. John and I recognized no fewer than five of them—two of them we've personally put behind bars.» Roomer looked at him admiringly, but Mitchell wasn't looking at Roomer, he was looking at Lord Worth, and both voice and tone were devoid of any form of encouragement. «It came as a shock to both of us to find that Lord Worth was consorting with common criminals. You're sweating a little, Lord Worth. Why are you sweating?'*

Lord Worth didn't enlighten them as to why he was sweating.

«And then, of course, you came along in the Rolls. One of the very best sequences we got on our infrared movie camera last night.» Roomer blinked, but that Lord Worth believed Mitchell Roomer did not for a moment doubt: everything that Mitchell had said, even the slight embellishments, Lord Worth knew or believed to be true, so he had no reason to doubt the truth of the camera fiction.

«We actually considered phoning the nearest army HQ and having them send along some armored cars and a trailered tank. Even your thugs wouldn't have stood a chance. We thought of going down the road, blocking the Rolls and holding you until the army arrived—it was perfectly obvious that the helicopters had no intention of leaving until you turned up. Once captured, God knows how many of them—especially those who had already served prison terms—would have jumped at the chance of turning state's evidence and incriminating you. It's quite true, you know—there is no honor among thieves.» If Lord Worth had any objections to being categorized as a thief, it didn't register in his face. «But after the standard bit of soul-searching we decided against it.»

«Why, in God's name?»

«So you admit it.» Mitchell sighed. «Why couldn't you do that at the beginning and save me all this trouble?»

«Why?» Lord Worth repeated his question.

It was Roomer who answered. «Partly because even though you're a confessed lawbreaker, we still have a regard for you. But mainly because w.e didn't want to see your daughters confronted with seeing their father behind bars. In hindsight, of course, we're glad we didn't. In comparison with the kidnaping of your daughters, your own capers outside the law fade into a peccadillo.»

Mitchell started the motor again and said: «It is understood that there will be no more peccadilloes. It is also understood that there will be no more talk about our taking the law into our own hands.»

Lord Worth lay back in his study armchair, His second brandy tasted just as good as his first—it seemed to be his day for brandies. He hadn't spoken a word for the rest of the trip— which, fortunately, had been mercifully short, for Lord Worth had felt urgently in need of restoratives. Not for the first time, he found himself silently blessing his kidnapped daughters.

He cleared his throat and said: «I assume you are still willing to come out to the rig with me?»

Mitchell contemplated his glass. «We never expressed our intentions one way or another about that. But I suppose someone has to look after you and your daughters.»

Lord Worth frowned. There had, he felt, been more than a subtle change in their relationship. Perhaps the establishment of an employer-employee status would help redress the balance. He said: «I feel it's time we put your co-operation on a businesslike footing. I propose to retain you in your professional capacities as investigators—in other words, become your client. I shall not quibble at your demanded fees.» He had no sooner finished than he realized that he had made a mistake.

Roomer's voice was coldly unenthusiastic. «Money doesn't buy everything, Lord Worth.

Particularly, it doesn't buy us. We have no intention of being shackled, of having our freedom of action curtailed. And as far as the fees and your skyVthe-limit implication are concerned, the hell with it. How often do we have to tell you we don't trade money for your daughters* lives?»

Lord Worth didn't even bother frowning. The change in relationship, he reflected sadly, had been even greater than he had realized. «As you will. One assumes that you will be suitably disguised?»

Mitchell said: «Why?»

Lord Worth was impatient. «You said you saw some ex-convicts boarding the helicopter. People you recognized. They'll surely recognize you?»

«We never saw 'em before in our lives.»

Lord Worth was properly shocked. «But you told me—»

«You told us big black lies. What's a little white lie? We'll go aboard as—say—your technological advisers. Geologists, seismologists— it's all the same to us, we know nothing about geology or seismology. All we need are business suits, horn-rimmed glasses—for the studious look—and briefcases.» He paused. «And we'll also need a doctor, with full medical kit and a large supply of bandages.»

«A doctor?»

«For extracting bullets, sewing up gunshot wounds. Or are you naive enough to believe that no shot will be fired in anger aboard the witch?»

«I abhor violence.»

«Sure. That's why you sent twenty heavily armed thugs out to the Seawitch during the night? Fine, so you abhor violence. Others welcome it. Can you find us a doctor?»

«Dozens of them. The average doctor hereabouts rates his scanning of X-rays a very poor second to the scanning of his bank balances. I know the man. Greenshaw. After seven years in Vietnam, he should fill your bill.»

Roomer said: «And ask him to bring along two spare white hospital coats.» «Why?» Mitchell said. «Want to look scientific, don't you?» Lord Worth picked up the phone, made the arrangements, replaced the instrument and said: «You must excuse me. I have some private calls to make from the radio room.» Lord Worth's sole reason for returning to his house was to contact his inside man, Corral, and have him, without incriminating himself, inform Benson, who had hosted the Lake Tahoe meeting, that the government intended to blast out of the water any foreign naval ships that approached the Seawitch. An exaggeration but, Lord Worth thought, a pardonable one. Despite the secretary's promise, Lord Worth placed more faith in his direct approach.

Mitchell said: «Which one of us do you want to go with you?»

«What do you mean? 'Private,' I said.» His face darkened in anger. «Am I to be ordered around in my own house, supervised as if I'm an irresponsible child?»

«You behaved responsibly last night? Look, Lord Worth, if you don't want either of us around, then it's obvious you want to say something that you don't want us to hear.» Mitchell gave him a speculative look. «I don't like that. You're either up to something we wouldn't like, something shady maybe, or it's a vote of no confidence in us.»

«It's a personal and highly important business call. I don't see why you should be privy to my business affairs.»

Roomer said: «I agree. But it so happens that we don't think it is a business call, that business would be the last thing in your mind right now.» Both Mitchell and Roomer stood up. «Give our regards, to the girls—if you ever find them.»

«Blackmail! Damned blackmail!» Lord Worth rapidly weighed the importance of his call to Corral compared to the importance of having Mitchell and Roomer around. It took all of two seconds to make up his mind, and Corral was clear out of sight at the wire. He was sure that the two men were bluffing, but there was no way he could call their bluff, for that was the one sure way of provoking a genuine walkout Lord Worth put on his stony face. «I suppose I have no option other than to accede to your threats. I suggest you go and pack your bags and I'll pick you up in the Rolls.»

Mitchell said: «Packing will take some time. I think it would be more polite if we wait here until you're ready.»

Lord Worth mentally gnashed his teeth. «You think I'd head for a telephone the moment your backs are turned?»

Mitchell smiled, «Funny the same thought should occur to the three of us at the same instant, isn't it?»