Lost and Found.
On a bleak and isolated gunnery-range in the northern part of England, preparations were in hand for a top-secret military demonstration.
A Bomb Squad officer and his men had been clearing a stretch of scrubland, and unloading onto it a number of round objects. Anyone in the know would have recognised these objects as land-mines, _ one of the scourges of advancing infantry in any war. These were being randomly buried and hidden, some armed and some not, all over the stretch of ground.
Up on the top of the slope overlooking the site, were assembled a group of top military brass, all interested to see if the XL 97 could do what its inventors claimed for it.
At last all was ready, and XL 97 was revealed. It wasn't all that much to look at, a circular shape, less the two feet across, and most resembling a model of a flying-saucer.
But then the operator took over, picking up the small radio-control box, and the XL 97 came to life !
It moved slowly over the prepared stretch, hovering just six inches above the surface. It worked a steady pattern, forwards and backwards over the ground.
Every so often it stopped. There was a small click, and a little blob of paint was deposited, sometimes red, sometimes yellow.
At last it had covered the whole area, and returned to the operator, who stowed it away in the back of a truck.
The watchers came down the slope, to the edge of the area, which was now bespattered with red and yellow dots. The Bomb Squad officer came forward, and explained to them that the red dots indicated live mines, and the yellow ones unarmed versions.
To prove it, he went to the nearest yellow dot, and dug it out quite roughly with his bare hands. Nothing happened.!
He gestured to one of his men on the far side of the arena, who tossed a stone accurately onto one of the furthest-off red dots. There was an instant explosion, muted because they had planted the armed mines with reduced charges.
There was a spontaneous burst of applause from the Army officers. XL97 had proved its effectiveness !
Doyle followed Bodie in as they parked their cars in the yard at Headquarters, and together they made their way up the stairs to the office of their boss, Cowley. What would he be sending them on today, they wondered.? Hopefully, not another stake-out ! The last two had been singularly un-productive.
They knocked and were called in. Cowley eyed them speculatively.
"What does XL 97 mean to you ?," he asked.
"Nothing," replied Bodie promptly.
"Not a thing," said Doyle, almost in the same breath.
"Good," said Cowley. "I'd be alarmed if you had heard anything about it. It's very new, and highly classified."
"We do have clearance," protested Bodie.
"I know," agreed Cowley. "So I'm telling you about it now."
"XL 97 is a gadget designed to be a very useful item for the Army. Basically, it's an easily portable device to locate land-mines, and to tell if they are active."
"Sounds very useful," commented Doyle.
"At the moment," continued Cowley, "it's only a prototype.
It needs to be developed, and the cost greatly reduced. But the Army are very interested."
"What's that got to do with us ?," queried Bodie.
"Last night," announced Cowley, "The prototype, and all it's specifications, were stolen !"
Bodie gave a silent whistle.
"Any idea who's got it now,?" asked Doyle.
"Not as yet," answered Cowley, "but if it gets offered on the open arms-market, it's worth an awful lot, maybe six or seven figures."
Bodie and Doyle looked suitably impressed.
"And we've been asked to help find it before that happens," said Cowley grimly.
"Tall order," commented Doyle thoughtfully.
"Hm," said Bodie. "Where do you suggest we start, sir ?"
"The place it was stolen from," decided Cowley.
He handed over a slip of paper with an address, and a road map.
"It's a fair way from London," he continued, "so you'll have to stay overnight, possibly longer. But watch the expenses," he warned. "No 5-star hotels, if you please."
The pair saved their smiles till they were outside the door, then exchanged grins. In spite of his protestations, Cowley frequently displayed the parsimony attributed to Scotsmen.
They parted company only long enough to go to their respective homes to pack the few belongings they would need.
Within an hour, they were speeding north together in a big powerful car, collected from the Headquarters pool, sensibly alternating spells of driving and navigating from the road map.
Not daring to defy Cowley's admonition, they found accommodation in a very pleasant inn, in the nearest village to their destination.
Secrecy being important, they gave the impression that they were travelling salesmen, and spent a pleasant evening talking to the locals in the bar, and playing a few games of darts, Bodie beating Doyle hollow, much to his disgust.
In the morning they made their way to the small laboratory, which was housed in one of several purpose-built units, in the grounds of an old manor house. The owner of the property, a single businessman, had turned his inheritance into a profitable investment. He had had the old house converted into flats, and the units built in the spacious grounds. One was a small pottery, another was a stained-glass window studio, and the big one at the end had become a workshop for the inventors of the XL 97. The potter lived in one of the flats, as did one of the young inventors.
They pulled up beside the workshop, entered, and were welcomed by three earnest young men, looking very worried and upset, as well they might be. A few days before, with some help, they had staged a very successful demonstration of their invention, which had gained them the promise of great things to come. They had been looking forward to better facilities and resources, and considerable financial support. And, suddenly, it had all been snatched away from them !
Bodie and Doyle spent the morning looking round the workshop, and talking to the three young inventors. As they then felt that they had learned all they could there, they had an early lunch at the inn, settled their bill, and set out on the journey home.
As they went, they discussed what they had learnt, mainly as a way of marshalling their thoughts for the report that Cowley would require of them as soon as they got back.
Bodie led off the conversation.
"The first point is," he said, "that the thing is no size.! Crated up, with its control-box and everything, it would fit easily into a small van, a hatchback with the seats folded down, or even just a car with a very large boot."
"In other words," agreed Doyle, "It's very portable. So there's no point in seeking, for example, a conspicuous strange lorry in the area."
"Secondly," he continued, "the security devices were very basic. Anyone with a bit of 'know how' could have circumvented them easily".
"True," agreed Bodie. "You or I could have got in there, no problem."
"Why didn't they seek backing earlier ?," mused Doyle. "They would have got better premises, more resources, and decidedly more security."
"I asked them that," replied Bodie, "Apparently they didn't want to reveal what they were doing until they were sure it would work. They were afraid that if it got known too soon, it would have been taken over by others, and would no longer be theirs."
"They have a point there," conceded Doyle. "That does very often happen, as we know."
They were quiet for a while as they thought over what they had discussed. Then Doyle voiced his opinion.
"What we have to discover," he said, "is who knew enough about it to know it was worth stealing, and also knew where to find it, and how easy it was to access."
"That's going to be quite a task !," said Bodie.
They made good time back to London, and gave a very full report to Cowley, who listened intently, interspersing only a few succinct questions. When they had finished, his assessment of the situation was much the same as the last one voiced by Doyle.
As he dismissed them for the day, telling them to report first thing in the morning, he began to put his clever mind to the task of how to find out what they wanted to know.
He rang a few contacts, made some appointments with people who might give him a lead, and set into motion many other enquiries. It was going to be a difficult job, but they must leave no stone unturned. It was too important for that !
Work went on continuously for several days, but the results were not promising. The young inventors had succeeded in keeping their product very secret. Which was a good thing in one way, as it narrowed the field of suspects greatly, but not so good in another, as it meant many negative reports, and very few rumours to follow up.
Bodie and Doyle were in Cowley's office, discussing with him the little they had got. Suddenly, Cowley asked a question.
"The name Peveril. Does it mean anything to you ?"
The listening pair said "Yes," simultaneously. Doyle motioned to Bodie to go first.
"Peveril," said Bodie, "is the biggest name in America for the manufacture of munitions. It started as a family firm, several generations back, and although it's now huge and widespread, it's still controlled by the brothers William and Thomas Peveril. They make everything from hand-guns to heavy naval artillery. They are also into new ideas. There's a very good rifle-sight with their name, and a Peveril range-finder for mortars. But they are totally legitimate ! You're not suspecting them, are you ?"
"No, of course not," replied Cowley. "Is that what you were going to say, Doyle ?"
"Well, I did know most of that," said Doyle, "but I also know a bit about William and Thomas's father. He ran the business for years, but about 25 or 30 years ago, he handed it over to them, and came to England. Apparently he's completely obsessed about his English ancestry, and has been trying to trace it back.
I don't know how far he's got with that, but he did come across a Sir Peveril, who was one of the knights who came over with William the Conqueror. Then he found out that lapsed titles could be bought, so he did that, and set himself up as Lord Peveril.
He's got a huge estate on the north edge of the Bedfordshire border. He's had a lovely house built, Peveril Manor, and in the grounds he's had constructed a full-size replica of a mediaeval castle ! It's all there, turrets and ramparts, a banqueting hall, a minstrel's gallery, and dungeons too, including an 'oubliette'"
"A what ?," exclaimed Bodie. "What the heck's that ?"
Cowley knew, and explained. "It's a secret underground dungeon, accessed only by a trapdoor in its ceiling. It's from the French word 'oublir', to forget."
"Yes," continued Doyle, "For that's what happened. They put prisoners down there, and very often just forgot about them."
"Nasty," commented Bodie.
Cowley regained their attention.
"Interesting information, gentlemen," he said, "But the Peveril I'm interested in is William's son, Lawrence Peveril."
"Don't know about him," said Doyle with a frown.
"Well," Cowley continued, "He's only been in this country about six months. Presumably, he's working for his father and uncle, making contacts maybe."
"I've been talking to Miller," he went on. "He remembers you, Bodie, by the way."
"He would," said Bodie, with a wry grin. That was another story, to do with his days as a mercenary.
"Apparently Lawrence has been trying to integrate himself into London's social scene," went on Cowley. "He's getting a name as somewhat of a 'dilettante', frivolous and pleasure-seeking.
But Miller's a clever chap, and he thinks it's all a 'front', an act, and he already suspects him of being involved in one or two dubious deals, stuff that wouldn't be countenanced by his father and uncle, of course."
"Possible," mused Doyle, "Well, he has got the background knowledge, hasn't he ? I mean, he was brought up in the business."
"Also," added Cowley, "he's well in with his grandfather. The old man likes to entertain, and often has huge weekend house-parties, which Lawrence usually goes to.
As Peveril Snr. was in the business all his working life, lots of his guests are involved with armaments too in some way, so Lawrence has plenty of contacts."
"But it's all just speculation, isn't it ?," said Doyle. "Is there anything more than suspicion ?"
"I wish there was !," exclaimed Cowley. "But you're right, Doyle. We've no real proof of anything."
"However," continued Cowley, "I've arranged with Miller for him to take you, Bodie, to some of the social events Peveril attends. See if you think, like Miller, that's he's not the 'silly-ass' type he pretends to be."
Bodie pulled a face. It wasn't his idea of fun.
"You never know," continued Cowley, "Make friends with the fellow. You might even get a weekend invitation."
He looked at his man speculatively.
"I presume," he went on, "that you've got the right kind of clothes for these occasions. If not, you can get some on expenses. But go steady, there's no need to shop in Saville Row."
Bodie contrived to look affronted, while Doyle hid his smile until they left the office.
Enquiries continued to be made in a great many directions. But a discreet 'tail' was put on Peveril, and it was reported that he had had meetings with some very doubtful contacts.
True to his word, Miller managed to arrange that Bodie met Peveril casually. He was not impressed, and reported back that he endorsed Miller's opinion that the man was a lot cleverer than he pretended to be.
And in due course, he did receive an invitation to a weekend house-party, and was actually looking forward to a taste of the 'high life' that was on offer.
He drove to Peveril Manor on the Friday evening, and once there, turned on his considerable charm, and was pleasant and friendly to all he encountered, while secretly assessing each one, trying to detect whether any of them could possibly be suspected of knowledge of the theft that C.I. 5 was investigating.
He also found time to enjoy himself with the pretty young maid, called Maisie, who looked after the bedrooms. She wasn't averse to his attentions either. Used to avoiding the amorous passes from some of the guests, she was quite pleased to be chatted up by someone younger and more personable that the usual old fogies she had to look after.
While enjoying a very pleasant dalliance, Bodie hadn't forgotten what he was there for, to keep an eye on Lawrence Peveril. He had carefully noted who he had seen him talking to, and his manner with them.
He had registered, that while Peveril enjoyed his grandfather's hospitality, and the service of his staff, he did seem to have his own flat in one wing of the house, and one or two servants of his own. These men, designated as his chauffeur and his valet officially, didn't look in the least like you'd expect for such positions, and kept well out of the way.
By chance, Bodie's room, towards the back of the house, overlooked the separate entrance to Peveril's flat, and several times he had seen the two men leave and go off together.
It was Sunday evening, and Bodie had just returned to his room after dinner. Some of the guests had already left. The rest would be going at various times during the next day.
Bodie was on his own, for he already said a fond farewell to Maisie, who had gone home as soon as dinner was cleared, for she was off on holiday the following day.
As he slipped off his dinner jacket and undid his tie, he strolled over to the window, mainly to see what the weather was like. It had threatened to rain earlier, and the weather forecast was not too good.
He wasn't looking forward to a wet drive home, especially as he felt he had achieved very little. Cowley would not be pleased with his rather negative report.
He glanced down casually, and then looked intently. Peveril and his two men had just come out of the door below. What were they up to at this time of night ?
They were all three carrying torches, and by watching the bobbing beams of light, he could see they were making their way across the forecourt towards the path where a large notice said.
THIS WAY TO THE CASTLE.
None of the guests had visited the castle this weekend, as it was closed up for the season. Because of the huge problem of lighting and heating such a big building, it was only open in high summer, when the natural daylight was sufficient, and heating wasn't needed.
Interesting thought Bodie. Why are they sneaking off there now. ? This is worth following up !
Retaining his dark trousers, he slipped a black polo-necked jumper over his white shirt. Pausing only to collect his own powerful torch, he slipped out of his room, down the backstairs (shown to him by Maisie), and set out to follow the three men.
It was a good job that the night was dark and cloudy, for there was little cover to be had. But he managed to stay close enough to realise that the men hadn't made for the main entrance, but had taken the path that led round the side of the castle.
He followed cautiously, for the bobbing lights had disappeared, and came upon the postern gate, a heavy wooden, metal-studded door.
Carefully he took hold of the latch. It gave under his hand, the door was unlocked ! He eased it open very cautiously, - there wasn't a sound from within.
He moved it far enough for him to edge inside, then eased it shut behind him. There was still no sound to indicate where the men had gone.
With hindsight he wished he'd stopped long enough to change into his trainers, and to retrieve his gun from the special compartment at the base of his bag. But then I might have lost the men I was following, he mused. And I seem to have lost them anyway, he told himself with some annoyance.
The ground floor was mainly one big room, the traditional banqueting-hall, and there was no sign of anyone there. The likeliest bet was the flight of stone steps to the left of the entrance he'd just used, and he began to creep up those.
The first landing boasted two rooms and the minstrel's gallery. Both doors appeared to be firmly locked, and he could see through the fretted backdrop, that the gallery, which looked down into the hall, was empty.
He moved as silently as he could up the next spiral of stairs, listening out for any sound that would tell him if the men had come up here. There were four doors to try, and the first two didn't budge. But as he tried the latch on the third, he felt it give beneath his hand. He eased the door open gently. The room within was completely dark. Emboldened by this, he pushed the door wider, and stepped inside.
Suddenly, he found himself in the spotlight of three torch-beams ! He was pushed roughly forward, and he heard the door slam behind him.
A match flared, and the light of a lantern began to illuminate the room. A voice spoke from beyond the light.
"Do come in, Mr. Bodie," it said. "We've been waiting for you."
And there, facing him, was Lawrence Peveril, with an evil-looking pistol pointed straight at him !
"Surprised, Mr. Bodie ?," said Peveril. "You shouldn't be, you know. I knew enquiries were being made about me, so I made some of my own."
His voice hardened.
"So I know exactly who you are, Mr. Bodie, and what you do.!"
He noticed Bodie's gaze straying to the far edge of the circle of light provided by the lantern, and obligingly swung his torch beam round, revealing a large wooden crate.
"Yes, there it is, Mr. Bodie. Just what you've been looking for, XL 97. Not very big, is it, considering what it's worth ?"
"But it's going to make me a fortune," he gloated. "But not quite just yet. I think it's safe here for a while. Then when the dust has settled, I'll put out a few feelers and find the best buyer."
That explains why we haven't heard any rumours yet, thought Bodie to himself. He's playing it very cleverly. All pretence of being frivolous and easy-going had disappeared from the man. Peveril was looking alert and very shrewd, and decidedly dangerous.
He stepped towards Bodie, and tapped him playfully on the chest with the gun.
"But what are we going to do about you, Mr. Bodie ?," he said. "I'm afraid you'll have to disappear."
"My people know where I am," said Bodie defiantly.
"Of course they do," agreed Peveril. "So we're going to have to do something to disguise your absence. We can't have them suspecting us."
"How will we do that ?," asked one of the men.
"I have an idea," said Peveril. "Our friend here has been chatting up our delectable Maisie, and she has just gone off on holiday. Suppose we make it look as if he has gone with her."
"How ?," demanded the man?"
"She'll be catching the early London train from Little Hesty, won't she ?," continued Peveril. "We'll leave his car there. The keys are probably on his bedside table, and I bet his bag is almost packed, so it won't take us long to remove all trace of him from his room."
"What about him ?," asked the other man.
"Oh, I know exactly where he is going," said Peveril with an evil grin. He waved his gun at Bodie.
"Downstairs," he ordered..
It was an awkward procession because of the authentic narrow spiral stairs. One henchman led the way, followed by Bodie, and then the other man, with Peveril bringing up the rear.
Bodie was trying desperately to think of something he could do in this very dodgy situation.
As they reached the bottom of the flight, leading into the big hall, he made his move. He gave the man in front of him a sudden push, sending him sprawling, and turned to hit out at the man behind him. But he was alert, and grabbed for Bodie. As they wrestled together, the pair of them tripped over the fallen man, now struggling to his feet. All three fell, entangled, onto the dusty stone floor. But Peveril was close upon them. Using the light of his torch, he found his target, and the butt of his pistol connected heavily with Bodie's head. When the other two struggled to their feet, Bodie did not.
"Naughty," laughed Peveril. "Now you'll have to carry him."
He led the way across the great hall, and down a short flight of stone steps, that led to the dungeons. At the end of the passage, set into the floor, was a two-foot square iron grating. Two recessed ring handles enabled the men, on Peveril's orders, to heave it up and move it to one side.
A gaping hole was revealed. They had opened the dreaded 'oubliette'. It only took Peveril's men a couple of minutes to swing Bodie's legs into the hole, and then to push the rest of him after them.
A faint muffled thud was all they heard. They quickly lifted the grating back into place, and all three hurried off.
The castle resumed its deserted winter silence.
Doyle arrived at Headquarters at his usual time on Monday morning, and made his way towards the Records room. He had several names that he wanted to check up on. As he reached the top of the stairs, his boss, Cowley, came out of his office
."Ah, Doyle," he said. "Have you heard from Bodie ?"
"No, sir," replied Doyle in a surprised tone. "I didn't expect to. He should be back before lunchtime, shouldn't he ?"
Cowley nodded and returned to his office, and Doyle went on, to get on with his work among the extensive records lists.
He was a little surprised that Bodie hadn't appeared by lunchtime, but assumed that he'd called in and explained to Cowley. It was hardly his place to ask.
But late afternoon, Cowley came to find him. He looked a little worried, and came straight to the point.
"I can't raise Bodie," he said. "Not on his radio-phone, his car-phone or his home number. Nothing !"
"Now, that is peculiar," said Doyle. "I wonder what's going on ?"
He followed Cowley back to his office, and made a suggestion.
"Have you tried phoning Peveril Manor to ask when he left ?"
"I'll do that now," said Cowley. They found the number and rang through. The call was answered by the butler.
"Can you tell me, please," asked Cowley, "when Mr. Bodie left. ?"
"I will ascertain, sir," came the rather austere reply. There was a little delay, then the butler came on the line again, and replied stiffly.
"I understood he was leaving this morning, sir," he said, "but according to the staff, he appears to have left late last night."
Cowley thanked the man, and relayed what he had said to Doyle.
"That's odd, isn't it ?," said Doyle. "I wonder what made him change his mind ?"
"Find out which car he took," ordered Cowley, "and put out an A.P.B. on it. Let's see if we can find where he went in such a hurry."
Doyle shot off to carry out his orders. He was beginning to get a bit concerned. It wasn't like Bodie not to get in touch.
Nothing came in that evening except negative reports, which only made it clear that the car was not in London.
Doyle went home rather late, calling at his mate's flat on his way. He found it securely locked and with no lights showing anywhere.
He was in sharp the next morning, and was rewarded with a positive report. The car had been found, parked in the station car park at a place called Little Hesty. He called back to the police station that had submitted the report. Someone had reported the car because of the persistent noise of a phone ringing.
"Where on earth is Little Hesty ?" he asked, and the officer obliged.
"It's a little village in Bedfordshire, sir," he said.
"How far from Peveril Manor?," Doyle asked.
"Only about ten miles sir," replied the man
"Thank you," said Doyle. "We'll be down to collect it as soon as we can."
He reported what he'd learnt to Cowley. Both were very puzzled. Why had Bodie gone there ?
Cowley issued his instructions.
"Take a couple of Forensic men down to check it over and collect it," he said, "and then go on to Peveril Manor yourself, and see what you can learn."
Doyle was soon on his way, and by careful use of a large road map found his way to Little Hesty. A local 'bobby' was standing guard over the car, and Doyle thanked him.
A cursory look at the car told him nothing. It was locked and empty. He left it to the forensic men to check it over, return it to London, and give their report to Cowley, and went on to Peveril Manor.
He was met at the door by the pompous butler, who informed him in lofty tones,
"There is no-one in residence, sir. They have all gone to London for a few days."
When Doyle explained what he was enquiring about, the butler said "You had better speak to the lower staff," and led him to the servants' area. He himself departed grandly.
Doyle turned on the charm, and found the cook and the maids a lot friendlier.
"I'm trying to find my friend, Bodie," he explained. "He was here at the weekend, but we haven't heard from him since. His car was found at Little Hesty. Has anyone any idea why he went there?"
Most of the staff were shaking their heads, but one little maid suddenly had a fit of the giggles. The cook pulled her up sharply.
"Stop that, Sally," she snapped. "Come here, girl" The maid, looking scared, came hesitantly forward.
Doyle attempted to re-assure her.
"It's all right, Sally," he said. "You're not in trouble. But if you know something that might help, I'd like to hear it."
She gave a sideways look towards the cook, then decided to talk.
"Well, sir," she said. "Maisie lives in Little Hesty. She's gone on holiday this morning and she was catching the early train to London. She told me so."
"What's that to do with Bodie ?," asked Doyle, puzzled.
The girl looked coy and giggled again.
"Well, he was making up to her" she said. "Maybe he's gone off on holiday with her."
Several of the staff gave murmurs of agreement, as they remembered having seen them together.
Doyle drove back to London thinking over what he had learned, which wasn't exactly helpful. He could believe that Bodie had found time to chat up a pretty maid. That was perfectly feasible. But to abandon his job, and go off on holiday with her ! No way ! Bodie would never do that, he was absolutely certain. So what had happened ?
He reported all the details to Cowley, and heard from him the report on the car. This was very negative, as was the report from the station.
Little Hesty station was un-manned most of the day, so there was no-one to say whether a couple had boarded the early London train. The maid, Sally, hadn't known where Maisie was going on holiday either, only that she was going up to London first.
Doyle went home thinking over and over what he knew, and trying to make sense of it. Had Bodie stumbled upon information which had sent him off somewhere to investigate further ? But then he would have reported first, wouldn't he ? And anyway, he'd have driven, not taken a train, surely ? He could find no answers, except the rather troubling thought that something bad had happened to his mate.
Bodie came back to his senses with a splitting headache and severe pain in his left foot. He was also in complete darkness !
This was worrying, as he wasn't sure if it was just dark, or if, perhaps, the blow to his head had affected his sight. He felt about him. The surface he was lying on felt like stone, cold and slightly damp. He climbed groggily to his feet, and almost fell over again as he attempted to put his foot to the ground. He bent down carefully, and felt it.
It was badly swollen above his shoe, and painful to the touch. He'd done some damage there, though he couldn't remember how.
He limped painfully forward. A few steps brought him up against a wall. It also felt like stone. Keeping his hands on the wall, he edged sideways, feeling for a doorway. After he'd been moving for some time, he realised that unless this was a huge room, he must have been right round it, - no doorway !
Suddenly, he remembered the conversation of some time ago, when Doyle had been telling them about Peveril castle, and he knew where he was. He was in the 'oubliette' !
This was a daunting thought. There was no way out without help, and only Peveril and his men knew where he was, and they were unlikely to provide assistance, as they wanted his silence.
To ease his foot, he turned his back to the wall and eased himself down to a sitting position. He felt in his pockets, - nothing ! As these were the trousers of his evening suit, he hadn't put anything into them. He thought longingly of the useful items in his jacket, and also of his gun, safe at the bottom of his bag. They hadn't even left him his torch, which would have been helpful.
Suddenly, he remembered his watch. He pulled back the close-fitting sleeve of his jumper. Hurrah ! He could see the luminous hands, - at least he wasn't blind ! Twenty past three, no wonder it was dark.
Unable to do anything else, he leant back against the wall and pondered. How long would it take C.I.5 to realise that he was missing ? And when they did, would they think where to look ?.
Wednesday dragged on at C.I.5's Headquarters, with enquiries going on in a great many directions, but no results from any of them.
Quite by chance, Doyle met Miller walking along the street. Miller asked after Bodie, so Doyle walked with him, and explained that Bodie was missing.
As they neared the steps of the club Miller was going to, someone came down towards them – Lawrence Peveril !
Miller introduced Doyle.
"He's looking for his mate, Bodie," he said "He was down at your grandfather's place this weekend, and now he's missing."
"Yes, I heard about that," said Peveril, with a grin. "Run off with our delectable Maisie, hasn't he ? I'd forgotten about him."
He gave them a wave and went on his way.
Miller turned to Doyle.
"Maisie ?," he asked, and Doyle explained.
"Rubbish !," said Miller forcefully, "Bodie wouldn't do that !"
"His car was found at the station where they would have caught the London train," said Doyle.
"Someone put it there," declared Miller.
"There were only his prints," replied Doyle.
"They wore gloves, of course," said Miller.
But he hadn't any more helpful suggestions to make, and they parted company, Miller promising to let him know instantly if he heard anything.
Doyle had a job trying to get to sleep that night. His mind was going round in circles. Three days, and they hadn't had the slightest information from anywhere. He thought over the conversation with Miller. Suppose he was right, and the car had been 'planted'? The thought strengthened. Maybe Bodie had never left the Peveril estate at all !
Suddenly, an idea struck him, and he sat bolt upright. He was recalling how Peveril had smirked when he had said, "Bodie, I'd forgotten about him."
Late as it was, he risked getting on the phone to Cowley, and explained what his instincts had suggested to him.
"Can I go and have a look in the castle ?," he asked eagerly.
Cowley thought for a moment. It was a wild idea, but how often in the past had Doyle's instincts proved to be true.
"Yes," he said at last. "but don't go alone. Take back-up with you."
Doyle wasted no time. He dressed rapidly, then called Murphy, who was a good friend to both of them. He explained that he wanted to have a secretive look in the castle. As it was still dark, they wouldn't be seen from the Manor, so if they were wrong no-one need know they'd been there.
Murphy found the idea exciting.
"I'll get Bellamy to come with me," he said.
"And I'll root out Jax," said Doyle. "He'll be glad to help."
They arranged a suitable rendezvous, and he rang off.
Some time later, two cars crept into the castle car-park. A chained up entrance gate had proved no obstacle.
Four men, clad in dark clothing, gathered together.
"That main door looks formidable," said Doyle. "Let's see if we can find an easier way in,"
They scouted round the building, and came upon the postern gate, the lock of which posed no difficulty for their skills. They crept in. All was still and silent.
"I'm looking for the dungeons," whispered Doyle. A moment later, the beam of Bellamy's torch lit up a sign with a pointing arrow, and they moved stealthily down the stairway indicated.
Bodie had been dozing. He'd noted the passage of the days by the slight light that had filtered through the grating, well above his head, during the daylight hours. He knew he'd been here three days. He was beginning to get rather cold and decidedly hungry. His initial optimism was beginning to fade. Would his friends ever find him ?
If they didn't, the prospect was pretty bleak, and try as he might, he couldn't put the picture out of his mind.
He checked his watch, for it was totally dark again, -ten to four. What had roused him ? He listened again. He was sure that was the sound of muffled whispering.
He was about to call out, but checked himself. Had Peveril and his men come back to see if he was still alive ?
Then from the grating above he heard a quiet call,
"Bodie, are you there?" The voice was so familiar.
"Ray," he called, "Is that you ?"
He scrambled to his feet, wincing at the wretched pain.
Suddenly, he was spot-lighted in the beams of four torches. His heart lifted, they'd found him !
Putting on a nonchalant act, he said,
"Why, hullo. What kept you ? A chap could starve waiting for you."
Doyle grinned to himself, Wasn't that just like Bodie !
Turning to the others he asked, "How are we going to get him out of there ?"
"It's O.K." said the ever-resourceful Murphy. "I've brought some rope. My climbing gear was still in the boot of my car."
"Good man," exclaimed Doyle and turned back to speak down the gaping hole.
"We've got a rope, mate," he said. "We'll drop it down to you."
"No help," replied Bodie. "I've hurt my foot. I couldn't climb it."
"Well, tie it round you, and we'll pull you out," said Doyle. "There are four of us here."
Thinking quickly, he tied the end of the rope round one of the torches, and lowered the shining beam down to Bodie.
Murphy and the others belayed the rope round the iron gate of one of the other dungeons, and prepared to pull. Although Bodie was no light-weight, with four of them working together, it didn't take long to heave him up, and through the hole, where eager hands were ready to pull him to safety.
Murphy untied his rope and coiled it neatly.
"Now, let's get out of here," said Doyle.
"Hang on a minute," said Bodie. "You've found me, which I'm very glad about, but there's something else to find."
In the torch-light, four puzzled faces looked at him.
"A locked room, on the third floor," he said, enjoying their bewilderment,
"What ?," demanded Doyle.
"What do you think," said Bodie, "XL 97, that's what. I've seen it."
Leaving Murphy with Bodie, Doyle led the other two up the winding staircase. The locked door was no bar to their expertise, and soon their torch-beams were illuminating the wooden crate that held such a prize.
Jax expressed their feelings with a muted "Wow !"
Doyle decided he couldn't wait to tell Cowley. He found he couldn't get a signal inside the castle, the thick stone walls prevented it. So he slipped outside the postern gate for a moment, and rang his boss.
"Doyle," grumbled Cowley, only half awake. "Do you know what time it is ? What do you want ?"
"Great news," said Doyle, feeling full of it, "We've found Bodie. He's all right. But we've found something else, sir."
"What ?," exclaimed Cowley impatiently.
"XL 97, sir," said Doyle. "It's here, in the castle."
Cowley was instantly alert, - this was good news.
Doyle went on, "We can't get in either of our cars, so could you send us a van, as fast as possible."
"Will do," said Cowley at once, and sprang into action.
They didn't have to wait too long. Jax, who was on watch, reported the van coming in and parking alongside their cars.
To their great surprise, Cowley himself had come with it, Quickly, Doyle showed him, and the men with him up the stairway to the third floor room.
"Splendid work, Doyle," said Cowley enthusiastically. His men skilfully manoeuvred the crate down the winding stairs and into the van.
"I'll go back with them, and get that safely under lock and key," he said, "and leave you to bring Bodie back. I'll see you all later today." The van shot off and disappeared into the night.
Doyle returned to his own group. Bodie had been sitting resting against a wall, while Murphy attempted a little first-aid to his injured foot. Together they helped him to his feet. Bodie's bag had been found in the same room as the XL 97, so he now had his jacket on, and was a bit warmer, and more comfortable.
"Come along, Hopalong," said Doyle cheerfully. "Let's get you home, and get that foot looked at."
He got his shoulder under his mate's arm, and with Jax on the other side, they managed, albeit rather slowly, to get him back to the car.
Before they went, they carefully re- locked all the doors they had opened, to leave no trace of them ever having been there, apart, of course, from the two items which were no longer there.
As they drove away, having re-padlocked the entrance gate too, Doyle gave a grin.
"That'll make Peveril think, won't it," he said. "I wonder if he'll cut and run, before we catch up with him."
Jax was driving, so he turned to Bodie, relaxing in the back.
You know what's one of the best things about this ?," he said.
"No, what ?," asked Bodie.
"Well," replied Doyle, "Usually it's you that has to rescue me, but this time I can definitely say it". He grinned happily.
"This time, I got you out of a hole.!"
And a burst of laughter sped them on their way.