A Country Affair

by Halcris

The 'duo' have a trip into the country, and learn some surprising things, as they finally catch up with a nasty villain.

A Country Affair.

The Mortis Down Agricultural Show was in full swing ! A pleasantly dry and bright June day had brought out the crowds of pleasure-seeking visitors, to swell the ranks of those from the surrounding farming communities, who would have been there whatever the weather.

The air was full of pleasing sounds, music from the local band, resplendent in new uniforms for the day, the varying sounds of the different animals on show, housed in the huge marquees, the merry shouts of excited children, and the general hubbub of crowds enjoying themselves in the sunshine.

As it was now mid-afternoon, and pleasantly warm, the refreshment tent was also pretty crowded. So when the young man turned, having paid for his tea and biscuits, he at first looked in vain for somewhere to sit down.

Then he spotted a space in a corner, at a small table for two. At the moment it only had one customer there, sitting on one of the chairs, with his feet up on the under-bar of the other. He was of medium build, with dark curly hair. He was wearing a T-shirt and tight jeans, with a leather jacket lying across his lap. An empty tea-cup was on the table before him. His eyes were shut, and he seemed to be dozing.

The young man approached the table until he stood beside him. "Excuse me, sir," he said politely. "May I sit here ?."

Doyle opened one sleepy eye to look at the owner of the quiet voice. He saw a tall, thin, rather gangling youth, with short fair hair, a slightly nervous smile, and obviously, very good manners.

He swung his feet off the chair and sat up. "Of course you can," said Doyle, with a friendly smile, and moved the chair out a little for him.

The boy sank onto it gratefully, and put his cup and plate down. "Thank you," he said, "It's tiring walking about, isn't it ?."

Doyle agreed. He was always interested in people, and this seemed a pleasant lad. It might be fun to talk to him for a while, as he waited for Bodie to join him.

But what were two top C.I.5 agents doing at a small local agricultural show, miles away from their usual London haunts. ?

Truth was, they were looking for a man, a particularly nasty villain called Ivan Slattery. They had been working on his case for some time, as he had been the man behind several very evil activities, and was very ruthless. They had almost had him a month ago, but he had slipped through their fingers at the last minute, and gone to ground.

Nothing had been heard of the man himself since, but most of his activities had been stopped and cleared up.

Then Cowley had received information to tell him the man would be at this particular event. Why, he hadn't the slightest idea ! It was far too parochial to really merit this nasty man's attention. But the tip came from a very reliable source, so he had sent his two best men down there to look for him.

Studying the programme and the layout of the show, they had divided the area between them. Doyle had wandered round his section, over and over again. He had seen a lot of interesting things, but not the man he was after.

As it had been a very warm day, he was hot and tired, and more than a little disappointed. Taking a break for a 'cuppa', he was waiting for his partner to join him, to see whether he had had any more success.

He smiled at the young lad opposite him. "Do you like this sort of event ?," he asked conversationally, thinking that most of the London lads he knew would not.

"Yes," replied the boy, "But then, I have to, - it's my dad's show."

Doyle stared in some surprise. "Then you must be - - - - -," he began, but was interrupted.

"Please don't say it," said the lad shyly, "Please just call me Gerard."

When he knew where they were coming, Doyle had done his homework. The countryside for miles around belonged to Lord Mortisford, and he was landlord to nearly all of the tenant-farmers exhibiting at this show. But he was a fair and considerate landowner, always ready to help his tenants over any difficulty, and the whole are was extremely prosperous.

Lord Mortisford was a widower, his beloved wife having died giving birth to their only child, the son that Doyle was talking to now. A sickly child, the boy had been brought up gently by a series of nannies, governesses and tutors. He had had a great deal of good teaching and had gained a lot of knowledge, but as he had never been to school, or sat an exam., he had no qualifications. A generous allowance from a wealthy, doting father meant he did not have to worry yet about earning a living. But it was no wonder that he had grown into a shy, introverted teenager, reluctant to flaunt the position his father's title gave him.

But warmed by Doyle's friendliness, the lad seemed quite eager to talk about the show. "The section I like best," he volunteered, "is the pigs. Pigs are very clever, you know, - more intelligent than some dogs. One of our tenants, Farmer Wilks, has an excellent pig-farm. He's got a few super Tamworths, - one of them has just won a first prize, and he's got three Gloucester Old Spots, - I do like them."

His enthusiasm was infectious, although the names he was trotting out meant little to Doyle. To him, 'a pig was a pig was a pig', but he decided to humour the shy boy. He listened with interest, for it was all new to him, and the lad's eagerness to tell it, made it all sound fascinating.

Just then another figure appeared beside them. Bodie had turned up. Doyle's enquiring look at his partner was met with a negative shake of the head. He hadn't had any success either. If Slattery was here, they hadn't spotted him.

"Gerard has been educating me about pigs," said Doyle, introducing Bodie to the boy.

"Pigs !," exclaimed Bodie, and the tone of his voice, and the incredulous look on his face, evoked a delighted chuckle from Doyle.

"Yes," he said, "They're very interesting animals, you know."

Bodie's look said it all. To him a pig was something fat and pink, and a source of very nice-tasting food. But interesting. ? No way !

But he obligingly fetched tea and scones for them all, and pulled up another now-vacant chair. He listened to what the lad had to say, and learned about Berkshires, Large Blacks, and British Saddlebacks with growing amazement. He made a silent resolve that when next he passed the relevant marquee, he would have a closer look at the animals on show.

At last, rather reluctantly, Doyle called a halt to their pleasant break. "Come on, mate," he said, nudging Bodie, "Time for one last circuit before the show closes."

"It is a two-day show," said Gerard eagerly. "Will you be here tomorrow ?."

"We may see you," replied Doyle non-commitedly. "We'll be about somewhere, I expect."

Although he'd enjoyed talking to the young man, they were here to work, and they hadn't achieved much as yet. They'd been round and round the whole show several times, and hadn't spotted Slattery at all.

But he was there ! In fact both of them had passed within yards of him more than once. Elaborately made up, and in the colourful costume of a scarecrow, Slattery had been moving all over the show-ground, ostensibly advertising a competition, and at the same time finalising his own plans. As he had never actually met Bodie and Doyle, he had no idea that he was being searched for.

But what was a man like Slattery, who had once run a very organised crime set-up, doing in a small place like this ?

Truth was, his encounter with C.I.5 in London had destroyed his little empire. He had barely escaped with his life, and he was badly in need of funds to re-coup and start again. A chance conversation with one of his men about a chap he had shared a cell with, had given him an idea on how he might make some quick money. The man in question was local to Mortis Down. He had been sent to prison after several years of poaching and burglary in the area. He wasn't at all penitent, but was in fact bitterly resentful, especially of Lord Mortisford, who had been one of the magistrates who had sent him down. He had told his cell-mate quite a lot about how things were where he came from, and about the wealthy lord and his only son.

So this was why Ned Miles, on his release from prison, found himself met by a man promising him a lot of money if he would work for him. He was also at the Mortis Down show. He was there on Slattery's orders, to watch their intended victim, and to identify him to Slattery when the time was right. Some of the locals might have recognised him, but C.I.5 did not even know of his existence.

Bodie and Doyle completed another circuit of their sections of the show, and met up again, but not surprisingly neither had seen any sign of Slattery. Various sections were now closing down, so they decided to call it a day, and to try again tomorrow.

As the area had been pretty busy, they had had a job to find somewhere to stay overnight, but had eventually secured a room in an inn about ten miles out. So they made their way back there, took their stuff up to the room, and had a refreshing wash and change. They then went down for a very pleasant leisurely meal. They spent the rest of the evening talking to the 'locals', learning a lot more about the area, the various farms, and Lord Mortisford, too, who appeared to be universally liked, Satisfied that at least they'd managed a little useful research, they went up to bed.

They'd had to settle for a double room, and had found when they entered it, that they'd have to share a double bed, too. But that didn't bother either of them. They'd done it before, in far less comfortable circumstances. After a little amiable wrangling over which side of the bed each should have, they settled down and were soon fast asleep. The country air, plus the local beer, had done them both good.

Sometime during the night, Doyle woke to find a heavy arm across his shoulder, and a sleepy voice whispering in his ear "Mitzi, itzy-bitzy Mitzi."

He grinned to himself. So that was the name of Bodie's latest, was it ? He'd have fun teasing him about that in the morning. Gently he rolled his amorous, dreaming partner back to his own side of the bed, and settled down again.

He was roused again in the early morning by the raucous sound of a cockerel enthusiastically greeting the dawn. For a moment the noise startled him. It wasn't one he'd heard live before. It hadn't roused Bodie, however. He was still snoring gently, dreaming of Mitzi, perhaps.

Too wide awake to go back to sleep, even though it was early, Doyle got up and padded over to the window. Gently drawing back the curtains, he looked out on a very pleasing country scene. Cautiously, he eased open the window, and breathed in the fresh clean air. Well, he thought, if nothing else, this sojourn in Mortis Down has given us a break from the stuffy, grubby London scenario.

But, he reflected, it's not what we came for. They had seen no sign of Slattery yesterday, and they had been looking assiduously. Cowley seemed to think that his information was reliable, but he could have been mistaken.

He took the opportunity to be first in the bathroom, for a welcome leisurely shower and shave. It wasn't till he was fully dressed and ready, that he prodded his still-sleeping partner.

"Come on, lazybones," he teased. "We've got a job to do."

Bodie complained bitterly about being disturbed, but it didn't take him long to be ready too, and they both went down to a very lavish cooked breakfast, which he accepted as compensation for his too-early start. They drove back to the show-ground, where the bustle of opening up, and re-setting of exhibits was well advanced.

"You know what," said Bodie, "I'm going to have a second look at pigs today."

"Me too," agreed Doyle. "Gerard made them sound so much more interesting."

"But it's a human 'pig' we've really got to look for," said Bodie, "Though, for the life of me, I can't think why he should be here."

Doyle felt the same, but the pair of them continued their work all day, looking carefully at all the men thronging the show-ground. Both saw Gerard several times, and waved to him in friendly fashion, but neither stopped to talk to him, which rather disappointed him, as he'd taken to them both. But then, they hadn't enlightened him as to who they were, and what they were doing there.

The day wore on, with no more success than the day before. Both found time during their circuits of the show to take a closer look at the various animals in the tent showing the pigs. Gerard had impressed them with his knowledge and his enthusiasm. Bodie still felt that they weren't exactly attractive creatures, but he had to admit that they were not all 'pink and fat', as he'd previously thought.

They had arranged to meet up again at the tea-tent as they had on the day before, and nearer the time, both were making their way in that direction. The show seemed to be even more crowded than yesterday, perhaps swollen by those who'd come to see who had won the prizes.

To avoid the jostling throng, Doyle took a short cut round the back of the big craft marquee, which was close to the perimeter fence. As he rounded the last corner, what he saw gave him a complete surprise !

There was Gerard, struggling with two men, who had hold of him and were trying to drag him towards a vehicle parked the other side of the fence.

As Doyle let out a yell, and charged towards them, one of the men turned to look at him.

"Slattery," shouted Doyle, recognizing the man they'd been searching for.

Slattery was startled. How did this man know his name in this little rural backwater ? He didn't know. But one thing he did know. He'd have to stop him before he ruined his little plan,

Leaving Gerard struggling with Ned Miles, he turned back to face Doyle. Opportunist as ever, he snatched at a stake driven into the ground nearby, perhaps as temporary tether for some animal. It came away easily from the drying-out earth, and gave him a useful weapon. He advanced upon his adversary, waving it menacingly. He lashed out wildly, and was annoyed as his target skilfully avoided the blows.

But then luck deserted Doyle ! Moving warily to dodge the heavy stick, he caught his foot in one of the taut guy-ropes supporting the marquee. It threw him off-balance and he almost fell. Slattery seized his chance. Charging in, he wielded the stake ferociously, and hit out with all his strength behind it.

The blow caught Doyle on the side of his head, and he crumpled to the dusty grass !

Throwing the weapon down, Slattery turned and charged after Miles, who had succeeded in getting Gerard over the fence and up to the car. Together they overpowered the lad, and bundled him roughly into the back. Slattery climbed in beside him, while Miles got behind the wheel, revved the engine, and drove swiftly away.

Bodie looked at his watch again. Where was Doyle ?.

He'd been a little bit late at the rendezvous himself, having stopped to chat to a pretty girl selling flower corsages. He had resisted her attempts to sell him a pink rosebud buttonhole, decidedly not his style, and had eventually torn himself away to go and meet his partner as arranged. He'd quite expected Doyle to have got there before him, and was surprised to find this was not the case. He found a space, and seated himself to wait for him. But he was already more than ten minutes late, and that wasn't like Ray.

He pulled out his radio-phone, and considered using it. They'd decided the day before not to use them unless really necessary, for there were dozens of show officials walking about using similar items, and the frequencies would very likely have clashed, causing static, and they didn't want to draw attention to themselves. Beginning to feel a little concerned, he pressed the button and waited. Nothing ! He tried again. He was sure the instrument was working, but there was no response. Now he was worried !

He got up from his table and set out to search for his friend. He looked quickly in all the nearest tents, but there was no sign of him in any of them. As he came out of the big craft tent, he tried the phone again, and listened intently, trying to filter out all the other noises about him so that he could pick up the one he hoped to hear.

The faintest of sounds reached his ears, but it was the sound he'd been endeavouring to tune into. Trying to assess the direction it was coming from, he turned down the side of the big marquee, and was rewarded !

Ten yards away, he spotted a recumbent figure lying among the guy-ropes of the tent. He covered the distance at a run, and was just in time to give a helping hand as his mate struggled to sit up.

"What happened to you ?," he exclaimed anxiously.

"Slattery happened, that's what," replied Doyle bitterly. He put a cautious hand to the side of his head. It was painful, and the hand came away red-stained. "He hit me with that stick," he said pointing at the discarded stake.

"You spotted him ?" said Bodie, helping his friend to his feet. "So he was here after all."

"Yes," said Doyle, "and you're not going to believe it ! He and another man were abducting Gerard !"

"What ?," exclaimed Bodie. "Whatever for ?"

"Ransom, I suppose," suggested his mate. "He needs funds. Easy money from a doting father."

"But how did he know, I wonder," mused Bodie in a puzzled tone.

"How should I know ?," snapped Doyle, feeling decidedly rough. "I suppose someone told him." He was correct in that, but at this stage they knew nothing about the local man involved.

"What do we do now ?," he said, "Call Cowley, I suppose."

"First we go to the First Aid tent and get you sorted," said Bodie firmly, quashing his mate's protests. "You'll think better after some help." He grabbed his friend's arm and led him in the right direction.

"Then we'll go back to our room, and tell the boss all about it. Let him decide the next move," he said firmly.

If Bodie had been hoping for a young pretty nurse as he shepherded his mate into the First Aid tent, he was disappointed. But the sensible middle-aged 's Ambulance lady that they found was gentle and efficient, and soon had Doyle patched up. She gave him some painkillers, and advised him to rest for a while. They thanked her and left.

They made their way back to the car. Doyle sank gratefully into the passenger seat. Bodie started up the car for the drive back to their room.

Doyle was despondent. "I muffed that up, didn't I ?," he muttered bitterly.

Bodie was used to his partner's propensity to blame himself for everything. "Look at it this way, Ray," he said. "If this hadn't happened, we'd never have known that Slattery was here. We'd have packed up and gone home, thinking we'd been misinformed."

"That's true," admitted Doyle, brightening a little, "At least now we know he did come here, and what he had planned."

"Right," said Bodie, "and as soon as we tell Cowley, we'll get some action."

"I'm worried about Gerard," said Doyle.

"So am I," replied Bodie. "He's a nice lad, but he's no match for Slattery."

"And that other chap was being a bit rough with him, too," said his mate.

When they reached the seclusion of their room, Bodie pushed a couple of pillows up against the bed-head, and insisted that his mate relaxed there while he set up the special equipment that would enable them to contact their boss this far away from London. Doyle was quite relieved to capitulate to his friend's fussing. He was feeling rather low, both from his headache, which he knew would ease with a bit of rest, but more from the feeling of regret that he hadn't performed a bit better.

After a short delay, Bodie was put through to their boss. He quickly reported all that had happened. Cowley responded with questions for Doyle.

"You recognised Slattery. What about the other man ?," he asked.

"I didn't know him," replied Doyle. "Big built, dark hair and a short beard, wearing a flat cap and a donkey-jacket."

"And the car ?," continued Cowley.

"Wrong angle to get a number," Doyle confessed. "Dark-coloured Range Rover type, dusty and mud-splattered, tinted windows." Actually he'd observed quite a lot in the few seconds he had had, but that was what they were trained to do.

"Plenty like that in the country," was Cowley's discouraging comment.

"Sir," volunteered Bodie, glancing at his watch, "The show has only just closed. There'll be a lot of clearing up to do, and it's likely that Gerard would stay to help with that, so he may not have been missed yet."

"That's true," confirmed Doyle.

Cowley was thinking hard, his active mind considering all his resources. "I don't know Lord Mortisford, but I do know his brother, Peter. He works at the Home Office, and is a very sensible, capable man. I'll get onto him, get him to contact his brother, to persuade him to put this into our hands."

He issued a quick order. "Stay by the contact," he said. "I'll get back to you, as soon as I can."

Bodie left Doyle in charge of the equipment, ready for the next call when it came. He slipped downstairs and persuaded the landlord to let him take some food up to their room. Normally this was against the rules, but he laid it on thick about his friend feeling fragile after a nasty fall at the show. The sympathetic wife of the landlord succumbed to his charm, and supplied what he asked for.

They had barely finished eating before Cowley was back on the line. "Peter Mortisford has been extremely helpful," he said. "He's laid on a helicopter, so both of us, and a team with phone-tapping equipment will be on our way in a few moments. He's also talked to his brother, calmed him down, and has extracted from him a promise of full co-operation."

"What do you want us to do, sir ?," asked Bodie.

"I need you on the spot," replied Cowley, "and Lord Mortisford has agreed to accommodate us all, there's plenty of room. So pack your bags and get over to Mortisford Hall as soon as possible." He closed the line.

"You heard that," said Bodie brightly. "We're invited to his lordship's stately home. Maybe we'll get a bit of 'gracious living'."

"More likely it's 'Upstairs, Downstairs, and we'll definitely be down with the staff," said Doyle gloomily.

"Pessimist !," retorted Bodie.

They packed their bags and the equipment quickly, settled their bill, and set off for the 10 mile drive back to Mortis Down. The local map they had acquired gave them clear directions, so it wasn't long before they turned between the big iron gates, and started up the long drive towards Mortisford Hall. They were very impressed as the building came into view. A grand old manor house, it had two extra wings extending towards the back, but these had been well designed to be in keeping with the imposing front façade. It had been in the Mortisford family for many generations and had been well maintained.

They pulled to a halt on the gravel forecourt, climbed out and made their way rather uncertainly towards the large front entrance door. As they neared it, it was opened and they were confronted by the rather imposing figure of a butler. He indicated the younger man standing beside him and said "If you will show Spencer which of your bags you require, he will show you to your room, and then escort you to his lordship."

Unused to being waited upon, the pair meekly followed Spencer, who had insisted on carrying their bags, up the wide staircase leading from the front hall. They found they had been allocated a double room again, with two divans this time, but it was an elegant guest-room, and not the servant's quarters, as Doyle had been half-expecting.

Spencer deposited their bags, then led them downstairs again. He politely asked for their names, tapped on a large door, opened it and announced, "Mr. Bodie and Mr. Doyle, sir."

They entered and met their host, Gerard's father, Lord Mortisford. He was a distinguished-looking man, in his early fifties perhaps, of average height and build, with a very dignified bearing, though he was, naturally, wearing a worried look at the moment.

However, he did not stand on the ceremony they had just encountered, but rose and moved forward to shake their hands warmly. "I'm pleased to meet you, gentlemen," he said, "Gerard told me last night about you, and how you were friendly to him."

"He's a likeable lad," said Bodie.

"He was educating us about pigs," added Doyle.

"Oh, yes," said his lordship, "He's very interested in those."

"And very knowledgeable about them too," said Doyle.

An approaching sound from outside attracted all their attention, and instinctively all three moved towards to the large lounge windows, to watch as the big helicopter hovered, then settled gently to land on the wide lawn before them. As the long rotor blades slowed and drooped, two men emerged quickly from it. Spencer and another man were hurrying out to meet them. They were directed to assist the remaining passengers with the special equipment they had brought.

Bodie and Doyle recognised the sturdy figure of their boss, as he and the other man hurried towards the house. A few moments later the lounge door opened and they came in. Peter Mortisford, a couple of years younger than his brother, but with a strong family resemblance, hurried up to Lord Mortisford and put a comforting arm round his shoulders.

"Now, keep calm, John," he said. "You don't need to worry, you know. C.I.5 are here now, and they'll handle everything."

"We'll get your son back for you, sir," said Cowley earnestly as he was introduced to the older man.

He turned back towards his waiting men. "Now, Doyle," he said briskly, "I want to hear again exactly what happened."

Before Doyle could begin, there was a tap at the door, and the butler entered, pushing a small trolley laden with china, a teapot, etc.

"Oh, well done, Jenkins," exclaimed Peter Mortisford, who seemed by far the stronger personality of the two brothers. "Thank you, I'll do the honours myself."

A tall robust man had followed the butler in, and was introduced as Neil Faulkner, the estate manager.

"He's been with John for years," explained the younger brother. "He knows every inch of the countryside round about, and will be very useful, I'm sure."

When all were seated and served, Doyle told again exactly what had happened, trying to recall every detail. When he described the vehicle the men had used, Faulkner commented, "I'm afraid I can think of at least a dozen that are like that," he said rather despondently.

But when Doyle went on to describe the other man who had been helping Slattery, he brightened at once. "That sounds like Ned Miles," he exclaimed. "I'd heard he was out of prison, and Spencer said he'd seen him at the show."

"He has reason to resent me," added Lord Mortisford, "I sent him down some years ago, - he's a bad lot !."

Cowley explained to the two brothers about the tip that had brought them here, looking for Slattery. "We had no idea what he had planned, but we know now," he said.

"Can we do anything ?," asked Peter Mortisford eagerly.

"No, not yet," said Cowley. "What we have to do now is wait for the ransom demand to come in. Sometimes they come in the post, but Slattery is in a hurry for some quick funds, so I think it more likely he will make contact by phone. That is why we've rushed the appropriate equipment down."

He turned to their host. "Where is your main phone, sir ?," he asked.

"In my study," replied Lord Mortisford.

"I'll show you," volunteered Faulkner. Cowley went with him as far as the door, and passed him on to the two men waiting there with their special equipment. He came back to the others.

"It won't take Rogers and Webb long to set things up," he said. "Then they'll take shifts manning it constantly."

He glanced at his watch. It was now well into the evening. "I doubt whether we'll hear before tomorrow," he said. "Slattery has such a nasty way with him, it would please him to leave you worrying all night. He'd reckon it would make you more willing to give him whatever he wants."

"He won't hurt him, will he ?" asked Lord Mortisford anxiously.

"I shouldn't think so for a moment," interposed his brother. "The boy's his bargaining tool after all,"

There was a knock at the door, and the butler appeared. "Gentlemen," he announced. "If you would all like to repair through to the dining-room, cook has managed to prepare a light supper."

At such short notice, the cook and her staff had surpassed themselves. It was a buffet-spread, but beautifully set out, and more than sufficient for them all, including the helicopter pilot, and the two phone technicians. Afterwards they sat a long time over their coffee, talking. Bodie and Doyle were in the study with Rogers. Webb had retired immediately after the meal, as he would be up again early to relieve his mate.

The three older men sat in the lounge, where Peter Mortisford did a good job of calming and heartening his anxious brother. But as Cowley had expected, no call came through.

Eventually they all retired to bed, though not all slept well. The C.I.5 men did, for they had learned over the years how to switch off and relax, however worrying the situation, to give themselves the physical rest they needed, so that they were ready to perform well when action was required.

But one person who wasn't sleeping well was Ivan Slattery !

He was wide awake, trying to work out how to make good the damage his plans had suffered. For it had not gone altogether the way he had planned.

True, he had the boy safely under lock and key, in the back room of a deserted old farmhouse, - a place in the middle of nowhere that Ned Miles, who knew the area like the back of his hand, had found for them. And his car, and the one Miles had stolen were well out of sight in the crumbling barn alongside.

But his big concern was the man he'd encountered at the show-ground. He'd challenged him, calling his name ! How did he know that ? Not from Miles, who only knew him as 'Mr. Smith'.

But this man did know him, and that had ruined his plans. For he had intended to ask for a substantial sum from Lord Mortisford, who he was sure would pay it, even if it took him a few days to get it together.

Slattery would have been content to wait for that, secure in his hiding place, confident that no-one in the area knew a thing about him.

But someone did. That man knew him ! He had tried to deal with it, but the man would soon recover.

Who was he ? What would he do about it ? Got to Lord Mortisford ? Go to the police ?

After a lot of thought Slattery decided that the only way out was to ask for a lesser sum, which Mortisford could quickly produce, and to grab it and run.

Eventually the morning dawned, bright and clear. Doyle rose early and went for a run round the extensive grounds. Bodie declined to join him, being far too comfortable where he was. They met with all the others for breakfast, which was beautifully prepared and set out for them.

The staff had not been told anything, but they were not stupid. They could see that something untoward was happening, that it concerned young Gerard, and that the master was worried sick about it. So they quietly showed their concern for a respected and well-liked employer, by ensuring that the day-to-day running of the household went as smoothly as possible.

After the breakfast had been cleared, they were joined by Faulkner, a bachelor, who lived in a small cottage in the grounds. He produced a large roll of paper, which turned out to be a series of maps, which he spread out on the large dining table.

"I've been giving it some thought," he explained, "about where they could be hiding out."

"Good idea," commented Cowley, and they all gathered round to study the maps.

"This is the likeliest area," suggested Faulkner, to a particular part of the oldest- looking map. Over the last century, as the coastline has eroded, the water-table has altered. This area is now liable to flood every winter, and so has been long abandoned. But there are still several lots of old farm buildings still standing, though not any longer habitable."

"But could provide temporary shelter," said, Bodie, shrewdly expressing what all present had realised.

But nothing could be done until some contact was made, so the waiting game began again. But not for long ! It was barely 9 o'clock when the phone rang. A harsh voice demanded to speak to Lord Mortisford.

Followed by the others he hurried into the study, while Rogers quickly made the adjustments that might help him trace the call. He flicked a switch that made it possible for all present to hear the conversation. It was brief and to the point.

"Mortisford," snarled Slattery, "I've got your boy !."

"Is he all right ?," interrupted Mortisford anxiously.

"For the moment," said Slattery nastily. "I'll sell him back to you. I'm in a hurry, so I'll settle for £30,000, but it's got to be tonight."

"I'll pay ! Don't hurt him," exclaimed his lordship.

"Right," said Slattery, "Get busy and get it together. I'll call later, with delivery instructions." The call came to an abrupt end.

"Anything, Rogers ?," demanded Cowley.

"Not a lot of time, sir," said the technician, who also had a small map beside him on the desk. He pointed with a finger. "Somewhere along that main road, about there _ a public call-box though."

Faulkner was watching the pointing finger. He knew the area so well. "The call-box at Thornton Cross," he said, "There's nothing much about there, just a few houses down Thornton Lane. But I know who lives in all of those, Old Colonel Biggs, the Carstairs brothers, and that retired author."

"He's got a car," Doyle reminded them, looking at the map. "He could have come in from miles away, - several roads meet there."

"True," admitted Faulkner. "So we're no further on, are we ?," he added in a despondent tone. He was desperate to help his employer, and hadn't the patience of the C.I.5 men, who knew they'd have to play a waiting game.

Peter Mortisford was engaged in deep conversation with his brother, no doubt planning how to get the money together.

Bodie was thoughtful. "He could have asked for a lot more," he said. "His lordship would have paid."

"Yes," agreed Cowley, but added shrewdly. "I think he's panicked because Doyle knew him by name – he wasn't expecting that ! He's anxious to get away, so he's settling for a quick return."

The rest of the day dragged for most of them. Peter Mortisford drove his brother off somewhere to see about raising the necessary amount. Rogers and Webb took turns in manning the phone, ready and waiting for the next call.

After poring over the maps with Faulkner, Cowley had decided that there was no point in sending his men out to reconnoitre various possible hiding-places, for there were far too many of them, and spread over a wide area. It would mean expending a lot of time and energy with no guarantee of any result, and could mean that his men were miles out of position when they were needed. So he ordered them to stay in the house or very close to it. Doyle felt a bit guilty at enjoying the hospitality they were being shown, and, for the time being, having done nothing to earn it. Bodie didn't seem to share his qualms. As he said, their turn would come. He had found the games room, and challenged his mate, first to darts, and then to snooker, and was pleased to have the upper hand in most of their contests. He wasn't so delighted when soundly beaten at snooker by Webb, taking a break from his phone-watching while Rogers took over.

Lord Mortisford and his brother returned mid-afternoon. Cowley took them both to one side, and firmly rehearsed his lordship in what he wanted him to say when the time came. It was nearly 6 o'clock before the long-awaited call came. Rogers quickly tried to trace it. It wasn't from the same place, - Slattery was too clever for that.

"Have you got the money ?," came his first words.

"Yes," replied Lord Mortisford. "Is Gerald all right ?"

"He's fine," said Slattery impatiently. "Now, listen to my instructions. You're to come alone and bring the money."

"Just a minute," interrupted Lord Mortisford, "I can't."

"What do you mean, you can't ?," snapped Slattery.

"I can't drive," replied Mortisford, following Cowley's instruction. "I've a bad leg, - I haven't driven myself for years. But I have a driver, he'll bring me."

"No," snapped Slattery, "I don't want two people ! Send one man, on his own."

"Very well, my estate manager, - I can trust him," said the anxious father.

"Right," said Slattery. "But alone !."

Cowley smiled grimly, thankful that the kidnapper had accepted the substitution so easily.

"Here's what he's to do," continued Slattery. "At 7 o'clock exactly he's to be, with the money, at Thornton Cross. Go down Five mile Lane until he comes to an old farm with a burnt out barn. Leave the money on the farm doorstep, and go back to Thornton Cross."

"But Gerard…", protested Lord Mortisford.

"As soon as I've checked the money, I'll send him to you there," said Slattery, and the worried father had to be content with that, as the man rang off."

"I' m ready to do it, sir," said Faulkner eagerly.

"Sorry," said Cowley, "But it won't be you. He's seen Doyle, so it will be Bodie."

The estate manager looked quite crestfallen, so he mollified him with his next words. "But we'll need you to look at the maps," he said, "and tell us where this farm is."

"Of course," said Faulkner, and rushed to get the maps. He spread them on the table and pointed with a finger. "There's Five Mile Lane, - several old places down there. But the one with the burnt-out barn is this one here, - old Morrison's place."

The time for action having come at last, Cowley began making his plans. Now that the phone call with instructions was over, he had two more men available to him, three if you counted Faulkner, who was so eager to help.

The money was in an old leather bag. It was decided that as Bodie was supposed to be the estate manager, it wouldn't do to use the C.I.5 car as it was too smart. Faulkner dashed off to get one of the old estate cars, and brought it round to the front door.

"Can Doyle and the other two get close to that farm without going down Five Mile lane ?," asked Cowley.

"Yes, indeed," said Faulkner, and eagerly showed them the roads that would take them there, but in a round-about way.

"Can I come with you ?," he begged, and Cowley relented, agreeing that he should go with Doyle, while Rogers and Webb went off in another of the estate cars. Both vehicles departed quickly, so that they could get into position early, ready to follow his radio-phoned instructions when they saw someone collecting the money.

Doyle drove quickly, following Faulkner's directions, and was soon nearing the designated farm, but from the other direction. He found a good place to park the car, well out of sight. He and Faulkner crept forward, and found themselves an excellent vantage point, so that they were well hidden, but had a clear view of the old farmhouse doorstep.

Rogers reported in on the radio-phone. He and Webb were in position too, right on the other side of the farm. They couldn't actually see the doorstep, but were close enough to move quickly when called on. All four men settled down to wait.

After a while Doyle checked his watch. "Seven o'clock," he said. "Bodie should just be starting down the lane."

"I reckon it will take him about 20 minutes to get here," said Faulkner.

"Less than that, I think," said Doyle with a grin, "The way Bodie drives !"

"Is he a speed merchant then ?," asked Faulkner and Doyle nodded.

"But with that car, and the state of these roads, he won't be able to go that fast," retorted Faulkner. "I know these roads, remember."

Prompt at 7 o'clock, as ordered, Bodie started down Five Mile Lane. The bag with the money was on the seat beside him. He wasn't too happy with the car he'd been given as it was a beast to handle, heavy on the steering. But it was his boast, and not a vain one, that he could handle any vehicle once he got the feel of it, and he was managing it well.

The lane he was travelling on wasn't much help either. Not made up, it was all ruts and pot-holes, making for a bumpy ride. I suppose country folk are used to this, he thought, as he pressed on.

Suddenly, he had to slam on the brakes ! A dark shape had backed out of a field, and was right across the lane. It took all of his strength to hold the heavy car, and he finished with his bonnet inches away from the obstruction.

Angrily, he reached for the door handle, about to get out and give this fool of a driver a piece of his mind, only to have it wrenched from his hand, as the door was pulled open, and he found himself looking down the barrel of a gun !

"Out !," came Slattery's harsh voice. "Bring the money."

Faced with the weapon, Bodie had no option but to obey. We've been tricked, he thought bitterly. He was directed towards the obstructing vehicle, which on closer sight looked much like the one Doyle had described. He was ordered to put the money into the back.

Suddenly another voice came from the driver's seat.

"That's not Faulkner, the estate manager," said Ned Miles.

Slattery re-acted quickly. Reversing his gun, he brought the butt down hard on the head of the man leaning in to put the bag onto the back seat. Bodie collapsed in an untidy heap.

"Who is he ?, " demanded Slattery as Miles got out of the car and joined him.

"I've no idea," said Miles.

Together they ran their hands over the unconscious form. As Bodie had only expected to be a courier, dropping the money off, and then leaving, he had all his usual gear with him, his I.D., his gun, and his radio-phone. The finding of all these disconcerted Slattery.

C.I.5 ! How had they found him down here ?

What should he do now ? Dump him back in his car ?

But then, when he recovered, he'd be able to tell what had happened. He wouldn't be working alone. He made a quick decision.

"Help me get him into the car," he said. Miles did so, and got back behind the wheel, as Slattery climbed in beside his victim.

The ancient Range Rover shot off, bumping across the field. A gate at the far side gave access to another lane, and Miles turned left onto it. Ten minutes more, and the vehicle was in the yard of an old farm building, another of the many derelict sites Faulkner had spoken of.

By this time Bodie was coming to. He was ordered out of the car, and in a rather groggy state, was hustled into the building, along a passage, and into what had once been a large farm kitchen. Miles took a key from a hook on the wall, opened a door, and Bodie was pushed into the room beyond, dimly lit, with only a small window high up, probably once a large pantry or store-room.

A slight figure rose from a bench at the far side, and came towards him. "Mr Bodie !," said Gerard.

Doyle looked at his watch again, and smiled at Faulkner. "Look's as if you were right," he said. "Bodie's had to take it slowly. He'll be here any minute, I expect."

But as time went on and still Bodie did not arrive, alarm bells began to ring. He called Cowley, who was waiting with the Mortisfords.

"I think something's gone wrong," he said urgently. "It's 7. 35 and Bodie's still not here !."

Cowley swore forcibly. "I wish we'd thought to bring 'bugs' and 'tracers'," he said, "But we left in such a hurry."

The Mortisfords had had heard Doyle's words.

"Perhaps he's broken down," suggested Peter Mortisford. "It was rather an old car."

"He'd have called in, if it was that," said Cowley tersely.

"Doyle," he called urgently. "Get moving. See what you can find." Doyle and Faulkner raced back to the car.

"Can we get onto this end of the lane from here ?," asked Doyle.

"Yes," replied the man instantly, and gave him the directions. Doyle called Rogers and Webb, telling them to go back to their car and follow.

Soon Doyle was moving as fast as possible, past the farmhouse and up the lane. He rounded an awkward bend.

"Look, there's the car !," shouted Faulkner.

Doyle pulled up and leapt out, running towards it. He found it empty, which was a relief, as for a moment he had feared finding a body.

He reported quickly to Cowley. As he was speaking, Rogers and Webb came up the lane too, and joined them. Webb pointed out the muddy tracks on the lane in front of Bodie's car, and they turned their attention to the field.

"There's another lane over there," said Faulkner, pointing. "It's called Oldun's lane, and it leads down into the valley to lots more abandoned farms."

Doyle thought for a moment, and then made a decision. "Back to the house, to have another look at those maps," he said. "Rogers, you take the car Bodie was driving. Turn into the field to let us past, then back out again and follow."

They shot off back to Mortisford Hall. Doyle, whose car was the fastest, naturally got there first, and had explained it all to Cowley before the slower cars rolled up.

Faulkner spread the maps out on the table again, and they all gathered round to study them.

"If they turned down to the valley, there's at least six possible places they could have hidden up," said Faulkner.

"And if they went the other way ?," asked Cowley.

"It only leads back to the main road, to Thornton Cross," replied the man.

"Maybe they'll leave Bodie and Gerard there, like they suggested," said Lord Mortisford hopefully.

Cowley made no comment, but he very much doubted it. Slattery was too evil to do anything as honest as keeping his word. He'd already broken it by intercepting Bodie. "We'll just have to check those places, one by one, but very cautiously," he said. "I think Slattery has captured Bodie, and he's just as likely to abandon them both somewhere."

"I'm so glad to see you," said Gerard.

"Are you all right ?," replied Bodie. "Not hurt ?.

"No, I'm fine," said the boy, "But father will be so worried."

"Your uncle Peter is with him and my boss Cowley," said Bodie. "They're keeping him calm."

Bodie went on to do a bit of explaining, first just who he and Doyle were, how they came to be at the show, and finally how the ransom delivery appeared to have gone wrong. "But you don't need to worry now," he said re-assuringly. "My mate Doyle, and some more of our men are out there, and they'll keep on till they find us."

He wouldn't have been so confident if he'd known what was going on outside their prison. Slattery had carried the bag with the money into what had once been a front parlour. Eagerly watched by Miles, he opened it and examined the contents. It looked as if the money was all there as he had demanded. But Slattery was thinking fast. If C.I.5 were onto him again that changed things. All he wanted was the money. He couldn't care less about sending the boy back. And I don't need Miles any more, he thought, even though I did promise him some of the money.

He made a sudden decision. Miles was gazing avidly at the bundles of notes as Slattery stuffed them back in the bag, and so was taken completely by surprise by the sudden left hook that Slattery launched at him. He fell backwards, knocking over a chair, as he tumbled to the floor, half-stunned. Slattery leapt in and again used the butt of his gun to good purpose. Then he grabbed the bag, fished his car keys from his pocket, and was off !

Some while later, Miles struggled back to consciousness with a sore jaw, a splitting headache, and, as he realised what had happened, a burst of furious rage ! He'd been cheated ! His 'Mr. Smith' had turned on him, and gone off with all the money. He'd done most of the work, and now he had nothing to show for it.

Then a thought struck him. I do have something. I still have the boy ! But, he thought bitterly, I'm not clever enough to go asking for more money. 'Mr. Smith' had done all that part.

I know what I can do, he schemed, still full of anger. I can get back at Lord Mortisford. I can make it difficult for him to find his precious son. I know where to hide them, and it will take ages to find them, I'll put them both in the Caves. !

He put his plan straight into action. He packed his few belongings into the car, and brought it close to the door. Then he picked up his shotgun, took the key from the hook, and opened the door on his two prisoners, yelling at them to come out slowly.

Bodie led the way. He was tensed, and ready for action, should he get the slightest chance, but this was not the moment, he found. There were times when tackling an armed man was a calculated risk worth taking, but not when the weapon was a double-barrelled shotgun, and there was danger to a vulnerable hostage. So he waited, and obeyed when ordered into the driving-seat of the car.

Miles pushed Gerard into the back, and climbed in beside him, still brandishing the gun.

"Drive," ordered Miles. "Turn left out of the gate, and keep going, right up to the main road."

Reaching the cross roads, they turned away from the direction of Mortis Down, and after a few miles swung onto another road. Bodie's sense of direction was pretty good, and he had studied Faulkner's maps fairly closely, so he was able to decide that Miles was taking them towards the coast. Mortis Down was about 15 miles inland, he had noted in passing.

But why the coast ? There were no ports along that way, only a couple of small fishing villages, with a scattering of basic cottages.

"Take the next left, ordered Miles. Bodie did as he was told, and after several hundred yards found himself coming to a dead end, within sight of the sea, and had to pull up. He found they were in a flat level area, on the top of the cliffs, near a sign saying Car Park. They were ordered out, still menaced by the shotgun.

"He's taking us to the Caves," said Gerard suddenly, as he realised where they were.

"Shut up, you," shouted Miles roughly, and gave him a push. He directed them towards the cliff edge, where Bodie saw steps cut into the cliff-side, protected by a railing, evidently a way down to the beach below. They were hustled down this and onto the pebbly beach, which extended about 5 yards from the cliff face. As Bodie reached the bottom and stepped onto the shingle, he looked towards the cliff, and was surprised to see, spaced about 10 yards apart, three dark holes. Gerard had said something about caves, hadn't he ? These looked like cave mouths. But as he got nearer he could see that each opening was blocked by a large metal grille.

Miles fished in his pocket with his left hand, and pulled out a key. He handed it to Gerard and propelled him towards the middle hole.

"Open it," he said, indicating the heavy-duty padlock, "and give me the key back." Gerard did as he said.

"Inside," ordered Miles. Bodie tensed. If he was to do anything, the time was now. But Miles was no fool !

"You," he snapped, "Try anything, and I'll blow his head off."

Bodie was helpless. He dared not endanger Gerard. So he had to submit. The pair moved into the cave mouth and backed away as ordered. Miles quickly replaced and locked the padlock, and without a backward look, hurried away and up the steps He was pleased with himself for having thought of this clever hiding-place.

The Caves had at one time been quite a feature of the area. Formed in some freak way when the earth was taking shape, they had been adapted and enlarged about a hundred years ago, by local smugglers, as an excellent hiding place for the stuff they brought in by boat.

But over the years, as Faulkner had said, the coastline had eroded. Here it had resulted in loss of the then extensive foreshore. The sea began to reach gradually further into the caves, making them useless as storage places.

Having become accessible for only a few hours at the lowest point of the tide, they had been made into a local attraction. Guided tours had shown visitors around. About 20 years ago there had been a tragedy. A party of school-boys, from a town 40 miles away, had been brought on a trip out, and had found the caves exciting. Two of them had thought it would be a lark to hide as their group exited, to see how long it would be before they were missed. But being town boys, they didn't know about the tides. The sea had come in, and flooded the caves. Before anyone had worked out where they were, the pair had drowned. Since then, these strong grilles had closed the tunnels off, with only a select few locals, who still did occasional special guided tours, holding keys.

Miles had stolen a key from one of them, and had hidden in the caves once or twice when the police were after him, but with a very careful eye to the times of the tides.

Reaching the top of the steps, he climbed back into his car and drove off, not very sure where he was going next. Reaching the main road, he turned south, determined to get as far away from this area as he could. But first, he was going to find himself somewhere to have a few drinks, to celebrate his cleverness at having struck a blow at his enemy, Lord Mortisford.

Bodie came back to the grille and shook it hard, but it felt pretty solid. He tried getting a hand through to reach the padlock, but that was a sturdy item too, and he had nothing with which to attempt to pick it.

"Ah, well, Gerard," he said at last, "It looks as if we're stuck here for a bit. But at least he didn't hurt either of us. And they'll keep on searching for us."

"But, Mr. Bodie," said Gerard, looking scared. "The sea !."

"What about the sea ?," asked Bodie, alarmed by the boy's frightened look.

"It comes into the caves," explained Gerard, "when the tide turns."

"Does it ?," said Bodie, realising what that implied. "Right in ? How far in ?"

"I don't know exactly," said Gerard, "But I know it's dangerous, that's why they put locked grilles there."

Now Bodie began to share Gerard's concern. He'd spoken cheerfully, trying to boost the lad's morale, but this was a bit of a facer. As he looked out, he saw that the visible part of the pebbled beach had shrunk already. The tide was coming in and fast. Both watched clinging to the grille. In twenty minutes the first trickles were coming through the bottom bars.

"How far back do the tunnels go?," demanded Bodie.

"Oh, quite a long way," said Gerard.

"And how far does the sea go ?," asked Bodie.

"I don't really know," said Gerard, "but not all the way this time of year, I think. The tides aren't as high as in the winter, when it's stormy."

The water was now swirling round their ankles. Bodie was thinking hard. If we stay here at the entrance, we are going to get very wet. It wouldn't bother him that much. He'd been wet for days in the jungle with no ill effects, but young Gerald was not a robust lad, with a history of delicate health, and getting wet and cold might be very bad for him. But if they retreated and kept dry, they could come back to the grille when the tide turned, and the sea receded.

Then he had an idea. "Gerald," he said, "Have you got a handkerchief, - a white handkerchief ?"

The boy fished in his pocket, and produced the required article, a bit crumpled, but definitely white, due to the house-keepers diligence. Bodie took it, and carefully tied one end to the centre bar of the grille, up near the top. The slight breeze out side achieved the effect he intended, a fluttering white flag, hopefully a distress signal that might attract notice. Then, as the water level steadily rose, they backed away into the darkness of the tunnel behind them.

Meanwhile, the search for them was well under way. The plan was to explore each of the places Faulkner's maps had shown. As it was high summer it was still quite light, but they collected some powerful torches from the estate store, for it would gradually get darker, and they were prepared to search all night.

Paired as before, they drove swiftly to the area. Luck was with them, for although the first two places were useless, the third one yielded a result of sorts. They found the room which looked as though it had been used as a prison, though it was disappointingly empty. Then came a confirming find. Doyle collected all of Bodie's equipment, dumped in a drawer.

Doyle reported quickly to Cowley. But the discovery of the hiding place that had been used, although useful, was no help in determining where Slattery, Miles, and their two captives were now !

Cowley called into his London base, and quickly got his resources moving. A picture of Slattery, and a description of Miles, were widely circulated, with details of the one vehicle they knew about. But the C.I 5 men were not happy. They had no idea now where to look for the missing pair, or their abductors.

Then fortune smiled on them again !

Spencer had been given the night off to visit his mother, who was not at all well. He had gone on his motor-bike to the nearby village of Memford, and had spent the evening caring for her. Now that all her odd jobs had been done, and she was safely tucked up in bed, he was leaving to return to Mortisford Hall, as he lived in there. He closed the door carefully and moved towards his bike. He glanced across the road to the local pub, and then looked again. He knew that battered old Range Rover just pulling into the car park !

He waited and watched. Yes, he was right ! The unmistakeable figure of Ned Miles had climbed out of it, and was now going into the pub.

What should he do now ? He thought quickly. He must let Mr Cowley know at once, that was clear. His mother had a phone, one of the few in the village. He let himself back into the house and hurried to it. He knew the number of Mortisford Hall, and dialled it quickly. Almost at once, Cowley answered.

"Sir," said Spencer, "I've just seen Ned Miles.

"Where ?," demanded Cowley, and the man told him.

"I'll send the men there at once," said Cowley. "Could you stop him if he decides to leave before they get there ?"

"I could disable the car, sir," replied Spencer.

"Good man," said Cowley approvingly, and rang off. He quickly contacted Doyle and told him.

"I'm on my way," replied Doyle. "Where's Memford ?," he asked Faulkner, who had heard the conversation.

"Back towards the main road and then I'll direct you," said Faulkner.

The car shot off at top speed. Faulkner secretly admired his driver's skill in handling the car so well on these difficult roads, but Doyle was driven by real concern for his mate and the youngster. If Miles was on his own, where were they ? Had they been harmed ?

One thing he was sure of, when he caught up with Miles, the man was going to tell him, whatever means he had to use.

Rogers and Webb were receiving directions from Mortisford Hall, and were following as fast as they could in their inferior transport.

Recognising Doyle's car, as it rolled to a halt in front of the pub, Spencer hurried across to it. "He hasn't come out yet," he reported, "and when he does, he's not going anywhere. I've taken this bit out of the engine.

"Good move," said Doyle, "Thanks."

"Shall we come in with you ?," suggested Faulkner.

"No way," replied Doyle. "I'm going to get some answers, and you might not like the way I do it."

He strode of to the pub entrance, while the two watching men exchanged puzzled looks, not quite sure what he meant, and surprised by the grim look on the normally friendly face.

They waited by the car and watched. Suddenly they saw a burly figure come round from the back of the pub, crossing the car-park towards the old Range Rover. nFaulkner started forward, fearing the man was about to escape, but Spencer's hand on his arm stopped him.

"He's not going anywhere," he said, showing him the component in his hand.

As they watched, another figure appeared, shot across the yard, and pounced on the man trying to climb into his car. He dragged him back, and a fierce fight started.

Miles was big and strong, but somewhat befuddled by drink. Doyle was quick and menacing. He was very angry with this man for the way he'd manhandled the defenceless Gerard, and for what he might have done to Bodie, and he was determined to find out what had happened to them.

The struggle moved back across the yard and out of sight behind the pub. Faulkner and Spencer exchanged doubtful glances wondering whether they should lend a hand.

Just then the other old estate car rolled up, and Roger and Webb climbed out. They were quickly brought up to date. All of them could hear the sounds of scuffles and blows interspersed with yelps of pain.

"Do you think he needs help ?," suggested Rogers.

"Not Doyle," said Webb firmly, and as if to prove his point, two figures came round the side of the pub. Doyle was propelling a rather battered-looking Miles in front of him.

As he neared the waiting group, he pushed the man towards the two C.I.5 men. "Don't let him get away ," he ordered, "He's got more talking to do.".

He turned to the two local men. "He says he's put Bodie and Gerald in a cave," he said, looking puzzled, "and he's given me this key."

"The Caves !," exclaimed Spencer and Faulkner almost in the same breath. Faulkner re-acted the fastest. He grabbed Doyle's arm and pushed him towards the car.

"I'll take you there," he said. "Spencer," he yelled back over his shoulder, "Explain to Rogers and Webb, and contact the Hall."

Doyle was already revving his engine. As he followed the directions Faulkner was giving him, the man enlightened him about the Caves and their history.

When Doyle heard that nowadays the caves were of little use because the sea flooded them, his fears increased, and he put his foot down as much as he dared. But even so, it took 20 minutes of hard driving before he was directed to a halt on the top of a cliff.

As it was getting darker now, he grabbed a torch and followed the local man to the top of some steps. Doyle pushed past him and started down them. He had gone quite a way down before he was brought up short by the sight of waves lapping against the steps.

"It's close to high tide, I think," said Faulkner, close behind him.

Doyle shone his torch along the cliff face. Instead of the three round dark holes that Bodie had seen, there were now only three semi-circles, with sea-water well up the grilles. But then he spotted something else, - the fluttering white hanky !

"Look," he said, pointing, "I think Bodie's left us a sign to show which cave they are in." He began to strip off his jacket, handing it to Faulkner.

"What are you going to do ?," asked the man.

"Why, swim round and go after them," replied Doyle, surprised the man should ask. He loaded his gun and holster onto Faulkner's arms and added his radio-phone and his shoes.

"Take those back to the car," he ordered, fishing out the key Miles had given him. "I expect the others will be here soon. Tell them to be ready to help when I bring them out."

Holding the torch and the key firmly, he continued down the steps, gasping a little as he met the cold sea-water. By the time he could feel that he'd reached the bottom, the water was up to his waist. As he pushed along towards the fluttering flag, it seemed to deepen a little, which was worrying.

Reaching the middle cave, he tucked the torch securely into his belt, and grabbed hold of the barred grille He felt down it under the water, searching for the padlock he had to find. At last his fingers found it. Holding the key firmly, he took a deep breath, then ducked down to insert it carefully. It was a little stiff to turn at first, but then it yielded to his strong fingers. He quickly removed the padlock from the bars. Both it and the key dropped from his cold hand, but that didn't matter.

The grille was open ! He pulled at it steadily. As there were six inch gaps between the bars, it didn't resist the water pressure much, and was soon wide open.

Retrieving the torch, he peered into the dark interior. The light shone upon an expanse of water, but turning the beam upwards, he could see that there was still a foot or more of clearance under the dark roof. That was a relief, - there was still plenty of air getting in.

Taking a deep breath, he let out a loud shout, "BODIE !", he yelled.

A long way back, in the pitch darkness, Bodie heard the sound faintly, and his heart leapt. Rescue was at hand !

He had actually been getting pretty close to despair of ever being found alive. He and Gerard had retreated along the dark tunnel, fortunately straight and level, as the water had crept relentlessly in, until they had come to a dead end.

Feeling about on the blank wall he had run up against, Bodie had found a slight ledge. As the water had started to swirl round their feet, he had hoisted the boy up to sit on it. There was barely head-room above it, but at least it would keep him dry a bit longer.

The water level had crept steadily up and up. Now it was up to his waist and was lapping a round the boy's feet. How much further would it go, he wondered ? He'd tried to keep the Gerald's morale up by chatting to him, but his hand on the boy's knee told him the lad was trembling, whether with cold or fear, he wasn't sure, - probably both.

But then he'd heard that so-welcome sound ! He let out a yell in return and turned his head, waiting.

Before long he was rewarded with the sound of splashing, and then a speck of light appeared in the darkness. Doyle had been half-wading, half- swimming steadily along the tunnel. In a few moments, a dark head bobbed up close to them, and the beam of a torch shone on both their faces.

"Well, look what the tide's brought in," said Bodie cheerfully. "What kept you, mate ?"

"I didn't fancy getting so wet," rejoined Doyle.

Gerard didn't understand the playful banter which was the way these two men, with such a fine rapport, coped with their feelings.

"I think the water's still rising," said Doyle, "Let's get out of here, fast."

Bodie reached for Gerard's arm, and pulled him off his perch into the water. The sudden shock made him gasp.

"I can't swim," he exclaimed, momentarily panicking.

"That's O.K. We can," said Bodie. "Just hold tight to both of us and we'll tow you out."

"Relax, don't worry," added Doyle. "We'll look after you."

With the torch to guide them, and the boy held firmly between them they made their laborious way back. The last little bit of evening light filtering into the, cave mouth showed them when they were nearly there. Very soon they reached the entrance and were out in the cool night air.

They moved towards the steps. The light of several torches shone to show them the way. Rogers and Webb, Faulkner and Spencer were all on the steps, so there were many willing hands reaching out to help them. The very relieved men retreated, helping the three soaked figures to climb wearily to the top

As they emerged onto the cliff-top, shivering in the evening breeze, strong headlights swept the scene, as a big powerful car joined the other vehicles. Several people emerged. Foremost was Cowley, followed by Lord Mortisford and his brother.

Peter Mortisford ran quickly round to the boot of the big car, and opened it. Ever practical, when he'd heard the news, he had delayed only long enough to pile in some travelling rugs, and to order flasks of hot sweet coffee, before rushing Cowley and his brother to the scene.

These comforting items were quickly welcomed and put to good use, while words of explanation flowed thick and fast. It wasn't long before a cavalcade of vehicles was leaving the scene.

Peter Mortisford drove the big saloon, while his brother sat in the back with his arm round his rug-wrapped son. Rogers took over Doyle's car with Faulkner, while Bodie and Doyle huddled under rugs in the back.

Cowley went with Webb in the old estate car with its passenger, a securely tied-up Miles. Led by Spencer, this car made a detour to the nearest police station with a secure holding-place. Cowley showed his authority, and Miles was deposited in a cell to await further interrogation at a later time.

As they swept up the drive towards the Hall, they were welcomed by the blaze of lights. Although it was now very late, the live-in staff had rallied round. Some had gone to bed, but as they heard the news were quickly up to help. They had turned on bathroom heaters, set out fluffy towels and dry clothes, and most welcome of all, cook and her helpers had produced hot soup for everyone.

Gerard, Bodie and Doyle were fussed over and waited on, much to their embarrassment. In spite of his protests that he was fine, Gerald was hustled off to bed, but a lot of talking and explaining went on with the rest.

As it had been well into the early hours before all had finally retired, nobody surfaced very early the next day. But the staff, including those who came in daily, had now learned the whole story, and knew that the visitors deserved gratitude, so they were perfectly willing to delay breakfast to suit their convenience.

So it was a late leisurely meal that they were sitting over. Cowley was called to take a phone call. He came back into the room looking very pleased. "You'll be gratified to hear, gentlemen," he announced. "Slattery has been apprehended in Liverpool, trying to get across to Ireland." There were pleased murmurs all round the table.

"I'll get him and Miles taken down to London," he added. "We'll deal with them there. And your money's safe, Lord Mortisford. You'll get it returned in due course."

Nothing remained but to pack up the equipment and leave. Cowley, Rogers, Webb and the phone equipment were to go back, as they had come, courtesy of the helicopter supplied by Peter Mortisford. He had decided to stay on a few days with his family. Doyle and Bodie would make the long drive back, as they had suffered no ill effects after their soaking.

Lord Mortisford was profuse in his gratitude, and very much wanted to give them some sort of reward. Cowley firmly refused this. It was against his policy.

As the grateful man seemed a little upset by this, Doyle ventured a mollifying suggestion. "Tell you what," he said. "Send us the dates of next year's show, and maybe we'll come."

"You'll get V.I.P. tickets and be my guests here," said Lord Mortisford. Doyle was a bit taken aback. He hadn't been angling for that.

"You let them come, won't you, ?," said Gerard eagerly. He was surprisingly bright and well this morning, in spite of his adventure.

"We'll see," said Cowley, not willing to commit himself. "A year's a long time away."

Bodie and Doyle rather enjoyed the long drive back through the pleasant countryside. Although it had been an unexpectedly action-packed weekend, they had enjoyed the clean fresh air, and their brief taste of gracious living.

They delivered the big car they'd been driving back to the pool, and went to pick up their own. They were now off-duty for the evening and were looking forward to returning to their normal routines.

As Bodie carefully folded his jacket, nicely dried and cleaned for him by the so-helpful staff at Mortisford Hall, and prepared to climb into his car, Doyle pulled up alongside on his way out of the yard.

He wound down his window, and called to his mate. "Give my love to Mitzi," he said cheekily. Then he grinned and sped off.

Startled, Bodie gazed after the fast-disappearing car, with a very puzzled expression. He'd never mentioned his latest girl-friend's name to anyone.

"How on earth did he know about Mitzi ?.