Retribution.
It was Friday evening, and Lawrence Peveril was feeling very pleased with himself, as he drove down towards his grandfather's estate. The old man, Lord Peveril, as he was known, had a beautiful country manor house, where he held lavish week-end parties, which Lawrence greatly enjoyed.
He also had, in his extensive grounds, a full-size replica of a mediaeval castle, a very popular summer attraction for visitors. As it was now late Autumn, this edifice was closed for the season. Unknown to his grandfather, Lawrence had made good use of this. Stored under lock and key, in an upper room of the large building, was the XL97, a very clever device, invented by three young engineers.
Having been brought up in the family-run arms manufacturing business, Peveril, when he had learned of this invention, had quickly realised its potential value. With the help of his two men, he had stolen the device from the poorly-protected laboratory where it had been developed, and it was now securely lodged in Peveril Castle.
Being very business-astute, Peveril was planning to wait till the hue and cry had died down, before putting out tentative feelers to find the most profitable buyer. He'd already heard rumours from some sources that there was interest, but he wasn't going to be too quick to respond. He could afford to wait as no-one suspected his involvement.
As he sped along, he thought to himself, actually that's not true. He was suspected, by C.I. 5, no less ! They'd even infiltrated someone to spy on him, a man called Bodie, who'd been at last week-end's party, at the Manor.
He'd discovered their secret then, but they'd dealt with him. He'd been safely disposed of. He smiled evilly as he remembered what they had done, proud of his own cleverness.
Oh, people had noticed that Bodie was missing. There had even been another man, Doyle, down at the Manor, looking for him ! Peveril congratulated himself again on his ingenuity. He'd put them right off the scent by suggesting that Bodie had run off with one of the house-maids, and had planted his car at the railway station in her home village, as evidence to support this idea.
He wondered about Bodie. Was he still alive ?. How long does it take for a man to die of cold and hunger ? No-one would ever find him, down in the oubliette in the castle, he was sure of that. He'd have to do something about it before the castle was re-opened in the summer, but that was a long way off, and the treasure upstairs would be long gone by then.
Could I just leave him to rot, he thought callously.? A real skeleton might bring an authentic touch to the dungeons, but how long would that take ? He didn't know. It might be worth finding out, he mused idly.
As he came up the long drive towards his grandfather's lovely house, he was pleased to see several cars already parked on the forecourt. Good, that meant that some of the guests were already here, and the customary hospitality would be in full swing. He'd just dump his bag in his own flat at the back of the house, then go and join in. His own two men wouldn't be here till next afternoon, so he'd leave checking the castle till they would be with him. Nothing was going anywhere, anyway, he thought to himself.
He'd taken good care of that.!
He enjoyed the evening's socializing, which went on into the small hours of the morning, then retired to his flat. Like many of the other guests, he didn't surface again till mid-morning, and shared with them a leisurely breakfast, that was much nearer lunchtime. The afternoon was spent indulging in a clay-shooting tournament with several of the male guests, which he won, to his intense pleasure. He enjoyed another sociable evening, and retired to his room, slightly inebriated, just after 11 o'clock.
His two men were there, so he ordered them to dig out the torches, and accompany him over to the castle. The trio set off along the dark pathway, little knowing the surprise that awaited them.
Peveril slid the key into the lock of the heavy postern gate, and opened it. Inside, the castle was still, dark and quiet. They climbed the narrow stone stairway up to the third floor. Peveril unlocked the stout door, and pushed it open, shining his torch into the dark interior.
The room was empty ! The shock stopped Peveril in his tracks, and he shone the torch-beam round the area, in total disbelief. There was nothing there ! The XL 97, which he had acquired so easily, and which was to have made him a huge fortune, had completely disappeared.!
Stunned, he tried to figure out what had happened. The doors had been securely locked, he was sure of that. He cast a suspicious look at his two men, but they looked as taken aback as he was.
"Do you think Bodie managed to get out somehow ?," suggested one of them tentatively.
"I can't think how," retorted Peveril. "Let's go and look."
They raced down the stairs as quickly as they could, and made their way to the dungeons. The combined light of their torches showed the heavy metal grating still in place in the stone floor. Together they heaved it up and pushed it to one side. Like mini searchlights their torch beams swept round the dark hole gaping below. Nothing ! It was completely empty !
Peveril could hardly believe it.
"He must have had help," he declared.
Furiously, he rounded on his two men.
"Have you two double-crossed me ?," he snarled.
The men protested their innocence vociferously, and Peveril reluctantly accepted what they were saying. He didn't really think they had the wits to get the better of him, anyway. They replaced the grating, and left the building, rather pointlessly re-locking the postern gate, and returned to the flat.
Peveril was in a state of fury. What could have happened ? Bodie must have had help to get out of the oubliette. But who ? Who knew about what was hidden in the castle ? He couldn't think of anyone. He went over in his head all the conversations he had had recently, trying to decide whether he had inadvertently given someone a hint. But he was so sure he'd been careful.
He went back to London, and continued to visit all his usual haunts, keeping his ears open for any hint or rumour that might suggest someone who knew something about it. On one of these outings he ran into Miller. Ah, he's a friend of Bodie's, he might know something, he thought to himself.
"Hi, Miller," he said affably, "That pal of yours, Bodie. Has he turned up yet ?"
Miller had met up with Bodie and Doyle, and had heard the whole story, but he had been well primed on what to say.
"Bodie ?," he said. "No, I don't suppose we'll see him about for a while. Well, he's blown his job, hasn't he, running off like that ?"
Peveril was disappointed, - that hadn't helped him one bit !
But if Peveril was in a quandary about his next move, so too were C.I.5.
Although they knew very well what a villain Peveril was, by rescuing Bodie and re-possessing the XL 97, they had effectively removed all the concrete evidence If accused, Peveril would loudly protest his innocence, and because of the image he had built up for himself, no–one would believe the accusations. And, no doubt, his doting grandfather would back him up.
Bodie and Doyle were in conference in Cowley's office, trying to think up a plan.
"He's been so clever," said Cowley thoughtfully, "that we'll have to think of a subtle way to trap him."
"Suppose," said Doyle, "that we set up something tempting for him to steal, put round a few rumours to interest him, and then catch him red-handed with it."
"Hm," said Cowley, "that has possibilities. It'll need careful planning, though. The man's not the fool he pretends to be."
"What about your mate, Martel, Bodie.?" continued Doyle. "He found that special gun for you, when one was stolen from us."
"Yes, I remember," said Bodie. "I'll go and have a word with him."
"Go carefully," warned Cowley. "We don't Peveril to hear that you are about again."
The pair went off together to contact Martel. Bodie decided to don a duffel coat, a flat cap, and a big muffler as an attempt at disguise, The sight of him in this garb sent Doyle into a fit of laughter.
Slowly but surely the plan took shape. Martel, once he had heard the whole story, was very eager to help. Apart from his anger at the way Peveril had treated his friend, he could see that the removal of such a villain would do nothing but good for his own business dealings.
Soon rumours began to circulate about a cache of special guns, which had suddenly become ownerless, as the man dealing with them had suffered an unexpected fatal heart attack. The grapevine said that they were sitting abandoned and unguarded in a certain warehouse.
Eventually, Peveril got to hear about them, and his interest was aroused.
If he and his men could acquire this haul, free of charge, and sell them on, there would be considerable money to be made. Ever cautious, he made a few discreet enquiries. The answers he received were very promising, and he began to plan his actions. There was no reason why he shouldn't use the same hiding-place again. The castle wouldn't be open again for several months yet, and he could take time to find the best buyer.
On consideration, Cowley had decided that just catching Peveril in the act of stealing the guns would not be enough. Any competent lawyer could shout 'police entrapment' as a defence, and the Peverils had the financial backing to hire the best !
So the plan had become more subtle. A well-concealed 'tracer' had been planted among the guns, which would enable C.I.5 to know exactly where they went.
Then a well-heeled fake buyer would come on the scene. Martel was keen to play the part. Caught selling-on illegally-owned goods would be a much more difficult charge for Peveril to wriggle out of.!
To avoid the risk of the guns ending up in dangerous hands, they had been very skilfully and undetectably sabotaged by experts, - they were totally useless as weapons.
Things went ahead as planned. A discreet and unobtrusive watch was kept on the warehouse where the cache had supposedly been abandoned, and eventually the awaited report came in. A large van had appeared late one night, and three men had hurriedly loaded it with the four heavy crates left in the warehouse. Using the 'tracer', the watchers had been able to follow at a safe distance, and reported that, as had been expected, the crates were now installed in a room in Peveril castle.
The second part of the plan was now put into action. Rumours about a rich prospective buyer were circulated. To give Martel a clear field, several dubious dealers were 'warned off'.
And the fish took the bait !
Martel reported that he had been contacted, the goods had been described to him, and some keen haggling over the price had gone on, something Martel was good at, and used now, so as to seem authentic. Eventually a bargain had been agreed.
Peveril was crafty, though. His grandfather's castle was too good a hiding-place to reveal to anyone, so he had arranged a 'meet'. He would transport the goods to a certain deserted warehouse in the old docklands area, and Martel was to come there at midnight with the money.
A couple of days later, the men monitoring the 'tracer' reported that it was on the move, and in due course reported its arrival at the warehouse.
Martel, armed with a briefcase full of counterfeit money was ready to make his way there at midnight. As his destination was known, there was no-one tailing him, which was just as well, for Peveril had his men on the look-out.
But Martel wasn't on his own !
As soon as they had been alerted, Bodie and Doyle had sneaked into the warehouse, and had been camped out on the top-storey for several hours. It had been a pretty boring time waiting, but they didn't want Peveril backing out because he spotted a watcher, and suspected a trap. As the evening came, and then nightfall, the pair listened more intently, helped by the 'bugging device' they had hidden in the room most likely to be used.
Their patience was rewarded ! At about 11pm, they heard the sounds of Peveril and his men unloading the heavy crates. They heard Peveril order one of his men to take the van a couple of streets away, to park it, and to stay in it till he came.
Good, thought the C.I 5 men, that's one less to deal with. Prompt at 12, they heard Martel arrive, met by Peveril's other man, and shepherded into the room where the crates were.
Peveril had had the forethought to bring several lanterns, which now hung at salient points about the room and provided good illumination.
Bodie and Doyle crept down several flights of stairs, and were poised just outside the door of the room, ready to make their move, when they were sure the deal was being clinched. They heard the sounds they wanted, the click of the locks on the briefcase, and the rustle of thumbed banknotes, and stepped into the room.
"Doing some business, are we, Peveril ?," said Bodie.
Startled, Peveril and his man swung round, but were halted by the menace of the two guns trained on them. Martel quickly removed himself from the line of fire.
"You !," exclaimed Peveril, staring at Bodie malevolently.
"I knew I should have got rid of you properly."
"You did try," responded Bodie. "But I told you my friends would find me."
"This was a trap," said Peveril, suddenly understanding.
"Indeed," agreed Doyle, "and you kindly walked into it. Selling stolen guns, you won't get out of that one, will you ?"
"Oh, yes I will," retorted Peveril with an evil grin. "Because the guns are useless, worthless. You thought I wouldn't notice, didn't you ? But I've been in the business all my life. I've got a lot of experience, and I spotted there was a detail not right about them."
Suddenly, Doyle noticed something, and touched his mate's arm.
"Look, Bodie," he said, "There's only three crates ! There should be four.!"
A loud angry voice spoke from the doorway behind them.
"That's because he sold one to me !"
They all swung round, startled by the interruption, and came face to face with a group of five men in full Arab dress and headgear, each brandishing a fearsome machine gun.
"Put your guns on the floor gently, and step back. We have no wish to harm you," the leader ordered Bodie and with such odds, they could only obey, and reluctantly did as he said.
"No," continued the man in a grim tone. "Our quarrel is with this villain." He moved towards Peveril, who cringed away, thoroughly scared.
"You sold me those guns," went on the man relentlessly. "We tried to test them, and now my son and another of my men are lying in hospital, badly injured."He glared at the cowering Peveril.
"And I just heard you say that you knew all along that they were faulty !," he snarled. "You will pay for that.!"
Two of his men grabbed Peveril, and began pulling him towards the door.
"Don't let them take me !" yelled the frightened man. "They'll kill me !"
The leader forestalled the instinctive response of the C.I.5 men, turning his gun directly towards them.
"Don't do it !," he warned. "We have no quarrel with you, and do not wish to harm you, but we will have him."
He barked quick orders to his men.
"Tie them up," he said. "But not too tight. Lay them as far away from each other as possible. By the time they have wriggled together and freed themselves, we will be long gone." He was a clever man and his plan worked.
By the time Bodie and Doyle had squirmed across the dusty floor, turned back to back, and released each other, Peveril and the Arabs had gone. They quickly untied Martel and the other man, who was silent, subdued by events that had happened so quickly.
Doyle looked at Bodie.
"We can't let them kill him," he declared.
"Why not ?," said Martel. "He would have left Bodie to die miserably !"
"I know," agreed Bodie, "but…."
"But what ?," demanded Martel.
"Well," said Bodie, "I rather liked the grandfather. He's a bit batty, of course, but he's a nice old chap, very generous, and he doesn't deserve such a rat for a grandson."
"How do we go about finding him ?," Doyle was thinking out loud.
"I might be able to help," said Martel. "I could put out a few feelers about Arab groups, though there are quite a lot of them."
"They weren't Arabs !," declared Doyle suddenly.
"What ?," said Bodie, very surprised. "But their clothes…."
"A very convenient kind of disguise," Doyle agreed, "But their skin-colour wasn't right, and the leader's accent was definitely not Arab."
"Where then ?," queried Bodie.
"South America, I would say," said Doyle.
"Cuba ?," suggested Martel.
"Possibly," Doyle conceded.
"That doesn't really help us find them, though, does it ?," said Bodie doubtfully.
There wasn't a lot more they could do straight away, apart from arranging for the three crates of guns to be collected and dealt with appropriately. They let Peveril's man go, as he was very small fry. He scuttled off to find his mate in the parked car. Being practical men, and concerned for their own safety, they quickly packed up their belongings and disappeared from the scene.
They saw Martel safely home, then went back to Headquarters to submit their account of what had happened. Cowley was still there, having decided to stay to await their report. He was very surprised to hear what had developed, and listened carefully to all they said.
"There's nothing to be done immediately," he decided. "Get some sleep, then report in in the morning, and we'll discuss it fully."
Later that morning, as Bodie and Doyle entered Cowley's office they secretly marvelled at the appearance of their boss. No-one would guess he'd been up half the night. Having had only a few hours sleep themselves, they were feeling the effects, but their boss showed no sign. But then, they thought, his activity is more mental than physical.
"Well, that didn't go as planned, did it ?," he greeted them.
"It was a good plan, it should have worked," protested Bodie.
"Doyle ?," queried Cowley. "How do you feel about it ?"
"To be honest," replied Doyle, "I feel kind of cheated. I wanted Peveril in our hands."
Bodie put his oar in.
"I'd like to get him back, too," he declared.
"And how do you propose to do that ?," demanded Cowley.
"Can Martel or Miller help ? They must know about various Arab groups in the arms market."
"Doyle doesn't think they were Arab," said Bodie.
Cowley looked questioningly at Doyle, who quickly explained his thinking about what he'd seen and heard. There was a short silence as they all thought about the situation.
"I've got an idea," said Doyle suddenly. The other two looked at him expectantly.
"The leader said that his son and another man were in hospital, injured when they tried to test the guns. We might find them that way !"
"Then get onto it," ordered Cowley. As they left, he picked up the phone. There were a few plans of his own that he wanted to arrange.
A lot of patient telephoning, and some careful questioning eventually gave the C.I 5 men the lead they were seeking. They found two patients whose injuries and appearance made them seem likely to be the ones they were after. They were in a hospital in Wandsworth, and when they were also told that one of them was visited every day by his father, they felt sure they had found what they were looking for.
That afternoon two C.I 5 cars were in the hospital grounds, neatly parked where the occupants could watch the arrival of visitors. Just after 2.30 Doyle nudged Bodie and pointed. Two men, dark-visaged, were entering the hospital.
"That's them," said Doyle. "The tall one is the leader of the gang."
"You sure ?," asked Bodie.
"Yes," said his mate firmly. "There's something about his bearing, and the way he walks. It's him all right."
He called the other car and spoke to one of their men, called Marchant, sending him in to follow the two men. They couldn't do it themselves, of course, for the men would recognise them. Then he gave instructions to Simpson, the other man in the car.
"When Marchant comes back out, he can see which car they get into. Follow them discreetly, and phone in the car number. We should get an address that way."
This time the plan worked perfectly. In due course, Marchant called in to say that the two men had visited the patients that they had expected them to. He and Simpson had followed the car a fair way out, to a house on the outskirts of London. The check on the car registration had confirmed the address.
All this information came to Bodie and Doyle, as Cowley was not in his office. According to his P.A. he was meeting someone at the airport, and then going down to the country. He'd been unusually secretive about the details.
"Well," said Bodie, "What do we do now ? March up to their front door and say "Can we have our bad boy back please ?" I'd love to see their faces," he added gleefully.
"We can't very well do that," replied Doyle. "For one thing, we can't be sure they've still got him. That chap was pretty mad about his son getting hurt."
"So ?," queried Bodie.
"So," retorted Doyle, "Peveril's body could be lying in a dark alley somewhere, or floating down the Thames."
Bodie looked taken aback. He hadn't thought of that.
"Well, what do you suggest ?," he asked at last.
"I think we should have a day of careful surveillance," said Doyle, "and then…"
"Then what ?," asked Bodie, noting the gleam in his mate's eye.
"How do you feel about a bit of 'breaking and entering' ?," suggested Doyle with a grin.
"Now you're talking !," said Bodie enthusiastically.
The relays of men they set on to watch the house had very little to report. Two men went hospital-visiting exactly as the day before, and came straight back. But what they were able to supply, was a fair idea of the layout of the house, and details of the possible access via the surrounding back gardens.
So just on midnight, two men in dark clothes climbed over garden fences and walls, and crept towards the back of the building. Having listened to earlier reports, the first thing they did was to unbolt the side door of the garden, to give them an easy escape route out to their car, parked further along the road. The back door proved no problem. A little fiddling with a wire skeleton key did the trick, and the two men crept inside. The house was still and silent. They had decided beforehand to look first for a cellar, as this was the best bet.
Luck was on their side, as the second door they tried revealed a flight of steps which led down to a large cellar area, cluttered with various storage items and assorted junk.
In one corner was a door. They moved towards it, and the light of their small torches showed a key sticking out of the lock. Bodie turned it carefully, and eased the door open. Doyle directed the beam of his torch inside. He turned back to Bodie and whispered "Bingo! ".
They moved stealthily towards the figure lying on the rough bunk. Bodie grabbed hold of Peveril, putting a hand over his mouth to stop any yell of they pulled him to his feet, the light of their torches allowed him to recognise them.
Pulling Bodie's hand away, he whispered, "What are you doing here ?.
"Rescuing you, you idiot," replied Doyle. "Come on and keep quiet."
Fortune was with them. There were still no sounds from the rooms above, as they crept out of the back door, round to the side gate, then out and down the road to their waiting car. Pleased with their success, Bodie quickly drove them through the silent, empty streets, back to Headquarters. As Cowley was not there to take their report, they passed their captive into other hands to mind for a while, and went home to catch up on a few hours sleep.
When they reported in the next morning, they were instructed to go straight up to Cowley's office. They knocked and entered. Cowley was not alone. Murphy was there, standing over by the window, talking to a tall man with iron-grey hair.
Cowley was direct to the point of brusqueness.
"Lawrence Peveril ?," he queried, "You found him ?"
"Yes, sir, last night," replied Doyle. "He's being held downstairs."
"Is he all right ?," came the deep voice of the man by the window.
"He's been roughly treated," replied Doyle. "Not by us," he hastened to add.
"He's a bit quiet and subdued," added Bodie. "He's had quite a shock, I think."
"As I have," said the visitor to himself. Cowley introduced him to his waiting men.
"This is William Peveril," he said.
"I flew in yesterday," said Peveril, Snr. "Mr Cowley took me down to my father's place, and told us all that has been going on. We were very shocked ! My father is extremely upset. He had no idea what was happening right on his property. I'm afraid it has made him quite ill."
Doyle felt a twinge of pity for the elder Peverils. To have their good name marred by the youngest member of the family must have been painful indeed, and a severe blow to their pride. The distinguished-looking man went on.
"I must apologise for the harm he tried to do to you, and to thank you very much for what you have done since."
He smiled grimly at the two agents.
"At least my son is alive." he said.
"With Mr Cowley's permission, "he continued, "I am taking my son back home on the next available flight. He will continue to work for us, but I shall keep a very tight rein on him."
Cowley gestured to Murphy, who ushered the visitor from the room, taking him to finalise the arrangements. Bodie, Doyle, and Cowley watched him go, a dignified but rather saddened man.
"You know," said Doyle suddenly, "I reckon that's part of young Peveril's problem.
"Explain," demanded Cowley.
"Well, Lawrence has been working in the family business all his life. He was probably not given any option about that, being the sole heir to the business, and his father and uncle were likely pretty hard on him. So when he came over here, on his own for a change, he probably thought he could use his knowledge to further his own ends. A kind of rebellion, I suppose."
Cowley smiled at the thoughtful man before him.
"Are you turning into a psychologist, Doyle ?" he asked with some amusement in his voice, while secretly pleased by his man's astuteness
"Well," retorted Doyle, knowing he was being teased, "I do think that anyone who thinks about human nature, and what makes people 'tick', is a bit of a psychologist."
Very true, thought Cowley to himself, as he watched them leave, a clever team, ready to tackle their next task, trying to deal with London's world of crime.