Return Visit

by Halcris

It started out as a promising leisurely break, but...

Return Visit.

Bodie was walking up the stairs at C.I.5's Headquarters, making for the rest room, in the hope of grabbing a quick coffee before being sent out on another assignment. As he reached the top landing, he passed a distinguished-looking gentleman being shown into Cowley's office. His face was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't immediately place him. He turned into the rest room. Murphy was there. He would know.

"Who's that just going in to see Cowley ?," he asked.

"Don't you remember ?," teased Murphy. "Where's your other half ? He would know."

"Yes, he would," agreed Bodie. He was quite ready to admit that his partner's memory was better than his. "But he's gone to the armoury to get his gun fixed. He said it was throwing a little left. So you tell me, please."

"Peter Mortisford," Murphy gave him the hint.

"Oh, yes," said Bodie instantly. "I remember now. An M.P. of considerable standing. We met him and his brother, Lord Mortisford when we were after a villain called Slattery, and we had a tip he was down in the country."

(See story called A Country Affair.)

"You've got it now," confirmed Murphy.

"I wonder why he's visiting Cowley," mused Bodie, as he spooned coffee into a mug, and waited for the kettle to boil.

"Well," said Murphy with a smile, "If you need to know, no doubt you'll be told in the boss's good time."

"True," agreed Bodie, putting it out of his mind and settling down to enjoy his coffee.

Doyle joined them a little later, bearing orders that he and Bodie were to relieve a team on a stake-out in Camden. So they picked up supplies of sandwiches and coffee and went off there. It proved to be a very boring task, as so many stake-outs often were. They kept themselves awake with conversation on all sorts of topics.

"By the way," said Bodie after a lull. "Cowley had a visitor earlier, one Peter Mortisford. Do you remember him ?"

"Yes," replied Doyle, "About a year ago, when we had that trip down into the country and that nice lad Gerard educated us both about pigs."

Both smiled at that memory.

"Wonder what he wanted with Cowley ?," persisted Bodie.

"None of our business, I expect," said Doyle, and the subject was dropped.

Later that evening they were relieved by another team set to do the night-watch, and both retired to their flats, too late to do much except take the chance of an early night.

But when they reported to the duty-room the following morning, and obeyed the instructions to report to Cowley's office, Doyle was to discover that he'd been very wrong in that assumption.

Brusque as ever, their boss got straight to the point. "Mortis Down Agricultural Show ?," he began. "Do you remember that ?"

"Yes," Doyle replied instantly. "About a year ago, when we got a tip Slattery was going to be there."

"Right," said Cowley, "And then you rescued his lordship's son, when he was abducted by Slattery. His lordship was very grateful, as I remember, and invited you to be his guests for this year's show. Peter Mortisford came yesterday, to renew that invitation, and I've decided to let you go."

Doyle exchanged a surprised look with Bodie. This was something totally out of the blue. But their boss was going on, evidently expecting them to accept.

"The show's this weekend. But Mortisford is going down there this afternoon, and suggested you go with him. So you'd both better go and pack sufficient for a week or more's stay, and be back here by 3 o'clock. His driver will be here then to pick you up."

"Sir," Bodie began to protest. "I'd made plans for this weekend."

"Then you'd better cancel them," ordered their boss. "It's important that we keep well in with Lord Mortisford and his brother. He's a very influential man."

There was a look in his eye as he stared at Bodie, that all but dared him to argue. Noting it, Bodie considered the old adage 'discretion is the better part of valour', and decided it might be wiser to comply.

"After all," he said to his mate as they left the building to do the required packing, "Lord Mortisford is very hospitable, and he does have a very good cook. It might be a nice break."

"Yes," agreed Doyle, "And as I remember, there were a lot of most unusual things at the Show, that we never had time to have a look at. It could be very interesting."

So both were back in good time, ready to be picked up. As they were now 'off-duty', they should have handed their guns in to the armoury, but there hadn't been time. However, they were met by Murphy, who told them he'd been instructed to take charge of their guns, radio-phones, and all other 'official' items, to bestow them somewhere safe until they came back again.

So it was with a real feeling of being on holiday that the pair entered the big car sent for them. They were driven to a small airfield, and found Peter Mortisford waiting for them beside a smart-looking private plane. He ushered them onto it, and when all the bags were loaded, the pilot did his checks and took off smoothly.

When they were well on their way, and enjoying the trip, Mortisford sprung his surprise. He gave the pair before him a rueful smile. "Confession time," he began, and immediately had their attention. "Fact is," he said, "We haven't told you it all."

"What do you mean ?," demanded Bodie.

"John's invitation to you was genuine," went on Mortisford, "and he really is looking forward to entertaining you, but we're also hoping that you may be able to give us some help."

"In what way ?," asked Doyle.

"It's Gerard," continued the boy's uncle. "He's becoming a bit wayward and difficult."

"From what I remember of him," said Doyle, "I would say that's a bit of normal teenage rebelliousness, but coming a bit late with him, because of his sheltered upbringing."

"Yes," replied Mortisford, "There may be an element of that, it's true, for his father has always been inclined to 'molly-coddle' him. But it's becoming more serious. He's got in with a group of the village boys."

"That should be good for him, I would say," suggested Bodie. "People his own age."

"I agree," said Mortisford, "but we're beginning to have concerns about some of them. We think they're getting into drugs !."

"Gerard wouldn't," said Doyle instantly, "He's too sensible."

"I don't think he's involved as yet," the man agreed, "but we're scared he might be dragged in."

"What do you want of us ?," asked Doyle. "I don't see what we can do."

"We thought if you met some of the boys, at the Show, say, you might be able, with your experience, to tell us if there were any signs of what we fear," said Mortisford, with a pleading look on his face.

"Did Cowley know about this ?," Doyle suddenly demanded.

"Yes," admitted Mortisford.

"The crafty old fox," exclaimed Bodie, "He's landed us right in it, mate, hasn't he ?." He exchanged a look with his partner.

"He's a devious man," agreed Doyle. "However, since he's given us the chance of a very pleasant break, I intend to enjoy it to the full. But we will both keep our eyes and ears open,"

"That's all we can ask," said Mortisford with a grateful look.

The rest of the flight was very pleasant, and when they landed at a small private airfield, there was a big car waiting for them, driven by Neil Faulkner, the estate manager, whom they had met and liked on their previous visit. He greeted them cheerfully, and quickly stored the luggage in the capacious boot.

Very soon they were pulling up in front of the magnificent mansion that was Lord Mortisford's ancestral home. The door opened and his lordship himself came out to greet them. His welcome was both effusive and genuine, and made the pair feel that they were really going to enjoy their stay.

The manservant, Spencer whisked their bags away, promising to return later to show them to their allotted rooms.

Their host led them into the pleasant lounge. They were only just ahead of Jenkins, the butler, pushing in a laden tea-trolley, and they all settled down and watched as he adroitly served each with their tea, and then left. Bodie and Doyle relaxed, thoroughly enjoying the unaccustomed experience of 'gracious living'.

"Gerard's out," explained their host. "He's down at the showground helping with the setting-up. There's so much to do."

He looked a little self-consciously at his guests. "Has Peter told you our concerns about Gerard ?," he asked rather diffidently.

"Yes, he has," replied Doyle, "and we're keeping it in mind, I promise."

Re-assured, Lord Mortisford thanked him. The conversation turned to other things, mainly about the coming show.

Gerard turned up just before dinner-time, and his greetings were just as warm as his father's. He seemed genuinely pleased to see them, delighted they'd been allowed to come.

Bodie and Doyle were both slightly surprised to see the changes a year had brought to the boy. His manner was less shy and diffident than they remembered, and he'd altered physically too. He'd grown at least an inch or two taller, and had bulked up considerably, putting on quite a lot of weight, all of which suited him. He'd changed from a gawky lad, to a healthy-looking young man.

"I've so much I'd like to show you," he said enthusiastically. "It's going to be a very good show this year."

"Well," said Doyle, responding to the lad's eagerness, "I hope you're going to explain it all to us, for we are very 'town lads', you know."

The meal was excellent and the conversation easy, so a very pleasant evening was passed before they all retired. Spencer had been true to his word, and earlier had shown Bodie and Doyle to the very pleasant guest rooms assigned to them, where they'd found their bags neatly unpacked for them.

Next morning when Bodie and Doyle strolled down to breakfast, they found Gerard just finishing his, and about to leave.

"I'm off down to the showground," he said, "There's still an awful lot to do. Please will you come down later, so that I can show you all we're doing, and you can meet some of my friends."

The pair promised they would, but Doyle delayed Gerard for a moment. "These friends of yours," he said, "Do they know who we are ? Or what we do ?."

"I don't know," said Gerard thoughtfully. "Lots of people did know when it all came out about Slattery and Miles, and how C.I.5 rescued me. But I don't know if they'll remember."

"Well, don't remind them, please," asked Doyle. "Just introduce us as friends, guests of your father. After all, we are on holiday."

Gerard nodded agreement and hurried off.

Bodie and Doyle had a leisurely breakfast, accompanied by pleasant conversation with their hosts, about the history of the annual show, which had grown over the years.

As they finished, Neil Faulkner came in, having come over from his cottage on the estate. He handed the pair some keys.

"The showground is within easy walking distance," he said, "I'll give you directions in a minute, but I've made one of the estate cars available for you, in case you want to go further afield."

They thanked him, and took advantage of the offer, driving around for a while, to get used to the vehicle, and to learn the layout of the roads around the area. Then they made their way down to the showground as they had promised. Although it was only Thursday and the show didn't begin till the Saturday, a great deal had already been done in the way of preparation. Several large marquees had been erected, and dozens of stalls were being set wandered around, and eventually found Gerard in one of the smaller marquees, helping another young man to build a wooden stall. He greeted them warmly and introduced his friend.
"This is Tom," he said, "Works with his father. They are going to be showing their prize bull, Rufus, - he's terrific."

"A bull," exclaimed Bodie. "I bet you need to build a pretty strong enclosure for him !."

"Actually, no," said the pleasant youngster, to their surprise, "He's huge, of course, and very strong, but he's very docile, and less trouble to pen than some of the cows."

"Well, you live and learn," said Bodie cheerfully. He was enjoying their leisurely break.

Gerard turned to Doyle. "Tom and I are meeting other friends in the village pub tonight," he said. "You will both come too, won't you ? I'd like you to meet them."

As this was just what they wanted, the pair readily agreed. They left the busy youngsters to get on with their work. As there wasn't a great deal for them to see as yet, they took themselves off to explore the nearby town, returning to Mortisford Hall in time for dinner.

Then taking Gerard, and picking up Tom on the way, they did as promised, and went down to the local village pub, a pleasant old-style place with a friendly landlord and a pretty barmaid.

Doyle bought the first round of beers, and the group settled themselves at a small corner table to wait for the rest of Gerard's friends to appear. They came in one by one, and joined them.

First was Simon, a stolid country boy, slow of speech but friendly enough. Then came Phil, a lively tall boy, on the thin side for he was a keen runner. Lastly Jake joined them, a quiet dark-haired lad, with a more mature air about him.

Talk was quite free, mostly about the coming show, as there was hardly a local person who wasn't involved in some way. Bodie was in a cheerful mood, and was very good with the lads, getting them to talk about their other interests, mainly sport, of course.

Doyle kept an eye on Jake, who seemed a bit uneasy, and contributed little to the conversation. He kept glancing towards the door, as if he was expecting someone.

Later on, Doyle noticed that the lad gave quite a start, as two older men, not locals by the look of them, walked in and took their drinks over to a far corner. He seemed to glance frequently in their direction.

It was becoming a very pleasant evening, as Bodie was doing well, managing to put the boys at their ease, and raising quite a few laughs with the tall stories he was telling about his jungle days.

Jake suddenly stood up, excused himself, and moved off towards the toilets through a door at the back. Watching him, Doyle also saw that one of the men from the far corner seemed to have disappeared too. After a while Jake came back to rejoin the group. He seemed brighter now, and less uneasy, joining in with the talk a bit more.

Eventually 'time' was called, and everyone began to leave. They drove back to the Hall, dropping off Tom who was slightly 'merry', on the way.

"That was fun, wasn't it ?," said Gerard, before saying 'goodnight' and going off to bed. Bodie and Doyle retired too, but not before Doyle had popped into his mate's room for a moment.

"What did you make of Gerard's friends ?," he asked.

"I do like Tom," said Bodie, "and Phil and Simon are nice enough. I'm not so sure about Jake, - he seemed a bit edgy."

"So you noticed too," said Doyle, glad to have his own intuitive feelings confirmed. "I think he could be a 'user'."

"He has all the signs, I agree," said Bodie. "We'd better keep an eye on him, - see if we can learn a bit more about him."

Next morning at breakfast, Gerard was talkative about the previous evening.

"Did you like my friends ?," he asked ingenuously

"Tom and Simon are real farmers-to be, aren't they ?," said Bodie, and Gerard nodded agreement.

"I should like to see Phil run," put in Doyle. "I bet he's pretty fast. Jake was a bit quiet though."

"He's had a hard life," said Gerard. "His father died when he was only a baby, and he and his mother moved in with his grandmother. His mother was a bit flighty, so I've heard, and ran off with a commercial traveller when he was eight, so his gran brought him up, and she's a bit of a terror. I met her once – she scared the daylights out of me."

Well, thought Doyle, that accounts for his manner to a certain degree, but made no further comment.

"I shall be busy down at the showground all day," said Gerard. "There's still an awful lot to do, but I enjoy it." He went off cheerfully.

"What are we going to do ?," asked Bodie.

Doyle turned to speak to Neil Faulkner who had just joined them.

"I wondered whether it would be possible to visit those famous caves of yours ?," he said. "We didn't see much of them in daylight last time."

"Great idea," replied Faulkner. "Tell you what, I'll come with you. I'll get the cook to put us up a picnic lunch, and we'll spend a day by the sea."

It all went as he had planned, and the three of them spent a very pleasant day. Faulkner had a key to the protective grilles guarding the cave entrances, so the pair were able to do a little exploring before the rising tide made them exit.

They returned to the Hall in good time for dinner, sunburned, windswept, and pleasantly tired. They showered and changed, and joined their hosts in the lounge for a pre-dinner drink.

"Gerard's a bit late, isn't he ?," remarked Sir John, looking out of the window.

"There are always so many last minute jobs," said his brother. "He won't be long, I expect."

They all sat down and resumed their easy conversation. The butler would inform them when dinner was ready. When he eventually came, they all rose and moved towards the door, ready to cross the hall to the formal dining-room.

There was a sudden noise as the main door was flung open and banged against the wall. Gerard charged in, in a great rush, dashing towards the stairs.

"Gerard," called his father, "Don't be long. Dinner is being served."

"Don't want any," yelled Gerard, and charged on up the stairs.

Doyle had seen the agonized look on the boy's face, and on an impulse, he shot up the stairs after him. The boy had almost reached his room, when he caught up with him, and put a restraining hand on his arm.

Gerard shook it off angrily. "Leave me alone," he cried, swinging round, and Doyle could see that the boy was deeply upset.

He quickly pushed him into his room, and closed the door behind them.

"What's wrong, Gerard ?, " he demanded. "Calm down and tell me."

Gerard sank down to sit on his bed, and dropped his head in his hands. "It's Jake," he whispered at last. "Oh, ," he cried. "He's dead !."

Doyle could understand now why the boy was so shocked. "What happened ?. Tell me," he ordered, knowing that a firm tone would help the boy most.

"The police came to the showground to talk to me and Tom," he replied. "They said it was a drug overdose, and wanted to know if we knew anything about it."

Doyle was not surprised. He and Bodie had guessed that Jake was a 'user'.

"It's all my fault," wailed Gerard.

"Your fault ? How ?,"exclaimed Doyle.

"I lent him money," said Gerard. "Well, gave it to him really, - I didn't expect to get it back." He was becoming calmer now, as he continued. "He often refused drinks because he couldn't pay his round. It embarrassed him, and I thought I was helping. I didn't know he was spending it on drugs."

"Don't blame yourself," said Doyle firmly. "Blame those who got him started on the stuff."

He took the boy by the shoulders and shook him gently. "Pull yourself together, Gerard," he ordered, but in a quiet tone. "The show starts tomorrow, and you have a big part to play. People will be relying on you." He watched as the boy straightened up, and endeavoured to steady himself.

"Now," he said, "Have a wash and change and come down to dinner. I'll go and explain to them what has happened, and tell them you don't want to talk about it. I won't let them badger you, I promise." The boy before him nodded in acceptance.

"Good boy," said Doyle patting his shoulder. "They're only concerned about you, you know," he added and raised the glimmer of a smile from the lad.

Both were true to their word, and dinner passed off smoothly, though Gerard was very quiet and did not eat much. Although his father and uncle cast anxious glances at him from time to time, they did as Doyle had asked, and did not try to question him. Conversation was, as was to be expected, mainly about tomorrow's event.

As the group rose to move into the lounge for coffee, Doyle detained Gerard for a moment. "Just one question," he said, "Those two men sitting in the far corner of the pub. Do you know who they are ?."

"No idea," replied Gerard. "I have seen them several times, but I don't know anything about them except they are not from the village or any of the farms round here."

Doyle thanked him and, as he moved on, turned to Bodie who was standing beside him. "I think those two men were Jake's 'pushers'," he whispered so that the others would not hear. "I'd like to know more about them. But I don't want to leave Gerard – he's so uptight, and if they start to question him…."

"That's easy," said Bodie quickly. "I'll go down to the pub and see what I can find out. Besides the beer's good and there's a very pretty barmaid."

"Bodie !," remonstrated Doyle at this flippancy. Bodie patted his shoulder.

"Just kidding," he said. "I'm on the job, mate, really. You keep an eye on Gerard. He looks shattered, poor lad."

"Yes, he's very upset," agreed Doyle. "He's still a bit of an innocent about things like this."

After coffee had been served, Bodie slipped away quietly. Doyle rescued Gerard from his father and uncle by challenging him to a game of snooker, and kept him occupied most of the evening while the two older men watched.

Bodie meanwhile had taken the car allocated to them and slipped down to the pub. He found Phil there, looking rather worried. He seemed pleased to see Bodie, and immediately asked if Gerard was all right. Bodie re-assured him, telling him that Doyle was looking after him. He bought the lad a beer, and asked about the other two.

"I don't think Tom or Simon will be in tonight," replied the young man. They'll both be helping their fathers prepare the stock for tomorrow. My dad only shows poultry, and you can't give them a bath," he added, with an attempt to be more light-hearted than he felt.

Bodie asked him about the two men usually found in the far corner. They weren't here this evening.

"I don't know them," replied Phil, "but I think they're from the town. They are definitely not local." This confirmed what Gerard had said.

Bodie left him and went over to the bar to talk first to the pretty barmaid who was no help, and then to the landlord who was better informed.

"I don't know them personally," said the man, "They only come here occasionally, but my regulars have said that they work at a bookmaker's in the High Street in town. They take bets and bring winnings for some of them. I think one's called Robertson, but I'm not sure."

"Are any of your regulars here tonight that I could ask ?," suggested Bodie.

"No," replied the man chattily, "You won't see any of them tonight. They'll all be too busy getting ready for tomorrow. Evening before the Show is always a 'dead' night."

Bodie thanked him and returned to finish his pint with Phil. Then he left and returned to Mortisford Hall, just in time to catch his mate before they all retired, and to tell him the little he had learned.

"Interesting," Doyle commented. "We can't do anything tomorrow, for I think we're duty-bound to spend the whole day with our hosts at the Show. But we might see some of the regulars there and learn a bit more."

Saturday morning dawned bright and fair, promising a good day for the Show.

Gerard was there at breakfast, still looking a little pale and quiet, but resolved to carry out the duties assigned to him, and to play his part. And as the day progressed, he did very well, helping the vet and Faulkner organise the smooth running of the many and varied classes paraded for judging. He also had the task of handing out the prizes for the Children's Fancy Dress, and did so with great charm. Each child entered received something, and Gerard managed to have a friendly word with every one of them.

Sir John and his brother treated Bodie and Doyle as honoured guests and showed them round the many exhibits which they found extremely interesting when helped by knowledgeable explanations.

After a lavish lunch, they went to watch some of the judging. They were particularly interested in the parade of bulls, great stolid beasts plodding steadily round the ring. Rufus was there, a fine-looking animal, along with bulls from other breeds, including one Highland bull, called Rory. He attracted a lot of attention with his shaggy coat, and big horned head, but he was only young, and would need a few more years of maturity to reach prize status.

They shared Tom's delight when Rufus came 1st in his class and also 1st overall.

Then quite out of the blue, Doyle had a lucky break. They were walking through a marquee which held a wide selection of different breeds of goat. As he passed one pen, carrying the label, Nubians, he noticed a man at the back of the pen busy refilling a hay-net. Something stirred in his memory, and he turned back to look again as the man turned towards him.

"Ferris," he exclaimed. "It is you, Bill Ferris, isn't it ?."

The man nodded but looked very puzzled.

"Poplar Road police station, Peckham," went on Doyle, "You were Sergeant Ferris then."

"Good lord," said the man, "Your memory's better than mine, young man. That's more than 6 years ago, surely ?."

"Nearer 8, I should think," replied Doyle. "Ray Doyle, I spent 2 months with you then."

The man suddenly looked pleased. "I think I do recall you now," he said, "A young eager know-it-all." He smiled as he recollected.

"Probably," agreed Doyle, "But you taught me a lot. Look," he said, "You might be able to help me. Could we have a private word somewhere ?."

"I'm due for a break," said Ferris, "Let's go to the tea tent."

Doyle had a quick word with Bodie, asking him to leave them to it for a while. Then he followed Ferris to the tea tent, bought tea and scones for them both, and they settled at a quiet corner table.

Ferris stirred his tea and buttered his scone. Then he went on to tell Doyle about himself. "I retired 5 years ago," he said, "and we were still living in Peckham then. I lost my wife 6 months ago, and so I came here to live with my brother, Joe, on his farm."

Doyle had already noticed the family resemblance to the other man minding the goats, so he understood this.

"What about you, young man ?," asked Ferris. "Are you still in the police ?."

Doyle quickly explained that he was now with C.I.5, and the older man looked impressed..

"I always knew you were a bright spark," he said, "But what are you doing here ?. There's very little crime in Mortis Down."

"My partner and I are here as Sir John's guests," explained Doyle. "He invited us to this year's show," Then he came to the point.

"But there is some crime here," he said, "A local lad died of an overdose, just yesterday."

"Yes, I heard about that," said Ferris. "Are you investigating that.?"

"Not officially," replied Doyle, "But Lord Mortisford was worried about Gerard getting involved. Jake was one of his friends."

"I see," said Ferris, "But how can I be of any help ?."

"Well, police from the town must be investigating," said Doyle. "Perhaps you could put me in touch with someone I could talk to privately."

"I do know most of them, of course," said Ferris thoughtfully. "Look," he said, I'll have to go back now to help Joe, but I'll find time to make a few phone calls. If I get a result before the end of the show, I'll come and find you. If not, I'll ring you at the Hall. Joe will know the number."

They went their separate ways then. Bodie and Doyle continued to be shown round, and learned a great deal about country life.

Doyle was rather disappointed that he didn't hear from Ferris before the party returned to the Hall. But just as they'd finished the main course, Jenkins approached Doyle to inform him there was a call for him. Doyle hurried into the library to take it in private. It was Bill Ferris, of course.

"The local Inspector is a bit stiff and formal," said Ferris, "so I got onto Detective Sergeant Collins, who's a lot more amenable. He'll gladly meet you, and suggested that he'll be in the bar of the Crown in the High Street from 7 onwards tonight, and hopes you'll be able to get there."

"Of course, I will," said Doyle eagerly. "How will I know him ?."

"He'll know you. I described you," explained Ferris, "and he'll make himself known to you as unobtrusively as possible."

Doyle thanked him for his help, and promised to let him know how he got on, next day at the show. He hurried back to the dining-room and finished his meal.

Then he collared Bodie, and out of everyone else's hearing, told him what he'd arranged.

"I'll come with you," said Bodie instantly.

"No, I'd rather you didn't," said Doyle. "For one thing, I don't want to attract too much notice, and for another I need you to see that that his father and uncle don't harass poor Gerard. He's stood up well today, but he's still very upset."

Reluctantly, Bodie agreed to tackle that task, and Doyle hurried off to change.

He was a little early for his appointment, so after he'd parked the car, he strolled in leisurely fashion along the High Street, noting the location of the various betting-shops, as there were several of them, he found.

As he passed by one of them, a man came out, turning back to lock the door. He swung round to walk away, and for a few moments his eyes met Doyle's, and they stared at each other. Then the man dropped the eye-contact and hurried away.

But that moment had been long enough ! Doyle had immediately recognised one of the men he'd seen in the village pub, one of the pair he suspected of being the 'pushers' who had supplied Jake. He took a careful note of the name above the betting-shop door, and then hurried on up the road to the Crown.

As he entered and moved up to the bar, a man leaning there glanced towards him, and moved closer.

"Collins," he introduced himself, holding out a welcoming hand. Doyle acknowledged the greeting, and quickly asked what the man was drinking. A few moments more saw the pair ensconced at a quiet table with a pint apiece before them.

Collins was a pleasant open-faced man of about his own age. Ferris had evidently filled him in about Doyle, and who he was, for he was treating him with a friendly deference, and seemed very ready to listen. Doyle told him the little he had noticed, and then asked whether the police were getting anywhere with investigating Jake's death.

Collins readily told him what he knew. The police were very concerned, he said. The drugs scene was only a recent thing in their town, but already it seemed to have infiltrated some of the social clubs where the young people of the town went, but they had very little idea who was behind it. He was interested to hear about the two men Doyle had noticed in the local village pub, and took a note of the name Doyle had spotted above the 'bookies' door.

"We've very little to go on," he said at last. "Have you anything to suggest ?."

"Not at the moment," admitted Doyle, "but you could keep an eye on those two men, maybe check where they go and who they see."

Collins said he would get that set up, and they parted on friendly terms, each promising to get in contact if anything else came to light.

Doyle left and returned to the car, pleased with the meeting. It was getting dark now even though it had been a lovely summer's day, but he knew his way back to the Hall. There was very little traffic on the road, most of it going the other way.

He was on a quiet empty stretch when he suddenly became aware of powerful headlights coming up behind him. The vehicle was coming very close.

Well, pass, why don't you, thought Doyle, if you're in such a hurry. The road's wide enough.

As the other car edged up alongside, he thought that was what it was going to do. And then he got a shock, for the large vehicle showed no signs of continuing, but instead moved closer, scraping the side of his car.

He suddenly realised that someone was trying to push him off the road !

He tried every trick he knew, and he'd learned a few over the years, speeding up, slowing down, but to no effect. The heavier car was now banging into him repeatedly, endeavouring to push him over the side. It was an unequal battle, for in spite of all his efforts, it succeeded. With a final push, it edged the lighter estate car off the road, and sent it tumbling down a steep bank, to land with a heavy crash on its side in a ditch. The victor, lights blazing, roared off into the night.

Bodie was doing his best to do what Doyle had asked, to distract Gerard from brooding. The boy had suggested they all play cards, and had chosen his favourite game, Canasta. So all four were seated round a card table. At first, the older members of the party had a job to remember the rules, but they consulted the hand-book, and it soon came back to them. Before long, Gerard, his father, his uncle and Bodie were well into it again, and were enjoying the game. They were busy with the game that they'd decided must be the last, as it was nearly bed time.

Then came a sudden interruption.! The door opened, and Faulkner came hurrying in, looking very agitated.

"There's been an accident," he blurted out.

Bodie was instantly on his feet. "Ray ?," he demanded.

"Must be," replied Faulkner, "The police didn't know the driver. He's gone to hospital, but the car was registered to the estate, so they called me."

"How bad ?," asked Bodie anxiously.

"No details," said Faulkner, "but I've got my car outside. Let's go and find out."

Bodie didn't need asking twice, and followed the man out to his car. The estate manager drove swiftly along the roads he knew so well, almost empty as it was so late, and soon was pulling up outside the local hospital on the edge of town. They hurried in and went up to the Reception desk.

"We've come about the man brought here after the accident," Faulkner began.

A man in a white coat, who had been standing a few yards away talking to a Sister, heard the enquiry and hurried towards them. "I'm Dr. Morrison," he introduced himself. "Sounds as if you can identify our mystery patient."

"Yes," said Faulkner, "His name is Ray Doyle, and he and this gentleman are guests of Lord Mortisford."

"Ah, here for the Show, I expect," said the doctor.

"How is he ?," demanded Bodie impatiently.

"Not too bad," replied Dr. Morrison, "A nasty gash on his leg. I had to put several stitches in it. And a bang on the head. But the rest is superficial, a few grazes and bruises."

"Can I see him ?," asked Bodie, somewhat relieved that it sounded no worse.

"Certainly not !," came a brisk reply from the Sister who had come up to join the group. "It's taken me an hour to get my patients settled down. They're all asleep now, and I won't have them disturbed." She looked to the doctor to endorse her answer.

"He's all right, really," said the doctor. "We're just keeping him overnight, to check he hasn't concussion. If you phone first thing in the morning, I'll probably be able to say come and fetch him."

Bodie was tempted to contest this, but decided against it. If Doyle was asleep, that was probably the best thing for him, and the doctor didn't seem at all worried about his condition. So he allowed Faulkner to lead him back out to the car.

"It doesn't sound too bad," said Faulkner, as they climbed in. "Let's go back and tell the others. They'll be anxious to hear how he is."

Bodie didn't sleep too well, as different thoughts kept going through his mind. Doyle was a very competent driver. How had he come to have an accident ? He'd have to let Cowley know, too. He would not be pleased.

Faulkner was there again early, joining the others for breakfast. He gave Bodie the number to call, and listened for news.

"He's fine," said the Sister who came to answer the phone. "Sitting up, having breakfast. And chatting up my nurses," she added with a laugh. She was friendlier this morning, having been over-tired the night before.

"Dr. Morrison has seen him," she said, "So you can come and fetch him as soon as you like." Bodie thanked her and rang off.

Very relieved, the group finished breakfast. Then Faulkner and Bodie went off to collect Doyle, while the others prepared to go down to the Show for the final day.

When they arrived at the hospital, they found Doyle dressed and waiting for them, sitting on a chair in Reception, talking to Dr. Morrison. There were no outward signs of his injuries, but as he rose and walked towards them, they could see he was limping rather awkwardly. The doctor came over with him.

"He'll have to rest that leg for a few days," he said, "Give it time to heal properly."

"We'll see that he does," said Bodie firmly, meeting a defiant look from his partner. They returned to the car, and helped Doyle into the back of it. As soon as they were on their way, Doyle leaned forward to speak to Faulkner who was driving.

"I'm sorry about the car," he said, "I hope it's not too badly damaged."

"Oh, don't worry about that," replied Faulkner airily. "Sammy, who runs the village garage, will soon sort it out. He does all the estate cars, and he's a wizard with them. I'm just thankful that you didn't come off any worse."

But then he asked the question Doyle had been dreading. "What happened ? It wasn't something mechanical, was it ?."

"I don't really know," said Doyle.

But Bodie had been half-turned in his seat, watching his mate, and he saw the expression on his face. He was lying ! Bodie knew it, but wisely kept his own counsel for the moment.

They were soon back at the Hall, where the others were waiting, anxious to see if Doyle really was all right.

"He doctor said he had to rest that leg for a few days," Faulkner told them.

"No way," said Doyle obstinately. "I'm coming to the Show. I want to see the awards presented."

Peter Mortisford chipped in. "Compromise, Doyle," he suggested. "There's a very nice chair in the conservatory with a leg-rest. Suppose you spend the morning there. Either Neil or I will come and fetch you in good time for the Awards Ceremony – it's not till late afternoon."

Doyle hesitated, and then gave in. His leg was hurting, and the thought of resting in the warm comfort of the conservatory was appealing. Soon he was settled there, with Spencer in solicitous attendance, bringing him the morning papers and the promise of a coffee shortly.

All except Bodie went off to the Show. He wanted a private word with his friend. As soon as they were alone, he came straight to the point.

"It wasn't an 'accident', was it ?." he demanded.

"No," admitted Doyle, "I was pushed off the road."

"Hm," commented Bodie, "Sounds as if we've 'rattled someone's cage'."

"Looks like it," agreed Doyle, and told him about the man he'd seen before his meeting with Collins.

"I'll have to tell Cowley," said Bodie. He'd already asked Sir John's permission to phone London, and so he retired to the library, in some trepidation, to face the unpleasant task. But to his surprise, his boss listened without comment, and rang off quite quickly.

Bodie was tempted to give the show a miss and stay with his partner, but changed his mind when Doyle asked him to go and to tell Bill Ferris that he was all right.

Left to himself, Doyle relaxed in the comfortable chair, enjoying the warmth of the sun through the large windows.

He did have one early visitor. Spencer showed in D.S. Collins and brought coffee for them both.

"How are you, Doyle ?," asked Collins. "The police had to speak to you about the accident, and when I saw your name, I volunteered for the job. Now, tell me I'm correct. This was not an 'accident' ?."

"You're right, of course," admitted Doyle. "I was driven off the road deliberately."

"Any details about the vehicle ?," asked Collins.

"Not much," replied Doyle, "Big, heavy, a dark colour. I couldn't really see."

"It's probably damaged along one side," said Collins thoughtfully, after Doyle had described to him as much as he could remember of the incident. "We will have a look out for it." He left soon after to put that in hand.

Doyle rested comfortably, - even dozed for a while, and began to feel much better. Cook supplied him with a very nice lunch, and then he was ready, waiting to be picked up to enjoy the finale of the show.

But there was another visitor ! Spencer entered and came up to him.

"Sir," he said, "There's a courier here with a parcel that he'll only deliver into your hands."

"A parcel, for me ?," queried Doyle, as Spencer added, "He said if you were suspicious, to say it's 9.7."

Then it dawned on Doyle who his visitor was. "Bring him in, please," he said, and smiled as a stocky figure in motor-bike leathers was shown in. He handed Doyle a large parcel, then pulled of his helmet to reveal a shock of tousled fair hair.

"Hi, Dickson," Doyle greeted him. "What's this then ? A present from Cowley ?

Doyle unfastened some of the wrapping, and had a quick look inside the box. His eyes widened slightly, as he saw what was in there, and knew what it meant.

"I've got to go straight back," said Dickson, "to report on how you are. Is there any message you want me to take ?."

"Yes," replied Doyle, and his voice was a little grim. "Just tell him I said "message received and understood"."

The youngster left, roaring down the drive on his powerful motor-bike. He passed Faulkner, just pulling up to the door, come as promised to fetch Doyle.

Faulkner came in to the conservatory, and looked curiously at the parcel which Doyle had re-wrapped, but he wasn't enlightened by the curly-haired man before him. Instead, Doyle asked a serious question .

"Is there somewhere I can put this under lock and key, till we come back ?"

Faulkner was a bit surprised by this request, but led him into the games room, and helped him stow the parcel in the cupboard where sporting guns were kept. He locked the door and handed him the key.

"Sir John has the only other key," he said, "So no-one will go near it today."

Then they went off to the Show, and enjoyed watching the final events. Doyle was found a seat on the platform, so he had a very good view as the various awards were handed out.

He applauded enthusiastically when Tom came rather shyly forward to receive the huge cup that Rufus had won. He smiled as he watched the lad attempt to attach the large rosette to the bull's head collar. Rufus evidently didn't fancy being so decorated, and shook his huge head, nearly knocking Tom off his feet.

But Bodie, who knew him so well, was the only one who noticed that his mate's demeanour was not as light-hearted as it had been earlier. He could see that Doyle had something on his mind, but he kept quiet for the moment, and awaited his opportunity.

It came when the party returned to the Hall, and retired to their respective rooms to freshen up before dinner. This was to be a lavish affair, as Sir John was playing host to several local people who had worked so hard to make the Show a success.

Bodie knocked on Doyle's door and went in. "What's up, Ray ?," he asked quietly. "Is it your leg ?."

"No," replied Doyle quickly, "That's not too bad."

He had retrieved his parcel and returned the key earlier. It was now sitting in the middle of his bed.

"It's that," he said, pointing to it.

Bodie went across and pulled it open to have a look. Then he understood !

The box contained their official I.D. warrant cards, their radio-phones, their guns and holsters, and spare ammunition

"I see," he said solemnly, "A present from our boss ?."

"Yes," said Doyle, "Dickson brought it earlier this afternoon.. You know what this means, Bodie, don't you ?."

"Of course," replied his partner. "It means we're now officially back on duty, with authority to take any action we see fit."

Doyle nodded. Their 'holiday' was over !

"Any ideas as to what we do next ?," asked Bodie.

"Not really," replied Doyle. "We've very little to go on. But I suggest we go tomorrow, make our selves known to the local police, and get their co-operation,"

"That would be a start," agreed his partner.

He collected his share of the delivered equipment and went back to his room. Both of them showered and changed ready for the sociable evening. They hid their guns and radios deep in the bottom of their bags, and stored these in the back of the wardrobes. Not that they had any concern about the staff in this well-run household.

The I.D.s went back into their usual safe pockets. Funny, thought Doyle to himself, I feel better now I've got that again.

They went down to dinner, were introduced as Sir John's guests, and spent a very pleasant evening. The company were all in elated mood, talking with great enthusiasm about how successful this year's Show had been. Gerard too was more cheerful. He had been delighted with Tom's success with Rufus, and talked excitedly about that fine beast.

They met him again at breakfast. He was off down the showground again, for it would be another busy day there. Dismantling an event often takes quite as long to do as erecting it, and there would be lots of work for all the helpers.

A good night's rest had done Doyle's leg good. It felt a lot more comfortable. But he was still content to let Bodie drive, as they made their way into town, both now fully equipped. They found the police-station, entered, and spoke to the man on the front desk, asking politely to speak to the senior man in charge. The desk-sergeant looked a little askance at this request, but just then Collins came through the door, and that made it a lot easier. Soon they were all seated in the office of Chief Inspector Fetherington. As Ferris had told Doyle, he was inclined to be a little stiff and formal. But Collins took it upon himself to explain who they were and what had happened to Doyle.

"I see," said Fetherington, at last, "You have our full co-operation, of course. But at the moment, as I see it, we have a lot of suspicion, but no proof of anything. What would you like us to do ?."

"Just keep track of those two from the bookmakers," suggested Doyle. "A photograph might be helpful. We could use it to make enquiries. See if they are on record anywhere."

"One of my men is already on that," said Collins eagerly. "I think he's got one of the man you bumped into. Do you think it was him that attacked you ?"

"Might have been," said Doyle. "It certainly happened soon after I'd encountered him, didn't it ?."

"He's Robertson," said Collins, "and the one he's always with is called Green. But neither of them are on police records, - not here anyway."

They left then, promising to maintain contact. As they walked towards the outer door, Collins asked. "What are you going to do now ?."

"Just wander about for a bit," said Doyle. "Perhaps visit some of the places you've told us they go to, probably to pick up possible clients."

"It's nearly lunchtime," said Bodie hopefully. "Can you recommend somewhere ?."

Collins did so, and they sat there quietly for a while, enjoying a light lunch. Then, as they had suggested they visited some of the snooker clubs Collins had mentioned. Of course, neither Robertson or Green were present as they were working, but they unobtrusively took note of some of the youngsters who were there, assessing those that were possibly started on the slippery drugs slope, encouraged by the two they suspected.

Late that afternoon they were strolling along the High Street, on their way back to the car. Suddenly Doyle grabbed Bodie's arm. "How about placing a bet on something," he suggested. There was a twinkle in his eye which told his friend that he was up to mischief. A quick glance at the name above the 'bookies' where they were standing, enlightened him, and he grinned. "I see," he said, "You want to worry friend Robertson."

They pushed open the door and went in. A quick glance round told them Robertson wasn't there, which rather disappointed Doyle. But Green was behind the counter, busy taking bets. He gave a start when he recognized them, but then dropped his eyes to his work and refused to make eye-contact. But he was decidedly nervous.

As none of the names of runners in the various races jumped out at them, they didn't bother to place a bet after all, and left.

They made their way back to the car and started on the journey back. They had almost reached the place where Doyle had had his accident, when they became aware of a car belting up behind them. It began to draw alongside.

"Oh, no," exclaimed Doyle, "Not again !."

But then he recognised the driver, signalling frantically. "It's Collins," he said, "Pull over, Bodie."

Bodie slowed the car down, and brought it neatly to a halt on the grass verge. Collins pulled in just in front of them. All three men got out of their vehicles and moved across to meet.

"Sorry if I worried you," began Collins, "But there's been a development and I think it's important."

"Go on," said Doyle. Any progress would be good.

"Well, said Collins, "Robertson wasn't at work this afternoon."

"We knew that," interrupted Bodie. "We looked in the 'bookies' and he wasn't there."

"Since I spoke to you, Doyle," went on Collins, "We've been keeping them both under surveillance, so we know where he was. He spent the afternoon at his house, but an hour ago he left, and went to the station. He met a man off the London train, and took him back to his place."

Bodie and Doyle were immediately interested.

"Did the man have a bag with him ?," asked Bodie.

"He had two," replied Collins, "a small suitcase, and a kind of Gladstone bag." The two C.I.5 men exchanged knowing looks. How often had they seen something like that.

"Funny, though" went on Collins, "Sims said he let Robertson put his suitcase in the boot, but he wouldn't let him touch the bag."

Doyle turned to Bodie. "What do you think ?," he said, "Sounds to me as if it's his supplier." Bodie nodded, He thought the same.

"Where are they now ?," asked Doyle.

"At Robertson's place still," said Collins. "One of my men is watching."

"I think we have to move fast," said Doyle. "Green saw us this afternoon. If he goes there too, and tells Robertson, they could take fright and the man would leave in a hurry."

"Let's go, then," said Bodie. "And we're allowed to break speed limits," he added, throwing a look at Collins.

They quickly turned the cars round and headed back to town. Bodie led the way, and Collins found himself hard pushed to keep up. But when they got to the outskirts, Bodie slowed down, and let the local man take the lead. Collins led them through the main part of the town, and then on to the suburbs the other side. He pulled up in a quiet side street, and Bodie parked neatly behind him.

"I thought we'd better not get too close," said Collins as they joined him. He led them quietly to the corner, and into the next street. A man slid out of a doorway and came up to them.

"Baxter," acknowledged Collins. "What's the latest ?."

"Robertson and the other man are still in there," said the man. "There's no lights on in the front of the house, but I sneaked round the back. There's a light on in the kitchen. I couldn't see in, for the curtains were drawn. But they are thin so the light shows through."

"Where's Sims ?," asked Collins.

"Still watching," said Baxter, "a bit further on." They crept closer, and reached the other watcher, crouched in the shelter of a tall hedge.

"No-one's come out," reported Sims, "but Green has just gone in."

"He'll warn Robertson," exclaimed Doyle, "So we must go in quickly."

"You're going in ?," said Collins incredulously, "But we've got no proof, - only suspicion. We can't go in without a warrant."

"We can," said Bodie smugly.

"What can I do ?," asked Collins, feeling rather helpless besides these men of action.

"Send your men round the back, in case any of them try to run for it," said Doyle. "Then follow us in, ready to make a formal arrest."

"There's a phone-box on the corner," said Collins suddenly, "if you'll give me a minute, I can rustle up some back-up."

"All right," agreed Doyle, "but don't be long. We don't want them to escape."

Collins was not long, and came back to them with a 'thumbs up' sign. "They're on their way," he whispered, "Luckily the patrol car was already this side of town."

The C.I.5 pair waited for a few moments to allow Baxter and Sims time to get round the back. Then they went into action in a way that astonished Collins.

Avoiding the gravel path, they ran quickly up to the front door. Pausing only to draw and arm their guns, on a signal nod, they attacked the door with ferocious kicks.

The lock gave way, the door swung back with a crash, and they were in !

The only light was at the end of the hallway, so they shot quickly along and entered the kitchen.

All three men were there, gathered round the kitchen table. And on it was all the evidence they needed, a board with white powder on it, several jars of more powder, used to adulterate the pure stuff to make it go further, and a pile of little packets waiting to be filled.

But that wasn't what took Bodie and Doyle's attention. They'd seen it all before, anyway. It was the man standing between Robertson and Green.

"Well I never," exclaimed Bodie. "Look what we've caught, Doyle !."

"Ginger Jordan," said Doyle gleefully.

He was a man they knew well from their home patch, a dealer they knew was in the employ of one of the biggest drug barons in the city, a man they'd been trying to pin down for ages.

All three men had been momentarily transfixed by the sudden entrance, and the menace of the guns pointed at them. Robertson recovered first, and stupidly turned to open the back door. He moved to dash out, only to be confronted by the bulk of the big man Baxter, followed closely by the slighter Sims. They pushed him back in, and shut the door behind them. Both were quite elated at being part of this, much more exciting than their usual work.

And suddenly the little kitchen was a crowded place, as Collins came in, followed by several uniformed police.

Jordan was standing staring at Bodie and Doyle, who he had recognised as quickly as they had known him.

"C.I 5," he said in an awestruck tone. "How did you get here ?"

"Oh, didn't you know," crowed Bodie. "We get everywhere."

Doyle meanwhile was talking to Collins, explaining how they knew Jordan. The other men had surrounded the villains, and were gazing curiously at all the stuff on the table.

"You've got plenty of evidence now," Doyle said. "So we'll leave it to you to collect it, and arrest all three of them. But be sure to keep a close hold on Jordan. He's a wily bird, and might try to get away. And you'll be hearing from the London drugs squad about him too, for they have been dying to nail him."

Collin looked almost stunned by the speed of events, but he recovered quickly and set about the correct procedures. He formally arrested all three and saw them carted off to the local police station, where they ended up in the cells.

He organised the safe collecting and bagging of all the evidence on the table. This was the biggest thing that had happened in his town for a long time.

Eventually it was all dealt with, and Bodie and Doyle felt free to leave. They walked back to collect the car.

"Well, that was a bit of a surprise, wasn't it ?." said Doyle. "One minute we had very little to go on, and then suddenly it all kicked off, and now it's done and dusted."

"Luck of the Irish," said Bodie.

"I'm not Irish," protested Doyle.

"But I am," said Bodie, "at least some of me is."

"Oh, how come ?," asked Doyle curiously.

But Bodie was notoriously reluctant to talk about such things, and changed the subject. "I'm starving," he declared. "We've missed dinner, you know."

"And we never had time to tell them we'd be late," said Doyle. "They'll be wondering what has happened to us."

They drove back to the Hall as fast as they could. As they pulled up outside the door, it opened and some anxious faces greeted them.

"We were worried," said Gerard. "Has something happened ?."

"It's a long story," said Doyle. "Let's go in, and we'll tell everybody about it."

They went it to the lounge. Sir John, his brother, and Faulkner all looked very relieved to see that their guests appeared to be unharmed. They had been imagining all sorts of things.

The pair began their story, but were interrupted by the butler.

"The cook's compliments," he said formally. "There will be a meal for Mr. Bodie and Mr. Doyle in 20 minutes." Bodie's face lit up as he conveyed their thanks.

They completed their story, much to the amazement of their listeners. When they had finished, Bodie turned to Doyle.

"Your turn to call the boss, I think," he said. Doyle looked to Sir John for permission. He nodded, so Doyle went off to the library to take on the task. He told Cowley clearly and succinctly exactly what had happened. His boss listened quietly without comment.

"Right," he said at last, "I'll talk to Fetherington in the morning. As you seem to be finished down there, I'll expect you back as soon as possible." He rang off.

Isn't that just like the old man, thought Doyle. No word of commendation, no enquiry about his injury, just a summons to return. Still, we should be used to it by now.

He returned to join his partner, reported what Cowley had said, and then the pair went off to enjoy their belated meal.

At breakfast next morning, Peter Mortisford had news for them. "As your boss seems to be in a hurry to get you back," he said with a smile, "I've arranged for us all to be picked up this afternoon."

That was a relief, as the pair had been wondering whether they would have to make their own arrangements. So they went back to their rooms to put their belongings together, only to find that Spencer had already done the bulk of their packing for them. What a well-run household this is, thought Doyle. I shall miss our taste of 'gracious living'.

The next morning found Bodie and Doyle taking a last stroll to enjoy the beautiful grounds of the Hall.

"I shall miss this," said Doyle, rather wistfully. "It's so calm and peaceful."

"Yes, it is," agreed Bodie, "but it's not really us, is it ?."

He gave his friend a searching look. "How's the leg ?," he asked.

"I shouldn't have kicked that door," admitted Doyle. "It hurt last night, but it's a lot better this morning."

They returned to the house, and joined their hosts in the warmth of the conservatory, where coffee was being served.

"You did a super job last night," observed Peter Mortisford, "but it's a pity your success has curtailed your time with us."

"Yes," agreed his brother, "It's been a pleasure having you here."

"We've enjoyed it too," said Doyle and Bodie, almost in unison.

"And you've been good for Gerard too," said Sir John. "He's behaved a lot better while you've been here."

"I don't think that's down to us," protested Doyle. "It's because he's put in such good work for the Show. It kept him really busy. And that's part of his problem."

"I don't understand," said Sir John, "Please explain."

"Well," began Doyle, trying to choose his words carefully. "He's been meeting lads of his own age, mostly nice boys. They talk together, and at their age, most of the talk is of their plans for earning a living. But not Gerard."

"But his 'living', as you put it," interrupted Sir John, "will be in running this estate. Neil is gradually teaching him."

"Yes, he knows that," said Doyle, "But to his mind, that is well in the future. What he needs is something to be doing now. Have you thought about letting him go to Agricultural College ?."

"What a brilliant ides !," exclaimed Peter Mortisford.

"College ? On his own ?," said the over-protective father, "He wouldn't cope."

"I think he would," said Doyle, "he's growing up fast. "But you could always subsidize Tom to go with him. He's a steady lad and they get on well."

"Think about it, John," said his brother eagerly. "It would be the making of him, I'm sure."

"But one important thing," went on Doyle. "Don't arrange it for him ! Just put forward the suggestion. I think he'll grab at it. Then let him get together with Tom to make enquiries till they find a course that suits them both. Stock-breeding, perhaps. Gerard's still interested in pigs, and Tom loves his cattle. Then offer any help they may need."

He could see from his host's face that the idea was beginning to sink in. He hoped it would happen. There was a good chance it would, for Peter Mortisford obviously approved, and he had a lot of influence with his brother.

So he quickly changed the subject. "What time are we off, sir ?," he asked, looking to Peter Mortisford.

"Car's coming at 2.30," replied the younger host, who had made all the arrangements. "Gerard said he be back for lunch. He couldn't miss saying his good-byes."

The whole party enjoyed a very pleasant lunch. Doyle noticed that Sir John was particularly thoughtful, and kept giving speculative glances at his son. I've planted a seed, he thought. I hope it grows and flourishes.

Later that afternoon, having thanked Sir John for his hospitality, and said their good-byes, they were driven out to the airfield and were soon airborne and on their way back to London.

Peter Mortisford was in a very cheerful mood and addressed Doyle. "That was a great idea you had about Gerard," he said. "Have you ever considered the Diplomatic Service, or youth counselling ?."

"Me ?," responded Doyle , looking rather startled. "No way !."

"But you were so good about Gerard," protested the senior man.

"Oh well," said Doyle, "I used to help out with boys' clubs quite a lot, and I got to understand them."

"But, of course," said Mortisford, "you're both so good at what you usually do, and we need that skill. And when I see Cowley, I'm going to tell him so !."

Doyle and Bodie exchanged glances. While it was nice to hear words of appreciation sometimes, they doubted whether any words from outsiders, even someone as eminent as Peter Mortisford, would ever cut any ice with the dour Scot who was their boss.