Foray into Fashion.
For a change, Bodie and Doyle were busy on separate tasks. Cowley had sent Doyle out on a routine job. He had chosen him to do it because he had done it before, and he knew he had the patience to complete it properly. It involved taking three of the new men on a tour round all of C.I. 5's safe houses, so that they learned the location of each of them in case of emergency.
First he had to show them each of the sites. Then he had, literally, to take a back seat, and give each man, in turn, a random choice of which to find, to see if they had assimilated the information. Of course, there were a few slip-ups, but as he allowed the men to confer with each other, they were quick to learn, and by the end of the day, he was satisfied that they knew most of them.
It also helped the men to get to know one of the top operatives better, and although Doyle never consciously thought about it, his friendly manner earned their respect, and increased his popularity.
Bodie, on the other hand, was on a job that didn't please him at all, - a stake-out on a suspect house. Mind you, this one was better than some he'd been on, as it was opposite a small road-house café, with quite a few tables and chairs set outside. So he was able to sit in the sun, drink coffee, and keep watch, while his luckless assistant was stuck in the small attic room above the café, with the camera set-up, ready to call him if there was any action across the road.
It was now nearly lunchtime, and as nothing had happened, he was beginning to feel decidedly bored with this task. He never had liked stake-outs, as very often they came to nothing, and he didn't have as much patience as his partner.
He wondered idly how Doyle was getting on. Probably all right, as the latest three men seemed to him pretty alert and keen. They'll learn, he thought to himself, that there's an awful lot more dull routine to the job, than the few periods of action and excitement.
Then, suddenly, his attention was alerted, not by any action across the road, nor by a call from the man upstairs, but by the arrival of a new customer from the café, bringing her coffee out to sit at one of the tables near him.
The lady settled herself in a seat facing the road, her back towards him, and stirred her coffee gently.
Bodie sat up and studied the lady, for lady she definitely was, from her 'haute couture' suit, her expensive-looking leather accessories, to the deep auburn hair, styled in a neat French roll, held with a large tortoise-shell clasp. She was decidedly not the type he would have expected to see in this kind of café.
As he watched, the café owner came out, approached the lady, and spoke to her in a deferential manner.
"Madam," he said, "The call you were expecting. Your car will be here in a few minutes."
"Thank you." replied the lady, and the man returned inside. Her voice, Bodie noted, was pleasantly husky and cultured, with just a hint of an accent .
The C.I. 5 man was intrigued. It sounded as if perhaps the lady's car had broken down, and she was awaiting a replacement.
He was about to go to offer assistance, when something else caught his eye, a movement in the bushes edging the café forecourt. As he looked more intently, he saw something that astonished him, - the hard metal snout of a handgun ! Almost at the same time he heard the click of a released safety-catch. This spurred him to instant action. Subconsciously, from experience, he assessed the relative distances. The lady was nearer ! He leapt towards her, and pushed her from her chair. He fell with her, covering her and keeping her down, without actually lying on top of her. He heard the crack of the shot, and almost felt it whistle through the air above their heads.
As he started to get up again, he heard the kick-start of a powerful motor-bike, and the roar as it sped away, so he knew that any attempt to pursue the would-be assassin would be useless.
He turned back to help the lady to her feet again, attempting gently to brush the dust from her smart suit.
He became aware of a large silver Bentley, pulling up in the road in front of the café. It contained two men. One stayed at the wheel, but the other, a thick-set, tough-looking man, came charging through the tables and chairs. He looked very much as if he was going to have a go at Bodie.
But the lady stopped him with quick words.
"Non, non, Pierre," she said. "Ce monsieur m'a aide."
The man scowled, but stopped his ominous charge.
" Attendez-moi dans la voiture pour un moment," she ordered.
Reluctantly, and with many backward glares, the man retreated to the car, and held the door open, patently waiting for his mistress.
The lady sat down on one of the chairs, and waved Bodie into the seat beside her. She held out her hand.
"I am Francine Dubelle," she said, with a smile.
" Bodie," he replied.
" Monsieur Bodie," she said in her charming accent. "I am very grateful for your assistance."
"You're very welcome," returned Bodie, "but I have to ask, why on earth was someone trying to shoot you ?"
"I have not ze slightest idea," she replied.
Now this was a downright lie ! Francine Dubelle knew very well of several who might have tried to eliminate her, and why !
But with an eye to the main chance, she was already planning on ways to turn this event to her advantage.
"I must go now, my men have brought the car, but I would like to show my gratitude better," she said. "Will you dine with me tonight ? Do you know Enrico's ?"
"It's a very exclusive place," exclaimed Bodie.
"The owner is a friend," replied Francine. "You will meet me there, this evening, at 8 o'clock, yes ? We will get to know each other better, oui ?"
Bodie was flattered and interested, and so he agreed. He watched the lady walk elegantly to the big car. She was helped into the back by the burly Pierre, who then got into the front with the driver, and the sleek vehicle moved smoothly away.
Bodie returned to his former seat, and his now cold coffee. There was a buzz from his radio, and a voice in his ear.
"What was all that about ?" asked Williams, who had seen it all from the attic window.
"I don't know," replied Bodie. "Somebody tried to take a shot at the lady."
"Why ?," asked Williams.
"Don't know yet," said Bodie, "but I might find out this evening."
They went back to their surveillance of the house across the road, but that was a wasted effort, for nothing happened all afternoon, and eventually they called it a day and left.
Bodie and Doyle met up in the locker-room, as they packed up for the day, and compared notes. Doyle felt he'd had a good day, but Bodie thought his a waste of time. Apart from that one incident, of course. !
"What do you fancy doing this evening ?," asked Doyle. "Shall I call Julie ?"
" Not tonight, Josephine !," replied Bodie jokingly. "I'm dining out tonight !"
"Oh, where ?," asked Doyle curiously.
"Enrico's," replied Bodie, with a smug look.
"Hey, that's a bit out of your league, isn't it ?," said Doyle. "You won't get that on expenses !"
"Actually, I'm a guest," replied Bodie grandly.
"How's that?," asked Doyle. "Tell me more.!"
"No, thank you," replied Bodie, "you keep your nose out !"
Doyle held up his hands in mock surrender.
"All right, all right," he said in a placating tone. "None of my business."
Bodie smiled. "No offence taken," he said.
Doyle watched his friend depart in his usual jaunty manner, and admitted to himself that he was curious. Although they did often socialise together, they didn't have to live in each other's pockets.
But as he saw Williams enter the room, he decided he would, if necessary, do something he rarely did, i.e. pull rank to get some answers.
"Hullo, Williams," he said. "You were with Bodie today, weren't you ?
What went on ?."
"Oh, you mean the posh lady," said Williams, quite unaware that Bodie hadn't told his partner any details of today's events.
"Yes, what exactly happened ?" asked Doyle, and Williams poured out all the information that he knew..
"Stylish car, she had," finished Williams. "A big silver Bentley."
"Interesting," responded Doyle, his curiosity more aroused than assuaged by what he had heard.
Francine Dubelle watched with a calculating eye, as her guest for the evening was greeted by the manager, and escorted to her table. She had been right in her judgement this morning. He did look well in immaculate evening dress
In her plan to establish herself as a fashion designer, in London as well as in Paris, he would be quite an asset. Pierre and Jacques were loyal and valued servants, but neither was exactly personable. To be seen about, in the right places, with such a good-looking escort, would do a great deal towards building her the necessary reputation.
She greeted him warmly, and set out to win him over with a very pleasant evening. Bodie was enjoying himself. His hostess looked stunning in a gold lame evening dress , which so suited her colouring, and she was being very charming. The food courses and wines were excellent, and the whole atmosphere of the place was very opulent.
On closer acquaintance, he realised that she was more mature than he had at first thought, though still a very well-groomed and beautiful woman.
He gradually learned a little more about her. She ran a small fashion house in Paris, with well-attended fashion shows, and was over in London to try to set up a similar establishment, and to give similar shows here.
When he asked her about this morning's shooting, she firmly maintained that she hadn't the least idea what it was all about.
Bodie quickly realised that this wasn't going to be a romantic liaison. But as she explained to him, in her charming accent, that she would be very grateful for his company as escort to the various social evenings she had to attend for the sake of the business, and that she would pay all expenses for these, he was quite ready to agree, for he'd always had an interest in the world of fashion.
Without disclosing what his job was, he made it clear that he could only attend when work permitted, and she was quite happy with that.
"If you cannot come," she said, "Pierre or Jacques will escort me."
Then she pulled a face, and added, "But they are not so handsome, or such good company."
Bodie was flattered, as she quite intended him to be, and played his part to perfection, being gallant and attentive. It drew a lot of attention their way, which was exactly what she wanted.
Doyle tried teasing his mate about his 'French bird', but got little out of him except details of some of the glittering events he had attended with Madame Dubelle, as she was becoming known.
Work went on for them much as usual, sometimes together and sometimes not. They shared a couple of useless stake-outs, which yielded nothing, and sorted out a gang of thugs trying to set up a protection racket.
Then came a request for assistance from the Drugs Squad. They had received information about a considerable quantity of heroin, which had suddenly come on the market, but they hadn't been able to find out where it had come from.
Bodie and Doyle made some enquiries, and leaned on some small-time drug dealers, but got nowhere. Some of them reluctantly admitted that they had heard of the new consignment on the market, but none of them knew who was behind it, or how it had come into the country. The pair persisted, spreading the net wider, but made little progress, which was frustrating.
Then, one day, when Bodie was out, Doyle was summoned to Cowley's office. Sitting down as requested, Doyle waited. Cowley got straight to the point.
"What do you know about Bodie's new lady-friend, ?" he asked.
"Not much," answered Doyle. "She's French, a fashion designer, trying to get known in London."
"I want you to investigate her," Cowley said bluntly.
Doyle jumped to his feet.
"You're asking me to spy on Bodie's private life !," he exclaimed angrily. "Doyle !," said Cowley commandingly. "My days of asking people to do things for me are long gone."
Seeing Doyle's still mutinous expression, he tempered his harshness.
"If he was in trouble, you'd want to help him, wouldn't you ?," he said. Doyle calmed visibly.
"Is he in trouble ?," he asked anxiously, and returned to his seat.
"I'm not sure," said Cowley. "I've been making a few enquiries of my own, with the Surete in Paris. They've nothing on Madame Dubelle, except that there never was a Monsieur Dubelle. But the two men with her, drivers or maybe body-guards, whatever, they're well known to them. They've both got records, G.B.H and car-theft mainly."
"The silver Bentley ?," queried Doyle.
"No, that's legit.," said Cowley. "It's rented, long-term hire. But I'm somewhat concerned about the incident when Bodie met her. Apparently, someone tried to take a shot at her, and it makes me wonder why !"
"Yes," said Dole thoughtfully, "I know there's a lot of competition in the fashion world, but …."
He stood up and moved towards the door.
"Bodie won't like it, if he thinks I'm spying on him," he said morosely. "I'll have to be careful."
As he opened the door, Cowley called his name.
"Yes, sir ?," he responded instantly, once more a self-controlled operative.
"Your reluctance is noted and understood," said Cowley gently.
Doyle nodded and left, suddenly appreciating that his boss very often had difficult decisions to make, and handled them pretty well on the whole.
Although he didn't much like the task he'd been given, Doyle tackled it conscientiously. The biggest difficulty would be concealing what he was doing from Bodie. They so often dealt with jobs as a team, and even when they didn't, they frequently compared notes and shared ideas. He would have to dissemble, and that didn't come easily to him, especially when a mate was involved.
He began by double-checking through the enquiries that Cowley had made, memorizing the details. Then he searched out every article about Madame Dubelle in the newspapers, both the British press, and also the French editions.
Le Figaro had done a comprehensive article about the lady, and her Paris fashion-show, and he read that carefully.
Bodie was enjoying the social whirl he'd been introduced to, and talked about it quite freely.
"She's got her fashion-show arranged for tomorrow night," he said, with excitement in his voice. "That's going to be quite an event ! Some very interesting people will be there.
I think I might follow that up, thought Doyle to himself. Just to see who attends these occasions, and whether they have any connections that might be interesting.
He slipped in a seemingly casual question.
"Where's she living in London ?," he asked.
"Don't really know ," replied Bodie. "I'm always picked up by Pierre or Jacques." An afterthought came to him. "But I remember she did say that she's
hired a houseboat somewhere, Staines, I think - finds the sound of the water lapping soothing, she says. I think I'd find it maddening, personally."
Doyle agreed, and stored the information away for further investigation. It wouldn't take him long to find out. And the next day he did just that. A little delving and he found that Madame Dubelle had rented a houseboat at Chandler's Reach, Staines. He resolved to pay a visit there soon, but not today, for it would take time to investigate properly, and this evening was the fashion –show.
Bodie felt quite excited that evening as Pierre collected him, ready to attend the important event. He'd seen a bit of the rehearsals, and the gowns on display were, even to his inexperienced eye, truly magnificent, sleek and smooth designs in glowing jewel colours, emerald, amethyst, and turquoise, complimented by reds, blues and gold. A veritable rainbow !
And Madame herself was amazing ! Clad in a gown of vivid emerald silk, with her hair a coronet of auburn curls, and wearing sparkling jewellery that would have been worth a king's ransom if it were real, she would certainly attract a great deal of attention, and Bodie felt proud to be escorting her.
There were crowds of people gathered round the entrance to the hall where the fashion-show was to be held, people who had come to have a look at the celebrities who would be attending.
Bodie climbed out of the sleek Bentley and moved round to the other side of the car, where Pierre was holding the door for Madame Dubelle. As he waited he glanced round at the chattering crowd, and thought he saw a face he knew ! A very familiar face, framed in dark curls.! Doyle ? What was he doing here ?
Just then, Madame spoke to him, and he turned to answer her. As she held his arm, and they walked slowly along the cordoned-off pathway to the door, he glanced round again, but could no longer see his mate. Had he imagined it ?
The rest of the evening proved too busy for him to give it much further thought. The models in their fabulous gowns moved up and down the catwalk, and were greeted with rapturous acclaim, and prolonged applause.
Afterwards, there was a sparkling social gathering. Clinging to Bodie's arm, Madame circulated freely, talking volubly, both in French and English, to many of her well-known guests, and potential clients.
Many admiring glances were turned their way, as guests appraised the vivacious lady and her handsome escort. In fact the whole evening had been the success that Francine Dubelle had hoped for, and promising invitations were coming her way thick and fast. She had won her acceptance into the social scene of London society !
The next day Bodie was full of it, talking freely to anyone who would listen about what a glittering occasion it had been. He met Doyle in the locker room, and excitedly told him about it.
Then he suddenly remembered.
"I thought I saw you there," he said, "In the crowd outside ?"
"What, me ?" exclaimed Doyle, as brazenly as he could. "Me, at a fashion show, you must be joking !"
As Bodie didn't pursue the point, he hoped he'd sounded convincing enough. I'll have to be a bit more careful, he thought.
Fortunately, for today, he'd be well out of Bodie's way. Having heard that Madame was attending a press conference, on her own, for his mate was working on yet another stake-out, he had decided to have a look at the houseboat down at Staines.
Accordingly, he drove out of Central London, and made his way to Chandler's Reach, which he found fairly easily. What he found somewhat surprised him. The house-boats moored in this reach were not ordinary vessels, but real luxury craft, more like motor-yachts, big and lavishly appointed.
What with this and the expensive car, Madame was living well, he thought !
Now, which one was hers ?
He was in luck, and found the answer easily, for as he watched, he saw Jacques step ashore from a large green-painted vessel at the far end, and stroll along the path towards him, with a shopping bag in his hand.
He ducked down behind his car till the man had passed, and had made his way up towards the main road. There was no telling how long Jacques would be away, but there should be time for a quick investigation.
The lock on the door proved no problem, and he slipped quickly inside, down the companion way. A swift check, and assessment of the personal things lying around, told him that Madame evidently had the large bedroom in the stern, and the two men shared the one towards the bow, which was not so large, and boasted two bunk beds.
A quick look round both rooms revealed nothing of interest, and he returned to the main living quarters, investigating cupboards and drawers with his well-practiced skill. Most were empty, unfortunately.
As he went to close a deep drawer in one fitment, he stopped suddenly, and pulled it open again. Right at the back there was a rough patch in the wood, and, caught on a tiny splinter, were a couple of threads of bright blue silk ! As he reached carefully to fish them out, his fingers brushed the floor of the drawer. When he lifted his hand to drop the threads into a bag to be checked later, he saw the white powder on his little finger. A careful taste identified it ! Heroin, pure, uncut, and pretty deadly.
This was a break-through ! If Madame was into drugs, C.I.5 were right to be interested !. And it tied in with something he had seen last night.. He'd recognised the various celebrities attending, but the only one that had taken his interest was Gerard Preston. C.I.5 and the police knew him well. Both groups suspected, indeed, were sure, that he master-minded most of the illegal drug trafficking in London, but he was very skilled at covering his tracks, and, so far, they hadn't been able to nail him. Doyle had wondered what had brought Preston to a fashion-show, of all things, but if Madame Dubelle was up to something, that would account for it.
A thought niggled in Doyle's mind, something he'd read in the press reports he'd studied a couple of days ago. What was it ?
Using his pen-knife, he scraped up as much as he could of the tiny trace of powder, and then left quickly.
He was only just in time, for he could see Jacques on the path near his car, coming back towards the boat. He turned and moved away, walking as if he were going to one of the nearby houses. When he was sure Jacques was safely aboard again, he returned to his car and sped back to London.
As soon as he reached Headquarters, he wrote a quick report for Cowley and left it on his desk. Then he went to look again at the press reports.
Several lengthy reports on last night's show had been added to them, and he read them all carefully.
To his surprise, he found two things that took his attention. The first was the one that he'd been trying to recall. The article in Le Figaro had described Francine Dubelle as 'a talented, but indigent, young designer, trying to make a name for herself, with very little capital behind her'
Indigent, indeed ! With the hire of a posh car and a luxurious house-boat, plus all the lavish hospitality of the last few days, Madame was far from poor ! Unless she'd suddenly come into money some way ?
The second thing, a new idea, came to him as he had read the reports on last night's event. Most of them were similar, praising the elegance, design and colour choices with considerable acclaim.
But one was different. This reporter had taken a different line. Her piece was headed ' Where have all the flowers gone ? '. It drew attention to the fact that in the Paris show, a feature of Madame's designs, indeed, almost a
trade-mark, had been the large, padded, matching flowers attached to her designs, sometimes on the shoulder, the waist or the hip of her gowns . But in the London show, these items had been conspicuous by their absence.
Quickly, Doyle searched out and checked photographs of the two shows. It was true.! At last night's show, there had been no flowers on any of the gowns This, and what he had found on the house-boat, sent his mind racing. He shot along to Cowley's office, finding that he was now in, and busy reading his report.
He showed him the pictures, and suggested the significance of the blue threads and the powder he had found on the house-boat.
Cowley saw it at once, his mind being very quick too.
"Congratulations, Doyle," he said, "This is excellent work."
Doyle felt good. Such praise from their dour boss was rare.
"They are quite substantial flowers," mused Cowley. "You could get quite a quantity of the stuff in those. It's still only speculation, of course. Now, we've got to prove she's involved."
"I've got an idea on that," said Doyle. "A friend of mine has a sister who works in the fashion house Madame employed to stage the show. I'll go and see her, and see if she can tell us if the flowers were on the dresses when they came in from France, and what became of them since."
"Good," said Cowley. "Say nothing to Bodie yet. Let's be sure first."
Doyle quickly got on the phone to a certain blonde called Sally, who was delighted to hear from him. When she heard that he wanted to talk to her sister,
she was a bit put out, but when he assured her he was only after information, she volunteered to go with him and get him access.
Together they drove to the fashion-house. Sally's presence got them past the rather formidable doorman. She smiled sweetly at him, and convinced him that she had to see her sister on urgent family business.
Doyle got a few curious looks as he entered the big room full of girls dealing with racks of gowns. Sally introduced him to her sister, Juliette. Ignoring the interested smiles directed his way, he got straight to the point.
"It's about Madame Dubelle's fashion-show, " he said.
"Oh, wasn't it glorious !" enthused Juliette. "Such style and such colours!"
Doyle produced the two photos, and showed them to her, explaining what he wanted.
"In the Paris show, there were flowers on all the gowns, but not here in London."
"Oh, yes," said Juliette, almost interrupting him. "When we unpacked them, and hung them up, they all had their flowers, very striking pieces."
"What happened to them, ?" asked Doyle.
"Madame came in that evening," Juliette explained. "She said they were no longer 'chic', and cut them all off. I offered to help, but she insisted in doing it herself. Then she put them all in a suitcase and took them away."
Doyle smiled to himself. It sounded as if their suspicions were confirmed.
It was a clever scheme, he had to admit. The amount of heroin concealed in those flowers would have earned a tidy sum, most likely from Preston. And setting up a name for herself in London was, no doubt, part of the plan. Once established, she could use all sorts of tricks to smuggle stuff in with her gown collections.
He thanked both girls, dropped Sally home, and then shot back to report to Cowley.
"This is going to be difficult," said Cowley thoughtfully. "We can see how it was done, but this consignment has already evidently been bought, paid for, and distributed, and doubtless all tracks have been well covered up, especially if Preston was involved, - he's an expert at that.!"
"Yes," agreed Doyle, "and now that Madame Dubelle has got herself established on the fashion scene, and into society, she can afford to mark time for a while, before trying another scheme."
"Put a 'round the clock' watch on her Bentley," ordered Cowley. "If we check up on everywhere she goes, who she meets, and what she does, we may come up with something."
Bodie was beginning to get a little bored with the social life he was leading with Madame Dubelle. At first, it had been exciting, he had enjoyed the expensive hospitality, and he'd met some interesting people.
He had realised quite early on that his relationship with Francine was going no further. She enjoyed his company as an escort, but that was it.! There was no way he was getting into her bed, and to be honest, he no longer wanted to do so.
He had to admit to himself that he was missing the social evenings he and Doyle spent together, with the company of girls who were a lot more amenable and accommodating.
And he was getting tired of the blatant hostility and resentment of Pierre and Jacques. They followed Francine about as closely as they could, like a couple of guard-dogs, and perpetually muttered under their breath in French, and scowled at him blackly.
Francine, however, with all her native astuteness, was fully aware of the slight change in his attitude. She didn't want to lose him, as his value to her as a decorative escort was considerable, so she set out to be a little friendlier.
As a soiree they had been invited to attend was cancelled at short notice, due to sudden family illness, she invited him, instead, to come down to the house-boat for a quiet evening together. Pierre drove them down there, barely concealing his ill-will about it, his scowl only matched by that of Jacques when they arrived.
But Madame was determined to keep Bodie at her side, and insisted that all four of them sat down to a friendly game of cards. Her determined light-hearted manner and a liberal supply of drinks helped. Her two watch-dogs actually thawed a little, and they managed to pass quite a pleasant couple of hours.
Eventually, Madame dismissed Pierre and Jacques, ordering them to retire, and set out to re-interest Bodie.
Bodie was in a bit of a quandary. By dismissing her chauffeurs so, it looked as if she was inviting him to stay the night, and he wasn't at all sure that he wanted to !
On the pretext of making some coffee for them both, he retreated to the tiny galley, mainly to give himself time to think how to handle this.
Then there came an unexpected interruption. Footsteps sounded on the deck, the door was opened and two men entered. Francine jumped up in surprise, for her visitors were Gerard Preston, and another man, who she'd never seen before.
Preston came straight to the point.
"Francine," he said, "I've come to warn you to cut your losses and get out fast !"
"I don't understand," said Francine, looking very bewildered.
"This is my man, Sam," said Preston, "He's been working up North for me,- he only got back yesterday. His daughter works in the fashion-house, and he went along there to meet her from work. He spotted a man leaving, and he recognised him. He spoke to his daughter, and found out that the man had been asking the girls about the flowers missing from the gowns."
Francine paled visibly.
"He knows !," she exclaimed. "Who was he ?"
"Doyle," replied Preston, "He's a top C.I.5 man, and if they are on to you, Francine, the game is up ! You'd better cut and run fast, for they won't give up till they've found out everything."
Alerted by voices, Pierre and Jacques had come out of their room, and had heard it all. They looked alarmed and worried.
Bodie, hiding in the galley, had also heard every word, and was trying to make sense of it.
Doyle ? , he thought. What was he doing making enquiries at the fashion-house ? Maybe he hadn't imagined seeing him the other evening. What on earth was going on ?
As he edged nearer the door, trying to hear more, his cuff caught one of the cups on the narrow shelf. The spoon rattled in the saucer.
"Who's in there ?", yelled Preston, but his man, Sam, was quicker. Drawing his gun, he shot into the galley, and gestured Bodie out into the main saloon. Bodie had little option but to obey, as he was un-armed.
"Who is this ?," demanded Preston.
"Just a friend," said Francine, totally alarmed by the speed of events.
But Sam knew better.
"A friend, huh," he snorted, "That's Doyle's partner, Bodie !"
Jacques and Pierre immediately jumped to grab hold of Bodie, looking very angry and menacing.
"Well, now you know," said Preston, in a satisfied tone.
"What should I do?," asked Francine, looking totally flustered and bewildered.
"My advice," said Preston. "Collect your money, wherever you've stashed it, and anything of value, and split fast. I'm all right. I always cover my tracks carefully," he added smugly.
"I should get rid of this house-boat, too. It's full of finger-prints, maybe even some of mine."
"But the boat's not mine," protested Francine.
"So what!," said Preston. "It'll be insured. Scuttle it, that would be best."
He shot a glare at Bodie, and added callously, "and while you're at it, I should get rid of him too." And with that, he and his man left.
Bodie tried to free himself from the grasp of Pierre and Jacques, but they held on tightly.
"Francine," he protested, "I know nothing of all this. You've got to believe me."
Francine moved to stand in front of him.
"But you are C.I.5 ?", she asked, " and this man Doyle is part of your team ?"
"Yes," admitted Bodie reluctantly, "but I haven't worked with him all week ! I've no idea what he's been working on."
"I think I do believe you," said Francine thoughtfully. The scowls of her men showed they clearly didn't. "But you have heard too much now. I cannot let you spoil our escape."
She turned to Jacques and Pierre.
"I cannot do anything till the morning," she said, "can you keep him secure tonight ?"
The two Frenchmen nodded eagerly. That suited them very well.
"You are not to hurt him," she admonished sternly, "but he must not escape."
She retired to her room to think over what she must do, and to make plans for the next day.
Bodie spent a most uncomfortable night, tied hand and foot, on the floor of the forward cabin, to the accompaniment of loud snoring from Pierre and Jacques.
As he was wearing a dress suit, needed for the soiree they had been going to, he had nothing on him that was of any use. In addition, the two men had ignored Francine's instructions not to hurt him, and the ropes that bound him were uncomfortably tight.
Doyle was getting constant up-dates from the team of men keeping tabs on the movements of the Bentley. He learned first that it had gone down to Staines to the house-boat last evening, and had stayed there all night.
Doyle smiled a wry smile at this. So, Bodie was doing all right with Madame, was he ? He's going to have a rude awakening when we tell him what she's been up to, he thought.
One interesting item was added. A large black car had visited the house-boat, only staying a short time, and leaving in a hurry. The number had been noted and checked out. When he heard Preston's name, Doyle thought to himself, that confirms what we've guessed so far
Then came a report that the Bentley had left fairly early, and was heading back to London, with Madame aboard.
"Was Bodie with her,?" asked Doyle, but the man couldn't tell him, for when he'd picked up the car he'd had to keep his distance because of the heavy rush-hour traffic.
During the day, continued reports came in of where Madame had gone. Doyle carefully followed each one up himself, and learned a great deal.
At the bank he used his authority, and got the bank manager to admit that Madame Dubelle had removed the contents of her safety-deposit box, and had closed her current account.
At the fashion-house, he found that Madame had come in to arrange for her collection to be sent back to Paris immediately.
At the travel agents, he discovered that she had bought 3 air-tickets to Brussels, on a flight, leaving at 5.40 that evening.
He reported all his findings to Cowley.
"She's going to cut and run," he said. "Preston must have told her that we were on to her, nothing much escapes his notice."
Cowley agreed, and made plans.
"We'll pick up all three of them at the airport," he decided.
"Where is she now ? Do you know?"
Doyle called up the agent who was watching her.
"Her man has just dropped her at Enrico's," he reported. "I'm staying here, and Wilson is checking where the car's going He says, by the look of the direction it's moving, it's returning to the house-boat. I'll alert the man nearest there to pick it up, and report."
Pierre, who had been with Madame all day, returned alone to Staines to carry out her final instructions.
Jacques had had the double task of guarding Bodie, and of packing the rest of their belongings
Together they loaded the cases into the car, and then went to work to finish their task
. Madame had told them how to do it. They were to bore a few holes in the bottom of the craft, then release the moorings before they left, so that it would drift out to the deeper middle of the reach, and slowly sink without trace.
Her last instructions had been most insistent and vociferous. !
"Bodie is not to be harmed !," she had ordered. "On your way back to London, you are to leave him somewhere where he will be found, but not before we have got away."
But Pierre and Jacques had decided, in a quick conference in rapid French, that they were going to ignore this last order. Bodie knew too much, and so he was a danger to Madame, and they would not allow that !
The watching man saw them load the car, and set off, and he followed them discretely back to London. So he was not there to notice the house-boat drift ever so slowly away from the bank, and begin to settle imperceptibly lower in the water
Soon after that Doyle and Cowley got the report that Madame had been picked up by her two men, and that the car appeared to be heading for the airport, where the C.I.5 men were ready and waiting for them.
They also got anther report, which was a bit perturbing. Bodie should have reported on duty at 1 o'clock, but hadn't done so, and there had been no explanatory message. That's not like him, thought Doyle. He's usually so reliable.
Madame Dubelle, Pierre and Jacques were quietly and unobtrusively picked up by Cowley and his men, and swiftly transported back to the Interrogation Centre. Investigation of Madame's bags revealed a very large amount of money, proceeds from the heroin sale, no doubt.
Confronted with this, and the evidence Doyle had collected, Francine made a full confession, though to her credit she didn't grass on Preston, which was a pity, for he was a bigger rogue than she was.
Pierre and Jacques were very surly and contributed little, each pretending that their understanding of English was poorer than it actually was, which wasn't helpful.
At last, Doyle got in the question he had been anxious to ask.
"Where's Bodie ?," he demanded anxiously.
"Oh, he's all right," said Francine. "We let him go."
She suddenly saw the look exchanged between Pierre and Jacques, and rounded on them furiously.
"You did let him go, didn't you ?," she yelled, and then leashed a torrent of rapid French, berating her men fiercely, and struggling from her seat to get at them.
Doyle grabbed hold of Pierre, and shook him violently." Where is he?" he shouted.
"Tell him," ordered Francine, "at once !"
Pierre muttered something in almost inaudible French, but Francine understood it.
"The house-boat," she said. "They left him on the house-boat, but they have arranged for it to sink !"
Doyle let go of Pierre and dashed for the door. Murphy raced after him
"Where, Doyle ?," he shouted , as he struggled to keep up with the charging figure.
"Tell me, and we'll follow," he panted.
"Chandler's Reach, Staines," replied Doyle, and was into his car and away at top speed.
Goodness knows how many speed limits were broken as Doyle drove through the streets of London. He was driving as he never had in his life, driven by a sense of desperation, knowing full well that it could be a matter of life or death, and that Bodie's life might well be at stake.
When he reached the area, he didn't stop in the usual car-park, but shot wildly across the sloping lawns towards the far end where he'd found Francine's house-boat.
It wasn't there !
He looked towards the river. There it was, well out in the middle of the reach, and already settling low in the water, which was almost up to deck-level.
Stopping only to shed his jacket, gun and shoes, he made a running dive into the water, and began a steady crawl out towards the sinking vessel.
When he reached it, he climbed aboard very carefully, so as not to upset the balance of the now low-lying craft.
He peered down the hatch, calling his mate's name loudly.
"Here," came an answering shout.
Carefully, Doyle climbed down through the hatch, into the dimly-lit water. As his feet contacted the floor level, the water was up to his shoulders. Only a small air-pocket remained between the ceiling and the murky water, and that would soon go as the river water reached the deck level.
There was very little light, but, as he called again, and got an answering shout, he could just make out a dim shape on the far side of the room. He moved carefully across, trying not to make un-settling waves, and found Bodie, barely head and shoulders above water.
He grabbed hold of him, and tried to pull him towards the only bit of light, the open hatchway.
"No," yelled Bodie, "My feet are tied to a floor ring."
Doyle pulled his fancy pen-knife out of his jeans pocket, opened it, then, taking a deep breath, he went down, feeling his way down his mate's legs in the dark depths. By touch alone, he found the pinioning ropes, and sawed savagely at them. He knew he'd succeeded when he felt Bodie lift in the water.
He surfaced, gasping, and pushed his friend quickly towards the hatchway. As soon as Bodie's feet found the ladder, he began to help himself by pushing upwards on the steps. Doyle helped by pushing him, and as soon as he could, cut through the ropes round Bodie's wrists. With his hands free, Bodie quickly ascended the rest of the companionway, emerging into the open air, with Doyle close behind him.
They were only just in time, for their movements had rocked the craft, and now the water was coming over the deck edge, and shooting down the open hatch. With a final gurgle, the house-boat sank beneath them, and they both struck out firmly for the shore.
Murphy's car was alongside Doyle's now, and his hands and others helped to drag the two ashore. They collapsed onto the smooth grass, panting heavily. Having checked that they were both only temporarily exhausted, but otherwise all right, Murphy moved over to meet Cowley's car, which had just pulled into the car-park.
Bodie turned towards the bedraggled figure lying close to him, and complained bitterly.
"I've ruined this suit," he grumbled. "And it's only hired ! I won't get my deposit back !"
Murphy, who had almost reached Cowley's car, turned, startled by the loud burst of laughter from the group down by the river bank.
What on earth had caused such amusement ?
These special men, who lived so close to disaster, had narrowly escaped an unpleasant death, yet they still had strength of spirit enough to find something to laugh about. They really were astonishing !