Up in Arms.
Bodie and Doyle were on their way to meet Bodie's friend Martel, to return to him the American 180 laser gun, which he had found for them, just in time to rescue Doyle from Preston's murderous intentions.
On Martel's insistence they had arranged to meet in the middle of a large patch of common land, where they would be neither overlooked nor overheard.
Martel's big car was already there, so Bodie pulled neatly in close beside it. Together, he and Martel got out of their cars, moved to the rear, and opened up the boots of their vehicles. A long cloth-wrapped bundle was swiftly transferred from Bodie's to Martel's. Martel twisted the key, quickly re-locking the boot, and turned to Bodie.
"Am I glad to get that back !," he said, with a look of relief on his face.
"Our boss was curious to know how you managed to get hold of it." said Bodie. His friend grinned at him.
"As if I'm going to tell you," he replied, "Any more than you'll tell me where Cowley got his."
"It isn't on the open market, then ?," queried Bodie.
"No way," retorted Martel. "It was on loan, and it's going back to where it belongs pretty quickly. It'll be in America by the weekend."
Then he decided to be a bit more informative.
"No," he said, "Truth is, that though it's a brilliant weapon, as you have found out, it is, at present, far too expensive. To my knowledge, there are only four of them in existence. One in America , this one going back there, the one Cowley has, and one somewhere in the Middle East."
"Some super-rich sheikh, I expect," added Doyle, who had joined them.
"Probably," agreed Martel. "But there won't be any more of them about for a while. The manufacturers are working hard at getting the cost down, but it's going to take some time."
"The longer, the better," said Doyle. "Things are difficult enough without too many of them about."
Bodie then suggested that they all go for a drink, but his friend declined.
"Another time, Bodie," he said amiably enough, "Things to do."
He patted the boot of his big black car. "I want to get this off my hands and on its way as soon as I can."
So the pair thanked him again with a final handshake, and watched him climb into his vehicle, and drive bumpily away across the grass.
"We'd better report to the boss," said Doyle. "Tell him what Martel just told us. He'll find it interesting."
"Unless he already knows," added Bodie. "Nothing much gets past him."
They climbed back into their own car, and returned to base, asking to speak to Cowley. They told him all that Martel had revealed.
"It's good we won't have to worry about that 'nasty beast' for a while," said Bodie. "Only four of them, two in America …."
"Three," interrupted Cowley, "Our one is already on its way back."
"That only leaves the one in the Middle East," commented Doyle.
"And that doesn't concern us," said Cowley firmly. "Interpol know where it is, and they are keeping an eye on it. So we can get on with other work."
"And there's always plenty of that," said Bodie, earning himself a fierce glare from his boss.
They had a busy time for a while after that, with a great many enquiries to be made They also were involved in a couple of stake-outs, which Bodie hated, although the second was less boring than the first. The house they were watching had several interesting visitors, most of whom they could identify as heavily involved in the drugs trade. They took copious photos and added names to most of them.
Quite pleased with their success this time, they carried the information back to H.Q. and wrote up their reports. These they handed in to Cowley's secretary, who had warned them not to interrupt their boss, as he had several important phone calls to make.
They retired to the rest room, and Bodie immediately stuck the kettle on, while Doyle set out two mugs, and got the milk from the 'fridge. Even for such a simple task, they co-operated easily, without the need for words.
Tea was quickly made, but they had hardly sat down to enjoy it, when a stentorian voice echoed along the corridor.
"Bodie, Doyle !," came Cowley's demanding summons.
Exchanging a grimace, the pair put their mugs down and hurried along to the boss's office.
"I'll read your reports later," Cowley began, "but something else has come to my notice."
He picked up a sheet of paper from the pile on his desk, and turned to Bodie.
"Have you heard from your friend, Martel lately ?," he demanded.
"Not for a while," admitted Bodie, "but he's been away on holiday in Spain. Gets back today, I think."
"Then you had better contact him tomorrow," ordered Cowley, "Before he calls you. Find out what he knows."
"Is there something happening ?," queried Doyle, sensing a degree of tension in Cowley's manner.
"Yes," replied his boss curtly, "There's someone new supplying small arms on the current market, and causing trouble, because he's under-cutting the legitimate traders."
"Marty won't like that," said Bodie, sotto voce, "not one bit."
"It's a bit of a puzzle," continued Cowley, "for the supply, as far as we can tell, doesn't seem to be coming in via the London docks."
"Britain does have other ports," exclaimed Bodie, "Southampton or Dover, for instance."
"Bristol or Liverpool," added Doyle, helpfully.
"Thank you, gentlemen," snapped Cowley, sarcastically, "I don't need a geography lesson !."
He handed the paper to Bodie. "See Martel first," he suggested, "Then see what you can do about finding some answers."
As they left, Doyle took the paper from his mate's hand, and scanned it quickly, before handing it back.
"Seems there's not the slightest hint," he said, "that the arms come in through London docks, though they are undoubtedly stored somewhere in London."
"They could come in by road from any of those other ports," commented Bodie, "and, goodness knows, London is absolutely swamped with derelict empty warehouses we know nothing about."
"It's a 'needle in a haystack' job, right enough," replied Doyle, pulling a face at his friend.
Their first step was to make a tour of all their various 'snouts' and informers, asking them to look out for any signs of activity in previously deserted warehouses.
Bodie managed to arrange a meeting mid-afternoon with his friend Martel. They joined him on the ferry, his usual choice of venue, and found a cross and agitated man. His fellow dealers had brought him up to date about the intruder who had come on the scene, and was fast endangering their businesses by under-cutting the prices of the arms he was offering on the market.
"I had a super holiday," complained Martel, "spoiled when I came back to this news."
"We've only just heard it too," said Doyle, "and we've put out 'feelers', but it's not going to be easy. We've got no leads at all as yet."
During the next few days little was learned in spite of extensive enquiries.
Doyle did get a response from one of his informants, telling him that, out walking his dog one evening, he had spotted lights and activity at an old, no longer used church building. But when the pair investigated, they found that it was a band of volunteers, staff from a nearby school, and parents, who had been given permission to convert the spacious ground floor into a space for a playgroup. So a lot of cleaning and decorating was going on, but no criminal activity.
Bodie and Doyle wished them well and left them to it. It was a good project which would be welcomed in the area.
Another report came in about two men, who had arrived in a big black car, and entered a derelict warehouse building. They had wandered about for a bit, making notes before leaving again. But when that was checked up on, it was found they were officials from the council, assessing the place as to the viability of having considerable work done, to set up a 'drop-in centre', and a soup kitchen, to be run by people from a local church. It was to be hoped that this would happen; it would be a real asset in that particular poverty-stricken area.
Both were good projects, full of interest for local people, but no help at all to the enquiring C.I.5 agents. So all across London their efforts continued with little result.
Sitting in their car, comparing notes, after another frustrating morning of fruitless enquiries, Bodie and Doyle were just considering whether they could spare a few moments to grab a cup of coffee somewhere, when the car-phone suddenly shrilled.
Doyle picked up the phone, acknowledging the call. It was Cowley, and his voice was urgent.
"Doyle," he barked, "Is Bodie with you ?."
"Yes, sir," replied Doyle.
"Right," said his boss, "Both of you drop what you're doing, collect your overnight bags and get here as fast as you can !."
The connection snapped off without further explanation. Doyle exchanged a puzzled look with his partner, as he obeyed the brusque orders, shooting the car into gear, and making tracks back towards the nearest of their respective flats.
"Wonder what's come up ?," said Bodie.
"Let's grab our gear, and find out." replied Doyle.
They made pretty good time back to Headquarters, hurried up the stairs and along to Cowley's office, knocking and entering quickly.
Cowley was poring over a map spread out on his desk. Barely acknowledging their arrival, he pointed to a spot near the middle of the map.
"There's been a very serious accident up here on the M6," he began. "A big lorry which skidded, overturned and took out several cars. Five fatalities, including the driver of the lorry. Grab a suitable car from the pool and get up there fast,"
Not intending to question the fiercely snapped out orders, Bodie did feel impelled to raise a query.
"A traffic accident, sir ?," he said, puzzled. This wasn't usually their scene. RTAs were surely police business.
"It's not the accident I want you to investigate," snapped Cowley, "It's the lorry and its contents. It was full of guns, a large load of small arms."
Bodie and Doyle caught on immediately. This could just be the break they were looking for, and they re-acted quickly.
Bodie shot off to choose a suitable fast car from the pool, taking both their bags with him. Doyle looked closely at the map to be sure of the exact location they would be making for. Very soon they were on their way, heading for the M1.
"Directions ?," queried Bodie, as he drove the big car he had collected from the pool out of the yard and into London's busy traffic.
"North," replied Doyle instantly, reaching into the glove compartment for the map they had collected. "From Cowley's map, the accident is roughly between Stoke and Wolverhampton. But if it's as bad as he described it, we'll find it soon enough."
At that moment the radio-phone 'beeped'. Doyle quickly grabbed the receiver, guessing correctly that it would be their boss. He was right.
"The police have managed to get one controlled lane open," said Cowley, "and they are gradually filtering away the traffic congestion. When you get to the M1/ M6 junction, they'll pick you up and escort you in."
"That'll be fun," muttered Bodie sarcastically. But Cowley had heard him.
"Bodie !," he snapped, "Complete co-operation with the police. Understand ?,"
"Of course, sir," replied Bodie meekly. He'd learned from experience that it didn't do to upset their fiery Scottish boss.
And in the event it worked very well. After several hours easy driving they came to the designated junction. As they slowed to a halt, they could see a police car with its blue light flashing making its way towards them, organizing the traffic as it came.
One officer emerged from the car and came up to them, checking their I.D.s, while the other swung the car through a neat three-point turn, ready to lead them back. The controlled traffic was temporarily halted and they were led through with a flashing light and a wailing siren to proceed the wrong way up the M6 towards the accident site.
This performance rather amused Bodie but he controlled his expression carefully.
As they got nearer it was evident that Cowley had not exaggerated when he had called it a 'bad accident'. Although several hours had elapsed it was still a scene of considerable chaos.
The fallen lorry, a large-bodied vehicle, lay sprawled on its side across the highway, surrounded first by the mangled vehicles it had taken out in its fall, and beyond by dozens of cars and lorries, unable to stop in time, that had ploughed into them, adding to the carnage.
The scene was coloured by the vivid red of several fire-engines. The firemen had done sterling work, dealing with the number of vehicles that had exploded into flames, and cutting free those trapped in their cars.
Ambulances had been back and forth, ferrying the casualties to different hospitals in the area. Only one of those remained, in case anyone else was found in need of help.
As the police car led Bodie and Doyle towards the wreckage they could see the movement of a large crane in action. It had taken a while to arrive on the scene, having come all the way from the docks at Liverpool. But the driver had worked tirelessly, shifting badly damaged vehicles so that the police could get a lane open to disperse the huge traffic jam that had built up.
The driver was now easing his big piece of machinery into position so that he could attempt the mammoth task of righting the fallen lorry.
The officers in the police car led and directed Bodie to a suitable place. He parked the big car neatly and the pair climbed out.
A senior police officer was now approaching, and introduced himself as Inspector Sanderson. Doyle remembered Cowley's annoyed words directed at Bodie before they had left. So pulling out his I.D. card, he stepped in front of his partner, and responded in a respectful manner.
"You've had a very difficult job here, sir," he said.
"Indeed we have," replied the officer, "and there's still a lot to deal with."
"Where there many casualties ?," asked Doyle, looking with some concern at the number of wrecked cars.
"Surprisingly, only five fatalities," was the reply, "including the lorry driver. Though there were many serious injuries, so that figure may rise."
"I'd like to have a look at the lorry driver," said Doyle, "There's an off chance we might recognise him."
"I'll arrange that for you," said the inspector and had a quick word with the constable standing by, who hurried off.
Bodie had now moved up to stand by Doyle, so he addressed them both. "But as I understand it," he said, "your concern is with the lorry and its contents. I can give you very little information. We've tried to check who owns it and where it's from, but it's all negative. The number plates are false, and there is nothing on the lorry or in the cab to identify it. And the driver is the same, there's not a shred of identification on him."
He smiled at them almost apologetically. "Not very helpful, I'm afraid." he said.
"On the contrary," replied Doyle, "It just confirms that it could be part of what we are looking for, some illegal gun-running."
At this point, the constable returned, and spoke to his superior. Inspector Sanderson turned to Doyle and Bodie. "If you'd like a look at the driver," he said, "Constable Jenkins will show you where."
The young policeman led the pair to a grassy bank on the edge of the hard shoulder. A make-shift tent had been erected, giving a little privacy to the five black plastic body-bags neatly laid in a row inside. He pointed to the nearest one. Doyle reached out and gently un-zipped the bag, bringing the face into view. He looked very carefully at it, as did Bodie, leaning over his shoulder, but the man was not familiar to them. Doyle re-zipped the bag, and let the constable lead them back to Inspector Sanderson.
"No help, I'm afraid," reported Doyle, "Didn't recognise him. But it was a bit of a long shot."
As they were talking, the inspector was leading them nearer to the fallen vehicle, weaving a path through the wrecked cars.
"Oh," exclaimed Bodie, "the Army's here !."
A small army jeep had just come into view beyond the lorry, with two army officers standing beside it, and close by, two armed soldiers stood on guard, close to the fallen vehicle and its unexpected load.
"Yes," explained the inspector, "as soon as we found what was in the lorry, the army were called in, as being the best people to take charge of it."
Doyle let his partner take the lead this time as the two army officers moved towards them. They had a quick look at the I.D.s shown to them, and introduced themselves as Captain Graham, and Lieutenant Forbes.
"We were called in as soon as the police discovered what the lorry was carrying," began the Captain, "to take charge, in the interests of public safety. I now understand that it is dodgy gear, which is why you've come to have a look."
"That's about it," confirmed Bodie.
"My men have had a look at the lorry," the officer went on, "They are engineers, and they think that when they do a little work on the damage that disabled it when it fell, it will be driveable."
"If the crane driver can get it upright," commented Doyle.
"Oh I'm confident he'll manage that," said Forbes. "We've watched him dealing with all those wrecked cars, and he's very efficient."
"Let's stand back a bit," suggested the Captain, "and give him room to work."
All four retreated to a safe distance, and watched with a degree of fascination as the driver got to work. It could be that he had done something similar before, for he seemed to know exactly where to place his sturdy chains.
Standing beside the Captain, with whom he felt quite at ease, Bodie ventured a comment, something that was on his mind. "It's on the cards," he said, "that those who purport to own these arms, may now know what has happened."
"And will try to get them back," said the officer, following Bodie's lead. "Yes, the police thought of that. So, if the lorry is mobile, they are going to give us a police escort out to our camp, it's only seven miles away. Once we've got it safely in there, we'll immobilise it, and set up a twenty-four hour guard on it."
"We need to come along," added Bodie quickly.
"Of course," said the Captain. "We can easily give you accommodation and then you can examine it at your leisure. I'd quite like a look myself as I hear it's some of the newest American stuff."
The crane driver was now back in his cab. All four watched as the crane's long chain, hooked into those on the lorry, gradually tautened. Then slowly, very slowly, the lorry rose from its fallen position, and settled back up on its driver held it steady for a moment before slackening off the hook chain, and climbing down to release the others. A spontaneous cheer came from some of the watching police and firemen.
The soldiers who had been standing guard stowed their guns in the back of the 'jeep', and climbed up into the cab of the lorry. The onlookers could not see what they were doing. But after a few moments, they heard a sudden sound, as the lorry's engine coughed into life. Engineers know what they're doing !
A few minutes later, a motor-cade left the scene, rather a strange one. A police car led the way, followed by a small army jeep, a large lorry, a big black car and a final police car !
The journey was not a long one, so very few people even noticed it. The steel fence surrounding the army camp soon came into view. The leading police car drew to a halt just past the big gates. The man on duty in the gate-house, forewarned by his Captain, stepped out smartly to swing up the barrier. The jeep, the lorry and the black car swept through, and the barrier was lowered behind them. Each vehicle was quickly directed to an assigned parking space and neatly positioned.
The two soldiers descended from the cab of the lorry. One immediately went round and lifted the engine cover, reaching in to extract something. Then both came to where their senior officers, joined by Bodie and Doyle were standing. One handed the keys and a small piece of equipment to the Captain.
"That goes straight into my safe," he told the C.I.5 men. "That lorry won't be going anywhere in a hurry."
He stepped to one side to hold a brief consultation with a sergeant who had approached him, then turned back to the waiting pair. "You're in luck," he said cheerily, "We're understaffed at the moment, so we can offer you accommodation in the junior officers' wing. If you'll get your bags, Sergeant Wilson will take you there."
He was being so friendly and helpful that Bodie ventured a request. "Sir," he said, "Could we possibly get something to eat ? We missed out on lunch."
"Of course, no problem," replied the Captain. "Sergeant, after you've settled them in, bring them across to the mess, and I'll have a word with the kitchen."
Bodie and Doyle collected their bags, and followed the sergeant. They were pleased to find they had been given two separate rooms, small but comfortable, linked by a shared bathroom.
Bodie grinned. "This is a sight better than some billets I've had," he said happily.
"We're here to work, not to enjoy ourselves," said Doyle. Actually he was feeling a bit unsettled by the easy way his partner was fitting into the army scene.
"Grumpy, aren't you ?," said Bodie. "I expect you're hungry, like me. Let's go and see if they've found us something."
They followed the sergeant back to the mess hall. They found the two army officers already there, enjoying a coffee. They gestured to them to join them and indicated more coffees and a large plateful of sandwiches awaiting the pair.
"That should keep you going till dinner," said the Captain, cheerfully, "You'll join us, of course." They thanked him for his hospitality, and tucked in.
While they were sitting there various other officers came in, seeking coffees.
One in particular took a second look at his Captain's guests and came over to where they were sitting. "Bodie ?," he said tentatively.
He answered the questioning looks directed at him from the seated group. "We met, many years ago," he explained, "at the start of a training session. He stayed, but I didn't. I decided I preferred Engineering and stayed with the regular army. But I heard you did well, Bodie. Paras and then the SAS, didn't you ?"
"Yes," said Bodie, "I do remember you. Milton, isn't it ?."
The Captain looked impressed as the pair started to chat. He turned to Doyle. "You a military man too ?," he asked.
"No, sir," replied Doyle. "I'm from the police, years in the Met."
"That's interesting" commented the Captain, "I've a cousin in the Met., based in Lewisham at the moment. That's how I know a bit about C.I.5."
"Sir," said Doyle, "I need access to a telephone to report to my boss."
"Of course," said the obliging man. "Come to my office."
He led Doyle to a small neat office, showed him how to get an outside line, and left to give him privacy.
Doyle was rather pleased to find, when he got through, that Cowley had gone out to a meeting, and so he was able to dictate his report to Betty, to be passed on when his boss returned.
His report was fairly brief. The police had found no identification on either the lorry or the dead driver. He and Bodie had looked at the man, but he wasn't known to them. Fingerprints and police records might reveal something later. Then he reported that they were at the army camp, where the lorry was safely installed, immobilised and under armed guard. They would examine it and its contents in detail in the morning.
"That's about it, Betty," he said as he finished.
"Are the army putting you up ?," asked Betty.
"Yes," replied Doyle, "They're being very hospitable. And Bodie has met up with someone he once knew."
"I bet he's enjoying himself," commented Betty.
"Yes, he's quite at home," answered Doyle. And then, because he didn't want to reveal to the perceptive Betty that he was feeling a bit left out, for Bodie was practically ignoring him, he added a final word.
"Tell Cowley that Captain Graham sends his regards."
He returned to the mess room. Bodie was deep in conversation with a group of the officers now assembling, laughing and joking as if he'd known them for years. Pratt, thought Doyle. I'll have to remind him what we are here for.
But the friendly captain took over, introducing him to several officers and including him in the conversations. The time passed quite pleasantly until they all sat down to the evening meal. It was very good and both Doyle and Bodie enjoyed it.
Afterwards the officers dispersed in various directions, some to go out to the local town, some retired to their quarters, perhaps with some studying to for training sessions.
Others took advantage of the well set up games room. The two C.I.5 menwere invited to join them and enjoyed a pleasant evening.
Doyle managed to win a tight snooker game with Lieutenant Forbes, and Bodie exhibited considerable prowess when co-opted onto a darts team, helping them win a hard-fought competition.
When the bar opened, Bodie suddenly appeared beside his partner with two beers clutched in his hands."This is great, isn't it ?," he said cheerfully, handing Doyle one of the glasses, and sitting down beside him.
"Make the most of it," said Doyle. "It's back to work in the morning."
"I know that," said Bodie, "I'm looking forward to examining the guns in that lorry. I suspect there will be some interesting new items."
Ah well, thought Doyle, maybe his mind is still on the job.
As the evening wore on, numbers begin to dwindle as the officers retired. Doyle grabbed Bodie's arm as he came to the end of a game of darts. "Come on, mate," he said, "Let's grab the chance of a decent night."
For a moment Bodie hesitated. He was enjoying his evening with men of his own kind. Then he capitulated. The thought of a quiet night, even if alone, without the risk of an urgent phone-call interruption, was appealing.
He said "Good night," and followed his partner back to their comfortable quarters. It didn't take either of them long to be ready for bed and even less time for them both to doze off. They were so inured to grabbing a quick nap whenever they could.
Doyle had a moment's hesitation as he shed his gun and holster. In his flat he had a lockable cupboard, but this bedside cabinet had no such fastening. No real problem, though, he just tucked it under his pillow. He'd done that more than once, after all, though usually in less safe situations. He was hardly likely to need it, he chided himself. In the middle of an army camp ?
Doyle was not sure what had woken him. Some sound, no doubt. But he had no doubt about the sound that came next ! He'd heard enough gun shots in his life.
He shot out of bed, slipping his feet into his shoes. He zipped up his leather jacket over the track suit bottoms he was wearing, his chosen sleepwear. He grabbed his gun from under the pillow, and shot out to see what was going on.
As was to be expected of an army camp, the place was rapidly coming to life. Lights were coming on everywhere. Men were rapidly emerging from buildings, in various stages of dress, but responding alertly.
Doyle immediately encountered Captain Graham, clad in a greatcoat over some jazzily striped pyjamas.
"What's happening, sir," he asked.
"An attempt to steal the lorry, I think," the man responded. "Here's Sergeant Myers. He'll fill us in."
The stockily-built sergeant saluted his officer smartly and made his report.
"Corporal Jones and I were on guard duty round the lorry, sir," he began. "As it's a chilly night we were patrolling round the area, moving to keep warm. We met regularly on our rounds. Then he didn't come, when I expected him. I went to see why, and found him behind the lorry. He'd been knocked out, sir. Then I heard a sound from the cab of the lorry. Someone was trying to start it."
"I thought that was it," said the captain, "Go on, Myers."
"I moved round towards the cab" the sergeant continued, "There was one man up in there, and another trying to open the engine cover. I challenged him, but he swung round and threw a spanner at me." He indicated a bleeding cut on his forehead.
"Then the one in the cab jumped down, and he was holding a gun. I backed off, he was too close. The pair edged round the lorry bonnet to the other side and then bolted. I loosed off a shot to raise the alarm, but they were well away. I'm sorry I couldn't stop them, sir."
"You did well, Myers," said Graham. "They can't have got far. We'll find them. Which way were they headed ?."
"Towards the back, past the kitchen block," replied Myers.
"Plenty of places to hide that way," said Graham, "but we'll smoke them out."
By this time there were a number of armed soldiers on the scene, and he began organizing them into a systematic search team. The group moved steadily towards the rear of the camp, checking carefully as they went. The lighting was a lot poorer this way, so it was taking time to check each possible hiding place
Graham had taken charge of Myers' rifle, sending him to get his cut seen to and to get help for his fallen comrade. He and Doyle were following the search party closely.
Suddenly there was a noisy clatter, and two indistinct shapes broke from the cover of a row of large bins, and bolted further into the darkness towards the rear. One turned and fired a wild shot towards the advancing men, temporarily halting them.
Almost instinctively, Doyle stepped forward, took careful aim and fired ! He was rewarded by a loud yell, and the sound of someone stumbling and falling to the ground.
The searching soldiers moved forward rapidly. Doyle and Graham followed them.
"Here, sir," yelled one of the men.
The pair hurried forward, and came up to a couple of soldiers standing guard over a man sitting on the ground clutching his leg. The rest of the group were pushing on into the darkness beyond.
"You got one of them !," exclaimed Graham, "Good shot. Doyle."
Doyle didn't reply. He reached forward and pulled the ski-mask off the man's head. "I've a feeling I might have seen this one somewhere before," he said. "I'll check it out in the morning, in a better light."
Another sound broke the quiet of the dark night, a loud metallic clang !
A soldier dashed up to report to his superior. "The back gate, sir," he reported. "The padlock has been cut off." He looked to Graham for further orders.
"Do we pursue, sir ?," he asked
"No," said Graham decidedly, "Call the men off. If the man's gone out that way, he'll have a car somewhere handy and he'll be well away."
Firmly in charge now, Graham issued his orders. He turned to Forbes, who was now at his side.
"Put a guard on the gate, and send someone for a replacement padlock. Get this man to be seen to by medics, and then put under lock and key. Stand the rest of the men down. Everything else can wait till the morning."
By this time, Bodie had joined the group. Having had several more beers that evening than his partner, he had slept more heavily, and had only been roused by the lights coming on everywhere.
When he'd gone through to Ray's room, and found he wasn't there, he'd dressed hurriedly, pulling on trousers and a polo- necked jumper. He'd rushed out to see what was going on, though by this time it was all over.
Luckily he had run into Milton, who quickly brought him up to date. The man was quite excited. The events of the night had been livelier than the camp's usual routine.
"That was a lucky shot your mate had, wasn't it ?," he gabbled . "He got one of them."
"Luck had nothing to do with it," said Bodie.
"What do you mean ?," said Milton. "At that distance, and in that poor light, he could have missed completely, or just as easily have killed him."
"No way,!," exclaimed Bodie, proud of his partner's skill. "If Ray had wanted him dead, he'd be dead. Ray's our top A1 marksman. None of us can match him, and, goodness knows, I've tried."
Milton was suitably impressed, much to Bodie's satisfaction."He's that good ?" he said, admiringly.
"He's that good," confirmed Bodie.
By now the roused camp was beginning to settle down again. Those not involved in carrying out orders were gratefully retuning to their warm beds, hoping to catch a bit more sleep before 'Reveille' woke them again.
Bodie went to join Doyle. "Been having fun and games, then ?," he greeted him cheerfully.
"You were a bit slow, weren't you ?," Doyle chided his partner.
"Sorry about that," said Bodie, "I must have been well asleep."
"Well, I'll tell you what happened," said Doyle," and you can do the report to Cowley in the morning."
"Bold lot, though," commented Bodie, "Breaking into and army camp. They must really want those arms back."
"Well, they are worth a lot of money," said Doyle, as he followed his mate back to their rooms. "We'll have a closer look at them in the morning."
Naturally, at breakfast next morning the talk was all about the night's events. Doyle got one or two speculative looks, for Milton was an inveterate gossip, and had passed on what Bodie had told him. But he didn't take any notice as his mind was fixed on planning their next moves.
Graham greeted him cheerfully. "Well," he said, "We did think they might make an attempt to recover the lorry. Breaking in via the back gate was clever, for it's never used. But even if they had got the lorry started they wouldn't have got anywhere. We only use the swing barrier at the gate during the day. At night the big gates are closed and locked. And the gatehouse is manned 24/7 anyway."
He greeted Bodie, who had now joined them and was tucking into breakfast with enthusiasm. "What are your plans for today ?," he asked. Doyle replied for them both.
"First," he said, "we'll examine the lorry and its contents. Bodie wants a good look at the guns, that's his field."
Bodie, with a mouth full of cereal, just nodded and grinned.
"Then," continued Doyle, "I want a word with the one we caught. I've a feeling I know him from somewhere. If I can identify him, it might lead us to who is behind the whole business."
"Then we'll report to the boss," Bodie chipped in "and get further orders."
Graham nodded. These men knew what they were doing. He'd heard a bit about C.I.5 from his cousin in London, about the kind of work the organization did, but having now met a couple of agents, he was even more impressed.
Breakfast over, the pair went out to the lorry, still watched over by armed guards. As they went Bodie commented on something that had puzzled him.
"I don't understand," he said, "why the lorry wasn't better secured." The vehicle had only a slot and bar fastening, which was why the police had found out about its contents so quickly, and called in the army.
"Yes, it is a bit odd," agreed Doyle, "but there could be several reasons for it being like that."
"Such as ?," queried Bodie.
"Well," replied his mate, "they might have thought that a simple-looking lorry was less conspicuous,"
"Possible," mused Bodie, "but are they that clever ?."
"Or it could be the only vehicle they have," said Doyle.
Together they lifted the heavy bar from its socket and climbed up into the back. Bodie set to work immediately, checking and listing the stencilled marks on the piled crates. His knowledge in this field was extensive.
"Some good stuff here," he reported excitedly. "Some of it is the very latest on the market and pretty pricey too."
"No wonder they made an attempt to get it back," said Doyle. "But it was a bit amateurish, don't you think ?."
Bodie stopped what he was doing, and gave his partner a quizzical look.
"What's on your mind, sunshine ?," he asked. He knew his partner too well. Doyle has evidently had one of his ideas and they were usually interesting.
"The lorry had evidently come from Liverpool, on its way south," he said thoughtfully. "And I think that's where the recovery attempt came from."
"So ?," queried Bodie, trying to follow his friend's train of thought.
"Well, maybe the brains of the outfit are based down in London," he mused, "and the one we've caught is very small fry."
Bodie considered the idea, and offered his advice. "Have a go at him next," he said, "and see if you can get anything out of him."
"I will," said Doyle, "and I'll try to recall where I've seen him before."
Bodie completed his list, and they climbed down and replaced the bar in its slot, leaving the vehicle in the charge of the armed guards.
They made their way to where last night's intruder was being held. Doyle asked to speak to the medic who had treated him. The man's report was short and succinct. "The injury is not serious. It has been cleaned and treated and should heal normally, with continued care. The patient was surly and un-co-operative, but not in any distress."
Next they were conducted to the room where the man was being held under guard. As Bodie and Doyle took seats at the table opposite him, he scowled at them and then deliberately averted his gaze.
"I'm not saying anything," he snarled.
Doyle deliberately adopted a mild, almost friendly manner."Answers to a few questions would be a help," he said.
"Why should I help you ?," snapped the man, "You shot me !."
"You were up to no good," replied Doyle, "Trying to steal our lorry."
"It's not your lorry," the man retorted.
"Whose is it then ?," asked Doyle craftily.
The man almost replied, but stopped short, and let out a cackle of laughter. "Thought you'd catch me out ?," he said. "Do you think I'm stupid ?."
"Yes," said Bodie. Doyle glared at him, for the un-necessary remark had annoyed the man. He resumed his surly attitude, and refused to say another word. After a few more attempts, Doyle gave up, and returned the man to the charge of the soldier guarding him. He left, with Bodie trailing behind him. When they got outside he turned on his mate angrily.
"Well, you were a lot of help, weren't you ?," he snapped.
"Sorry," said Bodie, "but I don't think he would have told you anything anyway. I expect Cowley will say take him back with us, and let the experts have a go.
"Well, you can go and report to him," said Doyle. "I reckon we're finished here. I'm going to pack my things."
"Do mine, will you, please ?," asked Bodie. "It's only toiletries, I think."
They parted company. Doyle went back to their rooms and re-packed the few items they had taken out of their bags. It didn't take long. Bodie went off to find Captain Graham, to give him access to a phone so that he could contact Cowley.
Bodie had quite a long conversation with his boss, telling him first the events of the previous night, and then bringing him up to date on the day's investigations. As he had expected, Cowley's orders were to make the return journey straight away, bringing the captured man with them. The lorry would remain in the army's charge, until arrangements could be made to bring it to London securely.
Bodie went to find his partner to relay the orders. He found him just coming out of the building with both their bags.
"Home ?," he queried.
"Yes," said Bodie, relieved to see that his mate's annoyed mood seemed to have gone. In fact, he seemed quite pleased with himself.
"I've just remembered where I've encountered that man," he said.
"Do you remember the Rinaldi brothers ?," Doyle asked. "They ran guns in from Germany with a clever deception involving changing number-plates. But they had a legit export/import business with many drivers and only a few were involved in their actions."
"Yes," said Bodie, "and we questioned several of them. Are you saying he was one of them ?."
"You've got it, replied Doyle, "I think his name's Slater, Bill Slater."
"Interesting," said Bodie, "We can check him up on Records when we get back to base."
Doyle handed the bags to his partner. "If you put those in the car," he said, "I'll go and find Captain Graham and tell him we are about to leave."
"Hang on a minute," said Bodie urgently, "It's almost lunch-time. Couldn't we hang on a bit and go after that ?."
Doyle stared at his partner. "What is it with you ?," he demanded ?, "You got hollow legs or something ?. You're always thinking about food."
"Well, I've got a lot of up-keep," protested Bodie.
"If you're not careful, that up-keep will turn into over-weight," retorted Doyle.
But when he found Captain Graham, that hospitable man insisted that they should delay their departure until after the meal. Pressured, Doyle capitulated, and admitted, but only to himself, that the meal, in friendly company, was very enjoyable.
So, after having collected their prisoner, and stowed him safely in the back of the big car, with doors securely locked, it was early afternoon when they set off, waved through the barrier, and directed on how to join the main road south.
Slater made one attempt at a protest. "Why are you taking me to London ?," he demanded. "I live in Liverpool."
"Ah, yes," said Bodie, "that's where the lorry has been living, too, isn't it ? Now if you were to tell us all about that ?"
At this point, Slater only snarled and resumed his obstinate silence.
"I expect you'll tell them in London," said Bodie, "only I don't think you'll find them as friendly as us."
But Slater had nothing more to say, and scowled silently all the way.
The journey down was fortunately uneventful, so they arrived at C.I.5 in the early evening. They were met first by Murphy, who took charge of Slater, and had him whisked away to the Interrogation Centre.
Then they made their way to Cowley's office, and brought him up to date on all that had happened. He was pleased by the news that Doyle had finally managed to identify Slater.
"It is a start," he said, "Check him out in Records tomorrow, and look for any known associates. It might be helpful to pass a few names to the Liverpool police."
He picked up a folder from his desk. "We looked back at the Rinaldi case," he began. "He and Corsaro are still in prison, and will be for a while yet. I don't think this is anything to do with them. They got their supplies from Germany, but this new stuff is definitely from America.
But the legitimate side of the business has been taken over by a firm called Bennet and Williams. It is running smoothly bringing agricultural machinery and machine parts from Germany, and transporting them to the Middle East. We have found they re-employed most of the drivers, with the exception of four who had bad records. The Rinaldi's evidently were less particular."
"And I bet one of those was Slater," exclaimed Doyle with some excitement.
"Correct." said his boss.
"Maybe the dead driver is another one," suggested Bodie eagerly.
"That's your job for tomorrow," said Cowley. "Check out all four, and send mug-shots and details up to the Liverpool police. That might help them find some sort of base up there."
This proved to be a very good move, for within a couple of days, details of results came back. Three of the mug-shots had produced results, namely Slater, Morton, the dead driver, and one other called Stiles. The police had found the bed and breakfast where they had been staying, the local pub they frequented, and finally a small now deserted warehouse where the lorry had been seen. But no trace was found of the fourth one, a Phil Maloney.
Cowley showed the information to Bodie and Doyle.
"Are they getting anywhere with Slater ?," asked Bodie.
"Not yet," replied Cowley, "He's proving extremely un-helpful. But perhaps when we tell him the Liverpool base has been revealed, he may realise that their activities up there are at an end, and be more co-operative."
"Maybe we should be looking for Maloney in London ," suggested Bodie.
"Or not at all," said Doyle suddenly.
The other two looked at him in surprise.
"What do you mean ?," demanded Bodie.
"Well we've assumed that he's involved with them, but on no grounds at all," explained Doyle.
"That's true," said Cowley.
"I've looked at his file," Doyle went on. "Whether he's in with them or not, he hasn't the brains to be the leader of what they have been doing. Nor has the other man, Stiles. There is still someone else we don't know about."
"Seems probable," agreed Cowley. "So get out there and find him,"
The pair left to do just that, plus continuing their current search for a likely hiding place for the arms that had already made it to the city. There were several agents all engaged on the same task, but London is a very big place, and progress was slow. They needed another break-through.
"Where are we going to start, clever clogs ?," said Bodie as they hurried down to their cars.
"There's an address in Maloney's file for his sister, who lives in Lambeth," said Doyle. "If we visit her, we may find if he's involved or not."
It was a good move, though a negative result. They learned that Maloney had been involved in a road accident, damaging a leg so badly he could no longer drive. He had gone back to southern Ireland to help his uncle run a stud farm.
"Well, that's eliminated him," said Bodie, as they returned to their car. "We'd better let Cowley know as soon as possible, so that nobody wastes any more time on him."
"But it means there's still a mystery man that we know nothing about, who's the one organising offering his goods on the arms market," said Doyle thoughtfully.
"And the third man in Liverpool, Jim Stiles," added Bodie. "There's an APB out on him, both up there and down here too."
The much-needed break-through came in an unexpected way.
Bodie and Doyle had just come off-duty after a long morning of fruitless enquiries, and had retired to nearest pub for their break, seeking perhaps a coffee or a beer and a few minutes peace..
"I'm just going to the gents," said Bodie, "Then I'll get them in. Find us a nice quiet table, sunshine."
Doyle did so, and sank gratefully onto a corner bench seat closing his eyes for a moment. He came alert quickly as he sensed someone, not Bodie, coming to the table and relaxed again as he recognised one of his most useful informants.
"Mr. Doyle," the man began, rather urgently, "You're looking for Jim Stiles, aren't you ? He was in here a few minutes ago, looking for a public telephone. The landlord here hasn't got one, so he directed him to the one in Milton Street, just round the corner, and off he went."
Doyle was on his feet and making for the door instantly. "Tell Bodie," he yelled back at the man, as he pushed the door open and shot out.
He charged round the corner, hoping that the man he was after might still be in the red box he could see twenty yards down the street. He was just coming out, as Doyle rapidly closed the gap between them. But suddenly he turned, pulled out a gun and fired it.
Doyle knew he could hardly miss at that range, and threw himself wildly sideways. The bullet caught his upper arm, but the impetus of his action did more harm. He hit his head on a solid gatepost, and knocked himself out. He fell to the pavement in an untidy sprawl.
So he was not aware of Bodie's arrival close beside him. His quick glance took in the trickle of blood on his friend's forehead. But his main attention was for the man running away.
"Freeze !," he yelled, as he gave chase. The man did not stop, so Bodie, responding instinctively to his C.I.5 training, fired and the man fell. He would not get up.
He turned and hurried back. To his great relief, Doyle was stirring and trying to get up. Holstering his gun, he quickly extended a helping arm, steadying his still groggy mate till he found his feet.
"Did you kill him ?," asked Doyle, and Bodie nodded, temporarily bereft of words.
""Pity," said Doyle, "He might have told us something."
"I thought he'd killed you," said Bodie tersely. He produced a clean white handkerchief, and dabbed gently at the trickle of blood that had scared him. He also took a quick look at the wound on Doyle's upper arm, and was relieved to see it was not deep.
"Come on," he said quietly, "Let's get this reported and you patched up."
Keeping one supporting hand on Doyle's uninjured arm, he led him back to the car. He eased him into the front seat, made a short call on the car phone, arranging for a back-up team to come and deal with the body, and then drove swiftly back to base. He handed his mate over to their own medic, and hurried up to report to his boss.
Cowley received the news with a thoughtful expression, and made a decision. "I think it's time to give Slater another visit," he said.
He phoned ahead, and when he and Bodie arrived at the Interrogation Centre, Slater was already ensconced in a briefing room. He looked up warily as the two men entered, recognised Bodie, and scowled fiercely.
Cowley slid into the seat opposite Slater, and regarded him in a friendly manner. "I think it's time we had a little talk," he began amiably. "Now, I don't think you are a stupid man, Slater."
"He does !," snarled Slater, scowling at Bodie.
Cowley ignored the interruption, and continued gently."I really think you have the sense to see that your present caper is well and truly over. Morrison, the lorry driver, is dead. You failed in your attempt to take back the lorry and its cargo. And now, Stiles is dead, too, trying to kill one of my men."
He made a significant pause, allowing all this to sink into Slater's mind. Then he went on quietly. "So it would make sense for you to answer a few questions, wouldn't it ?" he added persuasively. "For instance, where were you going to take the lorry, if you'd managed to steal it back ?."
The watching pair could almost see the thoughts going round in Slater's head as he considered his situation. Suddenly, he capitulated.
"Wantage House," he said sullenly.
The name meant nothing to Bodie, but Cowley's experience was wider and longer.
"Ah," he said softly, "and have you taken stuff there before ?"
Slater nodded.
"So if we go there, we are likely to find something to interest us ?."
"Yes," said Slater in a surly tone. "You'll find it all, in the cellar."
Cowley got to his feet, ready to leave. "Slater," he said, "I'm going to send a nice man, Murphy in to talk to you. I suggest you tell him everything. He's a good listener, and he'll write it all down for you to sign."Slater scowled, but made no protest. Cowley was right, it was over.
Cowley led Bodie back to his office. They found Doyle waiting by the door, the only sign of what had happened, a plaster decorating his forehead, and a tear in the shoulder of his jacket.
"How's your arm ?," Bodie enquired, as they followed their boss into his office.
"Not a problem," replied Doyle, "Only a scratch." Bodie thought it was a bit more than that, but didn't push it.
Motioning them to a seat, Cowley went over to a filing cabinet to search for a particular file. Bodie took the chance to tell his partner what Slater had said. Cowley found the file he was after and brought it back to his desk.
"Wantage House," he began, "in Essex, not far from Braintree. It's a very large old manor house, set in extensive grounds. Many years ago, it was the home of an eccentric American billionaire, one Ephraim Wantage. He was crazy about vintage cars, and kept a large collection of them there, having garages built in the grounds to house them all. People came from all over the world to see them."
"I've read about that," said Doyle, " What happened to it ?."
"When the old man died, his eldest son, Jeremiah inherited it all. But he wasn't in the least interested in cars, and sold the whole collection. He did give several very elaborate parties there, but the family never lived in the place. Money was left in trust to keep it in good repair, but it's been standing empty for years. From time to time various family members have paid short visits for holidays, but none of them stay long. It's a rather bleak old-fashioned place."
"Who owns it now ?," asked Doyle.
"One of Ephraim's grandsons, I should think," replied his boss. Ephraim only one son, Jeremiah, but he had several sons and the family is quite an extensive one now."
"Are any of them in the arms business ?," asked Bodie.
Cowley indicated the folder in his hand. "We had no reason to keep tabs on them, so this is not detailed. Ephraim made his money in mining, but the family were all into big business. It extended into many fields, so they may well be involved now. I'll have checks made. And I'll find out if any of the family have come over here recently."
He put the folder down on his desk. Then he noticed that Doyle was slumped in his seat, and was surreptitiously rubbing his arm.
"Doyle, is your injury bothering you ?," he demanded. Startled by the brusque tone, Doyle sat up sharply and winced as he did so.
"Just a little, sir," he admitted reluctantly, knowing better than to lie to his fierce Scottish boss.
"Go home, take some pain killers, and get some rest," ordered Cowley. "After I've made a few more checks, we may see some action tomorrow, and you'll want to be in on it, I'm sure."
Glad to obey, for he was feeling a little weary, Doyle followed his partner from the room, and was glad to accept his offer to run him home. A good night's rest was all he needed.
"It looks as if we might be close to closing this case," said Bodie cheerfully, as he escorted his friend down to the car. "Marty will be very relieved won't ?."
The following morning, Cowley held a briefing session to a selected group of his agents, including Bodie and Doyle, who was feeling much more himself after a quiet night's rest.
"I started a twenty-four hour surveillance of Wantage House," he began. "First reports say the place shows no sign of anyone living there. The grounds are extensive so they were able to look around. In one old garage they found another lorry, similar to the one we hold, but its number plates were also false, so it wasn't much help."
He paused and picked up a neatly-typed paper, Slater's statement. "Slater says there have been three successful deliveries, so there is a lot stored in the cellars of the place. We could easily enter and confiscate that, but I am more interested in catching the man responsible, the villain who is trying to sell his illegal wares."
A murmur of agreement ran round the room. That was the more important aim.
"Slater could tell us very little about him," he continued, "He contacted them by phone, sent them money in the post and directed them up to Liverpool, to the 'digs' he had arranged for them. Again by phone, they received orders to collect designated crates from Liverpool docks, and ferry them down to the isolated house. That was the only time they actually saw him. But deliveries were always made at night. He paid them then, but he was secretive. He wore a dark hat and coat, and kept himself in the shadows. Slater swears he couldn't identify him, and he never gave them a name."
He paused and looked round the attentive group."Gentlemen," he said, "I think we need to rectify that and find him !"
He was pleased with the resulting murmurs of interest and approval and went on to outline his plans. "I'll increase the surveillance team, to watch closely night and day. As soon as anyone is spotted going in, they'll call, and then move to block the exit. Bodie and Doyle will form a standby team ready to go in at short notice."
Bodie and Doyle nodded acceptance and began to plan. "If necessary, they'll block him in till we get there," said Bodie, his face alight with his eagerness for action.
The briefing ended there, and the agents departed to set up the details of their boss's strategic plan.
As it meant hanging around at Headquarters, Bodie and Doyle spent the time finding out more about the Wantage family. It was interesting. Ephraim had married and produced just the one son, before he succumbed to his obsession with vintage cars. From then on he took little interest in the boy, Jeremiah, who was brought up in America by his mother. Perhaps to compensate for his lonely childhood, Jeremiah had married early and had produced a large family, four sons and two daughters. All of these had married and copied their father in having large families, so the Wantage hierarchy had rapidly increased in numbers.
And it had become a very successful and profitable family, with interests in many fields of business, including, they were pleased to find, a growing munitions factory supplying the military.
"That's a connection, isn't it," said Bodie happily.
Fortunately, for patience was a virtue that many agents, including Bodie, did not possess, they did not have to wait for days. That very evening, just as the October evening dusk was setting in, the call they were hoping for came in.
Cowley came straight to find Bodie and Doyle. "On your way," he ordered, "A car has just driven in, only one occupant." The pair jumped up immediately, ready to go.
"I'm coming with you," said Cowley, suddenly. Snatching his hat and coat from the rack, he followed them out.
If Bodie and Doyle were surprised, they hid it well. Cowley rarely went out into the field, being kept very busy with what he did best, planning, organizing and delegating. But having learnt from experience, they knew better than to question a Cowley decision. All three piled into Bodie's Capri, which he had purposely left parked close to the door to the yard, and he quickly set off into the darkening night.
Relegated to the back, Doyle took the opportunity to sit back and rest his arm, which was paining him again. Unfortunately, hurrying to scramble into the back, he had knocked it against the door, and he rather feared he had done the injury some harm. But he said nothing. Now that there was to be some action, he would cope.
Bodie drove rapidly, exceeding the speed limit when it was safe to do so, and so he made good time through the Essex roads, obeying his boss's orders as he studied the map and navigated their journey.
They reached their destination, and spotted Anson's car parked just short of the large gateposts marking the entrance to Wantage House. Bodie pulled in behind the car, as they saw Anson emerge and come towards them. Cowley opened the window to hear his agent's report.
"He hasn't come out, sir," said Anson, "and no-one else has gone in."
"Good," replied Cowley, "Who's with you Anson ?," he asked.
"Simpson, sir," was the reply.
"It's quite a long driveway, as I remember," said Cowley, "So I think we can safely drive in and block his car."
Anson returned to his vehicle, and quietly, in low gear, and with dimmed lights, the two cars crept into the grounds of the large building and parked either side of the vehicle already there.
There were no lights visible in the front of the house. They waited for a few moments to see if there were any signs that their arrival had been noticed, but nothing happened to suggest this.
Following Cowley's lead all five men emerged from their vehicles. Cowley moved forward a few steps to survey the entrance with its big oak door. He turned back to his men.
"Bodie," he ordered, "take Anson, go round the back and see if you can find a door somewhat easier to open." The two men quickly disappeared into the darkness.
Doyle and Simpson took up their stances beside their boss, waiting alertly for his next orders. He turned to them with a slight smile on his face.
"We, gentlemen," he said, "will try it the easy way."
And he reached out and pulled the heavy door-bell chain. All three listened as they heard the resulting sound echoing within. Two of them were extra alert, with hands tucked into their jackets.
For a while nothing happened. Then they heard the sound of a bolt being drawn, and the big door began to swing open, throwing a shaft of light out into the night.
Cowley moved forward, pushing hard on the door, driving back the man opening it and allowing him, closely followed by the other two, to step into the large hall beyond.
"Good evening," he said amiably.
Startled, as well he might be, the fair-haired young man facing him took a step back. Cowley matched him, moving forward to allow Doyle and Simpson to follow, and push the door shut behind them.
The young man found his voice and began an angry tirade. "What do you want ?," he almost yelled, "What are you doing here ?."
"I might ask you the same question," said Cowley, still in the calm friendly manner he had deliberately adopted.
"I'm entitled to be here," said the man, "This house belongs to my family."
"Ah," said Cowley, "you are a Wantage then."
"My mother was," retorted the man, "Gloria Wantage. I am Ezra Ford."
"One of Jeremiah's grandsons," said Cowley, and the young man nodded. He was looking a bit worried now, over-awed by what this man knew.
"Do your family know you are here ?," asked Cowley, still mildly. This time Ezra didn't answer.
Cowley's manner changed abruptly, and his tone hardened. "Do they know what you are hiding in the cellar ?," he demanded fiercely.
A scared look came over Ezra's face and he began to bluster wildly. "I don't know anything about a cellar. I've only just got here," he said.
During their conversation, Cowley and the two men behind him had been advancing steadily, with Ezra retreating step by step.
Cowley was looking round the large hall. "This looks like the cellar door," he said, "and the key's in the lock. Isn't that handy ?. Shall we have a look ?." He spoke to the men behind him, and suddenly there was action.
The cellar door was opened, a light switch found, and grabbed by Doyle, Ezra was hustled down the steps into the large cellar, with Simpson and Cowley following closely.
And what was revealed ?. Dozens of crates, with stencil markings that Bodie would delight to interpret. Several had been opened, showing their contents to be a variety of small arms.
Looking really scared now, Ezra continued to bluster. "I don't know anything about this," he shouted, "I've never seen any of these before."
"So we won't find your finger-prints on anything here ?," asked Cowley. This completely floored Ezra as he knew the answer.
"I should give up now, Ezra," said Cowley. "Of the three men you employed, two are dead, and the other is in our custody, talking freely. And we have your other lorry and its contents in safe keeping. It's all over."
And Ezra Ford knew it. He stood stock-still for a moment, thinking it through.
Doyle was looking interestedly at the varied selection of arms. Bodie will love these, he thought. But Cowley, looking in the same direction, had spotted something else.
"Doyle," he said, "Your hand is bleeding !."
Surprised, Doyle looked down and noticed for the first time the thin line of red trickling across the back of his hand. Of course, he instantly knew what it was, and his hand went to his shoulder.
"It's my arm, sir," he replied, "I knocked it getting into the car. I must have opened it up again."
Then Ezra made a foolish mistake. Taking advantage of the way the other two had switched attention to Doyle, he made a bolt for the cellar steps and charged up them. But one step back into the hall, and he ran straight into the solid wall that was Bodie, with Anson close behind him. The back door had succumbed easily to the set of skeleton keys from Anson's pocket. The sound of voices had led them to the cellar door.
Bodie took Ezra's arm, turned him round and aided by Anson, propelled him back down the steps into the cellar.
Cowley acknowledged their timely arrival. He handed Anson a set of hand-cuffs to secure their prisoner.
Bodie's eyes lit up as he saw what had been found in the cellar. He was eager to have a closer look, But to his great disappointment, he didn't get the chance.
His boss was anxious to bring the case to a close and began issuing his orders. As he did so, he was herding them all back up the steps, into the spacious hall. When he reached the top, he re-locked the cellar door and pocketed the key.
"Anson," he began, "Find Mr. Ford's keys. Shift your car, and move his into the garage next to the lorry. Then you and Simpson can take our prisoner back to London."
"To the Interrogation Centre, sir," queried Anson and Cowley nodded.
Then he turned to Bodie.
"I hope there is a first-aid kit in your car," he said. "Get it and do a little practice on your partner. I think the kitchen is that way, if you need warm water," he added, pointing to the back of the hall. "Leave the keys in the car. I need the car-phone to make a few clear-up arrangements."
Bodie hurried off to the car, hoping the desired kit was still there, as it ought to be. Fortunately it was, and he returned to hustle his mate along to the kitchen. Doyle eased off his jacket, to reveal a red-stained sleeve sticking to his arm. Bodie dealt with things quickly and competently, gently cutting open the sleeve, bathing the injury, and applying a new dressing, adding a bandage to hold it in place.
"Thanks," said Doyle, "You make a great nurse, though I miss the cap and apron."
"And the short skirts, I know," retorted Bodie, "Ungrateful wretch, you are."
He helped Doyle ease his jacket back on. "See the doc when we get back." he said. I'll make sure you do, he thought to himself.
Making sure the house was secure, they rejoined their boss in the car. Doyle took extra care climbing into the back this time.
"I've made the necessary initial arrangements," said Cowley. "The rest can wait till tomorrow. There will be a lot of loose ends to tie up, I'm afraid. Not least that Ezra Ford is an American citizen."
"Well, we've brought an end to his criminal activities," commented Bodie, "so that's a job well done."
"And all those illegal arms won't be on the market," added Doyle.
"Yes," said Bodie, "I'm going to enjoy telling Marty that."
"Bodie," snapped Cowley, "are you going to sit discussing this all night ?. Do you want me to drive ?."
"Sorry, sir," Bodie apologised hurriedly. "On our way, right now."
He quickly started up the car, and moved off to start the journey back to London.
