I've long wanted to write a Thunderbirds story with this title, but the Mews has been reluctant to feed the actual scenario to me, preferring to supply me with more in depth action. And then one day she fed me her tale, and I found the time to write it down.

As usual, I would like to thank my proofreaders Quiller, D.C., and Beadbird for their assistance with proofing this story. I would also like to acknowledge Gordon's gremlins, who, despite many reading and re-readings, will do their best to slip in the occasional typo.

Also as usual, I will admit that none of the characters, except for one, belong to me. The Thunderbirds cast and crew belong to ITV and I'm so glad that I get the opportunity to play with them.

This story was published on Fan Fiction dot net. If you are reading it elsewhere, it is a stolen copy. I usually do not mind people displaying my stories elsewhere, but I do appreciate the courtesy of being asked if the site, or C2, it is being displayed on is acceptable. Thank you.

FAB

:-) Purupuss

The Butler Did It

"Why are we watching this?"

Gordon twisted in his seat, so he could see his younger brother. "You know why. Because it's too hot to do anything else."

This was true. It had been a week since International Rescue's services had last been required, and in the time since everything that had to be done had been done. The debriefing over the (successful) rescue had been held, post flight checks had been performed, maintenance and repairs taken care of, and now there was nothing productive left to fill in the hours. Research and development was an option, but with guests, in the form of Lady Penelope and Parker, having joined the family for a break on the tropical Tracy Island, and the oppressive heat, no one was inclined to do any work.

The thermometer was creeping into the low 40s and threatening to go even higher. This was why the four Tracy sons, John being on duty in Thunderbird Five, had retreated to the family cinema. The enclosed, windowless room had the best air conditioning unit in the complex.

But, although the decision to congregate in the cinema had been easy, deciding which movie to watch seemed to tax their overheated brains.

What made the decision even harder to make was that the four boys had four totally different cinematic interests and they knew that there was the prospect of their guests joining them. They had eventually solved the impasse by playing "movie roulette". That was they'd got the computer to choose the movie for them, on the understanding that no one was to complain nor walk out of the showing. This was why they were all sitting there, enduring an old black and white murder mystery, and contemplating their lives passing by with nothing to show for it.

That was until Alan had made his opening remark. "Is anyone enjoying this?"

No one was but, understanding the rules of movie roulette, no one was willing to speak out.

Keen to distance himself from the question, Virgil got to his feet. "Anyone want an ice cream?" He walked across to the refreshment kiosk at the side of the room and started the computer.

Relieved to finally find something to interest him, Scott perked up. "Grandma's homemade?"

"Nope. Sorry." Virgil scrolled through the list of confectionaries. "Bear Blocks."

"What flavours?"

"Chocolate, vanilla..." Virgil tapped the screen, "mint, and... strawberry."

"I'll have chocolate, thanks."

The computer retrieved everyone's selections from the vast freezer in one of the storerooms, sending four polar bear shaped parcels along a conveyor belt, and for a short time the brothers enjoyed the sight of creamy ice cream and listening to the sound of crinkling wrappers more than watching the movie.

They eventually settled back to a scene that hadn't changed since before Virgil's interruption. An excess of black wood filled the screen as equally wooden actors stalked across from stage left to stage right, and wrung their hands in an approximation of acting.

Gordon took a big lick of his ice cream. "Know what would make this better?"

"Chocolate syrup and nuts?" Scott guessed.

"No... Well, yes... But I meant the film. Why don't we pause here, go and get Virgil's keyboard, and then he can play the soundtrack like an old silent movie?"

Virgil groaned. "That sounds too much like hard work."

"Not if we supply the voiceover."

"That also sounds like hard work," Alan told him. "Even in here it's too hot to think."

"And we don't know what's going to happen next," Scott reminded his aquanaut brother. "I haven't seen this movie before, have you?"

"No."

"Virg?"

"If I have, I've banished it from my memory."

"We know what's going to happen," Alan scoffed. "We've already had one murder. Any time soon there's gonna be another. The hero will find this second body and be blamed for both murders. Fighting to clear his name he'll realise that the second victim is someone who's been hunting the killer themselves and had got too close to the truth. Then the murderer will kidnap the heroine, and the hero will rescue her from deadly peril..."

"Where she's been tied to railroad tracks in the path of an incoming train," Gordon added, enjoying Alan's plot more than the actual movie.

"...Just in the nick of time. And just in time to reveal whodunnit."

"And who did it, Alan?" Virgil queried.

"The butler, of course."

"The butler?"

"Yeah. The butler did it. No one takes any notice of them because they're so ubiquitous. In those old houses they're just like a piece of the furniture. They're anywhere and everywhere and know everyone's secrets. They know where all the little hidey holes and secret corridors are, so they can appear out of nowhere, do the deed, and then sneak away without anyone seeing them."

"Alan..."

"The butler always does it. They're all crooks and you can't trust any of them." Alan saw Virgil's surreptitious "shut up" movement, heard Gordon's squeak of protest, saw Scott hit the pause button, heard a noise behind him, and turned. "Uh... Hi, Parker."

Parker had heard Alan's monologue. Heard and not been impressed. "Mister Tracy."

"Dad? Is he here?" Alan joked, trying to ease the sudden tension by pretending to look around him. "Last time I saw him, he was entertaining Lady Penelope."

"Me father was not a crook."

"No...?"

Parker gave the youngest Tracy a cold stare. "Neither was me grandfather. They was both butlers h-and proud to be so."

"I'm sure they were. It's an honourable profession."

"They was trusted by their lords h-and masters. Trust means a lot."

"I agree… Ah. W-Would you like to join us watching th-the, erm movie?" Alan queried. "We, erm, we were just discussing its merits." He indicated over his shoulder to the black and white frame that was frozen on screen. "It has the same old hackneyed scripts as all the others of the era. Don't you think that old films are full of unimaginative stereotypes?" he gabbled. "You know the type of thing: The lord of the manor's a confused old miser. The lady of the house spends all her time running other people's lives. The son's got the maid into trouble, the daughter's making a play for the gardener, and the butler's a crook stealing the family jewels." He saw Parker's eyes narrow. "You know what these old movies are like. Totally unbelievable."

"Me mother was a maid. She loved me father. She was faithful to 'im."

"I'm, er, sure she did... er... was."

"Sit down and join us, Parker," Scott offered.

Gordon nodded his head a little too enthusiastically. "If you'd rather watch something else, we don't mind putting this one back in its can. We've got thousands to choose from."

"Yeah. And we've got ice cream," Virgil added, as he leapt up and brought the computer back to life. "What flavour would you like?"

Scott moved along one seat. "Sit next to me. It's the best view in the theatre."

Gordon was scrolling through the Tracys' vast database of film. "What do you feel like watching? Something where the butler's the hero? How about..." His search brought up a name. "Jeeves and Wooster."

"Jeeves was h-a val-let, not h-a butler," Parker told him.

"Oh."

"Technically, you're not a butler either, are you?" Trying to make amends, Alan fixed the older man with an ingratiating grin. "You do more than, ah, butlering, don't you, Parker? You're Penny's chauffeur as well. And trusted sidekick."

"H-And a crook. Just like the fil-im."

Alan was about to disagree with the former safecracker, and then decided against it.

"H-I did time h-at 'is Majesty's pleasure. But me fam'ly was 'as 'onest h-as the day h-is long."

"I'm sure they were. I wasn't saying that all butlers are crooks," Alan protested. "Just that all old Hollywood movie butlers are. You know – It's the American idea of the English aristocracy."

He was fixed with a hard stare. "You're H-American, Mister Tracy."

Alan found himself wishing he wasn't.

"H-It was h-only because no h-one wanted butlers that H-I went h-into thievery. H-I 'ad to make a livin'."

"I know, Parker, you've told us your story."

"'Er Ladyship gave me h-a chance when no one h-else would."

"I, erm, we know..."

"H-And H-I'm proud to butle fer 'er ladyship."

"Butle?"

"H-And she h-appreciates me skills. Me crooked h-ones h-and h-all."

"And we know that Penny, uh, Lady Penelope h-appreciates, erm, I mean, appreciates all your talents."

"H-And, may I remind you, Mister Tracy…"

Alan realised that if Parker's overly formal address was designed to put him in his place... it was working.

"…that you, h-and your fam-hily, h-and your h-organisation 'ave h-all made use of me crookedness."

"I know, Parker, and we appreciate…"

"H-And you liked listening to stories h-about me crooked life, Mister Tracy."

Alan remembered the multitude of times that he's sat close to Parker and listened, riveted, to the tales that were being spun. "I never thought that you were as crooked as you told us."

Parker pulled himself up taller. "You callin' me h-a liar?"

Alan heard at least one of his brothers make a Be quiet Alan before you dig yourself into a deeper hole sound. "No! Of course not. But I did think that you may have... perhaps... exaggerated some of your stories to make them more exciting."

"They are exciting," Scott offered, trying to take the heat off Alan. "I often think that you should write them down. You could make a fortune if you published them."

Parker's stare shifted to him, giving the younger Tracy a brief reprieve. "When, h-according to... your brother, no h-one would believe 'em?"

"Most people buy books for the entertainment value and not for the facts," Virgil reminded him. "Look at all the books on International Rescue that have been written. Not one of them is factual. People buy then because they're a good read."

"Well... Most of them are a good read," Gordon corrected. "...Some of them... One or two."

"We'll forget this movie, Parker," Scott told him. "Come and sit down and tell us what you want to watch. It's bound to be better than this old thing." He banished the scene on screen to the archives with a press of a button.

"No thank you, Mister Tracy. 'Er Ladyship may require me services. H-I 'ave to be ready for 'er call." And, with all the dignity you'd expect of someone of his profession, Parker withdrew from the room.

Alan collapsed into the nearest chair. "I didn't mean to upset him."

"We know, Alan," Scott reassured him, as he got to his feet. "It's probably the heat making him irritable. I'll go and explain that you weren't saying anything against him, his family, or his profession; just that you were making a comment about the quality of Hollywood filmmaking from early last century."

"Thanks, Scott." Following his brother's example, Alan stood. "And I'll go an explain to Lady Penelope that it's not Parker's fault if he's a little out of sorts."

-F-A-B-

Scott tracked Parker down to the Englishman's home away from home when staying on Tracy Island. He knocked on the door. "May I come in?"

Parker snapped to attention. "H-It's your 'ouse, Mister Tracy."

"This is your room." Scott stepped inside, feeling the full blast of the air conditioner hit him. He closed the door behind him.

He regarded the man standing ramrod straight before him and reflected that, since Parker had chosen to don his thick woollen uniform, he could understand why he'd felt the need to switch the air con up to blizzard force. "Alan's sorry if you feel he insulted you and your family. He didn't mean to."

"Yes, Mister Tracy."

This wasn't an acknowledgement of the apology, Scott realised. It was an acknowledgement that he was being listened to. "He wasn't enjoying the movie, none of us were, and he was trying to cheer us up and give us a reason to watch it by saying what he thought was going to happen."

"Yes, Mister Tracy."

"You've got to remember that we're not used to having butlers about the place. We grew up on Air Force bases and in cramped apartment blocks. When we went on vacation we went to a Kansas wheat farm. Even after Father made his money and we had to mix with high society, we'd never met a real butler until we met you. Up till then our only experience of butlers was in those old films. Even here..." taking a step closer to a tightly closed window, Scott indicated the wider Tracy Island, "we don't have a butler. That's because we could never find one that we could trust. Not like we trust you."

"Yes, Mister Tracy."

It didn't take someone of Scott's intellect to realise that Parker's most prominent feature was well and truly out of joint. "Parker..." he ground out, exasperated by the other's formal aloofness. "We all trust you, because you've never given us any reason not to. And we've all enjoyed listening to your stories. No one can spin a yarn better than you."

"Yes, Mister Tracy. Thank you, Mr Tracy. May H-I speak, Mister Tracy?"

Scott felt a moment's relief. "Of course."

"H-I 'ave me duties Mister Tracy. H-I h-am h-employed by Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward to look h-after 'er. You h-are forcing me to neglect me duties. Would you excuse me, Mister Tracy?"

And Scott found himself in the hallway wondering how he'd managed to be forced out of the room with dignity and yet no option other than to obey.

-F-A-B-

Parker's employer was lounging in the shade of a palm tree. She looked up when she heard the quiet sound of a tread on the frond-strewn sands. "Hello, Alan."

"May I have a word, Lady Penelope?"

"Lady Penelope?" she echoed. "This sounds dreadfully formal."

"Sorry." He managed an abashed grin. "I've just been put into my place, and I've come to warn you."

"Warn me?" Lady Penelope sat up; swinging her legs over the side of her deckchair, so she was able to give him her full attention. She indicated the chair next to hers. "Please explain."

"We were in the cinema watching an old movie," he began. "It was an old black and white thing; a murder mystery. None of us were enjoying it, so we were trying to think of ways to make it better. I was telling the fellas what I thought was going to happen, when I made the mistake of saying that the butler did it; the butler always did it; and that you couldn't trust butlers."

"'It' being the murder."

"Right. I was in the middle of my speech when Parker came in. He thought I was generalising about his profession..."

A delicate eyebrow was raised. "That all butlers are murderers?"

"That all butlers are crooks and can't be trusted. He wasn't impressed with me."

"He does come from a long, proud line of butlers. Honest butlers."

"I know. He told us. And then I, I don't know that questioned is the right word, but I made a comment about how I thought he embellished those stories he tells us. That got him even more uptight. I tried to apologise, but I'm afraid I've put him into a bad mood and I wanted to explain in case he inflicts it on you. Scott's gone to talk to him. But if that doesn't work, I ask that you go easy on Parker, Penny. It's my fault, not his."

There was a discreet cough from behind them. "M'Lady."

"Parker?"

He was standing there, buttoned up from neck to toe despite the heat, all starchily formal in his full uniform, right down to his pure white gloves. One of those gloved hands was pressed to his back, whilst the other presented a silver salver on which resided a single tall glass, filled with some refreshing beverage and topped with ice. The only thing that spoilt his appearance as the complete Lady's gentleman, were the beads of sweat standing just as proud on his brow. "Your drink, m'Lady." He bowed, salver held out to her and his back to Alan.

"Thank you, Parker." Lady Penelope accepted the drink, placing it on the table beside her. "Now, this is supposed to be a holiday for you as well. Why don't you get into something cooler and find somewhere to relax?"

"Yeah!" Alan enthused. "And then I could bring you a drink. What would you like?"

"Thank you, m'Lady." Parker continued to ignore Alan. "But H-I h-am qwite comfortable." A bead of sweat rolled down his nose, hovered there for a second, and dropped off.

"Do go inside, Parker," Lady Penelope extolled. "It would not do for you to get heatstroke. If I need your services I shall send for you."

"Yes, m'Lady. Thank you, m'Lady." With a stiffly formal bow, Parker withdrew.

Alan grimaced at his friend. "See what I mean."

"I shall give him time to, ah, cool down," Lady Penelope suggested. "If his mood has not improved by this evening, then I shall have a talk to him."

"Thanks, Penny. I really like Parker and I do trust him. I don't like that I've upset him."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It was later that same day and much of the heat had dissipated, when Virgil approached his piano. He loved the tranquillity of Tracy Island; it being a contrast to the hectic, seat-of-the-pants, life-and-death world of International Rescue. Unfortunately, his piano was less keen on the tropical sea air that was wafting in through the open patio doors and would go out of tune if he didn't take regular steps to rectify it. He'd already aborted the start of this chore when Scott had called a brief meeting of the brothers to tell them that his and Alan's grovelling hadn't worked, and that Parker was still out of sorts.

It was with this in mind that Virgil returned to the tools laid out on a tray kept specifically for this purpose.

He lifted the lid of the piano and peered inside, searching for visible signs that the strings had lost their tension.

"Tuning time again?" his father asked as he returned to his desk.

His head buried inside the piano, Virgil didn't look at him. "Uh, huh."

"I was going to give John a call. Will that disturb you?"

The bottom sticking out of the musical instrument responded with a "Nope."

"Good." Leaving his son to it, Jeff turned back to the row of portraits. "Calling Thunderbird Five." His hand reached out for his pen.

John's appearance was heralded by the sound of plucking strings. "Thunderbird Five. What can I do for you, Dad?" He heard a scale being played. "I see it's tuning time."

"It is," Jeff grunted. "I'm just checking to see how you are." Unable to find the pen, he felt the papers that lay strewn across his desk.

"All good."

"Do you need anything?"

"Nothing urgent. I've already sent the shopping list down to Brains for Thursday's changeover and he says he's got everything in hand... How's everything down there?"

Jeff had considered giving his son a heads up over Parker's problems and had decided that they'd probably have blown over after the butler had had a good night's sleep. And if they hadn't, there was no point in alerting John when he was 36,000 kilometres away. "Good."

"Penny and Parker enjoying their vacation?"

"Penny is. I think Parker finds it difficult to relax when he's still around 'er Ladyship."

"He should consider having a vacation by himself sometime. Maybe go on a cruise so he can have the pleasure of people waiting on him for a change." Something caught John's attention out of the corner of his eye. "Have you lost something, Virgil?"

Virgil straightened from where he'd been crawling around on all fours underneath the piano. "Have you seen my tuning fork?"

"Not from here."

Jeff stood, so he could get a better view of the tuning tray. "Your mother's one?"

Virgil was running his hand along the edge of the wall in the unlikely hope that the two-tined instrument had disappeared behind the carpet. "Yes."

"Was it there when you laid out your tools?"

"Yes." Virgil got back to his feet and stood, looking perplexed, staring down at the tray. "At least I think so. I thought I'd laid it on the cleaning cloth like I always do, but it's become such second nature that I'm only assuming I did. Maybe I took it through to Scott's room when we had that meeting... I'd better go and check." He hurried out of the room.

"Bye, Virgil," John called after him. "See you late...ter." He grinned down at his dad. "So much for brotherly love."

"You know what that tuning fork means to him," Jeff reminded him.

"Yeah, I know. I'd be killed if I touched it without permission and without wearing gloves. Is it worth much? Monetarily?"

"It probably means more to him sentimentally, but it cost me about two months of an airman's salary. Your mother and I could only go to places that were free until my next payday."

John let out a low whistle. "I would never have guessed that something like that would be so expensive."

"I wanted one that was top quality; both because I knew she'd appreciate it and because I knew what it would mean to her. And the engagement ring threaded onto it increased its value."

John smiled at his father's recollections, and was about to sign off when they were interrupted.

"I'm telling you that it's not in my room, Virg."

"It's only there, the corridor, and here that it could be." Virgil made a beeline back to the tray. He gazed at it as if hopeful that the tuning fork had materialised out of thin air.

"Well, it's not in Scott's room and we've examined the corridor, so this is the only place left," Alan told him. "You must have put it down somewhere in here."

"I didn't! The only place I put it; that I always put it; is on its cloth on the tray."

Jeff looked up at the figure on the wall. "I'll see what I can do to help. See you tomorrow, John."

"Bye, Dad."

Gordon was on his knees, peering underneath the tray as if the tuning fork had made a bid for freedom and was laying low until it could make its escape. "How long did you lay everything out before Scott called the meeting?"

"Maybe a minute. I wouldn't have done it if I had known I was going to have to leave it."

"Sorry, Virg," Scott apologised. He watched his brother peer inside the piano. "Was anyone else in here then?"

Virgil frowned in thought. "I don't think so... I heard Gordon coming up the stairs to go to your meeting..."

"How'd you know it was me?"

"I could hear your wet feet slapping on the steps. But I'd left the lounge by the time you got here."

"And I didn't take it."

"No one's accusing you, Gordon," Scott told him. "Do you remember seeing anyone else around that time, Virg?"

"Parker walked through, but he was checking on whether Penny was still under the tree. I'd assume that he went back to his room when he realised she wasn't."

"Anyone else?"

"No."

"Are you sure you didn't go anyplace else before or after our meeting?"

"Positive."

"And I'm just as positive that it's not there, but I'll go and have another look in my room."

"Thanks, Scott." Virgil's head was back in the piano. His brothers, with a shrug that said that they thought they were wasting their time, got on all fours and checked under the couches.

Jeff entered the room again, carrying two items adorned with the International Rescue logo. "Use this," he suggested, handing one to Virgil. "You start here, and I'll take this one into Scott's suite and retrace your steps." He set the dial on the metal detector.

"How's that going to work?" Alan asked. "There's so much metal in this place that the detector's going to overload."

He wilted under his father's stare. "It's precious in more ways than one. I've set them both to hunt out the exact frequency of the metal it's made of."

But, even with the sophisticated help of the metal detectors, Virgil's tuning fork was nowhere to be found.

Scott put a sympathetic arm about his brother's downcast shoulders. "Don't worry about it. It'll turn up when you're not looking for it."

Everyone (except for Virgil) would have forgotten about the misplaced item if it hadn't been for events later that evening.

"Virgil!" Gordon stormed into the lounge. He fetched up nose-to-nose with his brother. "Where is it!?"

Startled by the unexpected intrusion into his personal space, Virgil took a step backwards. "Where's what? The only thing that's missing is my..."

"I don't care about your silly tuning fork! What did you do with my medal?"

"Huh?" Now on a surer footing, Virgil squared up to him. "I haven't touched your medal. I haven't seen your medal! I haven't been in your room in weeks."

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

"You think I took your fork and this is your revenge."

"I wouldn't be surprised if you had, but I haven't taken your medal!"

"Hold on! Hold on!" Scott stepped between his two brothers. "Which medal, Gordon?"

His irate brother swung towards him. "My Olympic gold, of course!"

Jeff, who'd only been a step behind Scott, frowned. "Why do you think someone's taken it? Is the case broken?"

"No."

"Did someone unlock it?"

"No. I'd taken the medal out to clean it."

Scott gave a knowing nod. "Then it's probably still in your room somewhere. Do you want me to go and have a look?"

"I've checked everywhere."

"I'm sure you have, but a fresh pair of eyes might see it where you missed it."

Gordon doubted it, but he gave a grudging nod of agreement.

Glad that at least one son was retaining his cool, Jeff turned back to one who wasn't. "Right, Gordon… You'd taken your medal out of the case…"

"Yes."

"And put it where…?"

"On my table where I clean it."

Still aggrieved by the accusation of theft, Virgil glared at him. "That's the only clean spot in your entire suite. The rest of it's a pigsty. No wonder you've lost your medal!"

"Virgil…" Jeff warned, before turning back to his auburn-haired son. "What did you do after you put it on your table, Gordon?"

Exasperated that he was having to explain what, to him, was obvious, Gordon exploded. "I polished it!"

"And that's all you do with it," Virgil snarled. "It's a wonder you haven't worn it away."

"You don't do much more with your precious fork!"

"My tuning fork is a precision tool!"

"It takes one to know one!"

"And you're…"

"Virgil!" Jeff barked. "Go and sit over there."

"Yeah, Fido! Sit!" Gordon jeered. "That's a good boy!"

Jeff's face darkened. "Gordon…"

Although less than impressed at being ordered about by his father and even more annoyed by Gordon's taunts, Virgil obeyed. He sat on the easy chair, his eyes scanning the lounge for his lost treasure.

Jeff fixed his attention back on his Olympian son. "Right..." He took a deep breath and prepared himself for another onslaught. "Where did you last see it? Could you have put it somewhere other than your table?"

"No."

"Did you..." Jeff considered likely scenarios. "Have a rag or something that you were going to clean it with that you took somewhere else or... threw away?"

"Threw away!?" Gordon yelped. "No, I didn't!"

"I'm just trying think logically. Did you have any books or magazines that it could have got caught between the pages?"

"No!"

"Are you sure you took it out of the box?"

"Of course, I'm sure! It's! Not! There!"

"Calm down, I'm trying to help."

Jeff's hope that Scott's return might lay the matter to rest was short-lived when his eldest son entered the lounge. "I can't see it anywhere. Mind you, your room's such a mess, Gordon, it could be laying in plain sight and we wouldn't see it."

"I told you it's not in my room. You should be searching his." Gordon flicked his head in Virgil's direction.

Despite his preoccupation with his lost tuning fork, Virgil had been following the conversation. Now he leapt to his feet. "I didn't steal your medal!"

"Then prove it! Let them search your room!"

"It's not there!"

"Then it must be in Thunderbird Two!"

"Leave her out of this!

"Boys! Quiet!" Jeff snapped. "Now… I want you both to stop, take a deep breath…" He demonstrated the action. "…and think… Where could you have put your medal, Gordon?"

"I put it on my table!"

Jeff held up his hand. "And where could you have put your tuning fork, Virgil?

"Nowhere. I didn't take it out of this room!"

Treading lightly, Scott began his next statement with a cautious: "Virgil..."

"What!?"

"While I was searching Gordon's rooms…" Scott cast a quick glance at his aquatic brother. "I was also looking for your tuning fork."

It was his turn to have Gordon's full fury turned on him. "You did what!?"

"I'm not saying that I think you took it, either of you, but I thought it wouldn't hurt. Just in case it got caught up in your towel or something and you didn't know you had it." It was Scott's turn to take a deep breath. "Virgil... Will you let me search your room for your tuning fork and Gordon's medal at the same time?"

"I haven't got Gordon's medal!"

"I believe you, but what if you do have it accidentally?"

"How? I haven't been near his medal. I haven't been in his room!"

"I know that, but this'll prove it... Okay...?"

"Fine," Virgil snapped. "Go and search my room. Search Thunderbird Two. Search the workshops. But you won't find anything."

"He won't be able to," Gordon taunted. "If you think my room's a pigsty, yours is a dump!"

"Gordon," Jeff commanded, as his eldest son left the room on his unfortunate errand. "Go and have a swim. That might cool you down."

"I don't want a swim!"

"Then go and work on Thunderbird Four."

"I'm not going anywhere until my medal's returned to me."

Realising that this was an argument that he had no hope of winning, and wanting to keep the tension to a minimum, Jeff returned to his desk to jot down a few notes.

He barely had the chance to look for his pen, when Virgil, still fuming at the invasion of his private space, retreated to the piano and began to play a tune that spoke volumes about his mood. A mood that got worse at the occasional discordant notes the instrument was producing.

Gordon's mood wasn't much better. "Can't you get that thing in tune?"

"Of course not. I don't have my tuning fork!"

"Why do you need such an antiquated hunk of metal anyway? Aren't there are electronic versions that are better?"

Virgil showed what he thought of Gordon's suggestion by slamming down the lid of the keyboard and storming outside. He started minutely examining the patio before continuing his examination one descending stair at a time.

Gordon watched his brother's slow methodical, but ultimately futile, process. "He's lost it."

Deciding to ignore him, and still looking for his favourite pen, Jeff shifted some papers.

It was at that moment that both Alan and Kyrano, holding attendance on Tin-Tin, entered the lounge.

Gordon spun around to face them. "Do you have it?"

Startled, Alan stared at him. "Of course, I don't. It was there one minute and gone the next..."

"How'd you know that!"

"Tin-Tin told me."

"Tin-Tin...?" Gordon gaped at the young lady. "Why were you in my room?"

"Your room?" Tin-Tin looked confused. "I have not been in your room."

"Mister Gordon," Kyrano gave a differential bow, but his eyes were watching the younger man keenly. "How did you know about the loss of my Tin-Tin's necklace?"

"Tin-Tin's necklace?" Seeing that his friend was trying not to appear upset, Gordon lost some of his anger. "Which necklace? What's happened to it?"

"Do you not know?"

"No. Which necklace?" Gordon repeated.

Tin-Tin took a stabilising breath. "It was a special one. Given to me by a special friend." Her glance at the younger man standing at her shoulder and holding her arm, wasn't missed by anybody. "It was silver. A silver heart… I mean… half a valentine. It had hi... initials on it... In such a pretty shade of blue."

"What's wrong with everyone today? Everyone's losing things." Jeff gave up looking for his pen. "Where did you lose it?"

"I had it hanging over my mirror, so I'd see it every morning." Tin-Tin managed to hold back a sniff. "And now it's gone."

"Better go and tell Scott to look for that as well," Gordon advised. "Since he's already mid-search."

"In where?"

"Gordon..." Jeff growled. "What reason would Virgil have for taking Tin-Tin's necklace?"

"Virgil?"

"What reason would he have for taking my medal?"

"Hold on, hold on." Alan held up his hand. "Virgil took your medal?"

"Yes!"

"No," Jeff corrected. "He's given you his word that he didn't, Gordon. Scott's only checking his room to prove that, and on the off chance that his tuning fork's in there."

"Then where's it gone? No one else has a reason to take it."

"And why would Virgil take your medal?" Alan queried. "I'm assuming you mean your Olympic one."

"Because he thinks I took his tuning fork."

"But you said that you didn't. Surely that's good enough for him. For both of you."

Jeff walked over to the patio. "Virgil? Would you mind coming in here for a moment?"

Virgil obeyed instantly, his face dropping into a scowl when he saw Gordon. "Yes?"

"Have you seen Tin-Tin's necklace? It's a silver half-valentine. She's lost it."

"So, because you think I took Gordon's medal, you think I'm responsible for this too?!"

"Of course not," Jeff soothed. "I'm not accusing you. I'm just asking. I thought you might have seen the necklace while you've been looking for your tuning fork."

Virgil lost his scowl as he shook his head. "No. Sorry, Tin-Tin."

"Oh, well." She applied a brave face. "I'm sure it'll turn up."

It wasn't many seconds later when Scott returned to the lounge.

Virgil was instantly on the attack. "You didn't find anything, did you?"

"Huh?" Scott appeared to have his mind on other things.

"You didn't find my tuning fork or Gordon's medal, did you?"

"Uh? Oh. No... No, I didn't."

Jeff wasn't the first to see his son's preoccupation, but he was the first to query it. "What's wrong, Scott?"

"My wings... My pilot's wings... They've gone."

Scott's pilot's wings were displayed on the wall of his bedroom in pride of place, surrounded by other flying memorabilia and they all knew that they meant every bit as much to him as his mother's tuning fork did to Virgil and the Olympic gold to Gordon.

"The mosquitos were starting to bite, so I went into my room to shut the window and turn the air conditioning on. That's when I realised my wings were gone... I've shut your window too, Virg."

"Thanks."

"We don't want them in here, either." Pushing the necessary two buttons, Alan shut the patio doors and started the near-silent air conditioner whirring. A bird, strutting along the balcony railing, snapped its beak at a passing insect. "That's one less we've got to worry about."

Unaware of the Tracys' stressful afternoon, Lady Penelope entered the lounge. "I do not wish to concern anyone, but I appear to have misplaced my compact."

Her wish may have been to not cause concern, but the instant effect was to send a tsunami of consternation through the Tracys.

"Your communication compact?" Despite his worries over the potential complications of the loss, Jeff was determined to remain calm.

"Sadly, yes."

"Where did you last see it?"

"In my room."

"I haven't been in Penny's room!"

Not expecting the twin onslaught from two Tracys, Lady Penelope stared at Gordon and Virgil.

Jeff held up his hand. "I think we've ascertained that neither of you had anything to do with the other's loss," he stated. "And we have no reason to believe that you have anything to do with Scott's wings, Tin-Tin's necklace, and Penny's compact's disappearance." He looked across at her Ladyship. "Is the GPS operational?"

"No. I always turn it off when I am, ah, replenishing the powder."

"This is starting to sound serious," Alan stated. "Are they the only things missing? Maybe we should check all our rooms?"

Jeff nodded his agreement. "We'll meet back here as soon as we can." He retreated to International Rescue's control centre and readied the communications console.

Rather than hurrying out the door, Tin-Tin turned to him. "Should we ask Mrs Tracy and Brains to check as well?"

"Good idea. Do you want to ask Brains? I'll tell Mother."

"Yes, Mr Tracy."

But Jeff was saved from his chore when, wringing her apron, Grandma bustled in. "I'm so sorry, everyone."

"Sorry?" Everyone gaped at her.

There'd been so many false accusations this afternoon, that Jeff decided that he'd better take the cautious approach. "Sorry for what, Mother?"

"Dinner's going to be late. I was going to make something special in honour of our guests," Mrs Tracy smiled at Lady Penelope, "but I can't find my measuring spoons. They're those lovely enamelled ones that you gave me for my birthday, Penelope; such pretty colours; but I can't find them for love nor money. I have others, but this set is so beautifully balanced."

"Where did you have them, Grandma?" Scott checked. "The kitchen?"

She looked at him as if he were mad. "Of course."

"A lot of things have disappeared today, Mother," Jeff explained. "And we're all going to check our rooms to see if anything else is missing. You might like to do the same."

"Missing...?"

Scott, two steps from the door, stopped walking when he realised that his father's desk was descending from the ceiling. "Aren't you going to check yours?"

"I will." Jeff nodded. "But I want to check something else first... Base to Thunderbird Five."

Totally unaware of the upheavals going on in his family home, and seeing most of the island's occupants in the lounge, John smiled down on everyone. "Are we having a party?"

No one was in a party mood.

A mood which didn't improve when Brains walked into the room. "H-Has anyone seen my magnifying glass?"

There was a groan from most of those assembled.

Jeff looked at the younger man over his spectacles. "Which magnifying glass, Brains?"

"Th-The one given to me by my university. The little one with the cloisonné surround and the gold handle."

"And you've checked everywhere you think it should be?"

"Yes. I have been most methodical."

"I'm sure you have. Your magnifying glass is the latest in a number of items that have disappeared."

"D-D-Disappeared?"

"I was just about to ask John to check the perimeter stations to see if there have been any breaches."

"You were?" John looked astonished at the suggestion. Then he started typing into his computer, asking Thunderbird Five to access and communicate with each sensor positioned around the edge of the island. "North coast... Negative..."

While his son worked, Jeff turned back to the rest of the group. "Has anyone else lost anything? Alan?"

"Uh, no. I don't think so. But I haven't been in my room this afternoon."

"East coast... Negative..."

"Kyrano?"

"There was a crystal that hung in my garden bringing forth the colours of the rainbow. It is there no more."

"West coast... Negative..."

"Father!" Tin-Tin exclaimed. "You did not tell me?"

"I made this discovery moments before you discovered your loss. Your loss was more important than mine."

"South coast... ... Negative. There is no record of any unknown incursions into Tracy Island."

If Jeff thought that John's announcement was going to make him feel any better, he was wrong. "Check again, Thunderbird Five."

"But..." John decided there was no point arguing. He ran the programme a second time.

Jeff grabbed a pad. "I think that everyone should go and check their rooms. Report back here in an hour and we'll make a list of everything that's missing..." Removing his spectacles he peered at his desk. "Has anyone seen my pen...?"

-F-A-B-

By the time that everyone had returned to the lounge, reporting that the object that they'd lost was the only item that was missing, John had re-run the intruder programme a second time, feeding each record through multiple filters and was in the process of personally checking video of a couple of likely bays to convince himself, and his family, that the coast was literally clear.

Hopeful, although unsure exactly what he was hoping for, Jeff looked up at the first portrait in the row. "Did you find anything, John?"

"Negative. The last vehicle to approach Tracy Island was Penny's plane. Before that, it was Thunderbirds One and Two."

"So, there's no one else on the island?"

"No. The only people on Tracy Island are in the lounge with you." John took a roll call of those standing before the camera. "And Parker."

To be continued...