A/N: As if the troubles ended at the end of the 1955 film "The Ladykillers"...

Catch the One-Five from Cambridge

"Aye, look at that!" Leonard Simmons exclaimed as he and Thomas Nestor stood idly, leaning over the railing of a railroad crossing in a northern English town. "There's another one!" In the train that was coming to a stop below, a clothed body could be seen in one of the coal cars.

"Maybe he's just hitching a ride," Nestor suggested.

"He ain't movin' - probably stiff as a board like the last one. Let's check 'im out when the train stops. Come on, Tom." The two men stealthily made their way from the top of the overcrossing to the tracks below; Simmons kept his eyes on the car that was their target.

"Three bodies lying in the coal; must be a lot of accidents down south."

"Two men with no identification on them just happened to slip and fall into a train car that just happened to be passing underneath at that moment? I don't think so. They were too well-dressed to be vagrants." A blast from the locomotive's horn signaled the cars halting. "The train just stopped. You keep a lookout while I climb up into the car and check the body. Hurry!" Simmons sprinted across the ground to the side of the train while Nestor hurried to keep up. The former scaled the side of the car and disappeared over the top while the latter scanned for any workers that might be coming in either direction.

"Tom, give a hand and help pull me out," Simmon's whispered after no more than two minutes, his hands curled over the top edge from the inside. His partner clambered up the side and grabbed the coat of Simmons, releasing a little coal dust accumulated when he had fallen into the car. He barely caught a glimpse of the body before both men were running back to cover at the base of the overcrossing. Sure that they hadn't been detected, they scrambled up the side to the top level again. In their haste, they never noticed the other body in a different car along the same train.

"Any ID?" Nestor asked.

"I didn't need any. It was Joel Marcus. We both know who HE is. Or was, actually."

"The guy they locked up in the booby hatch."

"Yeah. The criminal mastermind that they locked up in the booby hatch," Simmons said as he emphasized the late Dr. Joel Marcus' true calling. "Brilliant mind. Slightly crackers if you ask me, but did he have a brain for planning." He paused out of respect for a fellow professional thief, and then snapped his fingers. "He must have been onto something big. Huge. The caper to end all capers. I bet it had something to do with that Eastcastle Street job in King's Cross, where somebody pulled a heist on that van that was headed to the station. Sixty-thousand pounds, they said in the papers. The other two men must have been working with him."

"I never heard who did the heist."

"That's because they don't know who did it. My guess is that Marcus planned and executed the job, but something went wrong afterward. He had a paper in his pocket," Simmons said as he took the paper out of his own pocket and unfolded it. "There's an address and name on here. Marcus probably set it up as a meeting place for his gang during the job. That money has to be somewhere, just waiting for the taking. Whoever ever crossed him must be even more devious and criminally inclined than him."

"Who's the name on it?"

"Mrs. Louisa Wilberforce. Could be an alias or some sort of code."

...

Louisa Wilberforce put away the receipt for her donation as the lorry drove away from her house on the end of the lane in King's Cross area of London. All the musical instruments those five men had left behind were of no use to her; as much as she loved classical music, she couldn't play a note. It was best just to donate them to a local school so others could learn and share their talents.

"Professor Marcus," the African Grey called from his page.

"No, Admiral Beatty, Professor Marcus isn't here anymore - and good riddance, I say. He always had the nicest manners, but there was something about the man I didn't quite trust; I think he reminds me of an uncle I had. It was on my mother's side of the family, and..."

The parrot with the nautical name didn't get to hear the rest of the story as Louisa was interrupted by a knock on the door. She dutifully made her way to the door and opened it, revealing two men. It wasn't the easiest door to open; due to some damage from the air raids during World War II, the whole house leaned to the right. Or the left if you were looking out as she was now. "Mrs. Wilberforce?" the shorter of the two asked.

"Yes, I'm Mrs. Wilberforce."

"How do you do, Ma'am. My name is Leonard Simmons, and this associate of mine is Tom Nestor."

"How do you do, Mr. Simmons. Mr. Nestor," she said as she nodded her head to each. "What can I do for you two gentlemen?"

"Sorry to bother you mum, but we was wondering if you could help us find a friend. I haven't heard from him for some time and, well, I've become a bit concerned."

"Professor Marcus!" screeched the grey.

"His name was Marcus. Is Marcus, I mean. Is he here?" Simmons asked, craning his neck over and around the seventy-five year old lady as he tried to look for the source of the voice he heard.

"Shush Admiral Beatty! I'm sorry gentlemen, my parrot seems to have picked up his name recently. Professor Marcus DID stay here for a few weeks recently, but he left about a week ago and I haven't seen him or his friends since."

"Friends?"

"Oh, do come in. I'll fix you some tea and we can be comfortable while I tell you." She turned her back on the men and started toward the kitchen; begrudgingly accepting the invitation but feeling as though it might be a trap, they followed her in. Nestor succeeded in closing the door after a few attempts; apparently there was a knack to getting it to shut properly. As Simmons walked past a painting that hung tilted on the wall, he pushed it with his finger to try to straighten it. It moved back to its original position, stoically denying him the small victory.

"You can have a seat here in the drawing room," she said as she pointed out the area on her way to the kitchen. Not paying attention, the men followed her into the kitchen. She grabbed a large mallet and turned. Simmons and Nestor tensed - they weren't planning on getting into any fights right away, and certainly not with an aged woman. However, instead of attacking them she swung it at the pipes over her sink. A rumbling started, and she put her kettle under the faucet just in time for the water to rush down into it. After a measured time she shut the valve off and put the kettle on the stove. "Oh, do have a seat in the drawing room, gentlemen - it will only be a few minutes." The men did as requested while she continued to talk loudly enough to be heard from the other room. "The house does have its quirks, but then again so do people, don't you agree? Your friend rented one of the back rooms; I'm afraid the top floors have been ruled unsafe. They haven't seen a soul in the ten years since the war."

Simmons and Nestor sat with their hands in their laps as noises continued from the kitchen area. "Your Professor Marcus said that the place has interesting windows - he said that windows are the soul of your house. Oh wait, that's not how it went. Dear me, and it was such a lovely saying too and now I've gone and forgotten how it went. More's the pity." With a slight clatter from the contents of her tray, she emerged with tea and biscuits, setting it on a low table. "Help yourself gentlemen; forgive my manners, but I have to sit down for a moment. It has been a busy day so far."

"Thank you, mum." Simmons poured himself a tea, and would have taken four sugars but felt as though he would deprive the lady of her pantry and only took one. Nestor took his straight, as was his custom.

"So tell me gentlemen, were you of the acquaintance of Professor Marcus and his friends?"

"I've known...um, Professor...Marcus for several years. Which friends were they, exactly?"

"There was a Major Courtney, a young man by the name of Robinson, a Mr. Harvey and a very stout man by the name of Lawson."

"I believe I just met Misters Lawson and Robinson just the other day."

"Oh, how are they?"

"Quiet," Nestor responded. Simmons gave him a look and he continued, "They was men of few words."

"That was my impression of them too. I do believe Professor Marcus talked enough for all of them."

"Heh heh," Simmons agreed. "Ol' Marcus sure was...is...a chatterbox. I do wonder where he's gotten off to, though."

"I'm sorry gentlemen, but he didn't say. He left what few things he brought. A few clothes, some sheet music, and of course their musical instruments. And there is the money from the robbery, but of course he didn't have that when he first arrived."

Simmons and Nestor's collective mouths dropped open.

"Money?" Simmons asked, slightly aghast. He had anticipated having to quiz and wheedle the information out of the old lady, and here she was giving it out freely. His sense of danger kicked into high gear shortly afterward - would the confidence of a mastermind allow him or her to just give out information, knowing there was nothing that could stop them?

"Oh yes, quite a lot of it. Oh, do have some biscuits, Mr. Nestor." Tom took two just to please the lady. She watched until he was forced to eat one, after which she smiled gratefully and continued to answer Simmons' question. "As I was saying, they left a lot of money. I would think that it would be the first thing he would take, but that wasn't the case. Oh - case - I made a pun, dear me!" she laughed. Seeing a confused look on the two men's faces, she explained. "They hid the money in a cello case and just now I used the word, you see."

Simmons faked a laugh to humor her. "How much money?" Nestor asked.

Mrs. Wilberforce sat back in her chair. "That's a good question, Mr. Nestor. I honestly don't know - I haven't bothered to count it yet. I tried to give it back to the police, but they said to keep it."

"They said...to keep it?" Simmons asked.

"They did. The Sergeant said so, and he was told to handle the matter by the Superintendent; they said it would only confuse the issue to return it. He and I are on good terms - I even gave him my umbrella last week."

"And you ain't spent none of it?" Nestor asked, confused still.

"Heavens no! My late husband - the first one - said to never spend money unless you had to. He was simply mad about saving for a rainy day."

"I'm sorry - how did he die?"

"Hit in the head when a gutter off the roof gave way one year when it was coming down in buckets. I probably would never have had General Gordon if not for that event."

"Was General Gordon your second husband?"

"No, his name was Captain Terry Wilberforce. General Gordon is the green macaw you saw in the other room. My husband was mad about birds."

"So he's not the puffy white one," Nestor stated.

"Oh, that's Mildred. If you saw her puff up, that means she likes you. Or she's getting ready to molt."

"I hope she doesn't melt - she's pretty."

"Say, Mrs. Wilberforce - what do you plan to do with the money?" Simmons asked. "You haven't spent it, so you must have some idea for it."

"Well..." she giggled. "I pretty much have all that I need already, really. I was thinking I might donate it to a good cause."

Nestor started to object, but Simmons cut him off after a moment. "Wouldn't you like to help whatever charity you choose even more?"

"But of course I would, Mr. Simmons. How could I do that?"

"Investment, Mrs. Wilberforce. If you would excuse Mr. Nestor and me, we'd like to discuss the matter privately. It's a matter of confidentiality, you see."

"Well, if you must. Let me get up..."

"Oh no, that's quite alright. Mr. Nestor and I can get a little fresh air and the stretch will do us good. Come along, Thomas." Simmons got up and bid Nestor to join him outside. Once outside of the house with the door closed and making sure no nearby windows were open, he explained to his partner his hastily-conceived plan.

"I had a sudden epiphany about Mrs. Wilberforce. I think she's too smart to just turn the money over to us, but if we let her give us smaller portions - like an allowance - we can 'invest' the money to help her holdings grow; all in the name of being able to give more to charity, you see."

"But if we give the money back each time, where does it get us?"

"That's the trick! Everybody knows investments don't always pay off - when we don't give it back, we simply explain that it was lost due to circumstances beyond our control and that the next time will be better as we try a different investment. In the meantime, the lending will become so second-nature to her that we'll have a steady stream of income in no time as more and more of the funds shift to us."

"It sounds pretty complicated."

"Would you rather whack her?"

"Of course not!" Nestor was a thief, not a killer.

"Nor would I. She doesn't lose anything because the money was never hers to begin with, and she won't miss it when much of it is gone. What do you say?"

"Well...since you put it that way, I suppose. I don't know nothing about investing, though."

"Neither do I. It's going to work out perfectly. Now shake just in case she's watching." Simmons stuck out his hand and Nestor grabbed it and shook it, almost crushing Leonard's fingers. The two went back into the house and rejoined Mrs. Wilberforce. "I've talked it over with my partner, and we've come to an agreement."

"Oh, do tell, please."

Simmons sat down again after pouring himself another cup of tea. He put four sugars in this time, brimming with assurance, and told her about his plan to invest the money for her - omitting the part about losing the bulk of it, of course. "Naturally, it would be unwise to give us all your money to invest - after all, every investment has a certain degree of risk associated with it, and you've never worked with us before."

"That's sounds very professional."

"Well, we at least try to sound professional," Nestor added. A scowl from Simmons and he studied the dregs in the bottom of his tea cup.

"What Mr. Nestor means is we try to be humble. If we're too successful, we'd be hounded by firms in The City for our secrets and we wouldn't have a moment's rest. So what I propose is that you start us off with a small amount - say a few hundred pounds - and we'll see how our prospects play out. After we're successful, we can increase the investment amount to earn more. Every shilling is a brighter future for someone, eh?"

"You sound a reasonable man, Mr. Simmons. I am inclined to work with you - after all, I've been blessed with so much as it is, that it certainly wouldn't hurt to help those who are less fortunate."

"Like us," Nestor said under his breath.

"What?" Mrs. Wilberforce asked.

"He said he hopes you like us," Simmons explained.

"You two certainly seem to have your heart in the right place; certainly more so than than Professor Marcus. Let me get you some to begin." She stood up and slowly walked out of the room. Nestor started to rise but Simmons held him in place with his arm. After a short time she returned, with several bundles of notes. "I believe this is five hundred," she said as she kissed the money. "Be fruitful and multiply." She handed the money to Simmons, who to his credit did not salivate too heavily.

"I shall expect a receipt," she said. "For tax purposes, of course."

"Of course," Simmons said. "We'll take our leave of you, and start building your little gift to the underprivileged tomorrow."

"Good evening, gentlemen. Good luck."

"Yes, well, it never hurts to have that I guess," Nestor said as he rose.

Mrs. Wilburforce saw them to the door, then went about cleaning up after the tea.

...

"I think it's a terrific idea you had, Tom."

"Well, it seems to me if you want the old dame to trust us, we need to make sure the first go is legit-like. Get all our papers good and proper now and we'll be thick as thieves later. Har har," Nextor laughed.

"And what better way to prove legitimate investments can lose money that to pick a surefire failure. I know a bloke who buys and sells commodities above board. I put all five hundred pounds on coal futures shipping to Newcastle."

"But they only ship coal away from Newcastle - even I know that."

"Precisely. She doesn't have to know the details of the transaction; the important part is we'll have it all on a receipt. I put it in her name, of course - I don't want anyone seeing our names in the off-chance they're recognized. We'll come back in two weeks and put on frowns while we take our losses. After that, we can start working the next round."

...

"A coal strike?" Simmons was flabbergasted as he was handed a cheque for almost two thousand pounds.

"That's right. With none coming out of the ground, they were in desperate need of the stuff for their own use and you just happened to be part of the concern holding the option to ship there. Who knew?" the broker said, shrugging. "You sure are lucky, Leo."

"Yeah...lucky." He stared again at the cheque; it was made out to Louisa Wilberforce, so there was no way to skim money off the top of the gain.

An hour later he was handing the money over to Mrs. Wilberforce. "My, you have done rather well with my investment, haven't you?"

"Mr. Nestor had a hand in this one, mum. I knew a man who had an opportunity for a quick return and I took advantage of...a coal shortage. That's the nature of investing, heh heh. You never can tell when an opportunity will strike." He held back a wince at the unintentional pun.

"Just think of how many more people I can help with this! I thank both you gentlemen. I think for the next round, a nice even thousand pounds should suffice. That is, if you don't mind."

Nestor and Simmons looked at each other. "Don't worry Mrs. Wilberforce - I think we can be comfortable with a thousand."

Outside, Tom asked Leonard "What are you going to invest in next?"

"I was thinking maybe the place where I lose most of my money - the horse races."

"Do you think she'll object to gambling away the money?"

"She didn't say we couldn't, and I'll keep the losing ticket. It's always easier to ask forgiveness than permission," he grinned. "We just need to pick a long-shot and hope for the worst."

...

"Tainted oats?" Simmons asked, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. Their long-shot had just won the fifth race of the day when the other three horses only made it halfway around the track before slowing to a walk.

"Aye, never seen the like since the Tilden incident of '37. No foul play this time; it came from a fresh bag. Your horse got the last of the old feed and wasn't affected. Slowest winning time in fifteen years." The payout window clerk counted out the winnings and had Simmons sign a receipt.

"I don't suppose there's another race I could bet on?" Simmons moaned.

"Nay, 'twas the last one today. Be grateful - you might have lost it all on another bet."

"Hallelujah. Come on Tom, let's go turn in our winnings." Dejected, he trudged off with his partner in tow.

"Naturally, I'm happy with the increase in my future gift to those in need," Mrs. Wilberforce said "but I have to say I disapprove of gambling - there are so many unsavory types hanging around gambling booths. Please gentlemen, no more gambling - it's just too risky. Let's see you have a go with this five thousand; I know it's a lot of money, so take your time and do be careful."

...

"I am simply astounded at the low this represents in English literature," Simmons said as he handed over another cheque to Mrs. Wilberforce. This one was for ten thousand pounds, with a note saying that she should expect residuals to continue after each printing - a reward for helping to back a new book for publishing. "To think that a book with nothing but facts and figures would catch the fancy of the world. Guinness Book of World Records indeed. Who cares to read of how many eggs a man can eat at a sitting? It's disgusting."

"I agree, Mr. Simmons. The idea is appalling. But you can't discount the popularity of the book, it would seem. Give me Shakespeare anytime." She took the cheque and placed it in her handbag to deposit in the bank the next day. "Both of you have done such exemplary work, I'd like to give a bonus." She took a ten-pound note and gave it to Simmons, and repeated the process with Nestor. "For the next investment, I'm giving you a thousand again. I had a dream you would do quite well with exactly that amount." She bid them a good day and went to clean the bird cages.

...

"Here, you hand it over this time," Simmons said as he gave the check and paperwork to Nestor. "I haven't got the heart this time."

Mrs. Wilburforce answered the door and invited them into the sitting room for the tea ritual. "We did alright, Ma'am," Nestor said as he handed the check over to the elderly lady.

"Oh, I should say you did. That's about double, isn't it?" she asked.

"Aye."

"I told you I had a dream you'd do well. How did you do it this time?"

"Ice," Simmons explained. "It was really cheap during that cold wave we had, so I bought a warehouse full of it. Then the drought hit and suddenly everyone wanted our ice. There were almost fights over it, and we even had competing bids to buy the stuff."

"That's terrible! I can't bear the thought of being involved in something that causes conflict with other people - it just isn't civilized. Perhaps you should stay out of the ice business in the future. Here's your next seed to make grow," she said as she handed them another bundle of bills.

After the tea, the two men stood outside her door in the street. Nestor looked at Simmons, who shrugged. "I figured we'd just sit on the ice and have it melt. Who knew there would be a drought? Now what?" Simmons asked as they walked away.

"Well Leo, so far you've always done well when you tried to fail. Maybe you should try to do well this time and see what happens."

"You know Tom, it's just crazy enough to work..."

...

Three weeks later, both men showed up on the now familiar doorstep of the leaning house. Mrs. Wilberforce opened the door and excitedly ushered them in. "I'm so glad you've shown up; I have wonderful news. Please, into the sitting room. I had a feeling I would have company, and I've already made tea. Mind you, it could have been my oldest friends at the door - but you gentlemen have become my new friends to whom I owe so much." The men sat and she served them as she bustled about. "It's just so wonderful...oh...I can't wait, I must tell you now. I've found a charity and donated all the money to it. Isn't it wonderful?"

Nestor paused with a cup in front of his face, unmoving. "All of it?" Simmons asked.

"Oh yes. Nearly ninety-one thousand pounds when all is said and done. Plus I signed over the residuals from the book, which I've sure will add up over time. Just think of all those happy children in the orphanage."

"Yeah. Happy kids," Nestor mumbled.

"Just like that," Simmons said faintly.

"Just...like...that," Mrs. Wilberforce said gaily. "I must say, Christmas has come early this year for them."

"I'm...left without words."

"Oh, don't think I haven't thought of you gentlemen too. Your Christmas has come early, too. I'm completely done with all the investing complications in my life, and I would like to thank you both properly. You both can keep all the money you made on your last investment for yourselves. I'll give you the address of the orphanage so you can visit and look at how your work has benefited others. I'm told they're going to dedicate a small, tasteful plaque with my name. It's it just wonderful?"

"I think I'm going to cry," Simmons announced.

"Terrific," Nestor added.

"Such fine gentlemen! It reminds me of the time my first husband..."

An hour later, both men slogged out the door. "You didn't tell her we lost all the money from the last bundle on that restaurant," Nestor said.

"How was I to know that the heater was faulty and they didn't have fire insurance? It seemed like a sure winner with customers lined out the door every day. Now the only people there are fire inspectors."

"What are you going to do now?"

From a short distance away, a train whistle blew. "I think I'm going to hitch a ride on a train - by jumping off the overcrossing. Care to join me?"

The End

A/N: A great, great classic comedy from the old Ealing Studios. All the villains died by their own hands in the original, but Mrs. Wilburforce still had all that money. What to do, what to do...