Chapter 2
Looking for a Halo in a Haystack

It took Britt an hour and a half to travel the forty-odd miles from New Scotland Yard to Amos Klein's cottage; finding a cab driver willing to take him all the way to Hascombe was part of the problem, but most of the delay was caused by London traffic. He did his best to keep a lid on his annoyance, but at one point, when traffic came to a standstill yet again, a frustrated sigh slipped out before he could stop it.

"Can't be 'elped, guv," said the cabbie.

Britt rubbed his forehead. "I know, I'm sorry. It's not your fault. It's just that a friend of mine is in danger, and I don't have any better way to get to him."

"Oh. Well, there's nowt I can do about the traffic, as I say, but once we're clear of it, I'll do me best."

"Thanks."

When the cab finally made the turn onto a secluded country lane just outside Hascombe, Britt started looking for a scene from a postcard—a small half-timbered house with a thatched roof and whitewashed walls, with maybe two bedrooms that each had their own fireplace, set amid a bright garden bustling with bees and butterflies. He was very surprised when the cabbie turned into the driveway of a two-story red-brick house with white trim and a detached garage but no garden to speak of. He couldn't be sure of the square footage, but it might be as big as Simon's place or his own townhouse.

"Are you sure this is the right address?" Britt asked.

"I'm positive, guv," the cabbie replied. "Me sister married an 'Ascombe lad, so I know the village. Summat the matter?"

"It's just not what I'd pictured when I heard the word cottage."

"You were expectin' chocolate box, eh?" The cabbie chuckled. "Well, it is a cottage compared to the big 'ouse, but I take your point. See owt o' your friend?"

"Well, that's his car," Britt noted as the cab stopped beside Simon's Volvo. "Hopefully he's still here to go with it." Then he got out, paid the fare, and sent the cabbie back to London with his thanks.

Once the cab was back on the road, however, a sick feeling of dread settled into Britt's stomach. The area was too quiet, and although he called out to Simon and knocked on what looked like the front door, nobody answered. There was still a chance that Simon or Klein was around the back of the house and couldn't hear, but Britt wasn't getting his hopes up. They plummeted further when he looked inside the car and found the keys in the ignition and Simon's gun in its usual hiding place above the driver-side visor. The car wasn't locked, so Britt got in long enough to take the keys and do a quick search for clues. Nothing was obviously out of place until he started to get out—and there amid the gravel beside his foot was a red-fletched tranquilizer dart.

The dart alone doesn't prove anything, his inner Frank Scanlon said. I certainly can't build a case on it—not one that would stand up in court. Still, Britt used his handkerchief to pick up the dart and slid it into his pocket, then closed the car door and started around the back of the house to see whether Simon or Klein were there and unresponsive.

The dread deepened when he rounded the side of the house and his eye was caught by a floor-length floral-patterned curtain blowing outward. As he got closer to the French doors it was blowing through, he could see that a light was still on inside.

"Simon?" he called again. "Mr. Klein? Anyone home?"

Still no answer.

Steeling himself and wishing he'd brought gloves, Britt nudged the French doors further open and examined the lock as he passed. The door had been forced. There were no bodies on the floor, living or dead (although there was a dummy on the couch next to a tape recorder), nor was there any blood anywhere, but there were definite signs of a struggle. He made a cursory search of the rest of the house, found no humans but one cat that didn't seem to belong there, took the cat outside, and returned to the living room to examine it more thoroughly.

Six bullet holes were scattered around the door he'd first come through, too scattered to have made an effective defense against an intruder. Either the shooter had terrible aim, or something else had happened that didn't make much sense—there was no sign that any of the bullets had found their mark, but one had apparently gone through a vase that had been on a pedestal by the door. A few tiny fragments of ceramic still lay on and around the pedestal. But most of the vase, and the flowers that had been in it, had been picked up and deposited in the trash can that stood beside the desk in the middle of the room. A gun also lay on the desk, a six-shot Femaru 37 .380. Britt picked it up with a pencil through the trigger guard and sniffed of it; it had been fired recently enough that he could still smell the gunpowder but long enough ago that the scent was faint.

Frowning, he put the gun down again and tried to put those pieces together. Then he spotted two loops of rope left on another table, too large to effectively bind anything—or anyone—but possibly effective for someone to bind his own hands and feet in a way he could get out of later. Had Klein been working on a scene the night before? There was a half-typed page still in the typewriter that involved someone named Brody slipping a gun to Charles Lake:

After Brody had left the cellar, Lake considered his options. Brody was a nice boy, and the gun had been kindly meant, but a knife would have been much more practical. He could have used that to cut his bonds and Warlock's throat as well, or at least he could have thrown it to catch Warlock in the back. How was he supposed to fire the gun with his hands tied behind his own back?

Britt considered that last line, looked again at the wild pattern of bullet holes, and turned to examine the dummy on the couch. Sure enough, there was a slit in the coat it was wearing that matched the kitchen knife that was lying on the desk. So apparently Klein had been acting out the scenario to get himself out of the corner he'd written himself into. That still didn't explain where Simon and Klein were now or all the other signs of struggle throughout the room, like the books and papers strewn all over the floor.

Sighing, Britt moved on. There were two glasses on the desk with partially consumed drinks in them—both whiskey, and neither smelled nor tasted drugged—of course, if they had been and Simon hadn't noticed in time, it would have obviated the need for the tranquilizer dart. So someone must have interrupted after Simon and Klein had begun sharing a friendly drink. That would square with the side door being forced, but somehow either Simon or Klein, presumably both, had gotten past whoever had broken in and had made it as far as Simon's car. Whoever had intended to drive had even gotten the keys into the ignition. Who'd fired the tranquilizer gun and whether they'd tranqed both Simon and Klein was an open question, and not one that particularly needed an answer right away. The point was that they, whoever they were, had overpowered both men and had taken them somewhere else.

Britt suspected he was missing some of the fine detail, but that answered enough of the 'what' and 'how' to work with for the moment. The 'when' didn't need an exact answer, either; there had clearly been a pretty narrow window between Simon's arrival and the kidnapping, probably less than an hour and maybe less than fifteen minutes. The captors and their victims could be anywhere by now. So the sooner Britt could answer 'who' and 'why,' the sooner he could start narrowing down the 'where.' Simon had had the Hornet Signal on him, Britt thought, but even if he'd turned it on by this time, Britt still needed to be in the Black Beauty and within a fifty-mile radius to detect it… so the more clues he could find before Kato arrived, the better.

But where would he even start? He couldn't hope to sort through the whirlwind of manuscript pages, files, and other papers that were strewn and stacked around the room without leaving his fingerprints on them, let alone the bookcases. And even though it looked like the kidnappers had left in a hurry—maybe either Klein or Simon had kicked up enough of a fuss before being knocked out that they had reason to fear the neighbors had heard something—it stood to reason that they'd grab any incriminating papers that might be lying around.

—except—

Frowning slightly, he went to look at a scrap of torn paper that was lying on the floor beside the desk. He didn't know why it had caught his eye, but it had. It was just the size and shape of a scrap left behind when a stapled page was torn off past the staple, but rather than being any of the shades of white or beige he could see among the other papers in the room, this was a pale peach with a definite darker border at the top. He hunted around for a box of tissues, found one and took a tissue from it, and used the tissue to pick up the scrap to examine more closely under the light of the lamp on the side table, which was still turned on.

After doing so, Britt was sure it was a fragment of a check that had been stapled to something, presumably a letter. But a quick glance around revealed neither the letter nor the rest of the check.

Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe the fragment's presence on the floor was a coincidence. He put it in his pocket anyway. Klein could have already cashed the check, and the letter could be buried somewhere amid Klein's papers, but Britt had a hunch that the kidnappers had taken both. He needed to ask Hugoson about it—if Klein's address wasn't public knowledge, the check must have come through Hugoson's office.

Taking two more tissues out of the box, Britt did what searching he could in the rest of the living room but turned up nothing more of use. Most of the rest of the house was equally devoid of clues; it appeared that anything incriminating that the kidnappers might have wanted to take with them had been easy to find in the living room. When he got to the wardrobe in the master bedroom, however, he was brought up short. He'd spent enough time with Casey and his other female friends and attended enough fashion shows to know what ladies' clothes looked like, and while Klein's wardrobe held primarily shirts and slacks, none of them were made for men. There were several dresses, too, and all the shoes were also made for women. The master bathroom yielded similar results: no masculine toiletries, but makeup and products for women's hair, plus certain… feminine necessities.

If Amos Klein was a woman, that would explain Hugoson's horror of the press and his desire to have Simon come down to protect her. Britt knew plenty of women who could take care of themselves, of course—Barbara Gordon not the least—but judging from the size of Klein's clothes, she was very likely not to be among them, especially if she were disarmed. She hadn't had time to reload the Femaru, that was plain. And there again, the question became… protect her from whom? What had Hugoson been so justly afraid of?

Britt's stomach growled, and he sighed. Klein's bedside clock said it was after 1, and there really wasn't anything more to be gained by continuing to search with only tissues protecting his hands. If Hugoson didn't have any answers, Britt decided he could always come back later as the Green Hornet after Kato arrived. He went back downstairs, turned out lights, locked up as best he could, and drove Simon's car into the village in search of lunch.

There wasn't much to Hascombe—certainly not in the way of restaurants, so Britt settled for lunch at the local pub. The meal was pleasant, but he couldn't help wishing he had any of his usual confidants with him to help him think through the clues he'd found. His mind kept circling the three key unanswered questions: who, where, and why. He suspected he wouldn't get any closer to answering them without talking to Hugoson… but then again, maybe someone in the village had seen something. And he hadn't had a chance to get Casey a souvenir yet. So after lunch, he decided to wander through the shops, just to see what he could see.

That, however, was easier said than done. It took some doing for Britt to actually find any shops, and even when he did, the first few windows revealed them to be grocery- and pharmacy-type stores. When he finally came across one that looked like it sold books, he went in.

Upon hearing his accent, the middle-aged lady at the counter asked excitedly, "'Ere, is that your car?"

Britt blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"The white one, parked down the pub."

"Uh, no, it belongs to a friend of mine. He left it down here and asked me to come pick it up."

"Ooh!" If anything, that answer piqued the lady's curiosity further. "Is that the gentleman called to see the young lady last night? In a tuxedo, 'e was, 'bout your 'eight—lighter 'air, though."

Britt frowned a little. "Yes, that's Simon. How'd you know?"

The lady leaned forward to rest her arms on the counter. "Why, we're neighbors, dear! Not close neighbors, mind—the young lady do keep to 'erself, not sure as I've ever even 'eard 'er right name—but we're on the same road, and we do like to keep an eye out, you know."

He nodded. "Very kind of you."

"Not just to be neighborly, mind. There's all manner of odd noises from that 'ouse, shots and the like. All hours, too—my Fred and I are gone durin' the day, but it's 'ard to keep secrets in a village, innit?"

"I see." He could tell this lady was just barely polite enough not to do her snooping at close range, which was probably the only reason she didn't realize that her slightly odd neighbor was in fact a world-famous author writing under a male pen name.

"And our telly's out for repairs, and there wasn't much on the radio last night, so when we 'eard the car go past, well, I said to my Fred we'd best watch for a bit, just in case, as it was awfully late to be callin', for all that it's nearly mid-summer. And then the young gentleman got out, and we said how nice it was to think that she'd found a man at last, as she 'ardly ever leaves that 'ouse. 'Course, 'e 'adn't been there a full minute before there were shots, but 'e'd only just gone 'round the side, so I don't think she even knew 'e was there!"

Britt frowned slightly. "Did that worry you at all?"

The lady chuckled. "No, bless you, luv! I tell you, there's always strange noises of that sort comin' from that 'ouse. And there weren't but one scream and six shots, and the gentleman didn't come runnin' back out straightaway, so we thought it must be all right."

We're fairly tolerant of eccentrics in this country, Britt suddenly remembered Simon saying to Kato shortly after they'd met the year before—he hadn't been there for that conversation, but Kato had repeated the remark to him later. He couldn't help wondering how long it had taken the neighbors to conclude that Klein was merely eccentric and stop asking questions.

"That's what makes it so odd," the lady continued more slowly.

Britt's frown deepened a bit. "What was odd?"

"The police showin' up just a few minutes later, and in a car, no less."

"You didn't call them?"

"No, that's just it! We couldn't 'ave even if we'd wanted to—we don't 'ave a telephone. I think the young lady's the only one on our road who does."

"What happens if there's an emergency?"

"Well, we do 'ave a police 'ouse, right the other side o' the village, but it's only a ten-minute walk, less if you 'cycle it. And it wasn't our local constable what turned up. I'd know 'im a mile away, but I'd never seen these men before in me life."

Bingo. Britt came closer to the counter. "There was more than one officer?"

"Yes—three of 'em, and that was odd, too. There was one went to the front door first and was let in. Then another went 'round the side and the third went and 'id be'ind the white car. Minute or so later, there was a bang, and your friend and the young lady come runnin' out to the white car, only the third officer popped up and shot summat at the gentleman just as 'e was about to get in the car, and 'e collapsed. And the second officer was chasin' 'em and caught the young lady, and didn't she fight and scream as 'e picked 'er up! And they put the two of 'em into the back o' the police car and did somethin' so the young lady stopped fightin'—I didn't see what—and then the third officer went back in the house and came back with the first officer, what was stuffin' a paper or summat into his jacket. And then they all got in the car and drove off." She lowered her voice. "Only they went the wrong way, if you ask me."

He leaned on the counter and lowered his own voice. "What do you mean?"

"They didn't go to the police 'ouse. That's south, you see, and they turned north, towards Godalming—or London. I did wonder, you know, whether they might be Scotland Yard, but…."

He shook his head. "No, they weren't at Scotland Yard, I know that much."

"Oh? Well, then, where are they?"

"I dunno. Simon didn't say. He just wanted me to pick up his car."

"'E didn't say?"

"No, it sounded like he didn't really have time to talk."

"Oh. Well, I do 'ope they're all right."

"So do I," he murmured, tallying everything she'd said with what he'd seen in the house. It fit, and it explained why no one would have reported the kidnapping—even if they'd had telephones, the neighbors would have written it off as an arrest, although he didn't think Americans would have been as slow to question why the police would be using a tranquilizer gun. All the same, it didn't answer who the ersatz officers were, where they'd taken Simon and Miss Klein, or why they'd kidnapped them.

His informant straightened. "Oh, but there, listen to me gossip! What can I do for you, ducks?"

Britt drew a deep breath and straightened in turn. "Well, I'd promised my girlfriend a souvenir, and as long as I was this far off the beaten path…."

"Of course, dear!"

They talked business for a few minutes, and he came away with a beautiful cat figurine for Casey, plus a nice blank notebook for Mike and a desk planner for Frank. He didn't see anything he thought Kato needed, but since Kato was on his way, they could find something together in London—or wherever the case took them next.

Back at the pub, Britt put his purchases in the back seat of Simon's car and ducked inside the pub briefly to borrow a map and the London phone book to locate Hugoson's apartment. Then he headed back to London, keeping an eye out for all the places the fake police car could have turned off. But there were too many for it to be an easy matter of narrowing down the location just from one turn, and there was no guarantee that the kidnappers hadn't looped back around to the south once they'd passed Godalming. He just had to hope that Hugoson would have some information for him to go on—and that Simon would be able to turn on the Hornet Signal.

Hugoson's apartment building turned out to be only a mile or so from Leicester Square, and the traffic Britt ran into getting to it was almost unbearable. It was after 4 when he finally knocked on Hugoson's door, but to his great relief, the press-shy publisher was in. Hugoson answered the door with an expression of polite curiosity that curdled when he saw Britt.

"Oh," he said.

"Mr. Hugoson," Britt began quietly, "this conversation will be entirely off the record, but I need your full and honest cooperation. Simon Templar and Amos Klein have been kidnapped."

Hugoson inhaled sharply in alarm but exhaled in a defeated sigh as his shoulders slumped. "You'd better come in."

"Thank you," said Britt and did so.

"Brandy, Mr. Reid?" Hugoson offered as he ushered Britt into his living room.

"Not when I'm driving, thank you," Britt replied and sat down on the couch. "Traffic's bad enough even without being on the wrong side of the road."

That got a genuine chuckle out of Hugoson. "Well, I believe I need one." He poured some brandy into a snifter, took a fortifying drink, and sighed again. "What happened?"

"All I know so far is that shortly after Simon arrived at Klein's cottage, the neighbors saw three men in police uniforms arrive in a police car and set up an ambush. Simon tried to run for it with a young lady, but he was shot with a tranquilizer dart, and the men put both of them into the police car, apparently gave the lady a tranquilizer to prevent her from escaping, and left. Where they went after they left Hascombe is anybody's guess."

"Oh, no," Hugoson groaned and sat down behind his desk, then took another swig of brandy.

"The lady's Amos Klein, isn't she?"

"Mr. Reid—"

"Off the record, I promise. I do know when to keep a story out of the news."

Hugoson stared into his snifter for a moment before admitting quietly, "Yes, it's true. I daren't tell you her real name—I haven't even told Simon, and I trust him with my life."

"That's not a detail I need. What I do need to know is what you were really afraid of last night. You told Simon you were worried about protecting Miss Klein's identity from the press, but he said he suspected there was more to it. And I don't know too many reporters who'd resort to kidnapping in order to get a story."

"No." Hugoson drained his glass. "No, you're quite right. I was worried by the reporters at the premiere, but… about a month ago, my office received a letter for Miss Klein. It was delivered by hand, so there was no postmark and no return address. I don't often keep copies of her correspondence, but I did make a copy of this one before we forwarded it on to her." He took a deep breath, forced himself to his feet, and went to a filing cabinet labeled Amos Klein Contracts – Confidential. The top drawer had been broken into, presumably by the thieves the night before, but Hugoson opened the second drawer and rummaged for a moment before finding the copy and bringing it to Britt. "You've at least seen the movie, so you'll understand why it made me uneasy."

Britt looked at the copy—and frowned. The letterhead read S. W. O. R. D., with a broadsword through the S. His frown deepened as he read the text:

Dear Mr. Klein,

Enclosed is a check for £50,000, being half payment for your writing services, which we are most anxious to acquire. Period of employment: two months. Balance on completion. The work is secret, challenging, and to your taste. Your cashing this check will be regarded as full acceptance of the contract, whereupon you will be contacted and given further instructions.

Yours sincerely,

Warlock

There was a photocopy of the check at the bottom of the page as well. The signature was an illegible scrawl, but he could see that the account was at the East Midlands Bank. That was probably a red herring—smart crooks didn't bank in their own back yard—but it was still something more than he'd had.

"What was Miss Klein's reaction?" Britt asked as he got out his notebook to write down the account number.

"Amused," Hugoson said ruefully. "Just another kooky bit of fanmail, in her opinion. I asked her a week or so later what she'd done about it, and she said she hadn't done anything and wasn't going to, as it was clearly the work of a nutcase. But if this person really is modeling himself after Warlock, he's a far more dangerous lunatic than she gave him credit for being. I suppose the only mercy is that Simon was with her last night."

"We'll get her back, Mr. Hugoson," Britt vowed quietly and put his notebook away. "I'm sure Simon's working on an escape plan right now."

"It had better be a good one. No one ever escapes from SWORD, and if this man can so casually offer £100,000 for 'writing services' and then hire three men to kidnap Miss Klein in the guise of the police when she wouldn't accept, he's probably got the funds to make his version of SWORD terrifyingly close to the books."

"Maybe, but even in the books, Warlock never met the Saint." Or the Green Hornet, Britt added mentally.

After a few parting pleasantries, Britt went down to Simon's car and drove away far enough to find a secluded alley. There he parked and pulled out his pocket watch. He had no way of knowing how soon after calling Kato had left Gotham or whether he were clear of whatever airport Hoppy had gotten him flown into, but there wasn't much more Britt Reid could do on his own. The Green Hornet needed his man and his car.

He breathed a short prayer, pressed and held the winding stem to activate the radio, and asked, "Kato, do you read me?"

There was a short pause, not long enough for Britt to repeat the call, before Kato's tinny voice answered, "I read you."

Britt closed his eyes in relief. "Where are you now?"

"I just left London Airport."

"Good. Switch on the oscilloscope; let me know if you pick up the Hornet Signal."

"Right." Several seconds passed before Kato reported, "I'm not picking up anything."

Britt slumped back with a heavy sigh. "All right, I'll meet you in Hackney in about half an hour. If you get to the garage before I do, secure the car and then go ahead and change clothes. I'll want to brief you and Casey at the same time when we get back to Simon's."

"Check," said Kato and signed off.

Britt sighed again as he pushed the antenna back into his watch and put the watch back in his pocket. He should have known it wouldn't be that easy—SWORD Headquarters was in the country somewhere, according to Sunburst Five, and wherever it was, it had to be someplace where people wouldn't ask questions about a police car showing up with three officers and two unconscious prisoners late at night. That ruled out the heart of a city like London. Still, a fifty-mile radius covered a lot of countryside….

He stewed about it all the way to Hackney, where he got to the garage just as Kato was about to close the door but stopped long enough to let Britt drive in and park next to the Black Beauty. The old girl had never looked more beautiful to Britt, and after he got out of Simon's car, he took a moment to just rub a fond hand over her hood.

"Still nothing on the oscilloscope?" he asked when the door was shut.

Kato shook his head. "No, nothing yet. Why? What's wrong?"

"Simon and Amos Klein have been kidnapped."

Kato hissed. "Then it's a good thing Mr. Templar asked me to leave last night."

"I couldn't agree with you more." Britt sighed again. "Go ahead and get changed. Like I said, I'll tell you the rest while I'm talkin' to Casey."

Kato nodded and changed out of his mask and livery into street clothes while Britt turned off the oscilloscope and shifted the luggage from the Black Beauty to the trunk of Simon's car. Then they left together and picked up carry-outs on the way back to Simon's apartment, where Britt called Casey and brought her and Kato up to speed at the same time. He didn't mention the part about Klein being female; that much he'd tell Kato privately.

Casey's first question when he'd finished was, "Do you need me to cancel your flight home?"

"Please do," Britt replied. "No telling how long this'll take. The bank's closed on Sundays, so if I can't get hold of a manager and find the right pressure point, it'll be Monday before I can get any information about Warlock's account. I'm not sure if I'll be able to get anywhere on tracing the phony police car before Monday, either."

"Well, Chapman should still be in the London office. I could ask him to start working on it."

"Good thinking." Britt didn't want to admit how embarrassed he was to have forgotten about the London office. After his dad's death, the Sentinel had had to close several of its overseas bureaus to consolidate costs; the reporters covering European news had all been based in Geneva until the previous fall, when Ken Shields had helped Britt land a good lease for an office on Fleet Street. "I'll check in with him in the morning."

"All right. Anything else?"

"Well, there's one other thing you could do for me. If this person who's calling himself Warlock really is trying to copy from Klein's books, the books themselves might give us some answers about where they're hiding Simon and Klein."

"You mean you want me to read the rest of them?" Casey sounded distinctly unenthusiastic.

"There's a bonus in it for you," Britt coaxed.

Casey sighed. "All right. I'll fax my notes to the London office for you."

"Thanks. Any business there you need me to take care of while I've got you on the line?"

"Nothing that can't wait until you've found Simon. Oh, but that reminds me, Mike thinks he's got a new line on the Green Hornet. Should I tell him to sit on it?"

Britt considered. "No, I'll call him tomorrow to find out what it is. It might not hurt to let people think the Green Hornet's still in Century City, or even in Gotham if someone spotted Kato there."

"Right."

Britt paused. "I've missed you today, Casey."

Her voice gentled. "I've missed you, too. Take care of yourself, will you?"

"I will. That's a promise."

And after a few more sweet nothings, they hung up.

"What did she say about the police car?" Kato asked as he and Britt went to the table to eat.

"She's gonna put Chapman onto it. I told her I'd check with him in the morning."

Kato nodded.

"I did give Simon the Hornet Signal," Britt said as they sat down. "He had it on him when he left. But the oscilloscope wasn't picking up anything, so that means either Simon's not within fifty miles of London or he hasn't turned it on."

"Or both."

"Yeah." Britt grimaced. "Not sure what we'll do if the bank and the police car leads don't pan out. We won't be able to go back to Klein's house without the neighbors noticing."

"You seem very tired," Kato noted. "And we're both very hungry. We'll probably do better if we leave things as they are for tonight, let Chapman and Miss Case follow their leads, and come back to it fresh in the morning."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Britt smiled ruefully. "Have I ever told you how much I appreciate you, Kato?"

Kato just smiled, and they ate.