Chapter 5
Endings Are Hard

Britt and Simon dozed downstairs until Kato got back with Miss Klein's overnight case, which Britt slipped into her room on his own way to bed after Kato left. He thought Simon would be right behind him, but when he woke again around 8 and came downstairs, he found Simon working away at a sketch pad in the sitting area in front of the windows.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.

Simon sighed. "No, not really. I suddenly realized that as Warlock was vaporized, there's no body left for the police to identify. There probably weren't any photographs of him in SWORD Headquarters, either. So…." He set down his charcoal stick and turned the sketch pad around to show Britt a full-body portrait of Warlock.

Britt nodded slowly.

"I've done several more studies of his head for the police—different angles, different expressions, and so on." Simon turned the pad back around and laid it down to spray fixative over the current page. "Also did one in pen you can run in the Sentinel—that should fax better than a charcoal sketch."

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

"There's coffee in the kitchen if you'd like some. I'll be in shortly to start breakfast."

"You sure? I don't mind cooking if you have more to draw."

Simon set down the can of fixative and looked up in surprise. "You cook?"

Britt shrugged. "I'm not as good as Kato or you, but Dad wanted me to be able to fend for myself if I had to—and I have had to at times when Kato got sick or needed time off. I can make a decent chuck wagon breakfast, anyway."

"Well, all right, if you want to, thanks. I keep my sourdough starter beside the stove." Then Simon grinned. "I daresay our authoress won't know what to make of biscuits and gravy."*

Britt laughed softly and went into the kitchen to have some coffee and start cooking. By the time he was ready to roll out the biscuit dough, though, Simon had finished his drawings and was pensively frying the bacon.

"Are you all right, Simon?" Britt asked quietly as he located the rolling pin.

Simon sighed. "I suppose so. I've been through worse, and so have you. I'm more worried about her," he added, glancing upward in the general direction of Miss Klein's room. "Recovery's going to take time, of course, but if she can't find her way forward, with or without the characters from the Charles Lake novels… it'll be the end of her career and could be the end of her."

Britt frowned. "You think it's that bad?"

"Not yet, but it's early days. I'm hardly the world's greatest fan of Charles Lake, but… I do care about his creator. By the same token, I don't want to ruin a perfectly good friendship by offering the wrong kind of support."

Britt hummed thoughtfully and started rolling out the dough. "You don't want to push it past friendship, you mean?"

Simon transferred the bacon to a plate, leaving most of the grease in the pan. "Well, not that I'm opposed—better her than Galaxy!—but even if she returns the interest, I've no illusions that it would work out in the long run. Especially when she won't even tell me her real name."

"Mm. Say, what is your beef with Galaxy, anyway? It's obvious she's a lot smarter than she acts."

"I dislike blatant attempts at seduction, especially by women who aren't ashamed to put on a character and then quote a book's narration regarding a 'sad, sexy twist of her lissom body' while performing suitable contortions to match." When Britt snorted, Simon continued, "She was fawning all over me from the moment I woke up in that house, and I got tired of it in the first five minutes. And that was after she'd undressed me and put me in pajamas while I was unconscious. She did have other duties as Warlock's secretary, so she wasn't in the room with us all the time, but still."

Britt considered. "Yeah, that'd make me pretty uncomfortable, too."

Simon picked up a grater and a potato to start shredding for hash browns. "Amos is more girly than she gives herself credit for, but even when she was playing my secretary, she wasn't playing at being a sexpot. Rather refreshing, these days."

Britt smiled and got out a glass to cut the biscuits with, and the conversation turned to such mundane matters as which type of cream gravy (country, sausage, etc.) to fix. It was one of those moments when he understood why Kato insisted that he liked to cook, even when he wasn't technically on duty as Britt's valet. And it was nice to have some down time to just chat with Simon.

They had just brought the filled serving dishes to the table when Miss Klein screamed.

The spiral staircase was too narrow and its radius too tight for Simon and Britt to race up side by side, so Britt found himself in the awkward position of having to hang back until Simon cleared enough steps for him to follow. That also meant that Simon disappeared into Miss Klein's room just as Britt reached the second floor and that Simon was sitting on the bed and hugging a bawling Miss Klein by the time Britt got to the door.

"Oh, Simon, it was terrible," she choked out.

"Nightmare?" Simon asked gently.

She nodded. "Warlock, he was… Earthquake Four… he tried to kill you!"

"Shh." Simon rubbed her back. "It's all right, darling. He's dead. He can't hurt either of us anymore."

She was too wracked with sobs to say anything more for a moment, but just when Britt was on the point of going back downstairs and leaving Simon to do the comforting, she sniffled convulsively and started trying to pull herself together. "Sorry," she all but hiccupped. "Stupid of me."

"No, it isn't stupid. Anyone might have nightmares after what we've been through. I certainly did."

She pulled back, startled. "You?!"

Simon nodded. "Only mine had more landmines and typewriter ribbons."

She managed a damp chuckle.

He rubbed her shoulder. "We've just put breakfast on the table. Think you're up to it?"

"I'll try."

"Good girl."

"I say, it does smell a bit good," she added as Simon helped her stand.

Britt was almost offended but then remembered that a bit good was standard British understatement.

"Don't let Britt tell you he's not a good cook," said Simon. "He made his dishes without consulting a single recipe, and I've tasted them. 'Decent' is putting it mildly."

Britt grinned. "Thanks, Simon."

Miss Klein just smiled until they were all in the hall and headed toward the stairs. Then she looked up at Simon. "Landmines and typewriter ribbons?"

Simon nodded. "Blank pages, too. It was terrifying."

Britt wasn't sure whether Simon were serious or not, but Miss Klein laughed. "How do you know so much about the writing life?" she asked. "That really was a rather impressive rant you gave Warlock yesterday."

"Oh, one of my youthful indiscretions was an adventure novel called The Pirate. It was moderately successful, fell out of print years ago. I doubt I have another one in me. But I have experienced the struggle first-hand."

"I may have read that," Britt admitted. "I think it was on a camping trip with Dad when I was in junior high. But I've slept since then."

"Can't be as long ago as all that, surely," Simon teased.

Britt laughed. "Feeling old, Simon?"

"Well, I wasn't until you said 'junior high.' I was already well out of school when I wrote that."

Miss Klein's smile brightened at their banter, so they kept it up all the way to the table. There Simon held her chair for her, and she looked over the spread with growing interest as the men arranged the serving dishes. But then they handed her the bread basket, and she took out a biscuit—and stared at it, baffled.

"What on earth is that?" she asked.

Britt and Simon both cracked up.

After breakfast came a flurry of phone calls—Britt to Chapman and Shields, Miss Klein to Hugoson's office, and Simon to Teal. Once schedules were coordinated and everyone had gotten cleaned up, they headed off to Scotland Yard… with Simon driving, much to Britt's relief. Hugoson and his lawyer met them there.

"Oh, my dear!" Hugoson exclaimed, coming over to take Miss Klein by both hands. "I've been so frightfully worried. Are you all right?"

"Yes, thank you, Finlay," she replied, squeezing his hands. "Simon's taken great care of me."

Hugoson looked at Simon. "Simon, I can't thank you enough. Safeguarding my investment was one thing; I'd no idea you'd be needed to save her life."

Simon smiled. "Well, I didn't do it alone. It won't be public knowledge, but we wouldn't have gotten away so cleanly without the help of the Green Hornet."

Hugoson's eyes widented. "The Green Hornet?!"

"Oh, yes," said Miss Klein. "It was incredible. I want to talk to you about it later."

"Yes, I should like to hear all about it." Hugoson shot Britt a nervous glance before returning his attention to Miss Klein. "Perhaps I should come down to the cottage tomorrow."

She nodded. "That might be best."

Just then someone came to take them to a conference room for their meeting with Teal, who looked exhausted but was grateful to get Simon's sketches of Warlock. "These will be useful," he admitted, looking them over. "The investigation keeps expanding—Interpol's involved now, and the West German government. Seems the bona fides Warlock presented at Hermetico yesterday when he visited as some sort of general were genuine enough to pass, so the Germans are trying to work out how he got them. But all Carson could remember about his appearance was grey hair, blue eyes, and…." He paused when he got to a sketch of Warlock smiling. "… a gap in his front teeth."

"It was a rather prominent feature," said Simon. "That's why I drew it."

"Thanks." Teal sighed. "All right, we'd better get on with it."

With that, they all took seats and their choice of caffeinated drinks and settled in to give their joint statement, and Britt finally got to hear the whole story of the kidnapping and what Simon and Miss Klein had been through at SWORD Headquarters, which was by turns horrifying and hilarious. ("I still like the part where you told Warlock he was behaving like a mentally deficient buffalo," Miss Klein told Simon at one point, and Teal nearly choked on his tea.) Teal stopped asking questions after Simon described the call to Richardson, for which Britt was grateful. Then, while Hugoson and Miss Klein stayed in the conference room to discuss legal implications with the lawyer, Teal took Simon and Britt back to his office.

"Just answer me one question, Simon," Teal said when the three of them were alone. "Could you have found a way into Hermetico?"

"I don't know," Simon admitted quietly. "If it had been the only way to save Miss Klein, I would have, somehow—if only so I could make sure Warlock and his merry men died in the attempt. But I'm positive the dossier the Bishop gave me wasn't as complete as Warlock thought it was. Hermetico wouldn't be foolish enough to reveal all its security measures to outsiders. On my own, I'd never try it, even if the contents of the place had been enough to tempt me to rejoin the ungodly. It would be suicide." He shook his head. "Warlock simply wouldn't listen to reason."

Teal nodded slowly, then looked at Britt. "What about the Green Hornet?"

"No, a major heist like that isn't the Green Hornet's style," Britt answered. "If he wanted anything from Hermetico, it would be among somebody's secret papers, and there are easier ways to get to those than breaking into a maximum-security installation. Simon's right; Warlock was insane for even thinking about it."

"I see." Teal eyed Britt skeptically, but all he said was, "I suppose it's a good thing the Green Hornet was never here."

"Yes, aren't we lucky?" Simon agreed as he and Britt exchanged wry smiles.

Then Chapman arrived, and after Britt handed off Simon's picture of Warlock and a copy of Miss Klein's press release, Teal gave as much of a statement about the case as he was allowed before the news officially broke. "We'll be giving a press conference at 5," Teal concluded, checking his watch. "It'll be announced to the press outlets in an hour. Oh, and we're not releasing the fact that the real Amos Klein was kidnapped with Templar."

Chapman nodded and turned to Britt. "My story's about done. I think I can fit this information into one or two paragraphs at the end, so I should have it in before lunch."

"Good," said Britt. "That'll give Mike and Casey plenty of time to find a place for it in the afternoon edition. Hold Klein's statement for the update in tomorrow morning's edition, but go ahead and send it to Casey to pass to the TV newsroom after the press conference; that's when Hugoson said his office will release it. And fax a copy of your story to Ken Shields at the Times after you file it with the Sentinel—he's got an interest in the case, too."

"Right." Chapman shook hands all around and left.

"One more thing before you go," Teal said once the door was closed and Chapman was well away from it. "Hermetico's offering quite a substantial reward for your part in the capture of this SWORD bunch—not Simon's usual ten percent, at least not compared to the total assets stored at Templedown, but still a sizeable sum. I believe at least part of it is coming from DeBeers. What do you want to do about it?"

"Well, I accept," Simon answered, "and Miss Klein certainly deserves a share, perhaps the lion's share. What do you think?" he asked Britt.

"Yeah, I agree," said Britt. "After an ordeal like that, it's only fair."

"What about yourself?"

Britt considered. "Normally, I wouldn't accept, but Chapman and Miss Case deserve a bonus for their help. So does Mike Axford for helping Casey keep things running while I've been here. And… I can think of some other things I'd like to do with some of that money." Donations to charities working in Chinatown came to mind as something Kato would appreciate—and Casey might like something from Asprey or Cartier even more than the souvenir cat he'd gotten her in Hascombe. "But it might be best not to accept in my own name, since the Green Hornet did most of the work."

Teal popped a peppermint in his mouth and nodded. "All right. I'll have Carson contact Simon this afternoon."

"Fine," Simon agreed. "We'll wait to take Miss Klein home until we've heard from him."

"Speaking of going home, Chief Inspector," Britt added, "will you need me to stay in London much longer?"

"No, I don't think so," Teal replied. "Your testimony shouldn't be required for the trial, since you never officially met any of the gang and your investigations hadn't gone very far by the time of the escape. If anything should come up that we need you for, we do know how to reach you."

Britt nodded. "Thanks."

After some parting pleasantries, Simon and Britt collected Hugoson and Miss Klein and took them out for an early lunch, then dropped Hugoson at his office and went back to Simon's place for more phone calls and a nap. Britt had just woken up when Kato called to say that Hoppy had arranged for him to be flown back to Gotham that night. They also discussed what to do with Kato's share of the reward money; Kato agreed to accept a small bonus as long as the rest went to charity, and Britt promised to take care of that. Then Britt called Casey, who said she'd read Chapman's story and would be featuring it on the front page of Section B, which he agreed to.

"This drawing Mr. Templar did doesn't look at all like I'd pictured Warlock from the books," she said.

"From what they said, he didn't act much like Warlock from the books," said Britt. "Apparently, Simon even told him he was out of character at one point."

"Sounds as though it's a good thing the accident with the laser happened. If he'd had Warlock's luck, he could have survived just about anything else."

"True." He sighed. "Listen, I know I said I'd fill in the blanks when I called, but a lot of what we had to leave out of the story isn't safe to discuss on the phone, even with the scrambler. I can tell you all about it when I get home Wednesday."

"All right." She sounded slightly disappointed, but he wasn't sure which part she was disappointed about. "Will you be in the office there tomorrow?"

"Probably, at least part of the day. I couldn't get a flight home before a red-eye flight that leaves Heathrow at 6 Wednesday morning, but that should still get me back before the board meeting Wednesday afternoon."

"Okay. I'll make a note of it."

"Take you out for dinner afterward?"

That cheered her up. "Sounds great. Where did you have in mind?"

"Maybe The Golden Lotus, maybe The Cotillion Room. I'll let you make the reservation wherever you like, though."

"The Cotillion Room sounds good. Much better than The Pony Room," she added, teasing.

"No, Mike was right about The Pony Room," he teased back. "The food is lousy and way overpriced."

She laughed, as he'd hoped. "All right. I'll make the reservation."

"Good. Thanks, Casey."

After some other minor business, they hung up, and Britt helped himself to a couple of leftover biscuits with butter and jelly. Simon and Miss Klein were awake and sharing coffee by that time, so Britt joined them for a round of pleasant small talk until the folks from Hermetico called about the reward. Simon had them wire the full amount to his bank, with the idea that he'd draw cashier's checks for the shares he'd pay to Miss Klein and the Green Hornet. "That way nobody has to worry about secret identities being compromised," he explained as they left for the bank.

"Makes sense," said Britt. "Not like the Green Hornet wants to deal with currency restrictions anyway."

"I suppose you could send my share through Finlay," Miss Klein noted. "But this way does involve a lot less huffling and shuffling."

They didn't discuss exact amounts, however, until they arrived at the bank. Even then, they didn't discuss it—Simon simply drew the check for Miss Klein's share and handed it to her, and she looked at it and gasped.

"Simon!" she breathed.

"Well, the reward was £200,000," Simon replied with a shrug. "You weren't going to accept the £100,000 from Warlock—nor should you have—but the Hornet and I agreed that it was only fair that you not be done out of the money if it could come from a more reputable source."

That wasn't exactly the way Britt remembered the conversation going, but he had agreed that it was fair for her to get the lion's share. Really, he didn't disagree with Simon's decision. The remainder was more than he'd expected, anyway, which mostly meant bigger charity donations. And even if she never wrote another word, she should still be set for life, especially if she invested wisely.

Miss Klein was flabbergasted. "But… Simon, I…."

Simon just smiled. "Use it to get an even nicer bathtub than we had there, okay? And some good Scotch and a new dress and new glasses."

She finally smiled back. "Yes, all right. Thank you."

They stopped by Miss Klein's bank on the way out of town, and the drive to the cottage was much merrier for Britt now that the case was over. He even caught the glint of sun on binoculars from the garden of one of the houses on Miss Klein's road as they passed and made a point of waving in that direction when he got out of the car. If the person behind the binoculars wasn't the nosy neighbor who'd helped him Saturday, the small-town rumor mill was enough to make sure that neighbor found out that everything was okay.

But the good mood faded once they went inside and Miss Klein recognized what traces remained of the kidnapping struggle, even though Kato had done some cleaning up that morning. Simon did a quick repair on the broken door while Britt helped Miss Klein gather up her scattered papers, but nobody spoke much until Miss Klein made a sudden declaration:

"I've been thinking. That man in Northfield, whatever his real name was—he wasn't my Warlock. My Warlock's not mad." She paused. "I suppose that makes him worse in some ways because he hasn't any excuse for being evil. But that man wasn't Warlock. You were right, Simon. He was out of character. He didn't even look like Warlock."

"Just out of curiosity," Simon asked, "what do you picture Warlock looking like?"

She thought. "Rather more like Donald Pleasance," she said slowly.

"Well, I'm sad to say the movie did get that wrong," said Britt, half joking.

She smiled, then turned to the couch with a determined look and switched her tape recorder to record as if they hadn't interrupted her. "You know, Ariadne Oliver had a point."

"Who?" asked Simon.

"Oh, er, Agatha Christie, 'The Case of the Discontented Soldier'—Mrs. Oliver was a mystery author who worked with Mr. Parker Pyne arranging adventures for people who were unhappy. He asked her to make her plots more original, and she said no."

"Oh? Why?"

"She said when people go through something that's just like what they've read about in books, they recognize that they're having an adventure, and they know what to do. All right, they might not be Charles Lake with all the gadgets ready to hand, but they can say, 'Ah, yes, I've read about this' and get themselves through it. And… and more than that, they understand what adventure means. If what they go through is too far removed from what they've read about, it's just an unpleasant experience that they'd rather forget as soon as it's over."

"Makes sense," said Britt, remembering when he was shot and his complaint that It's not like this in the Westerns. There had been other moments when the reality of fighting crime as the Green Hornet had been unpleasantly far removed from his favorite adventure stories, but that one still made him wish Grandpa Dan or Great-Great-Uncle John, or Tonto, had left memoirs that would have given him a more accurate picture of a hero's life before he'd taken a mask of his own.

"The trouble with the man in Northfield," she went on, "is that he wanted all the wrong things to be real. He didn't want to be Charles Lake… he wanted to be Warlock in a world where Charles Lake doesn't exist to stop him."

"There are other heroes in this world," Simon noted drily.

"That's just the point," she agreed. "He wanted evil to triumph, but… it doesn't, not really, not in the long run. The villains, the—well, you call them the ungodly, don't you? They can't win forever, even in this world. Charles Lake may not be able to stop all of Warlock's crimes, but every plan he does thwart makes the world a better place. And… and maybe there's a reader out there who needs to hear that. Somebody who's going through something truly awful, even worse than we did, and maybe there won't be a Charles Lake or a Simon Templar or a Green Hornet coming for them—maybe they can't get themselves out with a clever line and a clever gadget—but maybe just having read that evil doesn't win every time will give that person enough hope to survive, or at least to survive longer than they could have otherwise." She was tearing up now.

Simon nodded, and Britt added, "And there could be readers who are inspired by Charles Lake to become heroes themselves—like you said, maybe not with the gadgets and such, but even doing small things to help their neighbors because that's what they can do to make the world better."

"Yes. Yes, exactly." She turned and pointed to the dummy on the couch. "That's my Warlock… thoroughly fictional. So is Charles Lake. And I'm not going to stop writing about them, not yet. I don't think I'm even going to change my mind about Charles trying to shoot Warlock with his hands tied, even though I know now how hard it is to aim the gun that way. He can still hit Warlock and get away, but that won't be as likely to kill Warlock as if he got his hands free first." She paused. "That might be a mercy Warlock doesn't deserve, but there might be a reader who needs that lesson, too."

"That having a license to kill doesn't mean you have to?" Simon suggested. "That showing mercy is as heroic as shooting it out with the bad guys?"

She nodded. "That's it. I'm sure I'll kill Warlock off eventually, just… not in this book. But I'm not going to stop writing as Amos Klein just because of one idiot. I can't. I have stories to tell, and somewhere there are readers who need to read them." She switched off the recorder and sighed shakily. "And now I've got that on tape for the bad days, when I need the reminder."

Simon smiled and took her gently by the shoulders. "And that, darling Miss Klein, is as courageous as any of Charles Lake's heroics."

"Thank you, Simon," she replied, smiling at last, and let him pull her into a kiss.

The banks were closed by the time Britt and Simon got back to London, so they went straight to Hackney and met Kato at the garage to discuss the division of the remaining £100,000. A three-way split wasn't going to come out even no matter what they did, and Kato adamantly refused to accept a full third, even when Britt offered to put it into his retirement fund. Finally, after Britt had decided how much to give Casey, Mike, and Chapman and Simon had added considerations for Hoppy and 'Orace, they all agreed that Simon and Britt would each take £25,000, Kato would get £10,000 paid into his retirement fund, and the rest would go to a reputable charity Simon knew of in Chinatown that mainly served immigrants from Hong Kong. Simon offered to handle the donation and the taxes, which Britt and Kato accepted.

"I still feel awkward accepting a reward for this," Kato whispered to Britt as Simon went to call Hoppy and confirm the details of Kato's return home.

"So do I, if I'm honest," Britt whispered back. "I really wasn't expecting it to be this much. But at least we know we can do some good with it."

Kato nodded, then gave Britt a knowing look. "You're planning to get something nice for Miss Case, aren't you?"

"Really nice. Maybe more than one thing." Britt smiled. "And she's already made reservations at The Cotillion Room for Wednesday evening."

Kato grinned approvingly.

That night, in the Birmingham jail, a conversation among the three uninjured men of SWORD was interrupted when a drunk was put into their cell. After the guard left, the drunk squinted at Frug. "Ain't I seen you someplace before?" he asked.

"No," Frug snapped.

But the drunk shook his finger as his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "Sure! You're the blokes from… from SWORD! I seen it on the news!"

Frug and Nero Jones glowered at him, but the Bishop asked, "You saw it on the news?"

"Yeah! Big story, all over the evenin' news." The drunk laughed. "You're high class, you know that, lads? I only got caught by the rozzers, but you chaps… you got caught by the Saint!"

"The Saint?!" Nero echoed.

"I knew it!" Frug cried. "I knew he wasn't really Amos Klein! I shoulda killed him when I had the chance!"

"I really don't think it would have worked," the Bishop said mildly. "And you know it would have annoyed Warlock."

Frug's opinion of Warlock was unprintable.

Meanwhile, in the women's lockup, Galaxy Rose was having a similar conversation with a new cellmate. "Simon Templar," she repeated pensively. "I suppose I should have known—I mean, I suspected he wasn't really the one who wrote the books, but… I never guessed that part of it."

"What's he like?" another cellmate asked. "Is he really as sexy as everyone says?"

"Ooh, divine," Galaxy sighed. "Strong and handsome and charming. We were watched all the time, so he never tried anything, but what a man." Then she frowned and murmured, "But… if he was Simon Templar… who was that masked man?"

.

* For UK readers: "biscuits" in the US are a bread, more like savory scones or (English) muffins than biscuits in the UK sense, often made with sourdough; "biscuits and gravy" is a popular breakfast dish in the South that involves biscuits being cut open and served smothered in a cream gravy. "Country gravy" is cream gravy seasoned with black pepper; "sausage gravy" is cream gravy with sausage crumbled in it.