Second Night
Back in the secret chamber, Emma was having a terrible nightmare. She and Steed were back on Paradisa Island, traversing the beach in a thoughtful silence. They had just reached the resort's property when they spotted Agent Mitchell advancing toward them. Steed and Mrs. Peel immediately whirled around and strolled casually the other way, hoping Mitchell hadn't noticed them. Unfortunately, he had, and soon he was walking aside them.
Strange, nonsensical dialogue was exchanged between the three spies. Then with great precision and quickness, Steed grabbed Mitchell's legs and pulled them out from under him. Mitchell lay on the beach, barely moving, the wind knocked out of him.
Steed and Mrs. Peel hurried in the direction of the resort once more. In a short duration, Mr. Mitchell had dragged himself to his feet and had caught up with the twosome. He pulled on Steed's arm, hindering him from escaping. With powerful surge, he punched Steed squarely in the nose.
Steed returned the gesture by socking him in the breadbasket followed immediately by a strong hit in the jaw. Emma quickly joined the brawl, chopping Mitchell in the neck with a powerful karate stroke.
Mitchell turned upon Mrs. Peel, ready to pounce on the amateur sleuth. He grabbed her wrists, trying his best to twist them fully around. Emma gritted her teeth against the immense amount of pain that seared through her arms.
Up to this point, the dream had been a reenactment of a real fight that had taken place with Mitchell in the Caribbean. The ending changed completely from real life, though. In reality, Mrs. Peel had flipped Mitchell over into the sand, but now in her dream, she was seven months pregnant, not capable of performing that move anymore.
Mitchell laughed menacingly as he continued to twist her arms. Soon her wrists were completely turned around, yet they were not broken. She fell onto the golden sand that was hard like cement. When she had finally struggled to her feet, she discovered the inert body of her darling husband, a large gouge in his back along with three bullet holes. A bloody butcher's knife and an antique revolver lay near the corpse.
Emma screamed in unadulterated horror at her dead husband. Bystanders came by to ask why she had committed such a crime. She claimed no part in the wretched murder and told them about Mitchell, who seemed to have vanished as soon as he had finished his dastardly deed.
The crowd seemed to grow larger every second, each voice scolding her by saying, "Emma, Emma, Emma . . ."
Mrs. Peel attempted to cover her ears but found that her hands were both broken. She tried to point out this fact that she couldn't have possibly have killed anyone in her condition, but the mass of people ignored her. They just continued their insistent clamor of "Emma, Emma, Emma . . ."
Nearby, somewhere in oblivion, the maniacal laughter of Mitchell filled Mrs. Peel's ears. And then there was the unrelenting chorus of "Emma's," drumming in her ears . . .
"Emma, please wake up," Steed entreated his wife.
Emma drowsily opened her eyes and found herself on the cement floor of the secret room, looking up at her husband. Sunlight streamed through the skylights, making Emma aware that it was morning.
Suddenly, she vividly remembered her bloodcurdling nightmare. Without even acknowledging her husband's presence, she cried out in revelation, "Mitchell!"
If Steed was insulted at Emma's screaming the name of a man that wasn't himself, he never showed it. He simply remarked in a playful tone, "So that's who you dream about on cold, lonely nights!"
Emma ignored the excruciating pain in her back from having fallen on the floor in the midst of her terrifying dream. "No, I'm saying Mitchell is behind these two murders." Her comrades stared at her blankly as if she had just told them she was expecting quadruplets. "Mitchell is a suave ladies' man, whose job was to separate Steed and me the last time we were brainwashed. We defeated him, naturally, but he never forgave us."
Cathy intensely recalled seeing a vaguely familiar man talking in the red phone booth outside Penney Estate. The caller, who was obviously Mitchell, must have said the password to get inside the mansion and murder Fran Minolta! She figured that Fran's sister had sneaked inside with Mitchell, ready to disguise herself as Fran. "She's the one who scared me to death with her glistening knives, the one who tried to murder me as well!"
"It certainly would make more sense if Miss Minolta was attracted to Mitchell than if she was infatuated with Harrod," Miss King added. "She could have very easily fallen victim to his charm and assisted him in his depraved scheme."
"Have you had any experience with this rogue?" Steed teased her.
Tara feigned a look of offense before continuing the banter. "Oh Steed, you know you're the only one I've ever loved!" She batted her eyelashes flirtatiously, much to the irritation of Mrs. Gale.
"You may think it's all fun and games, but my life is still on the line!" Mrs. Gale sputtered.
Steed had been smiling until a few seconds ago. Abruptly he exclaimed, "Mitchell couldn't have done the killings! Mother distinctly heard steady footsteps right before he was shot, yet Mitchell has a limp! That's why he was at the convalescent home."
"Isn't it at all possible for Agent Mitchell to fake a limp just so he won't be accused?" Mrs. Steed asked.
"I think that a swine like Mitchell is capable of anything!" ejaculated Miss King
"Really, Tara, such language coming from a lady is most disturbing," Steed reprimanded the young woman.
Tara didn't answer Steed but looked at her super spy watch. "It's ten o'clock in the morning, so I suggest we have some breakfast."
The other Avengers readily agreed and carried out the plan. After an ample meal of fruit, scrambled eggs, and whole-wheat English muffins, the secret agents decided to venture out of their hiding. They traveled down the long tunnel until they reached the end. To their relative astonishment, the fireplace was already opened.
The foursome stepped out of the fireplace and greeted the waiting Mother. "I suggest Mrs. Gale stay in hiding until the whole case is over," was all he said.
"I might as well be in jail than be locked in that room without company or amusement!" Cathy protested.
"We'll call it your punishment for breaking out of a legal establishment," Mother quipped.
"We will be more than happy to pick up a few books for you to read while you're in confinement," Emma offered.
Cathy Gale begrudgingly conceded to this plan. As soon as she had safely returned to her secret room, the three Avengers drove back to London. Steed took them to Dr. Gale's flat to pick gather several books.
"What do you think she will want to read?" Steed questioned as he pressed the hidden mechanism that opened the flat's front door. Emma had installed it when it was her flat, and it appeared Mrs. Gale hadn't removed it.
"Just take the first several books you find," Mrs. Peel called over her shoulder as she entered the apartment. "I'm gathering a bunch of her clothes, so she won't have to be stuck in that straightjacket."
"When did suit coats, blouses, and skirts become straightjackets?" Tara inquired. She seated herself on the brown settee that covered the entire back wall, which was painted in a rather dull shade of green.
"Well, I have five volumes that I think she will find most interesting," Steed announced. He stacked the heavy, hard cover books on the half wall that separated the settee from the entryway.
"Which books did you choose?" Tara asked curiously.
"The first five volumes of the Encyclopedia Britannica."
Emma emerged from the bedroom with a black suitcase filled with clothing. "I think this apparel should suffice until Mrs. Gale can be released from seclusion."
"I don't know about you two, but I'm going home and taking a long bubble bath," Miss King declared as she stretched her arms to the ceiling. "I'll talk to you later then." She waved to them before standing up from the settee and exiting the flat.
"Who's going to take these books and clothes to Mrs. Gale?" Steed almost whined.
"We will, but after we rest and change our clothes," Emma Peel replied.
Steed acquiesced, so the two agents returned to their own apartment. They had scarcely been home two hours when the telephone rang. Mrs. Peel answered it, utterly exasperated at this unpleasant interruption from their leisurely luncheon of watercress and ham and cheese sandwiches.
The caller was the ever-serious Mother. He started the conversation with the words, "When an agent dies, his family is notified. Depending on what the agent stated in his will and testament, we either tell the family he was a spy or come up with some other gruesome death. Miss Minolta wanted her relatives to think she was the secretary of a member of parliament and that a Gaslight Ghoul want-to-be stabbed her to death.
"Being the head of the ministry, I always appoint a spy or spies to carry out this delicate task. Would you and Steed be willing to tell the family what terrible misfortune befell Fran?"
Mrs. Steed replied without hesitation, "What is her relatives' address?"
"When you bring the books to Penney Estate, I'll give you all the information you need."
"I didn't know the ministry was running a barter system," Emma remarked dryly. "I also didn't say we would go through with this scheme, but under the circumstances, I think it would be an excellent idea. Maybe we will spot her twin sister while we're there."
"What twin sister? What on earth are you going on about, Mrs. Steed . . . Mrs. Steed?"
Emma impishly hung up the phone before she was forced to explain the whole ordeal to the oblivious Mother. She briefly explained the situation to the questioning Steed.
"No, my dear, I believe you will be breaking the difficult news to the Minoltas by yourself," Steed responded as he finished his ham sandwich. "I'm going to pay Mitchell a cordial visit, you know, see how his leg is healing.
"Is anybody aware of your plans?" Mrs. Peel questioned.
"I was just going to ring up Department S now." Steed made his phone call and scheduled an appointment for three that afternoon. He told the woman who answered the phone that he was Mother. Fortunately, the woman was not the evil Miss Minolta, so she didn't recognise his voice and Steed didn't have to worry about the bombs "accidentally" going off while he was in the field.
"You head over to Mother, whilst I head over to the convalescent home." Steed grabbed his brown bowler that matched his brown three-piece suit perfectly before snatching a black umbrella. He marched resolutely to the green front door and opened it. "We should have this case cracked by tonight with all the villains safely in jail." He stepped into the long hallway that led to the outside.
"And if we don't succeed?" Emma called after him.
"Then expect to find yourself very dead." Steed replied, stepping back into the flat.
Mrs. Steed batted her long eyelashes in a playful manner. "Tell me, which of my clothes is most suitable to be buried in?"
Steed looked like he was about to reply but, finding no appropriate answer for that morbid and ridiculous question, quitted the room. As he was heading to his destination, his wife was traveling to Penney Estate. It took Steed a much shorter duration to arrive at Department S.
After going through the painfully tedious procedure of reaching the hospital, Steed was exhausted. He clumped noisily into the building where a petite nurse ordered him to be silent, less he disturb a recuperating patient.
Mrs. Diana Parker bounded down the stairs as giddy as a schoolgirl. From the looks of it, she had recovered from her injuries and was being released. As Steed stared at the bubbly, middle-aged Blonde, he devised a clever idea.
"Ah, Mrs. Parker, just the woman I wanted to see!" he cried in exultation.
Diana Parker stared confusedly around her in case Steed was addressing someone else. "What have I done wrong?"
"Nothing; I'm just here to make sure your agent skills haven't gone to waste while you were convalescing. I just have this simple test for you to perform."
At that inopportune moment, the nurse spoke up, "Mother, Agent Mitchell will see you now."
Steed smiled grimly at the suddenly very piqued Diana Parker. "If your name is Mother, then my last name is Rigg!" Mrs. Parker exclaimed.
"You were impersonating Mother?" the nurse cried in alarm. "I'm going to be fired and on my first day, too!"
"See, Mrs. Parker, you've past the first phase of the test!" Steed hurriedly said. "You were able to differentiate me from that obese man in the wheelchair. This proves that your mind is very much alive!"
"Of course my brain is alive, or I'd be dead!" the ignorant yet at the same time smart Agent Parker retorted.
"Whoever you are, shall I ask Agent Mitchell to come down?" the nurse inquired, annoyed at the manipulative Steed.
"No, I'll go up to his room, if that's all right," Steed turned to the female agent. "Mrs. Parker, for this next test you will need a tape recorder.
"Well, I don't have one at the moment!" bemoaned Diana.
"It just so happens, there's a minute recorder in my brolly. You press this button to record any dialogue or noise you want." Steed reluctantly handed over his umbrella like it might break under the handling of Mrs. Parker.
Being in excellent health, the two decided to use the stairs to get to the second story instead of the lift. Mrs. Parker knew where Mitchell's room was, and they soon reached it.
"You stay outside the door and see if you can pick up any of our conversation from inside," Steed whispered.
"Steed, are you certain all these tests are absolutely necessary?" Diana Parker asked dubiously.
"It's absolutely, absolutely necessary," was the childish reply.
Mrs. Parker only shrugged before crouching low on the floor to avoid detection. After showing her how to work the umbrella, Steed rapped the door with his large knuckles. A distant, masculine voice bade him to enter the domicile.
To say Mitchell was astonished when he saw John Steed enter his hospital room instead of Mother would be an understatement. He gaped incredulously at the stately figure before him, contemplating what he should do. "What are you doing here?" he finally demanded in a hoarse whisper.
"I came to see how your leg was fairing, you know the one you injured." Steed stepped over to the other agent, who was sitting complacently in a hospital bed. Mitchell seemed to have recovered his composure as a good spy should in times of peril.
"That's very civil of you, Steed, but my leg is feeling fine." Rutherford P. Mitchell patted his left thigh as he spoke.
"That is good to know," Steed chuckled merrily. Suddenly, the cheery light in his grey eyes was replaced by a look of utter malevolence, like a farmer may glare at a pesky rabbit that has eaten his prized vegetables. "You were dragging your right leg before."
"Don't be utterly ridiculous, Steed old boy," Mitchell scoffed. "I don't have any idea what you are talking about."
"Maybe this will ring a bell in that forgetful mind of yours: the late Agent Fran Minolta has a twin sister who you have been seeing on the sly." Steed perched himself on the edge of the bed as Rutherford stared contemptuously at him.
"What if I am dating an agent's sister? Is that any reason to accuse me of-of faking a crippled leg?"
"I didn't say you were faking; I just said it was your right leg that was injured when I saw you before." Steed smiled superiorly at the faltering agent. "And why was your latest girl posing as Miss Minolta when I visited here two days ago? Was it so she could help you set off the land mines while I was walking through the field? Or was it so you could plan your next murder together?"
At this accusation, Mitchell sprang up from his bed and began strangling Steed. But John had anticipated this and grabbed his adversary's wrists. He backed the struggling Mitchell into the wall, commenting through clenched teeth, "Fran may have been a good sister, but she was an awful spy. She probably told her twin how Mrs. Gale was meeting Mother, and Fran's sister told you. Posing as a nurse again, Fran's twin sneaked you out of Department S to go to Penney Estate. That's where you committed the ghastly murder."
"You have incredible deductive skills, but you left out several important things," Mitchell crowed as he managed to free himself from Steed's grasp. "It's true that Jane was posing as Fran and that she helped me escape, but we had no idea you were going to be at the convalescent home that day. She came there to flee from the real Fran Minolta, who had gone home to break up Jane's relationship with me. It seems Fran had heard about my wicked reputation with the ladies while she had been in spy school." Grinning vainly, Mitchell dashed over to a little bedside table.
"What a confusing case of secret identity!" Steed murmured as he advanced toward Rutherford Mitchell.
"It becomes even stranger after that. I met Jane when I was on my last mission. I didn't know that she had a twin sister in the ministry until I completed the case. That's when I started coming up with my murderous schemes. If I could get Jane under my little finger, she would obey my every whim. Well, it succeeded, so we planned our first frame-up. So the agency wouldn't suspect me, I faked my injury and was sent to the infirmary to recover. Jane came to Department S, posing as Fran, to get me when it was time to kill Mother and her sister."
Steed tripped the evil spy, sending him crashing to the floor. "How did you know Basil was going to have a meeting with Mother?"
"Basil had been in the hospital a day before the meeting for treatment on a dislocated shoulder. He was bragging his appointment to the other spies, so I called up Jane. When he went to Penney Estate, we were not far behind him.
"Basil had an antique revolver that was very similar to my own. I knew that someone would recognise what sort of gun was used to shoot Mother, so I sneaked into Basil flat while on our way to Penny Estate and fired his gun. I was wearing gloves, naturally, so the police wouldn't suspect. Then, Fran and I went to kill Mother. Unfortunately, Mother was sporting chain mail that day, so we would have to get rid of Mother once more.
"We had more difficulty finding out when Mrs. Gale was visiting Mother, especially since Fran had returned from looking for Jane. She realised that Jane had been impersonating her in her absence. She confronted her twin, but Jane was too sly for that novice agent. While Fran was scolding her sister for gallivanting around the country with me, Jane managed to pry the information of Mrs. Gale's meeting out of her.
"Fran realised to late her vast mistake. She knew we were behind the crimes, so we had to dispose of her. We decided to kill her instead of Mother. Poor Jane almost refused to kill her own sister, but I made her see the light." Mitchell filled the room with maniacal laughter that seemed to have become his trademark.
"You hated us so badly you would do anything to make our lives miserable, so you sabotaged our meetings with Mother," Steed surmised. "My only question is: if you despised us that deeply, why not let us break away from the agency? Why did you want to kill Mother instead of murdering us?"
"Remember, you sent me to prison on some remote Caribbean isle! I wasn't even near my native land or my family. When I was released from jail, I vowed I would get even with you, Mrs. Steed, Mrs. Gale, Tara, and Dr. King," Mitchell cried bitterly. "I wanted to make you suffer in prison, or worse, be executed in a slow and painful way. Shooting you in the head once would not be very painful. It had to be something more sinister. Who cares if Mother died in the process; he was probably going to let you leave!"
"Congratulations, you almost succeeded in your plan," Steed exclaimed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's quite alarming to know that there are psychopaths like you in the ministry."
"Though we both know I'm the murderer, nobody else does," Mitchell's husky voice replied. "I could kill you now, Steed, then nobody at the convalescent center besides me would know who the real murder is."
"But Mrs. Peel and my other friends would know the truth."
"By the time your body was found, Jane and I would be out of the country." Mitchell grabbed two tickets from the bedside table along with his antique revolver.
"Would you murder me with witnesses around?" Steed asked, the smallest amount of tension in his charming voice. He edged up to the door until he was right against it.
"Nobody is around except you and me." Rutherford triumphantly pointed the gun at Steed's heart. "I almost lost this little game when you figured out that Jane and I were the murderers. This time, though, I believe it shall be you who fails." With that remark, Mitchell placed his hand on the trigger, and . . .
To Be Continued!
Back in the secret chamber, Emma was having a terrible nightmare. She and Steed were back on Paradisa Island, traversing the beach in a thoughtful silence. They had just reached the resort's property when they spotted Agent Mitchell advancing toward them. Steed and Mrs. Peel immediately whirled around and strolled casually the other way, hoping Mitchell hadn't noticed them. Unfortunately, he had, and soon he was walking aside them.
Strange, nonsensical dialogue was exchanged between the three spies. Then with great precision and quickness, Steed grabbed Mitchell's legs and pulled them out from under him. Mitchell lay on the beach, barely moving, the wind knocked out of him.
Steed and Mrs. Peel hurried in the direction of the resort once more. In a short duration, Mr. Mitchell had dragged himself to his feet and had caught up with the twosome. He pulled on Steed's arm, hindering him from escaping. With powerful surge, he punched Steed squarely in the nose.
Steed returned the gesture by socking him in the breadbasket followed immediately by a strong hit in the jaw. Emma quickly joined the brawl, chopping Mitchell in the neck with a powerful karate stroke.
Mitchell turned upon Mrs. Peel, ready to pounce on the amateur sleuth. He grabbed her wrists, trying his best to twist them fully around. Emma gritted her teeth against the immense amount of pain that seared through her arms.
Up to this point, the dream had been a reenactment of a real fight that had taken place with Mitchell in the Caribbean. The ending changed completely from real life, though. In reality, Mrs. Peel had flipped Mitchell over into the sand, but now in her dream, she was seven months pregnant, not capable of performing that move anymore.
Mitchell laughed menacingly as he continued to twist her arms. Soon her wrists were completely turned around, yet they were not broken. She fell onto the golden sand that was hard like cement. When she had finally struggled to her feet, she discovered the inert body of her darling husband, a large gouge in his back along with three bullet holes. A bloody butcher's knife and an antique revolver lay near the corpse.
Emma screamed in unadulterated horror at her dead husband. Bystanders came by to ask why she had committed such a crime. She claimed no part in the wretched murder and told them about Mitchell, who seemed to have vanished as soon as he had finished his dastardly deed.
The crowd seemed to grow larger every second, each voice scolding her by saying, "Emma, Emma, Emma . . ."
Mrs. Peel attempted to cover her ears but found that her hands were both broken. She tried to point out this fact that she couldn't have possibly have killed anyone in her condition, but the mass of people ignored her. They just continued their insistent clamor of "Emma, Emma, Emma . . ."
Nearby, somewhere in oblivion, the maniacal laughter of Mitchell filled Mrs. Peel's ears. And then there was the unrelenting chorus of "Emma's," drumming in her ears . . .
"Emma, please wake up," Steed entreated his wife.
Emma drowsily opened her eyes and found herself on the cement floor of the secret room, looking up at her husband. Sunlight streamed through the skylights, making Emma aware that it was morning.
Suddenly, she vividly remembered her bloodcurdling nightmare. Without even acknowledging her husband's presence, she cried out in revelation, "Mitchell!"
If Steed was insulted at Emma's screaming the name of a man that wasn't himself, he never showed it. He simply remarked in a playful tone, "So that's who you dream about on cold, lonely nights!"
Emma ignored the excruciating pain in her back from having fallen on the floor in the midst of her terrifying dream. "No, I'm saying Mitchell is behind these two murders." Her comrades stared at her blankly as if she had just told them she was expecting quadruplets. "Mitchell is a suave ladies' man, whose job was to separate Steed and me the last time we were brainwashed. We defeated him, naturally, but he never forgave us."
Cathy intensely recalled seeing a vaguely familiar man talking in the red phone booth outside Penney Estate. The caller, who was obviously Mitchell, must have said the password to get inside the mansion and murder Fran Minolta! She figured that Fran's sister had sneaked inside with Mitchell, ready to disguise herself as Fran. "She's the one who scared me to death with her glistening knives, the one who tried to murder me as well!"
"It certainly would make more sense if Miss Minolta was attracted to Mitchell than if she was infatuated with Harrod," Miss King added. "She could have very easily fallen victim to his charm and assisted him in his depraved scheme."
"Have you had any experience with this rogue?" Steed teased her.
Tara feigned a look of offense before continuing the banter. "Oh Steed, you know you're the only one I've ever loved!" She batted her eyelashes flirtatiously, much to the irritation of Mrs. Gale.
"You may think it's all fun and games, but my life is still on the line!" Mrs. Gale sputtered.
Steed had been smiling until a few seconds ago. Abruptly he exclaimed, "Mitchell couldn't have done the killings! Mother distinctly heard steady footsteps right before he was shot, yet Mitchell has a limp! That's why he was at the convalescent home."
"Isn't it at all possible for Agent Mitchell to fake a limp just so he won't be accused?" Mrs. Steed asked.
"I think that a swine like Mitchell is capable of anything!" ejaculated Miss King
"Really, Tara, such language coming from a lady is most disturbing," Steed reprimanded the young woman.
Tara didn't answer Steed but looked at her super spy watch. "It's ten o'clock in the morning, so I suggest we have some breakfast."
The other Avengers readily agreed and carried out the plan. After an ample meal of fruit, scrambled eggs, and whole-wheat English muffins, the secret agents decided to venture out of their hiding. They traveled down the long tunnel until they reached the end. To their relative astonishment, the fireplace was already opened.
The foursome stepped out of the fireplace and greeted the waiting Mother. "I suggest Mrs. Gale stay in hiding until the whole case is over," was all he said.
"I might as well be in jail than be locked in that room without company or amusement!" Cathy protested.
"We'll call it your punishment for breaking out of a legal establishment," Mother quipped.
"We will be more than happy to pick up a few books for you to read while you're in confinement," Emma offered.
Cathy Gale begrudgingly conceded to this plan. As soon as she had safely returned to her secret room, the three Avengers drove back to London. Steed took them to Dr. Gale's flat to pick gather several books.
"What do you think she will want to read?" Steed questioned as he pressed the hidden mechanism that opened the flat's front door. Emma had installed it when it was her flat, and it appeared Mrs. Gale hadn't removed it.
"Just take the first several books you find," Mrs. Peel called over her shoulder as she entered the apartment. "I'm gathering a bunch of her clothes, so she won't have to be stuck in that straightjacket."
"When did suit coats, blouses, and skirts become straightjackets?" Tara inquired. She seated herself on the brown settee that covered the entire back wall, which was painted in a rather dull shade of green.
"Well, I have five volumes that I think she will find most interesting," Steed announced. He stacked the heavy, hard cover books on the half wall that separated the settee from the entryway.
"Which books did you choose?" Tara asked curiously.
"The first five volumes of the Encyclopedia Britannica."
Emma emerged from the bedroom with a black suitcase filled with clothing. "I think this apparel should suffice until Mrs. Gale can be released from seclusion."
"I don't know about you two, but I'm going home and taking a long bubble bath," Miss King declared as she stretched her arms to the ceiling. "I'll talk to you later then." She waved to them before standing up from the settee and exiting the flat.
"Who's going to take these books and clothes to Mrs. Gale?" Steed almost whined.
"We will, but after we rest and change our clothes," Emma Peel replied.
Steed acquiesced, so the two agents returned to their own apartment. They had scarcely been home two hours when the telephone rang. Mrs. Peel answered it, utterly exasperated at this unpleasant interruption from their leisurely luncheon of watercress and ham and cheese sandwiches.
The caller was the ever-serious Mother. He started the conversation with the words, "When an agent dies, his family is notified. Depending on what the agent stated in his will and testament, we either tell the family he was a spy or come up with some other gruesome death. Miss Minolta wanted her relatives to think she was the secretary of a member of parliament and that a Gaslight Ghoul want-to-be stabbed her to death.
"Being the head of the ministry, I always appoint a spy or spies to carry out this delicate task. Would you and Steed be willing to tell the family what terrible misfortune befell Fran?"
Mrs. Steed replied without hesitation, "What is her relatives' address?"
"When you bring the books to Penney Estate, I'll give you all the information you need."
"I didn't know the ministry was running a barter system," Emma remarked dryly. "I also didn't say we would go through with this scheme, but under the circumstances, I think it would be an excellent idea. Maybe we will spot her twin sister while we're there."
"What twin sister? What on earth are you going on about, Mrs. Steed . . . Mrs. Steed?"
Emma impishly hung up the phone before she was forced to explain the whole ordeal to the oblivious Mother. She briefly explained the situation to the questioning Steed.
"No, my dear, I believe you will be breaking the difficult news to the Minoltas by yourself," Steed responded as he finished his ham sandwich. "I'm going to pay Mitchell a cordial visit, you know, see how his leg is healing.
"Is anybody aware of your plans?" Mrs. Peel questioned.
"I was just going to ring up Department S now." Steed made his phone call and scheduled an appointment for three that afternoon. He told the woman who answered the phone that he was Mother. Fortunately, the woman was not the evil Miss Minolta, so she didn't recognise his voice and Steed didn't have to worry about the bombs "accidentally" going off while he was in the field.
"You head over to Mother, whilst I head over to the convalescent home." Steed grabbed his brown bowler that matched his brown three-piece suit perfectly before snatching a black umbrella. He marched resolutely to the green front door and opened it. "We should have this case cracked by tonight with all the villains safely in jail." He stepped into the long hallway that led to the outside.
"And if we don't succeed?" Emma called after him.
"Then expect to find yourself very dead." Steed replied, stepping back into the flat.
Mrs. Steed batted her long eyelashes in a playful manner. "Tell me, which of my clothes is most suitable to be buried in?"
Steed looked like he was about to reply but, finding no appropriate answer for that morbid and ridiculous question, quitted the room. As he was heading to his destination, his wife was traveling to Penney Estate. It took Steed a much shorter duration to arrive at Department S.
After going through the painfully tedious procedure of reaching the hospital, Steed was exhausted. He clumped noisily into the building where a petite nurse ordered him to be silent, less he disturb a recuperating patient.
Mrs. Diana Parker bounded down the stairs as giddy as a schoolgirl. From the looks of it, she had recovered from her injuries and was being released. As Steed stared at the bubbly, middle-aged Blonde, he devised a clever idea.
"Ah, Mrs. Parker, just the woman I wanted to see!" he cried in exultation.
Diana Parker stared confusedly around her in case Steed was addressing someone else. "What have I done wrong?"
"Nothing; I'm just here to make sure your agent skills haven't gone to waste while you were convalescing. I just have this simple test for you to perform."
At that inopportune moment, the nurse spoke up, "Mother, Agent Mitchell will see you now."
Steed smiled grimly at the suddenly very piqued Diana Parker. "If your name is Mother, then my last name is Rigg!" Mrs. Parker exclaimed.
"You were impersonating Mother?" the nurse cried in alarm. "I'm going to be fired and on my first day, too!"
"See, Mrs. Parker, you've past the first phase of the test!" Steed hurriedly said. "You were able to differentiate me from that obese man in the wheelchair. This proves that your mind is very much alive!"
"Of course my brain is alive, or I'd be dead!" the ignorant yet at the same time smart Agent Parker retorted.
"Whoever you are, shall I ask Agent Mitchell to come down?" the nurse inquired, annoyed at the manipulative Steed.
"No, I'll go up to his room, if that's all right," Steed turned to the female agent. "Mrs. Parker, for this next test you will need a tape recorder.
"Well, I don't have one at the moment!" bemoaned Diana.
"It just so happens, there's a minute recorder in my brolly. You press this button to record any dialogue or noise you want." Steed reluctantly handed over his umbrella like it might break under the handling of Mrs. Parker.
Being in excellent health, the two decided to use the stairs to get to the second story instead of the lift. Mrs. Parker knew where Mitchell's room was, and they soon reached it.
"You stay outside the door and see if you can pick up any of our conversation from inside," Steed whispered.
"Steed, are you certain all these tests are absolutely necessary?" Diana Parker asked dubiously.
"It's absolutely, absolutely necessary," was the childish reply.
Mrs. Parker only shrugged before crouching low on the floor to avoid detection. After showing her how to work the umbrella, Steed rapped the door with his large knuckles. A distant, masculine voice bade him to enter the domicile.
To say Mitchell was astonished when he saw John Steed enter his hospital room instead of Mother would be an understatement. He gaped incredulously at the stately figure before him, contemplating what he should do. "What are you doing here?" he finally demanded in a hoarse whisper.
"I came to see how your leg was fairing, you know the one you injured." Steed stepped over to the other agent, who was sitting complacently in a hospital bed. Mitchell seemed to have recovered his composure as a good spy should in times of peril.
"That's very civil of you, Steed, but my leg is feeling fine." Rutherford P. Mitchell patted his left thigh as he spoke.
"That is good to know," Steed chuckled merrily. Suddenly, the cheery light in his grey eyes was replaced by a look of utter malevolence, like a farmer may glare at a pesky rabbit that has eaten his prized vegetables. "You were dragging your right leg before."
"Don't be utterly ridiculous, Steed old boy," Mitchell scoffed. "I don't have any idea what you are talking about."
"Maybe this will ring a bell in that forgetful mind of yours: the late Agent Fran Minolta has a twin sister who you have been seeing on the sly." Steed perched himself on the edge of the bed as Rutherford stared contemptuously at him.
"What if I am dating an agent's sister? Is that any reason to accuse me of-of faking a crippled leg?"
"I didn't say you were faking; I just said it was your right leg that was injured when I saw you before." Steed smiled superiorly at the faltering agent. "And why was your latest girl posing as Miss Minolta when I visited here two days ago? Was it so she could help you set off the land mines while I was walking through the field? Or was it so you could plan your next murder together?"
At this accusation, Mitchell sprang up from his bed and began strangling Steed. But John had anticipated this and grabbed his adversary's wrists. He backed the struggling Mitchell into the wall, commenting through clenched teeth, "Fran may have been a good sister, but she was an awful spy. She probably told her twin how Mrs. Gale was meeting Mother, and Fran's sister told you. Posing as a nurse again, Fran's twin sneaked you out of Department S to go to Penney Estate. That's where you committed the ghastly murder."
"You have incredible deductive skills, but you left out several important things," Mitchell crowed as he managed to free himself from Steed's grasp. "It's true that Jane was posing as Fran and that she helped me escape, but we had no idea you were going to be at the convalescent home that day. She came there to flee from the real Fran Minolta, who had gone home to break up Jane's relationship with me. It seems Fran had heard about my wicked reputation with the ladies while she had been in spy school." Grinning vainly, Mitchell dashed over to a little bedside table.
"What a confusing case of secret identity!" Steed murmured as he advanced toward Rutherford Mitchell.
"It becomes even stranger after that. I met Jane when I was on my last mission. I didn't know that she had a twin sister in the ministry until I completed the case. That's when I started coming up with my murderous schemes. If I could get Jane under my little finger, she would obey my every whim. Well, it succeeded, so we planned our first frame-up. So the agency wouldn't suspect me, I faked my injury and was sent to the infirmary to recover. Jane came to Department S, posing as Fran, to get me when it was time to kill Mother and her sister."
Steed tripped the evil spy, sending him crashing to the floor. "How did you know Basil was going to have a meeting with Mother?"
"Basil had been in the hospital a day before the meeting for treatment on a dislocated shoulder. He was bragging his appointment to the other spies, so I called up Jane. When he went to Penney Estate, we were not far behind him.
"Basil had an antique revolver that was very similar to my own. I knew that someone would recognise what sort of gun was used to shoot Mother, so I sneaked into Basil flat while on our way to Penny Estate and fired his gun. I was wearing gloves, naturally, so the police wouldn't suspect. Then, Fran and I went to kill Mother. Unfortunately, Mother was sporting chain mail that day, so we would have to get rid of Mother once more.
"We had more difficulty finding out when Mrs. Gale was visiting Mother, especially since Fran had returned from looking for Jane. She realised that Jane had been impersonating her in her absence. She confronted her twin, but Jane was too sly for that novice agent. While Fran was scolding her sister for gallivanting around the country with me, Jane managed to pry the information of Mrs. Gale's meeting out of her.
"Fran realised to late her vast mistake. She knew we were behind the crimes, so we had to dispose of her. We decided to kill her instead of Mother. Poor Jane almost refused to kill her own sister, but I made her see the light." Mitchell filled the room with maniacal laughter that seemed to have become his trademark.
"You hated us so badly you would do anything to make our lives miserable, so you sabotaged our meetings with Mother," Steed surmised. "My only question is: if you despised us that deeply, why not let us break away from the agency? Why did you want to kill Mother instead of murdering us?"
"Remember, you sent me to prison on some remote Caribbean isle! I wasn't even near my native land or my family. When I was released from jail, I vowed I would get even with you, Mrs. Steed, Mrs. Gale, Tara, and Dr. King," Mitchell cried bitterly. "I wanted to make you suffer in prison, or worse, be executed in a slow and painful way. Shooting you in the head once would not be very painful. It had to be something more sinister. Who cares if Mother died in the process; he was probably going to let you leave!"
"Congratulations, you almost succeeded in your plan," Steed exclaimed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's quite alarming to know that there are psychopaths like you in the ministry."
"Though we both know I'm the murderer, nobody else does," Mitchell's husky voice replied. "I could kill you now, Steed, then nobody at the convalescent center besides me would know who the real murder is."
"But Mrs. Peel and my other friends would know the truth."
"By the time your body was found, Jane and I would be out of the country." Mitchell grabbed two tickets from the bedside table along with his antique revolver.
"Would you murder me with witnesses around?" Steed asked, the smallest amount of tension in his charming voice. He edged up to the door until he was right against it.
"Nobody is around except you and me." Rutherford triumphantly pointed the gun at Steed's heart. "I almost lost this little game when you figured out that Jane and I were the murderers. This time, though, I believe it shall be you who fails." With that remark, Mitchell placed his hand on the trigger, and . . .
To Be Continued!