And Last???
Emma Steed knocked on the front door of the Minolta family. A wiry man of sixty odd years opened it a crack. "Mr. Minolta, I am Emma Steed. I've come to discuss some vital information with you."
Mr. Minolta seemed shocked at hearing about his daughter, but he opened the door wider. Smiling a sympathetic smile, Mrs. Steed entered the quaint abode of the Minoltas. "I hate to disturb you, but I have some rather urgent news," Emma began once she was seated comfortably in a small but tidy living room.
Mrs. Minolta spoke up, "We just saw Fran three days ago, so what as she done?"
"I'm afraid it's what was done to her." Emma hesitated before continuing, "Your daughter Fran was killed yesterday afternoon by some crazed Gaslight Ghoul want-to-be."
At that moment, Fran's twin entered the room, heard Mrs. Peel's dialogue, and let out a gasp of alarm. Turning to gaze at Fran's duplicate, Emma noted that she had blue eyes instead of brown, just as Cathy had said.
There was a moment of discomfiting silence before Mrs. Minolta burst into inconsolable sobs. Mrs. Peel waited silently until the weeping subsided quite considerably.
Then she spoke, "I have all the information regarding her death and her killer." Emma gently passed the papers to the wan Mr. Minolta. "I think you could all use a glass of liquor at this trying time."
"Yes, how good of you to suggest it, Mrs. Steed," Mr. Minolta wearily agreed. "Jane, would you please fetch us the bottle of port and some glasses?"
Jane nodded, and Mrs. Peel offered to help her. Mr. Minolta remained in the living room, soothingly rocking his downhearted wife.
When they were alone in the kitchen where the alcohol was stored, Emma remarked, "You didn't expect the ministry to respond so quickly to your twin's death, did you, Miss Minolta?"
Jane abruptly dropped one of the liquor glasses back onto the silver tray where it had come from. It clattered noisily, but fortunately did not break. "I don't know what you're trying to say," she lied.
"Well, Mrs. Gale, Steed, Mitchell, and I all know that it wasn't a Gaslight Ghoul impersonator that put that large gouge in Fran's back. Are you going to confess to the crime, or should I tell your parents the truth right now?" Emma nonchalantly strolled toward the living room, that cool smile that could unnerve the most collective of men creeping slowly across her full lips.
Jane stammered protests as with each step, Emma came nearer to her parents. Wailing in utter grief, Jane Minolta cried, "Oh God, please don't tell them!" She sunk to the tiled floor, her body wracking with tears of guilt and grief, as she explained, "Mitchell said we would be married if I promised to help him in the scheme. I didn't want to kill anyone, especially my own sister, but he made it sound so mandatory. Rutty said we wouldn't get caught, that the evidence would point to the people we were framing. I would rather die than have Mother and Father learn the truth." Jane's piercing blue eyes were red from crying, and they gazed entreatingly at Mrs. Peel. "Please never tell them that Mitchell and I killed Fran-please! When I'm taken off to prison, I'll just say that I'm moving out because the memories are too painful. Don't you or anybody else let them know that I'm really going to court and may be executed."
Emma knelt down next to the morose girl and placed a comforting hand on Jane's shoulder. She feared Jane's parents would enter the room and discover the dreadful truth. If they knew their own child had killed her only sister, they may crack under the strain. "I promise they will never learn the truth from me or any of my friends."
Mr. Minolta entered the room, spotted his daughter, and likewise began to cry. "We need to stick together under these circumstances," he told Jane. Mrs. Minolta likewise came into the room to bawl with her family.
Emma edged toward the front door and let herself out. She couldn't bear to see any more turmoil or hear any more sobbing. How terrible murder was! How could anyone take the life of a person without ruing his evil deed until the day he died? Even though it was hard to imagine anyone being that cruel, Emma knew people like that existed. Mitchell was a prime example of the debauched men and women that live in the world.
As she thought about the diabolical man, Mrs. Steed gave an involuntary shudder. All at once she remembered that her husband was visiting that wicked man. "Steed may be in grave danger at this moment, and I'm not able to help him!" she cried despairingly. She almost flew into her blue Lotus Élan before speeding down the road. She had to see if Steed was all right!
*************
Mitchell had just aimed the gun at Steed's heart when Mrs. Parker entered the room. Quickly, with all the strength she could muster, she threw the brolly at him.
The umbrella didn't go far, but it did rivet itself into Agent Mitchell's toes. Yelping in pain, Mr. Mitchell dropped the revolver to grab his right foot. He immediately began hopping around the room, cursing like a drunken sailor.
Diana Parker made a mad dash for the weapon, but Steed reached it first. They wrestled for it, and Mitchell, recovered from his injury, started grappling for the gun as well.
Steed grabbed for the gun and punched Mitchell in the breadbasket. Instantly afterward, an indescribable pain shot through John Steed's right ear. The pain was so great he could not pick up the coveted weapon. Steed realised that Mitchell had cuffed him soundly in the ear.
Mrs. Parker was about to retrieve the gun when it occurred to her that she shouldn't pick it up without a glove or a handkerchief, lest she leave her finger prints behind. Instead of grabbing it, Diana kicked it far away from herself. Unfortunately, she kicked it toward Mitchell, who promptly picked up the antique gun.
He pointed it at Mrs. Parker this time, snarling, "You shouldn't have been eavesdropping."
It appeared that Mrs. Parker was about to meet her Maker, when Tara King burst through the door, handling a four-caliber pistol. The two, armed spies pointed their guns at each other, both eager to shoot. "All right, Mitchell," Tara began steadily, "You put down your gun and I'll set down mine."
Rutherford Mitchell surveyed the brunette woman clad in the greyish-blue turtleneck that clung tightly to her, accentuating her voluptuous figure. Her legs were attired in blue pants, which were held snugly to her waist by a black belt. She was wearing a wig that curled right below her ears, making her look even more youthful than she really was. It would be a shame to kill her, but he would have to.
"I'm putting down my gun now, Tara," Mitchell lied. He made a gesticulation that seemed like he was casting his revolver aside, when in reality, he was preparing to fire.
Tara hesitated before kneeling on the floor to set her pistol down. Out of the corner of her blue eye, she saw Mitchell twirling the gun around his finger absentmindedly. At any other time, seeing a man play with a gun as if he was right of a western would have been hilarious to her. But knowing that this sinister character was bent on double-crossing her, she was anything but amused.
"I've set my gun down," Mitchell fibbed again, "so what are you waiting for? Let's duke it out, man to woman."
Tara gazed at Steed and Mrs. Parker huddled nervously in a corner of the room with Steed's brolly. If she messed up, they would all be dead. In one swift maneuver, she was on her feet and firing the revolver out of Mitchell's hand.
Mitchell stared at her, stupefied and wondering how she had beaten him at his own game. Before he had time to react, Tara was upon him, kicking him in his breadbasket. He grabbed the leg that was in his stomach and yanked it. Tara fell ungracefully to the linoleum floor.
Mitchell jumped on top of her, but Miss King extended her arms and legs at the last moment, pushing Mitchell into the air. He landed near Steed, who angrily smacked him over the head with his brolly. The umbrella buckled because of the contact but remained in one piece. Vision distorted from being smacked over the head, Mitchell swung at Steed but missed.
"I think this is what you meant to do," Steed muttered as he boxed the evil agent in the eye. Steed watched the fellow male agent stumble into Tara's awaiting arms.
She grabbed his arms and began swing him around the room at a dizzying pace. After several rotations, she let go and watched Mitchell spin into a wall. Rutherford, or as Jane would call him, "Rutty," was barely conscious.
"You thought we were alone when we were talking," Steed started, "but Mrs. Parker was right outside with my umbrella with the recorder built into it."
"I recorded everything you said, Mitchell, you naughty boy!" added Diana indignantly.
The words barely registered in Mitchell's addled mind, but he knew one thing: Tara had carelessly tossed her pistol away when she had kicked him in the stomach! It was now lying inches from him, easy for him to grasp, which he did accordingly. He fumbled to his feet as he cried in exultation, "I highly doubt that umbrella is going to come in handy at this time!" He pointed the gun at his archenemies. "As soon as you are dead, I'll destroy all the evidence!"
Mitchell hoarded the trio together, placing them side-by-side as if they were about to be inspected. In a way they were, for he was about to kill them one after another. "Any last request before you are executed?"
Tara licked her lips nervously as she pleaded, "I only wish that you will let me say goodbye to my friends, maybe even hug them or something of that nature." It was a pathetic elocution, but Rutherford nodded his head grimly. Miss King proceeded to hug each of the distraught spies extremely slowly.
"Hurry up, or I'll shoot you now," Mitchell growled, his hand on the trigger once more.
Tara made no response, but whispered to Steed, "Mother came with me to Department S. He promised to come upstairs if we didn't return in ten minutes. According to my watch, exactly ten minutes have passed."
Mitchell was about to ask what she was whispering to Steed when Mother entered the room. "What the . . ." Mitchell began in surprise. Instinctively, he shot at his superior but fortunately missed the target altogether.
As he approached the demented agent, Mother inquired slowly and serenely, "Why are you committing all these dastardly deeds?
"You want to know why, eh?" Mr. Mitchell asked poisonously. "You're going to let Steed and his fiendish friends leave the ministry after disobeying you and torturing me! Since you aren't about to punish them, I'm going to kill you and the rest of this sorry lot!" Mitchell howled evilly, a fit of insanity taking control of his mind.
Steed took this opportune moment to grab "Rutty's" arms and twist them behind his back, knocking the gun from his grasp. Tara kicked the pistol much in the same way Mrs. Parker had earlier, but she managed to drive it under the hospital bed out of reach of any sinister hands.
Steed kept his firm grip on Mitchell as he forced him to his feet. "Mrs. Parker, play the umbrella for Mother."
Diana Parker, quaking with fright, pushed the play button. The whole conversation played before Mother's interested ears. During the entire duration, Agent Mitchell made no comment but instead gazed out the window into oblivion. He knew now that his diabolical plan had failed due to the quick wits of John Steed, Emma Peel, Tara King, and even Catherine Gale. When the dialogue finished, Mitchell was shaking his head out of self-pity and remorse of his heinous crimes.
Mother stared grimly at the murderous agent and sighed. "Thank God for that." The spies stared at each other, wondering what he meant by that ambiguous phrase. Mother explained himself by continuing, "I'm so glad that we are finally able to legally prove that Mrs. Gale isn't the murderer. Now I won't be arguing with myself whether I was right to assist her in her escape.
"Mitchell must be arrested right away, and Mrs. Gale released from her bondage. Rhonda, phone Shuston and Pemberly so they can come over to Department S to arrest the real murderer. Tell them that while they're at the jail, release my nephew Basil."
"And someone must run over to Penney Estate to get Mrs. Gale," Steed added.
"I believe I shall do just that." His purpose as clear as daylight, Mother let the silent Rhonda push him out of the room. When he was halfway out the door, he forced Rhonda to stop. "I certainly hope you can handle this criminal while I'm away."
The three agents gazed at each other, and Tara remarked astutely, "I think after all the teamwork we performed this evening, we will be able to handle this rotten secret agent with ease." Steed and Mrs. Parker readily agreed with the sagacious girl.
When Mother had left the vicinity, Steed, Tara, and Diana forced Mitchell into a straightjacket and locked him in his room. "Someone should keep an eye on that crazed killer, but who?" Steed let his question hang in the air.
"I think I could help in this situation," came a gravelly voice. Harrod, the wiry, nervous man with the bandaged head and elbow, appeared from his room, which was several doors down.
"I thought you were the enemy!" Steed confessed as Mr. Harrod strolled over to them.
"No, but I discovered that Mitchell was faking his injuries, so he swore me to secrecy or I would be killed as well. He told me of his plans to dispose of you and your lady friends. I supposed he figured I didn't want to be murdered so I would keep my mouth shut." Harrod shrug his scrawny shoulders. "I would be pleased to watch that psychopath!"
Steed acquiesced, and he and the two female spies ventured downstairs. They knew it would be some time before Pemberly and Shuston arrived at the convalescent center. All they had to do was wait, which was not easy for the trained agents.
Finally, the two male spies came to take Mitchell into custody. Steed followed them out to the jail car so he could give them his brolly, the vital piece of evidence. As Shuston's car sped away into the night, a feminine voice cried, "Steed, you're alive and safe!"
Steed beheld a statuesque woman in a pale pink blouse, covered by a two-tone salmon jacket that was fastened by a single frog across the chest. A matching salmon skirt came down to the woman's knees, and a bright pink scarf that had been tied around her neck completed the outfit. Steed knew without a doubt that it was Emma, his Emma.
She raced up to him, panting from carrying an extra person. Emma was not the type of lady that cried out of distress or relief. However, her big eyes stared at him with an utter look of concern in them. The two exchanged a mutual glance that only they could comprehend.
"I think we should go home," Steed remarked quietly.
"We'll take my car," Mrs. Steed began dulcetly, "because I don't want to run the risk of your Bentley breaking down in the middle of nowhere."
"But what a wonderful way to get stranded, just the two of us," Steed argued flippantly.
"I think you mean three of us," Emma reminded him as she pointed to her round stomach.
She hopped into the driver's seat of her Lotus Élan, and Steed reluctantly followed.
Tara followed them and said, "I'll have one of our men bring your car home, Steed."
"Thank you, Tara; that would be most appreciated." Steed barely had time to finish before Mrs. Peel's vehicle screeched down the road. He really had ought to speak to his wife about her erratic driving.
Tara, always the oddest of the Avengers, mockingly saluted the Steeds as they disappeared from sight. "Happy Trails, Steed," she murmured to herself in amusement.
***********
Cathy Gale blinked several times in the bright light as she was let out of the secret room. Mother smiled shortly at the buxom blonde before exclaiming, "We have apprehended the real murderer and are letting you go. I wish there was something I could do to make up for the last two terrible days."
"Thank you Mother, but the greatest debt you can pay is to allow Steed to join another ministry or create his own." With that blunt remark, Mrs. Gale left the suddenly quiet Mother alone with his meditations.
Dr. Catherine Gale was extremely wary from the last tumultuous twenty-four hours. She fell into her apartment, ready to take a long nap. She was astounded when she saw Dr. Martin King sitting impatiently in a brown chair. "What are you doing here?" she snapped.
"Mother phoned me to say that you had been released from custody."
"That was very sweet of him, but he needn't have bothered." Mrs. Gale crossed her arms over her chest, making her black, leather vest crinkle.
"Cathy, dear Cathy, I want to apologise for my selfish behaviour. I don't want my own stubbornness and pride to break up our relationship. I've decided to take a post in Africa like I promised before." Martin King placed a loving hand on Cathy's taut face.
Catherine Gale relaxed in the care of her loved one, letting him envelop her in a warm embrace. "You would do that for me?" she asked in a soft tone that she never used on Steed.
"Well, isn't making sacrifices part of what you do when you're in love?" Martin replied. He cupped her chin in his hand before placing a gentle kiss on her lips. "Besides you were right when you said the Africans need doctors. Now what sort of ring do you want?"
"I want a great big diamond, so I can flaunt in front of John Steed's face," Cathy quipped. Then she shook her head and added, "No, just a sensible but beautiful ring will do for me."
"A beautiful and sensible ring for a gorgeous and practical lady." Martin smiled as he inched toward Cathy's glowing face for another kiss.
To Be Continued!
Emma Steed knocked on the front door of the Minolta family. A wiry man of sixty odd years opened it a crack. "Mr. Minolta, I am Emma Steed. I've come to discuss some vital information with you."
Mr. Minolta seemed shocked at hearing about his daughter, but he opened the door wider. Smiling a sympathetic smile, Mrs. Steed entered the quaint abode of the Minoltas. "I hate to disturb you, but I have some rather urgent news," Emma began once she was seated comfortably in a small but tidy living room.
Mrs. Minolta spoke up, "We just saw Fran three days ago, so what as she done?"
"I'm afraid it's what was done to her." Emma hesitated before continuing, "Your daughter Fran was killed yesterday afternoon by some crazed Gaslight Ghoul want-to-be."
At that moment, Fran's twin entered the room, heard Mrs. Peel's dialogue, and let out a gasp of alarm. Turning to gaze at Fran's duplicate, Emma noted that she had blue eyes instead of brown, just as Cathy had said.
There was a moment of discomfiting silence before Mrs. Minolta burst into inconsolable sobs. Mrs. Peel waited silently until the weeping subsided quite considerably.
Then she spoke, "I have all the information regarding her death and her killer." Emma gently passed the papers to the wan Mr. Minolta. "I think you could all use a glass of liquor at this trying time."
"Yes, how good of you to suggest it, Mrs. Steed," Mr. Minolta wearily agreed. "Jane, would you please fetch us the bottle of port and some glasses?"
Jane nodded, and Mrs. Peel offered to help her. Mr. Minolta remained in the living room, soothingly rocking his downhearted wife.
When they were alone in the kitchen where the alcohol was stored, Emma remarked, "You didn't expect the ministry to respond so quickly to your twin's death, did you, Miss Minolta?"
Jane abruptly dropped one of the liquor glasses back onto the silver tray where it had come from. It clattered noisily, but fortunately did not break. "I don't know what you're trying to say," she lied.
"Well, Mrs. Gale, Steed, Mitchell, and I all know that it wasn't a Gaslight Ghoul impersonator that put that large gouge in Fran's back. Are you going to confess to the crime, or should I tell your parents the truth right now?" Emma nonchalantly strolled toward the living room, that cool smile that could unnerve the most collective of men creeping slowly across her full lips.
Jane stammered protests as with each step, Emma came nearer to her parents. Wailing in utter grief, Jane Minolta cried, "Oh God, please don't tell them!" She sunk to the tiled floor, her body wracking with tears of guilt and grief, as she explained, "Mitchell said we would be married if I promised to help him in the scheme. I didn't want to kill anyone, especially my own sister, but he made it sound so mandatory. Rutty said we wouldn't get caught, that the evidence would point to the people we were framing. I would rather die than have Mother and Father learn the truth." Jane's piercing blue eyes were red from crying, and they gazed entreatingly at Mrs. Peel. "Please never tell them that Mitchell and I killed Fran-please! When I'm taken off to prison, I'll just say that I'm moving out because the memories are too painful. Don't you or anybody else let them know that I'm really going to court and may be executed."
Emma knelt down next to the morose girl and placed a comforting hand on Jane's shoulder. She feared Jane's parents would enter the room and discover the dreadful truth. If they knew their own child had killed her only sister, they may crack under the strain. "I promise they will never learn the truth from me or any of my friends."
Mr. Minolta entered the room, spotted his daughter, and likewise began to cry. "We need to stick together under these circumstances," he told Jane. Mrs. Minolta likewise came into the room to bawl with her family.
Emma edged toward the front door and let herself out. She couldn't bear to see any more turmoil or hear any more sobbing. How terrible murder was! How could anyone take the life of a person without ruing his evil deed until the day he died? Even though it was hard to imagine anyone being that cruel, Emma knew people like that existed. Mitchell was a prime example of the debauched men and women that live in the world.
As she thought about the diabolical man, Mrs. Steed gave an involuntary shudder. All at once she remembered that her husband was visiting that wicked man. "Steed may be in grave danger at this moment, and I'm not able to help him!" she cried despairingly. She almost flew into her blue Lotus Élan before speeding down the road. She had to see if Steed was all right!
*************
Mitchell had just aimed the gun at Steed's heart when Mrs. Parker entered the room. Quickly, with all the strength she could muster, she threw the brolly at him.
The umbrella didn't go far, but it did rivet itself into Agent Mitchell's toes. Yelping in pain, Mr. Mitchell dropped the revolver to grab his right foot. He immediately began hopping around the room, cursing like a drunken sailor.
Diana Parker made a mad dash for the weapon, but Steed reached it first. They wrestled for it, and Mitchell, recovered from his injury, started grappling for the gun as well.
Steed grabbed for the gun and punched Mitchell in the breadbasket. Instantly afterward, an indescribable pain shot through John Steed's right ear. The pain was so great he could not pick up the coveted weapon. Steed realised that Mitchell had cuffed him soundly in the ear.
Mrs. Parker was about to retrieve the gun when it occurred to her that she shouldn't pick it up without a glove or a handkerchief, lest she leave her finger prints behind. Instead of grabbing it, Diana kicked it far away from herself. Unfortunately, she kicked it toward Mitchell, who promptly picked up the antique gun.
He pointed it at Mrs. Parker this time, snarling, "You shouldn't have been eavesdropping."
It appeared that Mrs. Parker was about to meet her Maker, when Tara King burst through the door, handling a four-caliber pistol. The two, armed spies pointed their guns at each other, both eager to shoot. "All right, Mitchell," Tara began steadily, "You put down your gun and I'll set down mine."
Rutherford Mitchell surveyed the brunette woman clad in the greyish-blue turtleneck that clung tightly to her, accentuating her voluptuous figure. Her legs were attired in blue pants, which were held snugly to her waist by a black belt. She was wearing a wig that curled right below her ears, making her look even more youthful than she really was. It would be a shame to kill her, but he would have to.
"I'm putting down my gun now, Tara," Mitchell lied. He made a gesticulation that seemed like he was casting his revolver aside, when in reality, he was preparing to fire.
Tara hesitated before kneeling on the floor to set her pistol down. Out of the corner of her blue eye, she saw Mitchell twirling the gun around his finger absentmindedly. At any other time, seeing a man play with a gun as if he was right of a western would have been hilarious to her. But knowing that this sinister character was bent on double-crossing her, she was anything but amused.
"I've set my gun down," Mitchell fibbed again, "so what are you waiting for? Let's duke it out, man to woman."
Tara gazed at Steed and Mrs. Parker huddled nervously in a corner of the room with Steed's brolly. If she messed up, they would all be dead. In one swift maneuver, she was on her feet and firing the revolver out of Mitchell's hand.
Mitchell stared at her, stupefied and wondering how she had beaten him at his own game. Before he had time to react, Tara was upon him, kicking him in his breadbasket. He grabbed the leg that was in his stomach and yanked it. Tara fell ungracefully to the linoleum floor.
Mitchell jumped on top of her, but Miss King extended her arms and legs at the last moment, pushing Mitchell into the air. He landed near Steed, who angrily smacked him over the head with his brolly. The umbrella buckled because of the contact but remained in one piece. Vision distorted from being smacked over the head, Mitchell swung at Steed but missed.
"I think this is what you meant to do," Steed muttered as he boxed the evil agent in the eye. Steed watched the fellow male agent stumble into Tara's awaiting arms.
She grabbed his arms and began swing him around the room at a dizzying pace. After several rotations, she let go and watched Mitchell spin into a wall. Rutherford, or as Jane would call him, "Rutty," was barely conscious.
"You thought we were alone when we were talking," Steed started, "but Mrs. Parker was right outside with my umbrella with the recorder built into it."
"I recorded everything you said, Mitchell, you naughty boy!" added Diana indignantly.
The words barely registered in Mitchell's addled mind, but he knew one thing: Tara had carelessly tossed her pistol away when she had kicked him in the stomach! It was now lying inches from him, easy for him to grasp, which he did accordingly. He fumbled to his feet as he cried in exultation, "I highly doubt that umbrella is going to come in handy at this time!" He pointed the gun at his archenemies. "As soon as you are dead, I'll destroy all the evidence!"
Mitchell hoarded the trio together, placing them side-by-side as if they were about to be inspected. In a way they were, for he was about to kill them one after another. "Any last request before you are executed?"
Tara licked her lips nervously as she pleaded, "I only wish that you will let me say goodbye to my friends, maybe even hug them or something of that nature." It was a pathetic elocution, but Rutherford nodded his head grimly. Miss King proceeded to hug each of the distraught spies extremely slowly.
"Hurry up, or I'll shoot you now," Mitchell growled, his hand on the trigger once more.
Tara made no response, but whispered to Steed, "Mother came with me to Department S. He promised to come upstairs if we didn't return in ten minutes. According to my watch, exactly ten minutes have passed."
Mitchell was about to ask what she was whispering to Steed when Mother entered the room. "What the . . ." Mitchell began in surprise. Instinctively, he shot at his superior but fortunately missed the target altogether.
As he approached the demented agent, Mother inquired slowly and serenely, "Why are you committing all these dastardly deeds?
"You want to know why, eh?" Mr. Mitchell asked poisonously. "You're going to let Steed and his fiendish friends leave the ministry after disobeying you and torturing me! Since you aren't about to punish them, I'm going to kill you and the rest of this sorry lot!" Mitchell howled evilly, a fit of insanity taking control of his mind.
Steed took this opportune moment to grab "Rutty's" arms and twist them behind his back, knocking the gun from his grasp. Tara kicked the pistol much in the same way Mrs. Parker had earlier, but she managed to drive it under the hospital bed out of reach of any sinister hands.
Steed kept his firm grip on Mitchell as he forced him to his feet. "Mrs. Parker, play the umbrella for Mother."
Diana Parker, quaking with fright, pushed the play button. The whole conversation played before Mother's interested ears. During the entire duration, Agent Mitchell made no comment but instead gazed out the window into oblivion. He knew now that his diabolical plan had failed due to the quick wits of John Steed, Emma Peel, Tara King, and even Catherine Gale. When the dialogue finished, Mitchell was shaking his head out of self-pity and remorse of his heinous crimes.
Mother stared grimly at the murderous agent and sighed. "Thank God for that." The spies stared at each other, wondering what he meant by that ambiguous phrase. Mother explained himself by continuing, "I'm so glad that we are finally able to legally prove that Mrs. Gale isn't the murderer. Now I won't be arguing with myself whether I was right to assist her in her escape.
"Mitchell must be arrested right away, and Mrs. Gale released from her bondage. Rhonda, phone Shuston and Pemberly so they can come over to Department S to arrest the real murderer. Tell them that while they're at the jail, release my nephew Basil."
"And someone must run over to Penney Estate to get Mrs. Gale," Steed added.
"I believe I shall do just that." His purpose as clear as daylight, Mother let the silent Rhonda push him out of the room. When he was halfway out the door, he forced Rhonda to stop. "I certainly hope you can handle this criminal while I'm away."
The three agents gazed at each other, and Tara remarked astutely, "I think after all the teamwork we performed this evening, we will be able to handle this rotten secret agent with ease." Steed and Mrs. Parker readily agreed with the sagacious girl.
When Mother had left the vicinity, Steed, Tara, and Diana forced Mitchell into a straightjacket and locked him in his room. "Someone should keep an eye on that crazed killer, but who?" Steed let his question hang in the air.
"I think I could help in this situation," came a gravelly voice. Harrod, the wiry, nervous man with the bandaged head and elbow, appeared from his room, which was several doors down.
"I thought you were the enemy!" Steed confessed as Mr. Harrod strolled over to them.
"No, but I discovered that Mitchell was faking his injuries, so he swore me to secrecy or I would be killed as well. He told me of his plans to dispose of you and your lady friends. I supposed he figured I didn't want to be murdered so I would keep my mouth shut." Harrod shrug his scrawny shoulders. "I would be pleased to watch that psychopath!"
Steed acquiesced, and he and the two female spies ventured downstairs. They knew it would be some time before Pemberly and Shuston arrived at the convalescent center. All they had to do was wait, which was not easy for the trained agents.
Finally, the two male spies came to take Mitchell into custody. Steed followed them out to the jail car so he could give them his brolly, the vital piece of evidence. As Shuston's car sped away into the night, a feminine voice cried, "Steed, you're alive and safe!"
Steed beheld a statuesque woman in a pale pink blouse, covered by a two-tone salmon jacket that was fastened by a single frog across the chest. A matching salmon skirt came down to the woman's knees, and a bright pink scarf that had been tied around her neck completed the outfit. Steed knew without a doubt that it was Emma, his Emma.
She raced up to him, panting from carrying an extra person. Emma was not the type of lady that cried out of distress or relief. However, her big eyes stared at him with an utter look of concern in them. The two exchanged a mutual glance that only they could comprehend.
"I think we should go home," Steed remarked quietly.
"We'll take my car," Mrs. Steed began dulcetly, "because I don't want to run the risk of your Bentley breaking down in the middle of nowhere."
"But what a wonderful way to get stranded, just the two of us," Steed argued flippantly.
"I think you mean three of us," Emma reminded him as she pointed to her round stomach.
She hopped into the driver's seat of her Lotus Élan, and Steed reluctantly followed.
Tara followed them and said, "I'll have one of our men bring your car home, Steed."
"Thank you, Tara; that would be most appreciated." Steed barely had time to finish before Mrs. Peel's vehicle screeched down the road. He really had ought to speak to his wife about her erratic driving.
Tara, always the oddest of the Avengers, mockingly saluted the Steeds as they disappeared from sight. "Happy Trails, Steed," she murmured to herself in amusement.
***********
Cathy Gale blinked several times in the bright light as she was let out of the secret room. Mother smiled shortly at the buxom blonde before exclaiming, "We have apprehended the real murderer and are letting you go. I wish there was something I could do to make up for the last two terrible days."
"Thank you Mother, but the greatest debt you can pay is to allow Steed to join another ministry or create his own." With that blunt remark, Mrs. Gale left the suddenly quiet Mother alone with his meditations.
Dr. Catherine Gale was extremely wary from the last tumultuous twenty-four hours. She fell into her apartment, ready to take a long nap. She was astounded when she saw Dr. Martin King sitting impatiently in a brown chair. "What are you doing here?" she snapped.
"Mother phoned me to say that you had been released from custody."
"That was very sweet of him, but he needn't have bothered." Mrs. Gale crossed her arms over her chest, making her black, leather vest crinkle.
"Cathy, dear Cathy, I want to apologise for my selfish behaviour. I don't want my own stubbornness and pride to break up our relationship. I've decided to take a post in Africa like I promised before." Martin King placed a loving hand on Cathy's taut face.
Catherine Gale relaxed in the care of her loved one, letting him envelop her in a warm embrace. "You would do that for me?" she asked in a soft tone that she never used on Steed.
"Well, isn't making sacrifices part of what you do when you're in love?" Martin replied. He cupped her chin in his hand before placing a gentle kiss on her lips. "Besides you were right when you said the Africans need doctors. Now what sort of ring do you want?"
"I want a great big diamond, so I can flaunt in front of John Steed's face," Cathy quipped. Then she shook her head and added, "No, just a sensible but beautiful ring will do for me."
"A beautiful and sensible ring for a gorgeous and practical lady." Martin smiled as he inched toward Cathy's glowing face for another kiss.
To Be Continued!