The show with Pandora didn't reveal anything suspicious about the performer, much to Carter's disappointment; the man's voice was too distinct for someone like Gretel—or any woman, for that matter—to replicate. In spite of the fact that Pandora's tricks were ones that could easily be used to inflict great harm on people, he did nothing that drew unwanted attention to himself. However, Carter ended up flinching every time that Pandora's poor, lovely assistant was locked in a box or basket and seemingly underwent various forms of horrible dismemberment as Pandora sawed her in half, stabbed her with swords, and turned her into a tiger. LeBeau flinched, as well, turning slightly green as Pandora added flair to the show with fake blood.
"I still don't think we can cross him off of our suspect list just yet," Hogan said, after the show had ended. "We've already established that the impostor works here at the theatre; we need someone to keep a close eye on him."
"I can ask Warwick to try to talk to 'im," Newkirk said, trying to cover up the forlorn tone of his voice. "Maybe I can ask 'im to negotiate the return of the tiger for a few shows; Warwick's been meaning to bring it up, anyway…"
"Good; you can set that up after tomorrow's interview," the colonel replied. He glanced at the trio, still concerned for them. "Are you three planning to return to Stepney tonight?"
"I'm not about to let that ruddy impostor drive me out of me own 'ome," Newkirk said. "I'll leave it up to Louis and Andrew if they'd rather spend the night elsewhere."
"What are you talking about? Of course we'll go back to Stepney with you!" Carter said. "Isn't that right, Louis?"
LeBeau, still feeling slightly nauseous after seeing the fake blood, gave a nod of agreement as a response.
Newkirk shook his head slightly at his French friend.
"Don't take this the wrong way, Little Mate, but I don't think show business is quite for you—at least in the magic world," he said. He bit back a smirk as LeBeau gave him a dark glare.
"All right," said Hogan, stopping the argument before it started. "Just be careful; that bug in Newkirk's apartment proves that they know where you are, so be on your guard in case that impostor—or anyone else—comes by."
"Right-o, Colonel," Newkirk said.
Satisfied, Hogan and Kinch took their leave, discussing the preparations they would be making for tomorrow's interview. The trio returned to Newkirk's apartment, thankfully without incident.
LeBeau was fine by morning, but he still made breakfast and lunch without much talk. Newkirk was surprised by this, knowing that the Frenchman frequently talked to himself when preparing food. Even Carter was quiet, which also surprised him.
"What's gotten into you two?" the Englishman wondered.
"We are just concerned for you," LeBeau answered. "You know I do not trust that woman; naturally, I must worry that she doesn't try to bring any harm to you or le colonel. And there is no point in discussing it with you since you keep insisting that she is innocent until proven guilty."
"Well, it would be bad to accuse her if she is innocent," Carter said. "Of course, if she isn't innocent and does try something, then that would be even worse."
"Brilliant deduction," Newkirk said, with a roll of his eyes. "But if we're lucky, we'll be able to figure out if she is trustworthy today."
"And, hopefully, we will all be around to discuss it," LeBeau finished.
The Frenchman was still trying to cover up his guilt for not being able to tell Newkirk about what he and Carter were going to be doing. In all honesty, he doubted that the Englishman would protest too much if he did know—checking out their contacts was something they had all done frequently during the war. And he would also understand why Hogan had ordered it to be kept quiet.
Carter did his part to successfully change the subject to how things were going with their families after the war. Newkirk sensed this abrupt change in conversation topics, but assumed that Carter was just being himself.
When lunchtime came, Newkirk ate quickly, explaining that Hogan wanted him at the hotel around 1:00 to discuss the answers he was going to give to Miss Sandiego.
"Are you sure you two will be fine 'ere?" he asked, as he got his good suit from his room.
"Sure; it's not like Hochstetter or Burkhalter will come driving up in their staff cars to see us," Carter joked.
"We will be fine, Pierre," LeBeau assured him. "Let us do the worrying."
"Right. Keep some extra places for dinner; it won't take too much persuasion to convince Kinch and the Guv'nor to come back 'ere with me, providing you aren't making that ruddy fish stew again."
"One of these days, Pierre, you will be begging me for my bouillabaisse," LeBeau promised. "And I will not make it until I see you on your knees, apologizing for all the insults you have given to my cooking."
"Yeah, that's right," the younger American offered. "Maybe on one of our exotic mission locations around the world, we'll come across some food that will cause you to beg for it. My cousin, Angry Rabbit, was in the Pacific during the war, and he told me about some of those local dishes—"
"Thank you, both of you," Newkirk said, taking into account that Carter was assuming he'd stay with them. He was still undecided about his decision, though he couldn't deny that the recent turn of events was making him realize just how essential a part of the team he was. Hogan's assurance that he would do whatever it took to keep him out of prison, along with the other's fervent agreement, meant more to the corporal than he had let on.
Carter managed a smile in response to Newkirk's thanks, though LeBeau was still avoiding Newkirk's gaze. The Englishman assumed that it was due to the Frenchman's suspicions.
"Louis, you know I'll be careful. I learned me lesson with Gretel, I did—"
He was cut off as a thud and a yelp emitted from the front room, followed by the sound of running feet. The trio arrived at the room to see the front door open.
"Someone tried to break in here again!" LeBeau hissed, furious.
"They must've tripped on the torn part of the carpet—that was the crash we heard!" Carter deduced. "Wow, that carpet probably saved our lives!"
Newkirk was silent for a moment as he stared at the open door.
"You two are coming with me," he said, flatly.
"But we can't!" Carter blurted out, without thinking, causing both corporals to stare at him for different reasons. "I mean… If we come along with you to the interview, that reporter is going to wise up to the fact that this whole thing is a setup!"
"If you two think that I'd leave you 'ere alone for one minute with that ruddy intruder liable to come back, you're crackers!" Newkirk retorted.
"Pierre, please," LeBeau said, feeling even guiltier now. "André is right; it will look too suspicious if she sees us all at the hotel."
"And if that thing what was 'ere sees you, what will 'appen then?"
"Well, we do outnumber that intruder," Carter pointed out. "But if it makes you feel any better, Louis and I can take a walk around town or something."
"Ah, oui; we can even spend the next couple of hours on the outskirts of town," LeBeau offered. "That will probably be the safest place for us."
"I still don't like the idea of the two of you out and about like that," Newkirk said, frowning. "This ain't a place you're familiar with, and assuming that whoever was 'ere knows London well, it'd be easy for you to be followed. But maybe you'll be safer in Outer London; what do I know?" He pondered over their options. "Right; you go and do that. Meet me back 'ere around 5:00 or 5:30; the interview should be done by 4:00, if we're lucky, so it'll give Kinch and the Guv'nor time to make sure the place is secure."
LeBeau nodded.
"You go ahead and go, Pierre; I should put away the cookware and make sure that the fixings for dinner will be in a place where they cannot be tampered with. André and I will leave immediately after that."
Newkirk still didn't look satisfied, but he decided that he didn't have time to argue. It wasn't as though LeBeau and Carter couldn't look out for themselves, he knew; it was more that he hadn't quite gotten over being the worrier of the team. Realizing that there wasn't anything else he could do, he took his leave of his companions, even going so far as to dig as deep as he could into his pockets to give them cab and bus fare.
"Well," said Carter, once Newkirk had gone. "At least he knows the half-truth."
"But a half-truth is nothing more than half a lie," LeBeau countered, staring at the crinkled pound notes that Newkirk had handed him. "I understand the reasoning behind why we were not able to tell him, but it does not make me feel any better about it."
"Well, I'm not too crazy about it, either," the American admitted, trying to press the raised carpet back into place to make it look neater.
He frowned; something was in the way.
"Hey, what's this?" he asked, pulling an oddly-shaped object from under the carpet.
"The heel of a lady's shoe," LeBeau realized. "That intruder was a woman, and her shoe broke when she tripped on the carpet!"
"It's Gretel!" Carter exclaimed, his eyes dancing with excitement. "It has to be her! Hey, you know… if she does come back, I think you and I could deal with her—no trouble at all!"
"We are still under orders," the Frenchman reminded him. "Though I will not deny that I have wished for a chance to get back at everything she put us through…" He shook his head. "Never mind; we must show this to Pierre."
"Too late; he's well on his way to the hotel by now, and he knows all the shortcuts," said Carter. "We can call Kinch at the hotel and ask him to let Peter know."
"Good idea. And also ask him to get a look at that reporter's shoes; there is also the chance that this belongs to her. If she is wearing new shoes, voila! That is all the proof we need to show Pierre that she was sneaking around here."
"Right," Carter agreed. "Come on; it's going to take us a while to get to Epping, and we've got limited time to look around, too."
"Oui; let's go…"
LeBeau moved for the door, but paused, once again staring at the hard-earned pound notes that Newkirk had handed over to him without a second thought. Shaking his head, he withdrew a wad of francs and placed it on Newkirk's dresser as a temporary exchange, intending to get the francs exchanged for pounds once he had the chance.
"You know he'll never accept it," Carter said, as they locked the door behind them.
"I know, I know…" LeBeau sighed. "Expect yet another argument tonight. It is lucky for me he has no idea what I did a month ago."
Carter glanced at the Frenchman, a curious expression on his face. He was not going to be satisfied without hearing an explanation, and LeBeau read it in the American's eyes.
"If you tell Pierre this, I swear you will see rage incarnate," the Frenchman warned. "Last month, I had my will modified."
Carter's eyes widened.
"You're leaving everything to Peter?" he surmised. "The restaurant, the things you inherited from your grandfather, and… everything?"
"Quiet!" the Frenchman whispered. "Yes. I have no desire to leave my ex-wife with anything, my family is well-off after receiving their shares of Grand-Père's inheritance, and, of course, I have left you and the others something—"
"Not that it matters," Carter said, truthfully.
"But Heaven knows Pierre needs the money more than I do, but he will not let me give him any of it!" LeBeau finished. "This way, he will have to take it. I figure he could sell the restaurant and take that to move out of that tiny apartment for good. And he can use whatever cash I have to make a better life for himself and his sister."
"Boy…" the American said, shaking his head. "Well, if it's all the same to you, I know I speak for everyone when I say we'd rather have you around. And if Peter ever found out what you did, he'd be furious!"
"And that is why you are not going to tell him anything," LeBeau said. He sighed, shaking his head. "Even then, I have to think of something else; I would much rather live to see him accept the money from me voluntarily."
"I suppose you could always play some gin games with him and throw them on purpose…"
LeBeau shook his head, rolling his eyes slightly, and both he and Carter lapsed into silence as they continued on to Epping, pausing only to call Kinch.
"You know, it's just so ironic," Carter commented at last, as LeBeau proceeded to pick the lock on Miss Sandiego's door using the method that Newkirk had once taught him. "You have to be so secret in order to help Peter."
"It is his pride," LeBeau said. "He and I were in Stalag 13 for nearly five years; I arrived a couple months after he did. Throughout those five years, he never once let go of that pride. It was impossible for him to beg or plead."
"I think we all held onto some of our pride," Carter said. "I don't think we would've gotten through it, otherwise."
"True, but Pierre has always been like that, I think. He never actually said it, but I suspect that is why he became a thief instead of going around asking for help. He is still the same even now."
"Even though he knows we're here to help? Gee, he must be really stubborn if that's the case…"
He trailed off as LeBeau managed to get the door open. From this point on, he and the Frenchman were utterly silent in case there was a bug or tape recorder in the house. The fact that they were searching the house in broad daylight proved to be a blessing—they could see everything.
To their disappointment, there didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary as they went from room to room. A large collection of notebooks were on a work desk beside a typewriter, as was a stack of newspapers, the majority of them in Spanish.
LeBeau silently handed one of the Spanish papers to Carter, who shook his head; he did not know the language anymore than the Frenchman did. But the American's eyes suddenly widened as he pointed to an article that had been circled in the paper. The article wasn't written by her; it was written by another reporter. He indicated this to LeBeau, as well as pointing out the word "robótica" mentioned repeatedly in the article, which was not too difficult for them to translate.
LeBeau saw this and frowned; there had to be a reason why she was interested in another person's article on robotics.
There didn't seem to be anything else, however. As they searched the master bedroom, Carter casually opened the door of a walk-in closet, and promptly scrambled backward in a panic.
The Frenchman immediately was at his side, freezing in his tracks as he saw what had spooked Carter: a gurney was inside the closet, and a sheet was covering something upon it.
"She has killed someone?" LeBeau mouthed. "Is that the body of one of her previous victims?"
Carter shrugged his shoulders, helplessly. Knowing that Hogan would want to know who was under the sheet, he instructed LeBeau to turn away before he pulled the sheet off of the gurney.
His jaw dropped, and he repeatedly tapped LeBeau on the shoulder to get him to look.
LeBeau cautiously took a look, and then his eyes widened, too. There was a wide assortment of technology—various parts being pulled together to make some sort of remote-controlled spy machine that she was putting together.
"Remember what Colonel Hogan said?" Carter mouthed. "Von Schroeder told him and Kinch that communication and mechanical equipment was taken during the robbery. She's building a… a spy robot out of the stuff! Boy, Kinch would sure have a field day if he saw this…"
"Take the pictures," LeBeau mouthed in response. "I want Pierre to get a good look at these."
Carter nodded, pulling out some flash bulbs just to make sure that the lighting would be enough to get the details of the smaller parts.
LeBeau shut his eyes as Carter went to work with his camera, uttering a silent prayer. It was a worry to know that Newkirk and Hogan were now in the presence of someone who seemed to be a dangerous spy.
Will you listen to me now, Pierre? Will you now agree that I was right about her all along?
He sighed, silently, trying not to think about one of their many arguments. Right now, he was just hoping that he'd see both his friend and his commanding officer again.
Author's Note: In regards to LeBeau's throwaway mention of his ex-wife, in episode 17, LeBeau ruefully mentioned about how he had been married. Judging by his tone, it's safe to assume that the marriage didn't last.