Hogan soon switched off the radio; he wanted quiet to think—now they had one more thing to worry about. The only possible consolation was that Hochstetter would have to go into hiding; he wouldn't be foolish enough to try to sneak into London now.
Their main concern was determining what to do with Newkirk's growing problem. The Englishman, realizing the weight of his situation, sat forlornly in his Scotsman's disguise. LeBeau stood against the wall, his arms folded as he watched Newkirk sit there. There were plenty of things LeBeau wanted to say, but he was choosing to hold his tongue.
"We don't have much of a choice as far as Hochstetter is concerned," Hogan said. "The most we can do is alert General Barton; he'll spread the word to where it needs to go and make sure that Hochstetter will have no haven here. Chances are, ten to one, he's going to seek refuge in Soviet-controlled Germany; if that's the case, then it's going to be tougher to go in and recapture him."
"Then that's probably where he's headed," Carter said. "It's just like him to try something sneaky like that—"
"Andrew, you've already tempted fate once tonight and lost," Newkirk said. "Don't jinx us further!"
"Sorry…"
"I'll get in touch with General Barton tonight once Kinch and I get back to the hotel," Hogan went on.
"But what about Pierre and the murder charges?" LeBeau asked.
"Well, no one has approached Newkirk about the Springheel Jack robberies—so maybe no one has matched his name to the impostor's face," said Hogan. "Hopefully, that'll last, but I doubt it. Whoever the impostor is, or whoever he's working for, will drop Newkirk's name to the police; it's not a question of 'if'—it's 'when.'"
"That is realistic," Kinch agreed.
"How come whenever I predict something, it's 'tempting fate,' but it's 'realistic' if it's the colonel saying it?" Carter inquired.
"It's because 'e's the Guv'nor," Newkirk countered, still as sharp-witted as ever. "Let the man continue."
"Thank you, Newkirk," Hogan said. "It's not to say that the situation is completely hopeless. We do have one thing to our advantage—something that neither the impostor nor his employers know about. Carter has him on film. First thing in the morning, I want you to get that film developed."
"You got it, Boy! Uh, Sir!"
"Newkirk, be sure to give him the name of a photo developer you can trust, but don't actually go with him."
"Right-o, Sir."
"Carter, after you get the film developed, bring it straight to Kinch and me at the hotel. We'll go to the police station with this evidence."
"How do we explain how I was in there to get the pictures?" Carter asked. "That is a private house, and all that…"
"Leave that to me; I can play the confidential military investigation card if I have to," Hogan assured him. "LeBeau? It's going to be up to you to keep Newkirk out of the hands of the enemy."
"Oui, mon Colonel—"
"With all due respect, Sir, I don't need Louis acting like a mother 'en to keep me safe."
"Maybe you don't need a mother hen, but you'll do what Papa Bear tells you."
"Yes, Sir…"
LeBeau muttered something in his own tongue, his annoyance and anger beginning to build up again. If Newkirk only knew everything that LeBeau had done and planned for his benefit, maybe then he'd show some gratitude… No, of course not; Newkirk would be more livid than grateful if he found out about the will.
The Frenchman sighed. It seemed as though he just could not win.
"Other than that," Hogan went on, pulling LeBeau back to the present. "There isn't anything else we can do at the moment. Carter, we'll see you tomorrow; we'll make any further plans after seeing how the pictures go over with the police."
He and Kinch took their leave, leaving the trio behind.
Newkirk jotted down an address and handed it to Carter.
"There's the address of someone who can get the photos developed," he said. "Friend of Philip's, and I've met 'im a couple of times. Just mention me name to 'im and tell 'im I was too busy to be there meself."
"Right," Carter said, pocketing the information in his jacket. "Well, we've got the rest of the evening to kill."
"Maybe you do; I have to go and finish preparing the dinner!" LeBeau muttered, heading towards the kitchen. Upon seeing the coffee all over the floor, he let out an anguished cry. "What have you done to the kitchen?"
"I only scalded me foot with that ruddy coffee because I was worried about you two after 'earing about the Epping murder!" Newkirk retorted.
"We are not children, Pierre!" LeBeau snapped, looking around for something to clean the floor with. "You worry about us far too much!"
"I 'ave every right to—the both of you don't know your way around 'ere, and we already established that there is Gretel and that impostor prowling around!"
Carter cleared his throat.
"Uh, if Stealthy Cat Who Masks Worry With Anger will just calm down for a moment, you might remember that I got the impostor on film, which will hopefully clear your name."
"Well, you just… What do you mean 'Stealthy Cat Who Masks Worry With Anger?'"
"That's my Sioux nickname for you. See, you're like a cat since you can sneak into things, and you really do mask worry with—"
"Oh, shut up!"
LeBeau continued to grumble as he resorted to using the dish towel to clean the floor.
"It was foolish to think that you would have any gratitude towards André for getting those photographs," he said, repeatedly wringing out the towel and going back to his knees. "You do not seem to realize what this could mean. It means that you do not have to be in that disguise, and that the police will help in trying to stop Gretel and the impostor—and that reporter!"
"That's only if they believe the ruddy idea that someone is trying to frame me by posing as me!" Newkirk said. "Just 'ow is the Guv'nor going to explain why someone would impersonate a corporal?"
"Now who's tempting fate?" Carter asked. "Oh, wait—you're just being 'realistic…'"
"And furthermore," Newkirk said, not even acknowledging Carter. "I don't think it was very wise putting yourself or Andrew at risk just to get a blooming photo—"
He was cut off by the coffee-soaked dish towel smacking him in the face.
"Oh, boy…" Carter said, flinching. This isn't going to end well…
He was right, of course; this launched into another argument between the two corporals, leading Carter to stand watch in the kitchen and make sure that LeBeau didn't accidentally burn their dinner.
The argument didn't stop, even though the corporals had to call a temporary truce so that they could sleep. Eager to get out of the apartment before the argument started again, Carter grabbed a piece of buttered bread for breakfast and headed out the door to have the photos developed.
Newkirk, on the other hand, was in a stubborn streak as far as LeBeau was concerned. Though he noticed that the Frenchman was preparing breakfast, the Englishman announced that he would be have "pub grub" for breakfast at the Red Lion, which launched the argument all over again.
"Are you mad?" LeBeau called, as Newkirk went to get his jacket. "Colonel Hogan said that I was not to allow you to leave the apartment!"
"The Guv'nor never said that," Newkirk said. "What 'e said was that it's your job to keep me out of enemy 'ands. 'e never said anything about whether or not I could get a breath of fresh air."
"Oui? And how will you explain to your friends and the bartender as to why you are wearing a kilt?"
"Fair enough; I'll go to a different pub. Thank you, and good-ruddy-morning."
LeBeau cursed as he heard the front door slam. Hurriedly shutting down the stove and throwing his apron aside, he grabbed his red scarf and headed out the door.
"The Guv'nor didn't say that you 'ad to be me shadow, either," Newkirk said, knowing that LeBeau was following without even turning around.
"Must you be so stubborn?" LeBeau hissed. "I do not mind that you worry for me and the others. In fact, I would go so far as to say that I am quite touched. But you are starting to act as though you are the only one who worries or even has the right to worry! You think I have no reason to worry?"
Newkirk stopped, sighing as he looked Heavenward.
"I am worried for you, too," LeBeau went on, not as harshly now that Newkirk had stopped walking off. "It is not easy for me to stand by and watch as people are out to ruin your name and frame you for crimes you did not commit. You do not deserve to have that happen to you—your own best friend Roger even doubted you. I even have to wonder if he is questioning your involvement in the murder!"
Newkirk bit his lip. There was his old life coming back, forcing him to decide as to which path he had to choose. Yes, Roger did doubt him, but only because they were all thieves once, he rationalized.
"Pierre, you do not have any idea as to how much I wanted to apprehend that imposter yesterday," LeBeau went on. "If André had not stopped me, it is likely I would have confronted him."
"You're crackers, you are…" Newkirk said. "That goon could've killed you!"
"So I have been told," LeBeau said. "But I was willing to confront that ugly impostor if it meant clearing your name."
"I reckon you would be willing to take on…" Newkirk trailed off, a light bulb going off over his head as the stealth insult sunk in. "Oi!"
He turned to see LeBeau smirking at him, and Newkirk felt his own anger beginning to dissipate again.
"The point is, Pierre, I worry about what is happening to you because of this fiasco," he said.
"All right, I reckon you made a few valid points," Newkirk said. "Though you aren't getting away with that 'ugly' crack, I promise you. For now, though, I don't suppose you'd want to join me for breakfast in the pub?"
LeBeau scoffed, but went along with the idea as hostilities apparently ended between the two corporals. They managed to get through breakfast without snarling at each other, even managing a causal stroll around the East End. No one seemed to look twice at Newkirk and his kilt—at least, not until they got back to the apartment building. Newkirk's landlady was regarding him with a very baffled expression.
"Oh, Cor, she probably 'ad complaints about the noise from last evening. Don't look at me like that, Louis; it's as much your fault as it is mine!"
He walked over to her, but to his astonishment, her first inquiry was to his kilt.
"How are you wearing that?" she asked. "Where did you get that—and so quickly?"
Newkirk looked just as confused as she did. He turned to LeBeau, who shrugged helplessly in response.
"I'm afraid I don't quite follow you…"
"But I just saw you leave the building five minutes ago—wearing a completely different set of clothes!" she said.
"Are you certain?" LeBeau asked, as Newkirk just stared at her with wide eyes.
"I should think I would know the different between trousers and kilts!" she responded, in a huff. Forgetting completely to chew them out for the noise, she stalked off.
The corporals exchanged glances once more before tearing upstairs to Newkirk's apartment.
"Look carefully for the microphones," Newkirk ordered, as he leaped over the torn carpet to inspect the light fixtures and anywhere else a bug might be placed. "And if you see any wiring you're not sure of, let me—" He flinched as he heard LeBeau trip over the carpet. "—know."
LeBeau got up, cursing, but then gasped.
"You found the bug?" the Englishman gasped.
"Non," the Frenchman replied, pulling money, a gold chain, and an emerald brooch from under the carpet. "I recognize this chain; it is the same one your double was carrying that night we first saw him—when he robbed that lady in the alleyway! And this must be the brooch that André saw him take!"
"'e's planted the loot 'ere!" Newkirk snarled, taking a closer look at the brooch.
"Oui, and I think it is going to get much worse," LeBeau said. "This must mean that they are ready to turn your name in to the police, as Colonel Hogan said they would. They are keeping this here as false evidence so that you will be arrested for the thefts and the murder!"
Newkirk's shoulders slumped. They were taking this to the next level so soon?
"What am I to do?" he wondered aloud.
Leave it to me, mon pote, LeBeau thought, a dangerous idea forming in his head.
The Frenchman would take this into his own hands now.