Newkirk spent a long time staring at the emerald brooch in his hand, pondering his fate. He knew that a storm was coming, and coming quickly; it was all a matter of whether or not Carter and the others could get the pictures and convince the police that this impostor really existed.
He looked to the Frenchman, who was staring at the gold chain in his hand, and then back to Miss Sandiego's brooch.
Louis is right, of course, he thought. She's going to claim I stole this from her, after all of that rot about saying she's in on this in order to clear me name.
Of course, he wasn't about to admit this out loud. Judging by the look on LeBeau's face, he was deep in thought, coming up with the perfect "I told you so" speech. Newkirk decided that he did not need to hear it.
Ironically, though, a speech was the furthest thing from LeBeau's mind. He, too, surmised that the presence of the brooch here meant that Sandiego was going to report the theft and blame it on Newkirk. And LeBeau could not allow that to happen—even if Newkirk insisted on worrying over him, and even if it meant returning to Epping.
His brow began to furrow as he tied the ends of his plan together. The reporter still had not reason to believe that she was under suspicion; LeBeau could easily go over to her house on the pretext of asking how the interview with Newkirk went—perhaps even asking about making an appointment for himself to be interviewed. Doing so would also give him an opportunity to get as near to the crime scene and see if he could find anything there. But, more importantly, he could delay Sandiego's trip to the police long enough for Hogan to get there first.
There was only one flaw with his plan; Hogan had put him in charge of making sure that nothing happened to Newkirk. That was going to be impossible if he was going back to Epping.
There must be a way… he thought, furiously. If I can just someone to watch over Pierre, I might be able to go…
His thoughts trailed off as there was a knock on the door. Newkirk paled, assuming it to be the police, and he took off for his room, locking himself in. LeBeau hastily hid the gold chain in his pocket and opened the door, and was relieved to see Mavis standing there.
"'allo, Louis," she said, blinking. "Cor, you look so terrible and sweaty; are you ill?"
"Non," LeBeau said, a light bulb going off in his head as he found a way to execute his plan. "I am fine, I assure you."
"That's good, at any rate," she said. She looked around the apartment. "Is Peter 'ere?"
"Oui, but he is… That is, to say… He cannot see you right now…"
"'ey, Mavis," Newkirk said, sticking his head out over the threshold of his room so that she would see his Scotsman's disguise. "Uh, Louis is right; can you come by later?"
"I reckon I can," she said. "But I just wondered if I could borrow five pounds."
"Oh, not at all," Newkirk said. "Uh, Louis, can you get 'er five pounds from me jacket pocket?"
LeBeau obliged them, but Mavis was still puzzled as she took the money.
"Are you two up to something?" she asked.
"Up to something? Us?" Newkirk bluffed. "Come off it, Mavis; what could we possibly be up to?"
"I 'eard that there was a lot of shouting 'ere last night, and now you two are in separate rooms like children sulking after a fight…"
"Oh, is that all?" her brother asked, relieved. "Well, you know 'ow stubborn Louis can be; if we don't butt 'eads at least once a day, then something is very wrong."
LeBeau gave a wan smile in agreement, though he managed to send a glare in Newkirk's direction.
"Well, I was just curious…" Mavis began, but then paused part of her brother's kilt became visible over the threshold of the room. "Peter?"
Newkirk looked down and immediately retreated back into his room.
"Peter, what's going on?" Mavis insisted at the closed door.
"Oh, well, you know how humble Pierre is," LeBeau said. "We were tossing around ideas for a little… costume party."
"Oh. Then where's your costume, Louis?"
"My costume? Well… André is going around looking for it."
"Yeah, it ain't easy to find clothes 'is size, you know," Newkirk quipped from behind the closed door.
"Tais-toi!"
Mavis was still confused, but decided that this all made some sort of bizarre sense. Exactly how it made sense was still a mystery, but she was confident that the two knew what they were talking about.
"Well, if you're sure nothing's wrong, I guess I'll see you later," she said, heading for the door.
"Ah, oui," LeBeau said, walking her there. Before she left, he lowered his voice. "If you could do me a favor, I would appreciate it if you could call this number…" He handed her the number of the hotel room where Hogan was staying. "André should be there by this time. Could you ask Colonel Hogan if André could come back to the apartment; I need to speak to him as soon as possible."
Mavis nodded.
"Merci. And please hurry; they will be leaving soon."
"Right; I'll call from the first callbox I come to," she promised. "See you later." She called out to her brother before leaving. Bye, Peter!"
LeBeau closed the door after her and sighed with relief. Newkirk hobbled back into the main room, the color not quite back in his face yet.
"Oh, blimey," he gasped, sitting down on the couch as he wiped the sweat from her brow. "I never thought I'd ever 'ave to 'ide from me own sister like that."
"Be glad that she is not like my mother," said LeBeau. "She knows when you are hiding the truth from her, and she will not leave you until you give her the full truth." He shook his head. "I should start preparing lunch."
"Don't bother cooking for me, little mate; I've just about lost me appetite after that."
LeBeau gave a wan nod, but his worries were for a different reason; he was hoping that he wasn't going to end up making a decision that he would come to regret as far as returning to Epping was concerned.
Newkirk, concerned for his own fate at the moment, did not seem to sense that LeBeau had something planned. This wasn't like him; usually, when LeBeau was up to something, he was able to figure it out before it actually happened, and the reverse usually held true. As it was, LeBeau's plan to go to Epping was still secret, as he had hoped.
There was another knock on the door shortly after LeBeau had finished preparing bouillabaisse (just the smell of it had been enough to banish what bit of appetite Newkirk had managed to hold onto). The Englishman once again dove for the cover of his room, but LeBeau knew who it was.
"Come in, André," he said, ushering the sergeant inside. "Tell me, how did the photographs turn out?"
"Oh, they turned out great!" he said. "Kinch and the colonel are going to take them to the police; they're probably there now. Mavis called just before we were going to leave; Colonel Hogan said to go ahead and go back. Why'd you have her call? What happened?"
"Pierre and I went out for breakfast. When we came back, we found this hidden under the carpet," the Frenchman announced, holding out the money and the gold chain. "And Pierre has that same emerald brooch you saw yesterday—he has been staring at it all morning. Also, the landlady said that she saw someone who looked just like Pierre leaving the building about five minutes before we returned."
Carter's eyes widened.
"Boy, this is getting worse and worse—they're upping the ante every couple hours!"
"I know," LeBeau said. "That is why I have to stop them."
"Well, sure, we've got to stop them! That's what we're trying to do! Colonel Hogan and Kinch are on it right now—"
"No, André," LeBeau said, shaking his head. "I cannot sit idly by and do nothing as Pierre gets in worse and worse trouble. What will be their next move? Will they kidnap him and have people see him so that he will be arrested? If they convince the police first that he is guilty before Colonel Hogan can convince them otherwise…"
"Well, it's not that I don't see your point, but… what are you going to do?"
"I have thought about it," the Frenchman said, lowering his voice further. "It is said that a criminal always returns to the scene of the crime."
"You're going back to Epping?" Carter whispered, his eyes going even wider as LeBeau gave a nod. "Louis, you can't! Colonel Hogan said—"
"Colonel Hogan said that I had to ensure that Pierre doesn't fall into enemy hands. That is why I had you come back here. So I will go have a word with Miss Sandiego—just to pretend to be interested in an interview, long enough for her to be delayed in reporting to the police about Pierre allegedly stealing her brooch."
"Oh, Louis, I don't like this. I don't like this at all."
Carter's mind raced furiously, considering pulling rank on the corporal. But, on the other hand, there was every chance in the world that Hogan and Kinch were in a race against their foes to convince the police. Even if they got there in time, photos in hand, their story was less likely to be believed than the idea of Newkirk being guilty.
"Louis, think about it—is it worth it?"
"Look, I am not going to confront her with my suspicions—that is something I know Colonel Hogan would be against. I just want to stall her to give him and Kinch time. That is all I will do—I promise!"
"Well… I suppose if that's all you're going to do, it'll be okay," Carter said, still uncomfortable with the idea. "Maybe you should check it with Peter before you go."
"Are you crazy? He would throttle me for even suggesting it!"
"Yeah, he would," the sergeant admitted. "But how do I explain your disappearance?"
"Just tell him that I went out to get some ingredients that I needed to complete the bouillabaisse. He hates it, so he will not taste it to verify."
"Well, I suppose that's true, but something could still go wrong," the sergeant said.
"D'accord," LeBeau said, looking at his watch. "Give me… three hours. If you do not hear from me by then, you can go ahead and tell Pierre what I did."
"At which point, he'll kill you if you aren't dead already," Carter warned.
"I know, I know…" LeBeau said, rolling his eyes. "That gives me the incentive to get back in touch with you somehow. Au revoir."
He was out the door before Carter could protest. The sergeant sighed, now crossing to Newkirk's room door and convincing him that he everything was alright.
LeBeau, on the other hand, used the leftover money that Newkirk had given him the previous day to get him to Epping. To his frustration, he wasn't able to get anywhere near the crime scene. Realizing that he probably should not have expected to, he headed off towards Miss Sandiego's house.
He rang the doorbell and waited; he had already resolved that he would not try to force his way in this time, in case the impostor was raiding it for more loot to plant on Newkirk. He was still tempted to confront the impostor as he had originally wished, but he knew that Hogan would have several things to say against that.
To his surprise, Miss Sandiego opened the door. She seemed rather calm for someone who had had her house rifled through the previous day and lost an emerald brooch.
"Good afternoon, Señor…"
"LeBeau—Louis LeBeau. I am a friend of Corporal Newkirk's; he and I were in Stalag 13 together for five years. He told me all about the interview yesterday, and I decided that it might be fun to be interviewed, as well. I will have to have Colonel Hogan present, as well, but I would like to discuss a possible date and time for it."
"Ah, yes, do come in!" she said, standing aside to allow him to enter into her hall. She guided him to her drawing room. "Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Something stronger, perhaps?"
"Coffee will be fine," LeBeau said, deciding that taking time to prepare the drink would help him in his plan. He knew, of course, that there was a risk of the coffee being drugged, so he was already preparing a way of disposing of the coffee so that he wouldn't have to drink it.
"Feel free to have a look around here and in the den," she said. "I've furnished most of it myself!"
She left, presumably to get the coffee, and LeBeau walked around the drawing room. Nothing looked disturbed—it was impossible to tell that the Springheel Jack had been here only a day ago.
He shook his head slightly, crossing to the den. His eyes scanned this room; he had only seen a fleeting glimpse of it the previous day while Carter had done the investigating. But something stood out in the den—a tall, rectangular box with several slits all over it. It looked very familiar.
LeBeau stared at it, frowning. That wasn't supposed to be there, he knew. And Carter, despite being somewhat oblivious at times, could not have missed this.
The Frenchman's eyes suddenly widened as he remembered where he saw the box before—in the storage room of the magic theatre; it was the sword impalement box! He folded his arms, wishing he had said something sooner. This proved, once and for all, that Sandiego was involved with the goings-on at the theatre.
You were a good actress, Mademoiselle. But your game will soon come to an end.
His curiosity was getting the better of him, however. After looking to the entrance of the den to make sure that she wasn't coming back, LeBeau moved to open the cabinet.
"'ello, little mate," a voice sneered from within the cabinet.
The Frenchman's eyes widened again—this time, in horror. The impostor Newkirk lunged at him, slamming him against the wall and pulling tightly on the two ends of his scarf to choke him.
"You should not have done that, Corporal LeBeau," another voice said.
LeBeau turned his head as much as he could, his blurring vision still able to make out Gretel standing in the threshold of the den beside Miss Sandiego.
"You should have listened to Corporal Newkirk," Gretel said, coldly.
The Springheel Jack chuckled, now grasping LeBeau's throat tightly, his last taunting rhyme echoing in the Frenchman's ears just before the darkness consumed him.
"A fitting end to just your sort—as they say in your language, C'est l'mort."