Chapter Twenty

I accompanied Uncle Mick to the major's office that evening.

Uncle Mick was going to meet up with the thieves at Red's, and from there he planned to accompany them on their job at the undisclosed location. Major Ramsey would send someone along to follow the thieves, and then, if they retrieved the map from the safe as planned, Uncle Mick would signal to their tail that he should move in and make the arrest.

It was a dangerous plan that put Uncle Mick in a difficult situation, but it had been the best they had been able to devise without knowing where the thieves planned to strike.

In the meantime, the major and I would confer with Archie Blandings to see if he had learned anything about the map or what might have happened to his contact, Santos, in Lisbon.

Uncle Mick and I reached the major's office, and Constance greeted us with a smile.

"Good evening. He's expecting you," she said. Her tone today led me to believe he was in a better mood than usual. Perhaps the rest had done him good.

Uncle Mick and I went down the hallway and found the door to his office open.

"Hello," he said, standing up from where he sat behind his desk. "Come in and close the door, please."

I did as he bid me, looking him over in the process. He definitely looked better than he had last night. His color was much improved, and, though his movements were still a bit stiff, it seemed the assailant had done no lasting damage.

His eyes caught mine, and something passed between us. He gave me only the barest of nods, and, somehow, I knew just what he was telling me. He felt better after a good night's sleep and the relief of the pain medication, but he didn't particularly wish to discuss it.

I gave him a faint smile, and then he turned his attention to Uncle Mick.

"Are you prepared for this evening?" he asked. I knew the major was frustrated with the lack of intelligence. He didn't like Uncle Mick going into this blind any more than I did. But we needed to get the map. If the Germans were able to get their hands on that tungsten, it would only aid them in their weapons production. It might seem minor, but every German tank we could take off the battlefield felt like a victory.

My uncle nodded as he took a seat. "As prepared as I'll ever be. I don't imagine the job itself will pose much trouble. So long as your man stays with us, I don't foresee any problems."

"I'll have Kimble on it. He'll stay with you."

I knew Kimble from previous jobs with the major. He was a former Scotland Yard man who was as cool and composed as he was competent. I felt better just knowing he would be the one helping Uncle Mick.

There was a tap at the door, and, at the major's call to enter, Constance brought in a tea tray and set it on the corner of the desk.

"Thank you," Major Ramsey said.

"Yes, sir. Would you like me to pour?"

"That won't be necessary. Thank you, Miss Brown."

"Mr. Kimble has just arrived. Shall I send him in?"

"Yes, please."

Constance went out, closing the door behind her, and Major Ramsey rose from his seat. He moved to the tray and poured tea for the three of us.

A moment later, Kimble came in. He was the very definition of a nondescript man, of average height, build, and unremarkable coloring. His eyes, however, were a cold, placid gray.

"Hello, Kimble," I said brightly.

He was the most expressionless, unexcitable man one could imagine. Naturally, he displayed no enthusiasm at seeing us again. He merely nodded his head in our direction.

"Have a seat, Kimble," the major said.

Kimble drew up a chair from the corner and sat.

"We're just going over the plans for this evening. Mr. McDonnell is to meet them at Red's. You went there today, I think?"

Kimble nodded. "Got a good look at the place. It's not likely they'll be driving to their destination. Won't want to call attention to themselves. So we'll follow them on foot. I've got several of our best men set along different possible routes. All McDonnell has to do is give the signal, and we'll move in."

Kimble was a man of few words, but he was certainly saying the right ones to make me feel better about what Uncle Mick was walking into.

At last, Uncle Mick stood. "I guess it's time to be on my way."

I rose, too, and reached to give him a hug. "I know you're tired of my saying it," I said into his ear, "but please be careful."

He patted my cheek. "I will, Ellie girl. Don't you worry about your old Uncle Mick."

With a nod at the major, he went out of the room, and Kimble followed wordlessly behind him.

I took my seat again, saying a silent prayer for Uncle Mick's safety.

"Your uncle is wilier than most of military intelligence. I wouldn't worry too much," Major Ramsey said.

I looked up at him, realizing I had been biting my lip as I fretted. "It feels different than our old work somehow."

"It is," he said. "But he's no less capable of it."

He was right, of course. Uncle Mick knew what he was doing, and I had to trust that everything would go according to plan.

I picked up my teacup from the desk and raised it in salute. "To a successful evening."

He raised his own cup. "I'll drink to that."

Another concern occurred to me then. "Do you suppose the thieves are onto us, and that's why the man with the knife came to warn us off?"

"I have someone looking into that," the major said. "I doubt it was the thieves who sent him, as they would have been more likely to confront your uncle directly. It's possible it has something to do with our connection to Blandings and his work in Lisbon. He may have been followed when he arrived in London."

It was then, talk of the devil, that Archie Blandings arrived.

He took the seat beside me, rumpling his hair with his hand as he removed his hat just as he had at the pub. It was an endearing gesture that added to the impression of youth about him.

"Things have got rather interesting," he said without preamble.

Major Ramsey waited. It seemed he was not going to mention the assailant. Or perhaps he and Archie had already discussed it.

"To begin with," Archie said, "I may have found your Anna Gillard."

I frowned. The last we had seen of Anna Gillard was her bloody body in that hotel room. "What do you mean?"

"She's holed up in a hotel in Aylesbury."

I tried to make sense of what he was saying, and it seemed there was only one possible option.

"Do you mean to say that the dead body in the hotel wasn't Anna Gillard?" I asked.

"It seems that way," Blandings said. "The body doesn't match the description that I received from an acquaintance of Anna Gillard's in Lisbon. Furthermore, I had someone look into matters at the hotel, and it seems that one of the staff has gone missing. I can only assume it was she who walked into the room and encountered the burglars and was killed because of it."

This was a startling revelation.

"Do you want me to pick Miss Gillard up?" Blandings asked Major Ramsey.

"Tomorrow."

They finalized the details, and Blandings took his leave. My thoughts were still whirling. If Anna Gillard had survived, why hadn't she sought out help? Had she gone to see Nico Lazaro, or had she simply gone into hiding?

I realized suddenly that the major and I were alone and sitting in silence. It was, surprisingly enough, not uncomfortable. I was glad things were feeling less awkward between us, even if that persistent pull of attraction had begun to make itself known to me again.

Ramsey moved to stoke the fire, and I sipped my now cool cup of tea.

When the clock struck midnight, I was surprised. I had not realized it was growing so late. Perhaps the job would last longer than we had thought. Perhaps I should return home and wait for Uncle Mick there.

I found, however, that I was loath to leave the cozy warmth of the room, with the crackling fire and the yellow glow of the lamps. It felt easy, comfortable. And it was a long way back home in the cold alone.

Major Ramsey came and sat, too.

It was then I looked down and noticed something gold on the floor. It was a tube of lipstick. I reached down to pick it up before I could think better of it.

I glanced at it before setting it on the edge of the major's desk without comment.

His eyes flickered to it before coming back to me. He would claim it was his sister's.

"Jocelyn Abbot was here," he said at last. "She must have dropped it."

I wondered what he was trying to tell me. If he was merely speaking the truth, or if he was letting me know that his romantic interests lay elsewhere. Why was talking to a man sometimes very like trying to decipher a code?

I decided to be honest as well, and equally vague in my feelings.

"Yes," I said casually, though my throat felt tight. "I saw her leaving the morning I came to bring you to Pony Peavey's."

His eyes met mine, and I felt myself flush. I hated that I couldn't keep myself from blushing when I could otherwise do a credible job of appearing nonchalant in an awkward moment.

He was silent for a long minute, and I sensed he was trying to decide what to tell me. Trying to decide how personal he should make his reply.

"As you know, Jocelyn has been gathering information for me since the conclusion of that first time you and I worked together."

"You don't have to…" I started, but he held up a hand.

"She has been gathering intelligence from several of her highly placed friends. She was at a party all night and stopped to relate something to me very early that morning."

"It's none of my business," I said.

"She didn't spend the night here."

I forced myself to look up at him. His eyes met mine, his gaze intent. "I told you once before: things were over between Jocelyn and me a long time ago. That hasn't changed."

I nodded, unsure of how to respond.

I didn't know why I felt so relieved to hear that he had not resumed his romance with Jocelyn Abbot. It wasn't as though he had admitted some sort of feelings for me. But there was some acknowledgment there of something between us, wasn't there? Some reason he had felt the need to explain.

Why must things be so complicated?

There was a well-timed sound outside the door, and a moment later Uncle Mick came in. I was surprised to see that Kimble was right behind him. I had assumed he would be overseeing the arrest of the culprits.

Unless something had gone wrong. Uncle Mick sat down, his expression cheerful but not as elated as one might have expected after a successful job.

"Well, we have good news, and bad news," he said.

"Yes?" Major Ramsey demanded. He really was not at all patient in situations like this, and Uncle Mick's indefatigable cheeriness would always be a trial to him. Despite the difference in their methods, however, they worked well together.

"It seems tonight was just a bit of a test run," my uncle said. "They took me to a vacant house and had me break into a safe there. We didn't get away with much, but I'll happily turn over my share of the loot, so as not to be breaking the terms of my employment." Uncle Mick looked over at me and winked.

A trial run. The thieves had been testing his sincerity and his abilities. It wasn't ideal, but it meant we were still in the game. We could still get the map back.

"So you didn't arrest them?" Ramsey asked Kimble.

"McDonnell never gave us a signal, so we never made the move," Kimble said.

Ramsey nodded. His expression had grown distant as he appeared to be considering the next course of action. "It seems we're back where we started," he said at last.

"Well, as to that, not entirely," said Uncle Mick. "Now that the boys had reason to trust me, and a new appreciation of my skills, they were a bit more forthcoming."

The major and I both turned to look at Uncle Mick expectantly.

"They told me the location of the spot they mean to strike next, and a little bit of the plan," Uncle Mick said as he removed his pipe from his jacket pocket and put it to his lips. "It seems they plan to rob a fellow called Nico Lazaro."