Sleuth Page #3

for a 48-hour paddle-- they won't

be back till Sunday night.

So, you see, the house is empty.

Cheers.

- Well, what do you say ?

- It sounds distinctly criminal.

Well, of course it's criminal !

All good moneymaking schemes in

England have to be these days.

Now, the jewelry, when it's not in the bank,

lives in an ingeniously hidden safe

somewhere here in the study.

Where, for instance, would you look for it ?

Good likeness, would you say ?

Of course, it's 17--

no, 18 years ago.

I don't think you'd hide your safe behind

it. I've seen that in too many movies.

Good thinking ! All right then, where ?

Are you up to finding it ?

There are certain skills best acquired

in public bars, I suppose,

but whatever made you think, hmm ?

- You and your games.

That is the only game in this room.

Hmm. Very clever.

Anyway, the jewels are in there.

All you have to do is steal them,

Sell them abroad and live happily

ever after with Marguerite.

All I have to do is claim the insurance

and live happily ever after with Tea.

Is that what you asked me over to hear--

A grotty little plot to defraud

the insurance company ?

I'm sorry you find the plot grotty.

Personally, I thought it was all

rather nicely clear and simple.

Look, supposing I do as you say

and nick-- uh, steal the jewels.

If I sell them under my own name, I'll get

picked up the moment you report the loss.

If I sell them to a fence, always

presuming I could find one,

He'd carve me up, I'd get a

fraction of their value.

- Not with the fences I know.

- What fences would you know ?

The finest in Europe--

Prudent, yet prodigal.

I first met them while I was researching for

the deadly affair of the Druce Diamond.

Surely you've read it.

Pity. An absolute corker.

In any case, on your behalf,

I have already contacted a certain

gentleman in Amsterdam.

He'll treat you very well. You won't get

the full amount for the jewels, of course,

but you'll get about two thirds, say,

170,000 pounds.

- You'll get it in cash.

- 170,000 quid ?

Cash.

Why should this fellow pay so much ?

Because he will get what no fence

ever gets-- the title to the jewels.

You see, in addition to stealing the jewels,

you have also to take the

receipts I got for them.

Now, what does my insurance

company discover as it swings

ponderously into action,

antennae pulsing with suspicion ?

It discovers that someone

impersonating Andrew Wyke...

sold the jewels for 170,000 pounds cash,

but they still have to pay me.

Hard cheese.

Think it over. Take your time.

Look, I know this sounds stupid, but,

have you had any experience--

I mean, have you ever, actually,

committed a crime before ?

St. John Lord Merridew would

have a pretty lean time of it...

if I didn't think up any

crimes for him to solve.

St. John Lord who ?

- You're joking.

- What about ?

Who is St. John Lord Merridew ?

Why, even Marguerite when I first

met her knew and adored him.

He's my detective, known to millions

throughout the civilized world...

with a nose for smelling out evil

superior to anything in the Force.

Oh, yes. The Police are always stupid in

the kind of books you write, aren't they ?

They never solve anything. It's always the

amateur sleuth who knows what's going on.

But that's detective fiction.

This is fact. This is real.

I'm well aware of the

difference, my dear Milo,

but I'm also aware of my own

not inconsiderable capabilities.

Of course, if you doubt them

or don't trust me--

I'm not sure that I do.

That's why it's a very

difficult decision to make.

Not at all difficult, perfectly simple.

You have an expensive woman and no money.

Yeah, but why don't you steal the bloody

jewels and simply hand them over to me ?

I should have thought that was obvious.

The burglary has to look real.

This house has actually to be broken into.

Then why don't you break into it ?

It's a question of agility

for one thing, dear boy.

Milo, baby, hey, do me a favor.

Let me handle this. Know what I mean ?

Crime is my bag. I got this caper

all worked out to the last detail.

170,000 pounds.

Cash, tax-free.

It would take an awful lot of

Tindolini's tonsorial teasing

to raise that kind of money.

All right. I'll do it.

- Where do you want me to break in ?

- No, no, no, no. Not so fast.

You've got to get disguised first.

- What for ?

- What if somebody saw you climbing in ?

Here ? In the middle of nowhere ?

I could hardly find this

place with a bloody map !

You never know !

A dallying couple, a passing sheep rapist.

Besides, don't forget the clues

we've got to leave for the Police

and insurance company.

We don't want your footsteps

in the flower beds...

Or your coat button snagged

on the window sill.

No, no, no ! You must be disguised !

All right. How ?

Please to follow me, number one son.

You know, my dear Milo, in the good

old days, before television, that is,

People constructed the pleasures

of life for themselves.

They amused each other

and were in turn amused.

They didn't just sit, stare.

Why, in this house there

was scarcely a weekend...

without its treasure hunts, charades,

games of infinite variety.

Makeup and dress up--

there was virtually no end to

the concealment of identity.

- But surely Marguerite has told you.

- Actually she never mentioned it.

Well, it was all some time ago.

Aha ! A few scenes from some of my books,

lovingly recreated by an artist friend.

The necrophilic barber of Tunbridge Wells,

and the doltish pie poisoner

from the Simple Simon murders.

Oh ! And here's my favorite.

- Now, this really is ingenious. Do look--

- Andrew,

we were looking for a disguise.

Ah, quite so, dear boy. So we were.

Ah, here we are.

The old dressing-up basket, our old

treasure chest of make-believe.

Let's see what we've got.

Ah, this should suit.

Item-- one black face mask,

one black flat cap,

a striped jersey and a bag marked "swag."

Why not a neon sign with "burglar" on it ?

You may have a point. One of my favorites !

The ecclesiastical housebreaker,

Brother Lightfingers.

Perhaps we shall never know the

identity of the cowled figure...

seen haunting the grounds of the old manor

house on the night of the terrible murder,

if living identity it had.

And there are those to this day who

claim to hear the agonized screams...

of the victim echoing through

the chimney ports !

For Christ's sake, Andrew,

stop mucking about !

Haven't you just got an

old pair of sneakers,

a raincoat and a sock I

can put over my head ?

Old pair of sneakers and a sock ?

Milo, where's your sense of style ?

We must give our crime the

true sparkle of the '30s,

a little amateur aristocratic quirkiness.

Don't you feel the need to give your old

archenemy, Inspector Plodder of the Yard,

a run for his money ?

Monsieur Beaucaire !

Milo, this is you !

A full-bottomed wig, lots of beauty spots,

and all the snuff you could want.

Oh, groovy !

Look. I might even do

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