Peter O'Donnell - Cobra Trap

"Ah, Danny. "That was in another country, and besides, the wench is dead" that wench, anyway."

"I'm not so sure," he said slowly. "Up to a point, maybe. No more Networks, but… I doubt you'll ever stop attracting trouble."

"Oh, come on now. I'm a respectable spinster lady who-" she broke off and began to brake. They were clear of the village now, and ahead on a slight bend a car had pulled off the road near a pond. The bonnet was raised and one man's head and shoulders were out of sight behind it. Another man stood at the edge of the road waving her down with a hopeful air. "I'm also a Good Samaritan," she said, and pulled on to the verge, halting a few paces behind the other car.

Both men moved towards her. They were in their late thirties, she judged, a little too welldressed in a casual way, a little too confident in manner now that they saw clearly who was driving. One had dark curly hair and wore a sports jacket, cream shirt and pale yellow cravat. The other was fair, wearing a fine check shirt, suede jacket and corduroys.

As they stopped by her car, gazing down at her with a hint of quizzical speculation, she said, "Would you like me to send someone from the next garage?"

The cravat man cast an eye over Danny, who sat looking blandly inoffensive, then smiled at her and said, "Well, hallo there, nice lady. You've made it worth our breaking down, hasn't she, Adrian?"

Adrian of the suede jacket said, "Absolutely."

"Do you want a breakdown van or not?" Modesty asked.

Adrian frowned. "Steady on. We're just being matey, aren't we, Tarquin?"

Modesty put the car in gear and said, "No thanks."

As she started to let in the clutch the man called Tarquin said quickly, "Hang on. Do you have a screwdriver we could borrow for a few minutes?"

She considered for a moment or two, then switched off, gave the key to Danny and murmured, "Stay in the car." When he nodded she got out and went to the boot. From a toolbox there she took a screwdriver, then walked back and offered it to Adrian, noting that Tarquin had moved to stand in front of her open door. "You can keep it," she said, "I have another."

Tarquin said, "Look, I've got a better idea. Instead of tinkering with Adrian's heap we'll leave it to be picked up and you could give us a lift." A dismissive glance at Danny. "You and your friend."

Adrian grinned hopefully and said, "Why not? We can stop at my place for drinkies. Charming little cottage. You'll love it."

Danny Chavasse thought, Here we go. She's walked into trouble again. How the hell does she do it? He was not worried for her, simply intrigued to see how far these two Hooray Henries would go, and with a guilty hope that they might push things too far. It was a long time since he had seen her in action.

Still offering the screwdriver Modesty said, "Do you want it?"

Tarquin chuckled. "Want it? Now there's a question!"

She turned back to the boot and put the screwdriver away. When she moved to the open door Tarquin was still blocking her way. She felt a wave of irritation sweep her and said sharply, "Move."

His flirtatious air faded. "Manners, ducky. Don't we say please?"

A voice spoke from behind her, a voice with the strong drawling accent of one of the southern states of America. " I reckon you better do like the young lady said, Mister."

She half turned. He stood near the rear offside wing, a man of perhaps sixty, not very big, wearing a shabby black jacket, trousers tucked into calflength boots. A bootlace tie hung over an oldfashioned frilled shirt; a black hat, roundcrowned and broadbrimmed, was pushed back on thick grey hair above a weatherbeaten face. He stood glowering, thumbs hooked in his wide leather belt.

His appearance in this setting was so extraordinary that for a moment Modesty and the two men simply stared, taken aback. He gave Danny a cold glare, then moved forward to stand beside Modesty, gazed balefully at Adrian and Tarquin, and said, "Get movin'."

Tarquin shook his head in disbelief and laughed. "My God, it's Dangerous Dan McGrew!"

Modesty said, "Thank you, but it's all right, you needn't worry."

The stranger turned his head to look at her. "Where I come from, ma'am, a feller always figures he's got to worry about a lady." He touched the brim of his hat and moved forward to stand between her and the two men. Confronting Tarquin, who was a head taller, he said, "Any feller behaves bad to a lady like you done, he's dirt. You gonna move or do I have to whip the hide off'n you?"

Tarquin said contemptuously, "Ah, get lost you bloody old fool or—"

The stranger slapped him across the face before Modesty could intervene and said, "Don't get lippy with me, feller."

Tarquin swore and his fist swung, hitting the older man on the side of the jaw so that he staggered sideways and fell. Coldly furious, Modesty said, "You bastard!" and moved forward.

The face above the pale yellow cravat began to show anxiety, and a hand was raised in warning. "Now don't you start, ducky!"

She feinted to slap his face, and he jerked up both hands defensively. At once her other hand drove stiffened fingers hard into his solar plexus in a spearhead strike. He gasped and doubled forward. She seized his wrist as Adrian started towards her, reaching out for her, when suddenly she was gone, sliding feet first between Tarquin's straddled legs and coming up behind him, still grasping his wrist with both hands. Now he was bent forward with one arm hauled back between his legs in the classic hold of the Bouncer's Wheelaway.

When she pulled and lifted, he had to run awkwardly ahead or fall and hit the ground with his face. A quick footstrike sent Adrian staggering back, then she was running her victim towards the pond, right to the edge before putting a surge of power into an upward heave that sent him somersaulting into eighteen inches of water.

It had all happened in five seconds, and Danny sat turned in his seat, watching with happy admiration. The small American sat with a hand to his jaw, gazing in stunned delight, then let out a whoop of triumph. "Yahoooo-!" He broke off abruptly. "Watch out, Missy!"

Adrian was running at her, his face ugly with rage. "You bitch!" He lunged for her, and she seemed to make a very small evasive movement, yet he grasped only air, and then she had turned, with one of his arms drawn over her shoulder as she snapped into a forward bend, shaping his momentum to her own design so that he flew somersaulting over her back to land beside his companion.

She grimaced, and felt round behind her thigh with one hand, pulling up her skirt and craning her head round to look down.

There was a broad ladder in one leg of her tights. She said, "Blast!" and let the skirt fall. When she turned, the greyhaired westerner was on his feet, holding his hat, face averted, very clearly not looking in her direction.

He said, "You hurt someplace, Missy?"

She laughed. "No, just laddered my tights. Excuse me."

He came towards her, shaking his head in wonder, grinning despite the trickle of blood from a corner of his mouth. I'll be gol'durned! They cotched 'emselves a cougar with you, Missy." He turned his head to glare at Danny. "Can't say that young feller helped much."

Danny composed his features and said with dignity, "I am Madam's butler, sir, and she instructed me to remain in the vehicle. I may also say she is better than I at dealing with such matters."

"Hehhehheh! You can say that again, son!"

Modesty looked at her elderly champion with friendly exasperation, took a handkerchief from a pocket of her skirt and held it against the cut by his mouth. "Don't you know better than to tangle with lippy dudes half your age?" she asked.

He took over holding the handkerchief. "Feller's gotta stand up for a lady. Ain't too old till he's dead."