J.T. Edson - Blonde Genius

The word “lords” in the announcement was no mere ostentation. As anyone who watches British television—especially fictional crime or adventure series—knows, the upper classes and aristocracy have a remarkable number of connections with the Profession.

“Under the Lord Mountevans’ rules,” the voice went on. “The best of three falls. Two pinfalls, two submissions or one knockout to decide. Presenting and introducing. school captain of Lower Grebe Approved School For Girls—in the red corner—Tearaway Tess Duberville!”

Acknowledging, in the accepted professional Debating fashion, the polite applause of the crowd, Tess Duberville slipped off her sky-blue, sequin-sprinkled, fur-edged short cloak. Under it she wore—and filled magnificently—a matching one-piece Debating costume. She was a pretty, shapely, sturdy girl of about five feet six, with curly brunette hair.

Standing in the red corner, Tess allowed the adjudicator—a stocky, completely bald man wearing a black tee-shirt and slacks—to commence his examination. He checked that her fingernails had been cut short and smooth, made certain that her skin had not been coated with oil or other artificial aids, and that her heel-less two-tone Debating boots were properly fastened.

“And in the blue corner,” the announcer continued. “Benkinsop’s own head girl. PENELOPE PARKERHOUSE!”

Instantly a tumultuous thunder of approbation arose. Watching Penelope shrug off and hand her magnificent gold lamй robe to the blonde, hefty, Teutonic gym mistress, Miss Flammerschlagen, Fiorelli decided that—even without the precautions against defeat he had taken—Miss Benkinsop might have been too confident for her own good. Certainly there was nothing to justify, as far as appearances went, the headmistress’s supreme confidence in a victory for the school’s head girl.

Much in fact, including height and weight, appeared to be in Tess’s favour.

From her bouffant-styled blonde head to the soles of her silver-monogramed, gold lamй Debating boots, Penelope Parkerhouse could not be more than five foot two inches in height. Pretty, vivacious, her face expressed a zest and merry enjoyment of life that was a joy to behold. Encased in a form-hugging gold lamй costume of style, elegance and some brevity—although not blatantly so—her buxom, very shapely figure was most attractive to the male eyes in the audience.

Grinning delightedly, for she was clearly looking forward with pleasurable anticipation to the forthcoming Debate, Penelope waved her answer to the adulation of her loyal and admiring schoolmates. Then she too allowed herself to be examined by the adjudicator.

Having completed the first part of his duties—a mere formality where Penelope was concerned—the adjudicator called the girls to the centre of the dais. Their assistants—seconds being the technical term—Miss Hammerschlagen in Penelope’s case and a teacher from the A.S.G. on behalf of Tess, ducked between the second and third of the protective ropes with their robes. Looking pointedly at Tess, the adjudicator explained the rules of the Debate; particularly those which especially applied to distaff debaters.

“Let’s have a good clean debate, girls,” the man advised. “No hair-pulling, biting, eye-gouging, scratching or clothes tearing. When your opponent’s down and you’ve released your hold, let her get up before you start to make your next point.”

“Cor!” Penelope ejaculated, in a voice even more redolent of the sound of Bow Bells than that of the English teacher. “You’re taking away all my best arguments.”

“I was going to say that,” Tess protested, wishing that she had had the quickness of wits to think of such a comment.

“Never mind, love,” Penelope consoled. “You can use it from now on.”

“Shake hands, go back to your corners,” the adjudicator ordered. “On the bell, come out debating.”

While Penelope immediately offered her hand, Tess—who had her image to consider—ignored it. Turning her back on the head girl, while the audience expressed its disapproval of such poor sportswomanship, the A.S.G.’s captain returned to her corner and went through the process known among Debaters as “limbering up”.

“Is Tess still inside?” Spender inquired.

“She comes out next week,” Miss Benkinsop answered. “Are you interested?”

“Depends,” Spender replied. “We put on Debating cards in some of my clubs.”

“That would mean she would have to turn professional,” Miss Benkinsop pointed out. “Of course, it might not be a bad thing. I’d suggest that you contact the B.O.G.—”

“Are you handling Debaters now, Miss Benkinsop?” Rosalie put in.

“Not I, dear, the B.O.G. are considering it. Only as a side-line, of course.”

“How much’ll it cost?” Spender wanted to know.

“My dear Maxie,” the headmistress chided. “You know how I dislike talking about money. Ah The bell.”

At the mansion, Saunders was edging his way slowly and painstakingly up the wall. While his toes clung insecurely to the lower cracks, his fingers sought for crevices higher up and used them to haul himself onwards.

The debate opened briskly, with an exchange of throws which allowed each girl to display her knowledge of leverage and demonstrate her ability to land and rise swiftly. Then they went into an arm lock, which gave the heavier Tess an advantage. She abused it by pushing Penelope backwards across the dais and against the ropes. On being requested by the adjudicator to release her grip, she showed a lamentable lack of fair play. Although she took her hands from Penelope, she swung her knee against the head girl’s mid-section. Gasping, Penelope dropped to her knees. As the adjudicator spoke severely to Tess, the audience expressed polite but distinct disapproval a Benkinsop’s Debating Evening, the audience’s participation was almost always more reminiscent of Lords during a Test Match than of the Albert Hall when Joint Promotions were putting on a bill of professional male debating.

Rising, Penelope resumed the debate by bringing off a nifty trio of cross-buttocks which sent Tess bouncing across the floor of the dais. However, Tess came back strongly with a flying mare. There was a brief period of circling and then a meeting which ended when Tess, sitting on the floor, operated a head-scissors on Penelope.

“Tess’s pretty good,” Spender commented.

“But hardly good enough,” answered Miss Benkinsop nodding with approval as the head girl thrust with her feet and rose into the air to spin free.

“Jolly well played!” called a gruff-voiced, large gentleman with a broken nose and cauliflower ear, from his place in the fourth row.

“Bravo, Penelope!” enthused a lady who owned, and kept order in, what was notoriously the roughest, toughest public house in Netting Hill.

Unaware of how the Main Debate might be progressing, but praying that it would last long enough for him to carry out his assignment, Saunders found himself in serious difficulty.

Spread-eagled on the wall, some twenty feet above the hard concrete pathway, the man knew what he must do. Balancing precariously, with his spread-apart feet attempting to dig deeper into the cracks and the fingers of his left hand hooking on for all they were worth, he carefully moved his right hand in search of another piece of support. It was a terrifying thought, but he could not detect any kind of succour.

“Oh gawd!” Saunders moaned. “How did I get into this?”

It might have been, the cat-burglar concluded, much better to have refused Fiorelli’s offer. Even if by doing so, he should have found himself on the receiving end of a well-deserved thirty-stitch redemption at the hands of Maxie Spender’s minders. Unfortunately, having once accepted. Saunders was all too aware of what his fate would be if he should fail.