J.T. Edson - Blonde Genius

Unless he could find another hand-hold, Saunders realised that failure was a very real possibility.

Excitement was mounting in the gymnasium. Taking Tess unawares, after a succession of monkey-climbs and body slams had put her into a suitably receptive frame of mind, Penelope applied a crucial piece of logic to her arguments.

Bending, the head girl scooped the dazed A.S.G.s captain’s feet from the floor and toppled her backwards. Retaining her contact, to ensure that she could legitimately take further measures, Penelope rapidly folded her opponent at the waist. Before Tess could resist, Penelope had assumed the posture known as a Debater’s bridge above her. Settling down so that her thighs pressed against the backs of Tess’s knees, Penelope’s own somewhat dishevelled blonde head and feet were on the floor, Her full weight was therefore resting upon her discomfited rival. Held in such a spectacular manner, the captain of the A.S.G. was unable to quibble as the adjudicator carried out his duty.

“One Two! Three!” the man called, kneeling alongside the girls and, having ascertained that Tess’s shoulder blades were actually pressing against the canvas covering, slapped the mat at each word. Then he tapped the head girl lightly on the shoulder and said. “That’s it, Penelope Break the hold.”

Obeying instantly, for a Benkinsopian was taught always to respect the rules, Penelope flipped gracefully to her feet. flopping straight and lying supine, Tess displayed a most unladylike tantrum at her temporary setback. rounding fists and feet on the floor, she protested loudly until her assistant came and helped her to rise. While Tess was led back to the red corner, where refreshments awaited, Penelope allowed her right hand to be raised by the adjudicator in a signal that she had made the Debate’s first score.

“And the winner of the first fall, in ten minutes twenty-eight seconds!” thundered the tannoy system. “By a Byers-bridge for a pinfall, Penelope Parkerhouse!”

“Byers-bridge?” Spender repeated, looking at the other occupants of the guests of honour’s seats. “I’ve never heard it called that before.”

“It used to be Miss Byers’ favourite way of concluding a Debate,” Amanda explained.

“Who’s Miss Byers,” Fiorelli asked. “Another of your teachers?”

“No, Amanda replied. She was an American Professional Lady Debater, from El Paso, Texas.”

“A good one?” Spender wanted to know.

“Very good,” Amanda elucidated. “She defeated a Miss Mildred Burke—who had been undefeated Ladies Debating Champion of the World for seventeen years—by two straight falls, at Atlanta, Georgia, on August the twenty-eighth, 1954.”

“You’re sure of the date?” Fiorelli challenged with a grin.

“If you wish, sir,” Amanda replied politely “I can tell you each of the ladies height, weight and what she was wearing. Also the adjudicator’s and seconds’ full names.”

Just as the cat-burglar was on the very brink of despair, his feverishly scrabbling fingers finally located a cavity. Only a master at the “Climb”—as the Profession referred to his speciality—could have gained any advantage from such minute support. Saunders was such a man. With a long, heart-rending sigh of relief, he traversed the difficult, practically impassable, region.

“Gawd!” Saunders moaned, pausing to regain his composure. “If I’d been a short-arse like Harry Suggett, I couldn’t’ve done it. I’ll bet neither Al Maundby nor Frenchie de Pignon could’ve got across that bit either. They wouldn’t’ve been tall enough.”

Turning his head cautiously, Saunders surveyed the remaining few feet which separated him from the open window. Nothing ahead would be anywhere nearly so difficult as the section which lay just behind him. Satisfied on that count, he moved onwards and upwards.

Muttering what may have been a prayer, although it was probably something more profane, the cat-burglar finally managed to hook his left arm over the sill of the window. Nothing he had ever experienced previously quite equalled the sensation of relief which assailed him at that moment. At long last, he had reached the means of access to Miss Benkinsop’s study.

Then a reaction followed in the wake of his elation.

Under normal conditions, he could have considered himself home and dry. On his current assignment, however, he realised that his troubles might easily just be commencing.

If the School Swot had taken even a few of her more moderate precautions, the safe might easily prove to be impregnable.

Easing up the window—with what the writers of ladies romantic novels describe as his heart in his mouth—Saunders felt his indignation boil up against the School Swot and her machinations. Grimly he decided that he would ask a very good friend of his—a prominent Socialist M.P. and television personality—if some kind of legislation might be introduced to suppress the antisocial activities of Amanda Tweedle.

Old—would be only too pleased to do it. After all, he and his colleagues had already done so much—helping to abolish corporal and capital punishment, making life more cushy in the nicks, always being ready to protect the “innocent” against injustices by prison wardens or the police—to benefit the Profession and improve its members’ working conditions.

With that thought come and gone, Saunders inserted his lanky body through the window. Hardly daring to breathe, or place one foot in front of the other, in case he triggered off some alarm, he moved nervously towards the Regency portrait.

The second fall had commenced with a lively and energetic exchange of compliments. Incensed by her first failure, Tess was clearly determined to be avenged at any cost. So she started to make full use of the advantages given to her by her extra height and weight. She also displayed a lack of sporting spirit by conduct known as “bending the rules”. She did this to such an extent, in fact, that the adjudicator was compelled to impose upon her a penalty of her first Public Rebuke for using her clenched fist as a means of escaping from Penelope’s legal arguments.

It said much for the head girl’s superb mental and physical condition that she not only weathered a storm of forearm smashes, and other moves based more on brute strength than finesse, but came through in a position which threatened to cost Fiorelli his wager.

Caught in what was technically termed a “Boston crab”, Tess considered the matter for a few seconds. As an aid to concentration, she beat her fists upon the canvas and her pretty face bore an expression of deep preoccupation.

Deciding upon the wisest course to adopt, Tess placed her palms flat on the floor. Thrusting upwards with her arms, she raised her torso and exerted pressure that—despite Penelope’s efforts to the contrary—straightened her trapped legs. A cry of annoyance burst from Penelope’s lips as she was caused to first bend at the waist, then turn a somersault and land supine. Not only was the head girl dislodged but Tess manoeuvred to sit astride her shoulders. It was a position calculated to induce the state of mind and body known as a pinfall.

Any relief Fiorelli might have been experiencing terminated abruptly. Raising her own legs. Penelope inserted her feet beneath Tess’s arm-pits and deftly tipped her backwards. Following up her advantage, Penelope folded Tess at the waist and gained the upper position. Fortunately, for the state of Fiorelli’s ulcers, Penelope had not achieved the ultimate satisfaction of attaining a Byers-bridge. The situation still looked precarious, for the adjudicator declared:

“One! Two!—”

Hardly daring to believe his luck, Saunders had not only reached the Regency portrait without setting off an alarm, but he had set it free and swung it away from the wall to expose the safe and suffered no unpleasant repercussions.