J.T. Edson - Blonde Genius

“And I thought Benkinsop was smart!” Saunders ejaculated, looking with contempt at the steel door. “This’ll be easy.”

Then a sudden, nagging, alarming doubt assailed him. Was it, indeed, too easy?

What kind of devilish devices might the School Swot have affixed to that old-fashioned, out-moded safe’s door?

With considerable trepidation, the cat-burglar removed a stethoscope from its pouch on his waist belt and commenced his preliminary research.

Cursing under his breath Fiorelli wondered why the hell Garibaldi had delayed intervening in the Debate. The executive conveniently forgot that his instructions had laid stress on permitting the Debate to continue for as long as possible; to allow Saunders sufficient time to carry out his assignment.

Even as Fiorelli thought that all was over, Tess averted the disaster without outside assistance. Using her legs, she twirled Penelope from the upper position and rose hurriedly.

Fiorelli mopped his brow. Glancing at the Italian, who had removed the cigarette but still held its holder between his lips, the executive decided that his fears might have been unfounded. Clearly Garibaldi had not become so engrossed n the Debate that he had forgotten what his duty would be.

Despite the escape, Fiorelli was still on the horns of a dilemma.

As if revitalised by the proximity of victory, Penelope was soon dominating the Debate in no uncertain manner. Watching Tess being propelled bodily around the dais, it seemed that Fiorelli must insist upon Garibaldi intervening.

Then Tess, always a wily Debater, tricked Penelope.

Having suffered four body checks, in which Penelope had charged into her and knocked her from her feet, Tess seemed ready to accept a fifth. Instead of awaiting the impact, however, she dropped at the last moment to her hands and knees. Unable to halt, although she bounded over the crouching girl, Penelope collided with the protective ropes. Being springy, they propelled her backwards to trip over Tess. Before Penelope could recover, Tess had her firmly entangled in a folding body press from which she had no hope of escape.

Giving a long sigh of relief, Fiorelli hoped that Saunders might be doing as well in Miss Benkinsop’s study.

Much to his amazement Saunders completed the opening of the safe without raising an alarm by his actions. The sight which met his eyes told him that he had finally made what the Profession would regard as “the Big Tickle”.

Swiftly Saunders scooped out the wads of bank-notes, fitting than into the money-pouch on his belt. When it came to the jewellery, he faced a more difficult problem. His money-pouch was already packed tight. So he needed another means of transportation. High stakes frequently called for desperate measures. Removing his shirt, he laid it on the floor. With trembling fingers, he dumped Miss Benkinsop’s magnificent collection of rings, earrings, bracelets, necklaces and other trinkets on to the garment. Knotting the whole into a bundle, he closed and locked the safe and replaced the portrait.

Crossing to the window, the cat-burglar prepared for his descent. From its clip on the back of his belt, he removed a coiled length of thin but very strong nylon rope. There was a collapsible grapnel at one end. He lashed the other securely to his bundle. Affixing two of the grapnel’s triangle of hooks to the window-sill, he lowered the precious bundle to the ground. After a quick look around to make sure that he was not observed, he eased himself over the ledge and followed it down. Before commencing, he returned the window to its original position.

Descending proved to be far easier than going up. On reaching the ground, he shook free his grapnel. Gathering it, the rope and bundle in his arms, he scuttled towards the bush.

And saw a figure standing in its shadows, watching him.

Even with only the pale light of the stars, Saunders could make out the unmistakable outline of a gun in the obscure shape’s hand.

CHAPTER SIX

With one fall to each girls credit, the pace of the Debate was building up. For over twelve minutes, there had hardly been a second when one or the other contestant was not either flying through the air, landing from being thrown, applying a telling hold, or escaping from her opponent’s grasp, using skill, ability, or—in Tess’s case only, of course—guile, cunning and deliberate “bending” of the rules.

After one period of particularly blatant and inexcusable “rule bending”, Tess had been penalised by a second “Public Rebuke”. Watching her trying to assault Penelope before the head girl could return to the dais—after being thrown through the ropes and from it—Fiorelli experienced a growing surge of alarm and anxiety. For Tess’s misconduct to cause her to suffer the ignominy of being disqualified would ruin all his carefully laid plans.

Not knowing whether to drop his “Big Tickle” and flee, plead for mercy, or to threaten to write to his friend, the M.P.—if the person with the firearm should prove to be an unsporting member of the constabulary—Saunders discovered that none of the courses would be necessary.

Holding a Luger automatic pistol in his right hand, and carrying a black document case under his left arm, Carrela stepped from his place of concealment.

“Is everything all right?” the minder—although he preferred the more genteel and dignified title of “enforcer”—asked.

“Gawd!” Saunders croaked, when he had got his breath back. “You gave me a turn, Carrela.”

“Have you got it?” Carrela demanded.

The enforcer was noted for always being the one to get straight down to business. In this instance, he had an added inducement for haste. He wished to be able to conclude his duties quickly, so that be would be in time to witness at least the end of the Main Debate.

“Of course I have,” Saunders confirmed, setting down his burden and unfastening the knots he had tied to secure the jewellery inside his shirt. “And I didn’t half have a job getting them.”

Returning the Luger to its spring-shoulder holster, which was concealed beneath the left side of his jacket, Carrela did not express a single word of commiseration or commendation. Instead, he unlocked and set down the open document case, Without offering to help, he watched Saunders disgorge the money and place it into the case. The jewellery came next. On picking up the magnificent necklace which was Miss Benkinsop’s most prized heirloom, the cat-burglar studied it in a gloating manner.

“I’d like to keep this for my missus,” Saunders remarked hopefully. “It’d look a treat on her when she comes here as one of the Board of Governors.”

“Drop it in the box, screwsman,” Carrela ordered coldly.

“Keep your wool on, mate!” Saunders answered with some asperity. Having done the Mediterranean Syndicate a great service, he considered that he was entitled to more respect frorn the menials and hired lackeys. Seeing the cold, menacing scowl crease Carrela’s brow, he decided not to press the matter too far, “Cor! I’d like to see Benkinsop’s face when she opens the safe.”

Still Carrela did not show any great desire for idle conversation. He stood with his left hand holding open the flap of his jacket in a significant manner and his right kind was poised ready to disappear beneath it. Shrugging, Saunders dropped the necklace on to the rest of the “Big Tickle” and closed the lid.

“I’ll attend to it,” Carrela offered, relaxing slightly.

“Good. That’ll give me time to get dressed,” Saunders replied. “Cor! It ain’t half nippy.”

While the cat-burglar donned his shirt—without wasting time tucking its flap into his trousers—and coat, Carrela locked the case. Removing the key, he dropped it into his jacket’s right-hand pocket. Then he held the case in Saunders’ direction and gave instructions.