J.T. Edson - Blonde Genius

“Cooer, ’Mand’,” Penelope gurgled, all thoughts of Masters, Old or not-so-old, jolted from her head. She stared at the speaker of the voice lock, which worked in conjunction with a combination lock. While she only attended the Household Hints class as part of her duty as head girl, she recognised what she saw. “Violet’s dad said ’e’d done one of these in a Birmingham bookie’s ’ouse and it took ’im nearly fourteen hours.”

“I don’t think that he was using quite the right technique,” Amanda answered, sounding apologetic at the criticism of her elders, She took from its pouch, on her belt, the hair-grip with which she had opened the french windows’ lock. “I’ll see if—”

“While I have no desire to interfere, Amanda,” Miss Benkinsop put in. “We don’t have much time. So why not do it the easy way?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the School Swot conceded, sounding a trifle disappointed.

“ Spoilsport! ” Penelope muttered quietly; although not sufficiently so to prevent the words reaching her headmistress’s ears.

Giving Penelope a warning glance, Miss Benkinsop left further measures until a more appropriate time. Then the headmistress watched Amanda with some considerable interest.

Moving her lips to exactly twelve inches away from the speaker of the voice-print activation unit, the School Swot spoke. Not even Miss de Vere at her best could have produced a more perfect impersonation of Fiorelli’s harsh voice. Being aware that the instrument could register details far beyond the range of human hearing. Amanda was aware that only perfection would suffice.

“Al Capone was a rat-fink!” the School Swot said deliberately.

“ Your selection, Miss Parkerhouse?” Miss Benkinsop inquired, eyeing the head girl accusingly.

“Ooh, I never, ma’am,” Penelope protested. “Anyway, I don’t believe Al Capone was ’er grand-dad.”

“It was Mr. Fiorelli’s selection, ma’am,” Amanda supplemented, wanting to help exonerate her friend. “Caused, from what I gathered, by the fact that a film director preferred Mr. Capone’s biography to his own as the subject of a movie.”

“I see,” Miss Benkinsop said. “And I apologise, Penelope. But, you must admit, it did sound rather like your sense of humour.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Penelope grinned. “Only I wouldn’t have said Al. ”

“I trust you would also have thought up some more dignified description to follow-the name,” Miss Benkinsop told her severely. “‘ Rat-fink ’ indeed.”

While Penelope could have—and did—select a number of terms, she prudently kept them to herself. Instead of speaking, she watched Amanda twirl the combination dial. Having attained the required combination, the School Swot turned the handle and drew open the door.

“Would you care to help yourself, Miss Benkinsop?” Amanda inquired politely stepping aside.

“Thank you, dear,” the headmistress replied. “And may I say. I consider you’ve both done exellently.”

“Thank you, Miss Benkinsop,” the girls chorused, genuinely pleased and delighted with her approbation.

“Come on, Penny,” Amanda suggested, unbuckling her belt. “We may as well get changed.”

“We might as well,” Penelope admitted, showing a touch of petulance. “I never had a chance to do nuffing.”

“You make sure Wuff-Wuff’s got them dogs on a lead,” warned a male voice, which was not held down to the whispers in which the visitors had been conversing. “Because I’m not going out until he has.”

“I’ll flick the lights on and off,” promised another man, as heavy feet clattered noisily upon the stairs. “That’ll tell him we want to come out.”

“This’s our lot!” Penelope breathed, sounding anything but depressed.

“I’m afraid it is,” Miss Benkinsop admitted, pausing as she placed bundles of banknotes into the kitbag from which she had already taken her uniform. “Let them come to us, girls. It isn’t polite for a lady to make the first advances.”

“Hey!” said a third male voice. “The french windows in the library are open.”

“They must have been left unfastened,” declared the second speaker whom Amanda recognised as one of the under-butlers, “Best just go and look inside, Joe. And you. Sid. But don’t go in, or you’ll set off the alarms.”

“Come on, ’Mand’,” Penelope whispered eagerly. “I’ll let you ’ave the first one.”

“Gosh, Penny,” Amanda breathed back as ignoring their headmistress, they glided silently towards the doors. “You are a sport.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

To be truthful, Joe was not expecting trouble. There had been no alarm from the garden and he felt certain that intruders could hardly have done more than entered before meeting with the dogs. Even if they had succeeded in dealing with the dangerous animals silently, they would hardly have suspected the electronic beams which formed the second line of defense.

Having decided that nothing more sinister than a piece of the butler’s forgetfulness was responsible, Joe advanced ahead of his companion. He halted with his feet dear of the parquet floor. Leaning forwards at the waist, he thrust his head through the doorway.

Instantly a dainty fist flashed from inside the library. Dainty or not, it struck Joe’s jaw with sufficient force to knock him sprawling sideways into the opposite jamb of the door.

Sid let out a yell of alarm as he saw Joe attacked. Rushing forward, reaching towards the gun in his hip pocket, he saw a figure bound in front of him. Even as his mind registered that the intruder was a small, shapely and pretty blonde girl, he realised that she was not alone. By that time, however, it was too late for him to halt his impetuous rush.

Shooting out her hands, Penelope caught hold of the front of Sid’s jacket. By falling backwards, she destroyed his balance. Placing her feet against his stomach as her spine struck the floor, she tossed him through the air. He landed on top of a valuable antique coffee-table which collapsed under his weight.

Becoming aware that something was very wrong, the under-butler dropped the tray which he had taken from Joe. Ignoring the mess he had made, he turned and struck the top of the decorative knob at the bottom of the banister rail. Even as he did so, he heard the patter of fast-moving footsteps approaching. They sounded much lighter than the elephantine tread of his companions.

In the ‘Guard House’, a red light flashed on and a harsh buzzing sound ensured that the butler’s attention was drawn in the required direction. Looking up, he took notice of the alarm board’s changed condition and drew his conclusions.

“Main hall!” Slasher yelled. grabbing for the Schmeisser sub-machine gun that he had placed upon the table when assuming his duties. “Get going!”

There was a clatter and thumping as the ‘Heavy Mob’ quit their leisurely activities and prepared to attend to their duties. While the majority rushed to the brass pipe, then started to slide down one after another, three charged on the butler’s heels through the door.

Swinging around, grabbing at the automatic thrust into his waistband, the under butler saw a shape hurtling through the air in his direction. From the corner of his eye, he was also aware that a very beautiful blonde-haired girl was dashing towards the door at the rear of the hall through which the ‘Heavy Mob’ would make their appearance. Not that he gave her much attention. His main source of interest was in the nearer figure. Everything was happening very fast. He had just assessed that it was a beautiful, if informally attired, lady—who sailed through the air in a classical Debater’s ‘drop kick’—when Miss Benkinsop’s feet caught him in the chest and flung him backwards on to the stairs.