J.T. Edson - Blonde Genius

“We both should ’ave,” Penelope corrected. “Look at us, ’Mand’, both shagged out and she’s as fresh as a daisy.”

“That is that, I believe,” Miss Benkinsop declared with satisfaction, and looked at her pupils. “If you feel up to it, girls, I suggest that we conclude our business and take our departure.”

“Yes, Miss Benkinsop,” said the now abashed girls.

However, the short rest had revived them. Rising from their seat, they went after their headmistress into the dilapidated and no longer elegant library. It looked, in fact, as if it had been struck by an earthquake and a hurricane of considerable force, power and violence. At the safe, Miss Benkinsop picked up her uniform. She shook the creases from it and brushed off the traces of dust which it had gathered. Laying it carefully upon the back of a broken chair, she gave her attention to the safe.

“My family jewels aren’t here, unless they should be in this document case,” the headmistress remarked. “Could you open it, please. Amanda. There is no key and I suspect that some protective mechanism may have been installed.”

“Only a simple one, ma’am,” the School Swot decided, after making an examination. “Perhaps you would care to make the servants more comfortable while I attend to it.”

“Of course,” Miss Benkinsop agreed.

“Can I ’elp, ma’am?” Penelope inquired hopefully.

“Your burst of industry wouldn’t be caused by a desire to learn how to apply the ‘Gentle Pressure’, would it?” Miss Benkinsop asked, smiling.

“Well—er—— Yes, ma’am. But I promise I won’t use it in a Debate.”

“Very well. I will show you how its done,” the headmistress promised. “I know that I can rely on you.”

Although the designer had guaranteed that the document case could only be opened with its own key, Amanda took thirty seconds to deactivate the explosive mechanism and raise the lid. She spent the remainder of the minute checking that every piece of Miss Benkinsop’s jewellery was inside. Satisfied, she relocked the case and placed it by the kitbags.

“Have you taken the school’s Petty Cash fund, ma’am?” Amanda inquired.

“Most of it,” the headmistress admitted. “Will you deal with the rest, on the principle which we decided upon?”

“Certainly, ma’am,” confirmed the School Swot.

Having counted the amount already taken by Miss Benkinsop, Amanda withdrew further currency until she had a sum equivalent to thirty thousand pounds. This she placed into Miss Benkinsop’s kitbag. Closing the safe, she set its fastenings as they had been before she had first opened it and manipulated the portrait into its original position.

“Very good. dear,” Miss Benkinsop praised, returning from instructing Penelope in the ‘Gentle Pressure Which Induces Pleasing Repose’. “One should always endeavour to leave things as one found them.” She looked around the library and sighed. “Of course, that isn’t always possible.”

“How will the Syndicate react when they find that my defensive recommendations were not satisfactory, ma’am?” Amanda asked worriedly as she started to remove her leotard.

“They have no cause for complaint, dear,” Miss Benkinsop assured her, stripping off the somewhat bedraggled catsuit, “I warned them from the start that we accepted responsibility only if they carried out all of your suggestions. As they considered those which they used were adequate, it is on their own heads.”

Ten minutes later, the main rear entrance opened Miss Benkinsop came out first, carrying the document case and looking a faultlessly coiffured, perfectly attired W.R.A.C. colonel. Radiantly beautiful as ever, Amanda gave the impression that she was a particularly angelic fairy whose normal gossamer garments had been transformed into the clothes of a W.R.A.C. lieutenant. Bringing up the rear, carrying all three kitbags, Penelope could have passed anywhere as a perky Cockney corporal.

“Shall I slash the other cars’ tyres, ma’am?” Penelope inquired, as Miss Benkinsop led the way to the family’s second-best vehicle.

“Good gracious me, no,” Miss Benkinsop replied. “You really must get out of this habit of wanting to damage other people’s property, Penelope.”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied the head girl. “’Ere, though, can I do the gate-keeper please?”

“Very well,” smiled the headmistress. “I feel you deserve that.”

“Fanks, ever so, ma’am,” Penelope enthused and, as Amanda had already unlocked and opened the boot placed the bags inside. “I’ll nip down and do it right now. Give us about a minute, ’Mand’.”

“We can’t spare much more.” Miss Benkinsop warned, glancing at her wristwatch “We’re running things very fine as it is.”

Having had the gate-keeper’s comfort and security in mind, the Syndicate had established him in a very sturdy building. It was also, although none of the executives had thought on the matter, completely sound-proof. So its occupant, engrossed in the cultural aspects portrayed in Playboy magazine, had failed to hear the disturbance at the villa. What he did suddenly realise was that his request for refreshments had not been fulfilled.

On the point of taking up the telephone, the gatekeeper saw the front door—which he had not troubled to lock—opening Instead of one of the ‘Heavy Mob’ entering with a tray, a very shapely female leg came into view. Encased in sheer black nylon stocking, it was exposed to the white flesh above the top of the material. Around its ankle dangled a dainty, frilly red garter. As he watched, entranced, a hand appeared. The index finger pointed to the garter as if requesting aid to move it to a more appropriate position.

Always a gentleman and willing to oblige a lady, the gate-keeper dropped his magazine. He strolled across to the door, still unable to see more than the leg. Wondering which of the housemaids was playing a little trick upon him, he bent forward and reached towards the garter.

Instantly, before the man’s fingers touched her limb, Penelope slammed the door into his head. He stumbled backwards and sat down hard. Before he could recover his wits, she had entered the room. Applying the Gentle Pressure grip on his neck, she lowered his limp body into a supine position.

“I wish I hadn’t learned to do that,” Penelope complained as she saw the Mercedes’ headlights glowing on the path. “It’s no fun, it’s so easy.”

“I think that Amanda had better drive, Penelope,” Miss Benkinsop remarked as the head girl emerged from the gate-house. “We have to reach Akrotiri in a very short time.”

“That’s all right, ma’am,” Penelope replied, glancing at the now open gates and entering the front door. “I always like ’aving a bit of a ride with ’Mand’ behind the wheel.”

Setting off as soon as her friend was safely aboard, Amanda sent the powerful Mercedes skimming along the track. Once on the road, she increased the speed to well beyond the legal limit.

“Look at that!” whooped the driver of the police car, as the Mercedes raced by. “Hang on. We’ll have ‘em before they’ve gone a mile.”

“I believe the constable wishes us to stop, ma’am,” Amanda remarked seeing the police car glide from its place of concealment and follow their vehicle with siren blaring and light flashing.

“One always wishes to help the police,” the headmistress replied, “but I’m afraid that to do so on this occasion is impossible.”

“Go on, ’Mand’,” Penelope chortled delightedly. “Leave him standing.”

“I’m afraid that must be my advice too, dear,” Miss Benkinsop went on. “Of course, I will write a letter of apology to his superiors as soon as we return to the school.”