CHAPTER 1, Scotland ADVENTURE, Book 2 St. Andrews Golf Course Central Scotland, NE of Edinburgh
The man in the tree trained his high-powered Zeiss binoculars on the golf course. A security guard left his post at the east gate and walked to the tree.
“Hey, Laddie… It’s against regulations at St. Andrews to spy on the players. Do ye hear what I’m saying?”
A monk moved from behind the branches and smiled at the guard. “Sorry, Officer. Didn’t know it was against the rules.”
.The security guard hesitated as he spoke. “Padre. Didn’t know who was spying on the golfers. Was sure it was one of the bookies. The British Open’s here next week.”
“I understand,” Butch replied. “Thought I’d just watch the golfers. Maybe pick up some pointers.”
“Sure, Padre” the guard said. “But if you want to see some fine golf, watch that bloke who just teed off. He made an eagle two on the first hole.”
“What’s his name?”
“He’s a Yank from Honolulu. Calls himself Maury the mouse. They tell me he shot 66 yesterday and a 67 the day before.” The guard wheeled around and walked back to the east gate as a black limousine rounded a curve in the road and stopped. A side window opened in the limousine and a black-gloved hand held out a document.
The guard glanced at the paper, handed it back and waved the limousine through the gate. Inside the limousine, Commando Joe activated a cellular phone and dialed.
“Hello, Butch speaking,” a muffled voice answered.
“This is Joe. Where are you? You were supposed to meet me on the course.
Where’s the Mouse?”
“Boss. I’m in the big tree outside the East Gate. Got my binoculars trained on the Mouse. He’s putting for a birdie on the second green now. That Mouse is good enough to turn pro.”
“Is he as good as I am?”
Butch hesitated and slowly drawled, “Ain’t nobody that good a golfer, Boss. But after you… he’s the best I’ve seen.”
“Keep him under surveilance. I’ll check with you later.”
.“Roger, out.”
I wonder if he’s as good as me, Joe thought. I’ll take a look myself. “Park at the top of that hill,” he said pointing ahead. “It’ll give me a clear view of the course.”
“Aye Govern’r.” The chauffeur steered the limo up the hill and parked behind the green on the fourth hole.
Third Hole
Maury cleaned a blade of grass from his driver. He approached the ball on the tee and stared at the green 354 feet away. Setting his feet in the correct position he lofted the driver in an upward arc and gracefully brought it down making contact with the golf ball.
“Wow!” his partner cried as he watched the ball soar toward the pin, and bounce to a stop at the lip of the green. “You’re on target for another eagle.”
Maury smiled as he shouldered his golf bag and marched toward the green. He knew he’d make that fifteen-foot put. He did.
Fourth Hole
Commando Joe’s face was up against the tinted back window when Maury teed off. He watched the ball rocket into the sky, bounce twice and ricochet off the limo’s left front tire.
“Let’s get out of here!” Joe commanded. “I’ve seen enough. This Mouse is one fine player.” I have plenty of time to get him, he thought. “Take me back to Edinburgh!”
“Aye.”
I know how I’ll get my revenge. Joe smiled. But I’ll make a fool of that mouse, first. He’s already made a fool of me. It’s payback time!
In the distance Maury watched the limo drive off as he approached the fourth green. He calmly stroked his ball onto the green and made his four foot put for a birdie. He sensed he was on his way to a third straight day of sub-par golf. He was right.
Royal Hunting Lodge The Next Day
Maury shrugged. “Kewpie, you’ve given me the silent treatment today. Why’d you lock me out of the bedroom last night?”
Kewpie began to cry. Maury reached out to hug her.
She pushed him away. “You stay away from me! You golfers are all alike,” she stammered. “Wives take third place after golf and Monday night football!”
Maury stepped toward her as the door slammed in his face. “Kewpie, I’m sorry,” he pleaded.
“This is our honeymoon…and all you want to do is play golf,” cried the voice on the other side of the door.
“Kewpie, I’m very sorry. I promise…no golf unless I get your permission. Please let me in.”
The door creaked open and Maury stepped inside. The door clicked shut.
Three Days Later
“The mailman’s here,” Kewpie purred. “I’ll get the mail.” She ran downstairs and returned with an official-looking envelope. “This looks important, Maury,” she said as she handed the letter to him. “It has an official seal on it.”
Maury opened it and read aloud, “Dear Mr. Mouse, You have been selected to play in the British Open starting Monday at St. Andrews. Your tee time is 3 p.m. Be on time.”
“I guess I’ll have to turn it down,” he stammered.
“Absolutely not.” She placed both hands on her hips. “I know how much this invitation means to you. I’ll be a good wife and support you in anything you decide to do. You play the best golf of your life, Monday at St. Andrews. I’ll be one of the spectators cheering you on.”
Maury hugged Kewpie and closed his eyes as he dreamed of playing in the most famous golf tournament at one of the world’s finest golf courses. “I’ll make you proud of me,” he muttered.
“I know you will. I’m so happy.”
“Me, too!”
* * *
Maury wouldn’t have been so happy if he knew about the trap that Commando Joe had set for him at St Andrews.
Chapter 2, Book 2
CHAPTER 2, THE FIRST ROUND OF GOLF, Book 2
Edinburgh, Scotland 86 Shady Lane Tuesday 6 P.M.
Butch kicked off his shoes. “Boss,” he said. “This monk’s outfit is hot.” He peeled it off and tossed it in a corner. He grabbed his jogging shorts and slipped them on. “Gonna go for a slow 10k run. Wanna come along?”
“No. Did you place the magnetic sensors like I told you?”
“Yeh. Set ‘em in holes, trees, sand traps and buried ‘em by the water hazards. Wearin’ that monk’s outfit the guards ignored me. Had the run of the place. I put ‘em right where you showed me on the map.”
“You work well undercover, Butch. You’ll get your share of what we make betting on The British Open. We’ll clean up on this scam.”
“Sounds good!”
“When you get back from running I’ve got another job for you. Interested?
Butch was half out the door. He stepped back into the room. “Whatcha got?”
Commando Joe opened a trunk. “Here it is,” he said. “Try it on. See if it fits.”
“But Boss, that’s a dress! I ain’t that type of guy.”
“Dummy! That’s a kilt. You’re gonna be the Mouse’s caddie at St. Andrews. Bribe the head caddie with a Benjamin Franklin. It’ll get you the job. With your fake mustache and wig no one will recognize you… We’ll go over the details later.”
Royal Hunting Lodge 6:30 P.M.
Kewpie stared out the west window at Maury practicing his golf swing. He’s like a ballet dancer, she thought, admiringly. What grace and coordination.She imitated his stance, keeping an eye on Maury all the time. Let’s see. Feet shoulder-width apart..slight flex in my knees…bending a bit at the knees…with my back straight…head down…elbow bent. She laughed. Hole in one!
. Maury noticed her practicing her golf swing inside with an imaginary club. He motioned for Kewpie to join him.
She nodded and stepped through the back door onto a finely-manicured back yard. Maury handed her a club. “Know what this is?” he asked.
She stared at the long, narrow clubface. “Sure, it’s a putter. I see the golfers on TV using these every weekend… I have a question for you Maury.”
“Okay.”
“Why do you practice so much? I’ve been watching you all afternoon and all you do is swing a golf club again and again. Won’t you wear yourself out?”
Maury smiled. “Not at all. Your mother probably said it to you over and over again when you were learning your multiplication tables, Practice makes perfect… Perfect practice makes a perfect golfer.”
Kewpie beamed. “You’re my perfect golfer. Keep practicing while I go inside and make a cheese soufflé for supper.” She turned and walked toward the kitchen.
“Wow. Call me when it’s ready!”
She glanced through the kitchen window. Maury was outlined by the red glow of the setting sun as he raised a club over his head and brought it down in an arc of power and grace. “This is so-o-o romantic,” she sighed. “It’s like a scene from the Twilight Zone TV series… almost too good to be real.”
The Old Course at St. Andrews St. Andrews, Scotland Wednesday
“Do we ‘ave enough caddies tomorrow?” the Director asked.
“Got lucky,” replied the head caddie, stroking the $100 bill in his pocket.
“Bloke in kilts came into the clubhouse… Said ‘e was a caddie. Wanted to carry the Mouse’s golf bag. I told ‘im okay.”
“The Mouse’s a long shot to win. Understand the bookies ‘ave him twenty to one for the first round. He doesn’t ‘ave a chance…Did a favor for the Prime Minister… so it was the least we could do to extend the Mouse an invitation to play against the professionals.”
“Rumor has it he’s a good player. Tomorrow, we’ll see what ‘e does under pressure on one of the world’s best golf courses.”
“Aye. Tomorrow we’ll see.”
Edinburgh, Scotland 86 Shady Lane Thursday 7 A.M.
“We’re bettin’ on the Mouse?”
Commando Joe laughed when he saw the look on Butch’s face. “Just the first round, Butch. Odds are twenty to one against him. Bet ten grand on him to win the first round. When he wins we pocket two hundred G’s.”
“Then what, Boss?”
“The Scots love a winner. After a terrific score on the first round, they’ll mortgage their farms to bet on the Mouse to win the tournament.” Joe sat back in his chair and chuckled. “When they back the Mouse with their dough…that’s when we put our two hundred G’s on the Mouse to lose.”
Butch grinned. “You’re a genius, Boss. Those Scots don’t like to lose their money. They’ll run the Mouse out of Scotland.”
“Not before they tar and feather him,” Joe muttered. He smiled as he visualized his enemy, Maury the Mouse being carried out of town on a pole by the irate farmers. “The Scots are bad losers.”
“The Mouse tees off at three in the afternoon. I better get to St. Andrews in
a couple of hours. Can I ride with ya?”
“Sure. We’ll plan our strategy on the ride out. With you as his caddie and me handling the magnetic sensors and satellites, the Mouse should break the course record today.”
“We’ll keep the bookies broke,” Butch added.
“That’s the first part of the plan,” Joe said. “The best is yet to come.”
The Old Course at St. Andrews St. Andrews, Scotland 3 P.M.
The crowd was quiet as Maury approached the first tee. He swung and the golf ball rocketed three hundred and fifty yards down the left-center of the fairway, bouncing to the edge of the green.
Three Hours Later
Joe adjusted the dials as Maury putted on the eighteenth green. The ball rolled forty feet downhill into the cup. The crowd cheered the first-round leader.
“This Yank’s good,” a farmer named Mactavish whispered to his neighbor, Mackenzie.
“Shot fifty-nine, t’day,” Mackenzie replied. “I’d bet the family farm on ‘im.”
They both did
Chapter 3, Book 2
CHAPTER 3, THE SECOND ROUND OF GOLF
The Old Course at St. Andrews St. Andrews, Scotland 1st Hole Friday
“We are following the first round leader,” the TV announcer whispered. “We’re standing two hundred and eighty yards from the tee on the first hole. Next to us is a massive sand trap called a bunker…He’s approaching the ball…”
Maury the Mouse swung and the golf ball streaked down the center of the fairway and then sliced to the right toward the North Sea..
“FORE!” yelled the caddie, but it was too late. The ball bounced off one of the spectators, lined twenty-deep along the fairway. It rolled into one of the bunkers lining the fairway.
Mackenzie rubbed his shin and glared at the white ball sitting six yards fro
m him in the sand.
“Are ye hurt?” asked his neighbor, Mactavish.
“
Nay. Only me pride is hurt.”
“Aye. Scots are tough. The only pain we feel is in our pocketbooks.”
“True. We’re bad losers.”
“Aye. We all are. Especially when we lose a bet.”
Fifty Scottish farmers grimly standing nearby nodded.
2ndHole
“It’s dangerous out here, today,” the TV announcer said. “It must be the
wind or nerves. Our first round leader shot an eight on the first hole and hit a spectator with his first shot. I’m standing behind a tree for his tee shot on the 2nd hole.”
“Watch out for the ball!” Mactavish shouted.
KLUNK
.“Too late,” Mackenzie muttered. “ Curved around the tree. Klunked him between the eyes. He’s out cold.”
Mackenzie picked up the microphone from the ground. “Reporting from the 2nd hole of the British Open,” he stated grimly. “The Mouse is in a heap of trouble…a big heap of trouble.”
A mob of angry men in kilts ignored the fallen announcer as they pumped their fists into the sky and spoke animatedly to each other.
Shielded by tall grass on a nearby hill. Commando Joe chuckled as he adjusted the dials on his satellite-tracking box for Maury’s next shot.
Scotland Yard Office of Chief Inspector Sherlock Mouse London
“Are you all set, Max?”
Max Kelada nodded. “Yes. I have the electronics truck downstairs. An engineer will accompany me. Any further instructions?”
The chief inspector pointed out the window to the street. “I’ve decided to send Tallyho with you,” he said. “He’s the best bloodhound in Britain. He may come in handy. They’re putting him on the truck, now. Our cargo plane will drop you in Edinburgh before dark.”
“I’ve read this report,” Max said holding a thick folder in his hand. “There are strange things happening in Scotland. Signals on the Telly are being misdirected…Does this mean that the Russian KGB is spying on us again.”
“We don’t know. Satellite signals were disrupted during the British Open today. It’s essential we find out what’s causing it. British national security may be at stake.”
“I understand Maury was leading the Open after the first day of play,” Ma
x said. “Shot a fifty-nine. How’d he do, today?”
Sherlock shrugged. “Not well at all. Maury shot eighty-one… He’s not last but halfway back-in-the-pack with only two rounds to go”
Funny thing, Max thought. Maury’s problems began when the satellite interruptions started. I’ll get to the bottom of this if I have to work on it all night. He checked his watch. “Plane leaves in an hour,” he said. “Best be on my way.” Max walked out of the room without a word spoken. He knew he had an important mission ahead.
Royal Hunting Lodge 7 P.M. Kewpie turned up the air conditioning. “Whew, it’s hot, tonight,” she muttered as she stopped by the west window and watched Maury practicing his swing outside. “Maybe practice is what Maury needs,” she said to herself. “He went from first to nearly last place in a day. He needs to be alone.”
Maury wiped the sweat from his brow. He raised his club in a perfect arc and brought it down in a swing like the other thousand swings he’d practiced earlier. “Every shot I hit, today, was the result of a perfect swing,” he said out loud. “But every ball I hit had a mind of its own and seemed to carry in the wind.” He shook his head in frustration and resumed his practice swings at an imaginary ball. He knew he’d do better in the third round of The British Open, tomorrow.
The Old Course at St. Andrews 7:30 P.M.
The truck, with a BBC logo on both sides, stopped at the east gate. Max flashed his I.D. at the guard.
“Scotland Yard?” the guard muttered in surprise. He peered into the truck and noticed Tallyho. “Ain’t no dogs allowed on this golf course, mate.”
“This is Talleyho. He’s no ordinary dog. He’s a special agent for Scotland Yard.”
“Oh. In that case go right in.” He waved the truck and its passengers through the gate.
Clubhouse Parking Lot Saturday 6 A.M.
. Max lifted his cellular telephone from its cradle and spoke slowly. “This golf course is bugged worse than the American Embassy was in Moscow.”
“Is it the Ruskies, again?” Sherlock Mouse asked.
“Can’t tell who’s responsible, Chief Inspector. We deactivated the sensor devices in the trees, but we may have missed some of the buried sensors. When Maury tees off at noon, Talleyho and I’ll follow him and try to trace the source of the satellite signals.”
“I’ll send Detective Marlowe as your back-up. He’ll arrive in Scotland this afternoon.”
“Please tell him to hurry. We can use all the help we can get… Roger. Out.”
Max deactivated the phone. I think I’ll brief Kewpie about these sensors. Maybe she can help me ‘til Marlowe gets here. Max dialed the number of the Royal Hunting Lodge and spoke briefly with Kewpie. Her cheeks were flushed with anger when she replaced the telephone in its cradle.
Then, Max moved the truck to a spot overlooking the first hole and waited.
Chapter 4, Book 2
CHAPTER 4, THIRD ROUND OF GOLF St. Andrews Hardware Company Ltd . St. Andrews, Scotland
“Whatcha mean there’s no tar?” demanded the construction foreman. “Bunch of farmers down the road in Carnoustie bought it all, last night,” the store owner replied. “Cleaned me out!”
“What they gonna do with so much of it”
“Dunno. They bought all my chicken feathers and a small telephone pole, too.”
The Old Course at St. Andrews Main Gate Saturday 9 A.M.
The guard waved the Rolls-Royce through the gate. He turned to the policeman in the ticket booth. “Didya see that bloke just come in the gate?”
The policeman nodded.
“That ‘ere was the bloke that shot a 59 on Thursday.”
“Imagine,” said the policeman shaking his head. “He breaks the course record on Thursday and can’t get the ball in the hole on Friday. That’s the way golf is…hero one day, a goat the next.”
“Bookies tell me that Carnousie farmers are betting on the ‘em.”
“You don’t say? What’s the bloke’s name? I might get a bet down on him, myself.”
The guard ran his finger down the Saturday schedule to the noon starting times. “He’s a Yank. Name’s Maury the Mouse.”
East Gate 9:10 A.M.
The guard smiled as he pocketed the Benjamin Franklin. “Nice to see you, ag
ain, sir. Enjoy the golfing.” He signaled the policeman to open the gate.
“Park at the top of the same hill as yesterday, ”Commando Joe said. “I can see every hole from there.”
“Aye Govern’r.” The chauffeur drove the limo through the gate and headed west. He knew he’d be there all day. He didn’t mind. The Govern’r paid him double the normal rates… he knew he’d be able to get a few hours sleep while the Govern’r crawled around in the tall grass, today.
Mackenzie Farm Carnousie, Scotland
Mactavish knocked on the barn door. “Mackenzie, hurry up or we’ll miss the Open. Starts in an hour.”
Mackenzie stuck his head out the door and said, “Give me a hand stacking the tar. Already stacked the feathers and the pole in that corner.”
Mactavish nodded as he stepped inside. “I hope we don’t haffta use ‘em,” he muttered.
“Same here,” Mackenzie said, as he finished stacking the last can.
“Let’s get movin’. Got my truck outside.”
Both men stepped outside. Mackenzie shut the door to the red barn and grimly walked toward the truck. “The Open …It ain’t over ‘til it’s over,” he grunted.
The Old Course at St. Andrews BBC Truck Overlooking 1st Hole
“Picked up more sensors? Any satellite signals?” Max asked
The engineer glanced at the blank radar screen and instrument panel. “ No activity at all, Sir.”
“Let’s review our plan. If you see illegal activity, focus the video camera atop the truck on the spot, alert me and Talleyho. We’ll do the rest.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’ve already replaced Maury’s golf balls. Kewpie found they were all magnetized.” He checked his watch. “Maury should be teeing off in a few minutes. Keep alert!”
1st Hole Noon
“Here he comes,” Mackenzie exclaimed.
Mactavish nodded. Both men froze like ice statues as Maury approached the tee, and glanced down the fairway. He adjusted his feet and swung.
.
Kewpie followed the flight of the ball as it sailed straight as an arrow down the fairway.
Mackenzie slapped Mactavish on the shoulder. “He’s getting’ lucky again,” he said.
Behind them, fifty farmers dressed in kilts were smiling, too.
BBC Truck
“Colonel Kelada!” yelled the engineer pointing at the radar screen. “Satellite signals coming from that high hill to the west.”
Max Kelada grabbed Tallyho’s leash, catapulted out of the truck and dashed toward the hill.
High Hill to the West
“This blasted machine doesn’t work!” Commando Joe exclaimed as he moved the dials to the west. “His first shot was supposed to hit a tree and bounce out of bounds.” He looked toward the 1sttee and saw a man and dog running toward him. Rats. They found me out, he thought. Gotta get lost, fast. He raced to the limo, stepped in and snarled, “Beat it outta here!”
They disappeared in a cloud of dust minutes before Max and Talleyho reached the spot where the limo had been parked. Max sighed as he walked with the dog back to the truck.
2nd Hole
Mackenzie held his breath as he watched Maury’s tee shot stop just short of the green. “The Mouse is back,” he exclaimed. “The Mouse is back!”
BBC Truck
Max and Talleyho had just returned when the engineer cried, “More satellite signals, sir. They’re coming from the tee-off area.”
2ndHole
Butch saw Max and Talleyho running toward him. “Blimey,” he muttered. “It’s that detective from the racetrack and his bloodhound.”
Mackenzie watched Maury’s caddie drop the golf bag in the middle of the fairway and start running across the golf course.
Mactavish stared wide-eyed. “The Caddie’s hairpiece and mustache fell off when he jumped that fence,” he exclaimed. “He’s running toward Carnousie!”
“That bloke with the bloodhound’ll never catch him. Too fast.”
“Aye. Let’s find out what’s goin’ on when the man and the dog return.”
Mackenzie nodded.
18thHole
Kewpie sighed when she saw the ball drop in the hole. The crowd applauded and clustered around Maury.
“Shot a 69 today,” Mactavish said. “Only three shots back with one round to play.”
Mackenzie was deep in thought. “Round up the other farmers and meet at my farm at seven. We’ll look for that crooked caddie, tonight.”
Mackenzie Farm 6:45 P.M.
Butch was panting as he raced across the meadow. I gotta find a place to sleep, he thought. I’ll sneak in that red barn and grab some shuteye. He tried the door and it was open. He stepped inside.
Mackenzie smiled as he walked from his house carrying his shotgun and a large padlock. He slipped the padlock through a hasp on the barn door. He’s our captive, now. The caddie’ll be introduced to Scottish justice, tonight.
Chapter 5, Book 4
CHAPTER 5, FOURTH ROUND OF GOLF
Royal Hunting Lodge St. Andrews, Scotland Sunday, 8 A.M.
They walked downstairs together. “At 3:30 today,” he said slowly, I’ll shoot my best round of golf… I’ll dedicate it to you…the most important person in my life.”
Kewpie blushed. “Maury …you’re the most romantic man I’ve ever met! You’re more romantic than even Max Kelada!”
“What’s new with Max’s investigation?”
“I spoke with him, last night. Marlowe arrived from London and was assigned to work with Tallyho to track your caddie. Max chased the caddie for a mile toward Carnousie, yesterday, but the fellow was in better shape than Max and got away.”
Maury smiled. “Just like the Mountie’s, Scotland Yard always gets their man. Marlowe will track him down.”
The Road to Carnousie 10 A.M..
Marlowe stared at the grove of apple trees by the road. “Tallyho, we’ve been trackin’ for two hours,” he said. “Let’s take a ten-minute break and rest our feet.” Before sitting down, Marlowe picked two ripe apples. “Here’s one for you.” He handed the first apple to the dog and took a bite of the second one. “It feels good to get out of the hot sun, doesn’t it fella?” he muttered.
10:30 A.M.
Mactavish paused at the top of the hill and adjusted his binoculars. He held up his hand. Fifty farmers in kilts lay down their pitchforks and moved into the shade.
Mackenzie asked, “What’s up? Why’re we stoppin’? Ain’t at the Constables, yet!”
“There’s a Constable with a bloodhound trackin’ a mile ahead. He’s comin’ this way.”
“Good. Saves us the trip to St. Andrews. We’ll wait for him.” The farmers nodded.
10:45 A.M..
Marlowe wiped the sweat from his brow. “This is the last hill before we get to Carnousie, fella,” he said. “We’ll take another break at the top of the hill.”
10:50 A.M..
“What the blazes is that?” Marlowe muttered when he saw the figure. It looks like a chicken…but it’s the size of a man.Talleyho sniffed the figure and pointed like a bird dog. “Is you Maury’s caddie?” Marlowe inquired.
“I ain’t sayin’ nothin without me barrister,” the figure growled.
Marlowe noticed the farmers standing in the shade. “Wot ‘appened to this man?”
Mackenzie stepped forward. “This ‘ere bloke broke into my barn, fell into some tar and feathers, and here he is. Me and me neighbors …we’re deliverin’ this crook to the St. Andrews Jail.”
“Yeah,” Mactavish interrupted, holding up his pocketwatch “We ‘ave bets on the British Open… gotta be there for the final round.”
Marlowe closed his handcuffs around the figure’s wrists. “I’ll take this fugitive with me.” He turned to leave when Mackenzie shouted, “Leave your pitchforks at my farm, gentl’men.” The farmers waved at Marlowe as he pulled the figure down the hill. Talleyho trailed them a few paces behind.
St. Andrews Golf Course St. Andrews, Scotland 11 a.m.
The Director turned to the Constable. “In that case in the corner is the Claret Jug. It goes to the winner of the British Open. Guard it well.”
“What’s it made of?” the Constable asked.
“Gold. Fourteen-carat gold!”
11:30 A.M..
The Rolls-Royce stopped before the door. Maury stepped out, turned and kissed Kewpie. “Win it for me, Dear,” she purred. “I’ll be in the crowd following you.. Good luck.”
`
Maury watched the Rolls-Royce drive off. He turned and entered the clubhouse. As he walked toward the locker room, he could hear the blare of the television set and the commentary of the announcer. “There are five players within three shots of the lead…but the sentimental favorite among the Scots I’ve spoken with is a Yank named Maury the Mouse.”
Main Gate 5 p.m.
“The Mouse is movin’ up!” the policeman yelled.
“Wot’s ‘appening?” the guard asked as he ran to the ticket booth.
The policeman pointed to the television screen in the booth. “See, they’re showing the third hole on the Telly, again. Maury nailed a hole-in-one, hitting a one-hopper with a 4-iron … a 172-yard par-3.”
“What a shot! Did you bet on the bloke?”
“Aye,” said the policeman. “A week’s pay. Got 10-1 odds. Did you bet on ‘em, too?”
The guard nodded. “What hole are they at now?” he asked.
“Puttin’ on the seventeenth. The Mouse is tied for the lead with Angus Dundee.”
“Ain’t Dundee last year’s champion?”
“Yeah.”
18thHole
“Dundee’s playin’ it safe,” Mactavish said. “Hit an iron two-hundred yards. Must be afraid of the creek. Whatcha think the Mouse’ll do?”
“He’ll go for broke,” Mackenzie replied. “He can drive over the water hazard.”
Clubhouse
“We’re watching the approach shots of both golfers on the 18thgreen,” the TV announcer said into the microphone. “The crowd is silent as the challenger and last year’s champion fight it out on the last hole of this tournament.”
The crowd cheered as Dundee’s third shot bounced on the green, stopping a club length from the pin.
“The Mouse is hitting a 9-iron into the wind about 100 yards from the green,” the TV Announcer continued as he watched the flight of the ball toward the green. “It’s also his third shot on this par-four hole.”
The crowd around the green cheered as hats were tossed in the air. “He got an eagle!” shouted a spectator.
“Wot ‘appened?” Mactavish yelled.
“He holed out!” screamed Mackenzie who was a head taller. “A perfect shot! We won our bet!”
Edinburgh, Scotland 86 Shady Lane
Eyes glued to the television set, Commando Joe shook his head. “That Mouse is the luckiest golfer alive,” he muttered. “Won the Open on his last shot.” Joe placed his cup of tea on the table and stared out the window at the overcast sky. When I break Butch out of jail we’ll get even with that Mouse, he thought. We’ll get even if it’s the last thing we do!
Chapter 6, Book 2
CHAPTER 6, THE VACATION
St. Andrews Golf Course St. Andrews, Scotland
“Are you surprised you won the British Open…after being so far back after the second round?” the TV announcer asked.
Maury the Mouse stared into the television camera lens. “I was in thirty-fifth place after two rounds,” he said. “I never gave up…just did my best and was lucky enough to win this tournament on my last shot.”
“You’re a modest bloke, I must say,” the announcer said…”A good example to Scottish children of what a good sport and champion is like. What’ll you do next?”
Maury reached out and took Kewpie’s hand. “Tell him our plans.”
Kewpie grinned. “Tomorrow we’re going on a relaxing vacation.”
“Where?”
“The Scottish Highlands for some fishing…We’ll use a tiny feathered fly to lure the giant salmon. It’s a battle to catch one in rapidly-moving water without breaking the line or loosening the hook.”
“I understand that salmon are hard to catch, these days,” the announcer concluded. “Something to do with over-fishing in past years. Good luck! Hope you both catch many fish.”
Maury took Kewpie’s arm and walked to their Rolls-Royce where the driver was waiting with a cellular phone. “Call for you, Sir,” he said, handing the telephone to Maury.
“Yes? Maury speaking.”
“Maury, this is Uncle Sherlock.”
“Hello, Uncle.”
“Congratulations on your golfing victory. Scotland Yard has an important job for you in the Scottish Highlands. Can you combine it with your vacation?”
“ Sure. What’s it about?” Maury asked.
“Max Kelada will brief you on it before you leave. Enjoy your vacation.”
“Thanks, Uncle.” Maury handed the telephone back to the driver.
“Another case for you to solve?” Kewpie inquired. Maury nodded. “Max’ll give us the details, tonight.”
Royal Hunting Lodge St. Andrews, Scotland Sunday, 9 p.m.
Kewpie’s hands were on her hips as she glared at Max Kelada. Those Scotland Yard bozos have a nerve, she thought. Everytime Maury and I try to take a vacation they come up with some police work for us.
Maury smiled as he glanced at Kewpie’s defensive body language. He held out his hand to Max and steered him to the living room couch. “Have a seat, Max. Tell us what case is baffling the Scottish police.”
“Have you ever heard of Aquaculture?” Max began.
Kewpie shook her head. “Is that fish farming?” Maury asked.
“Yes. Raising salmon in both fresh-water ponds and salt-water lagoons is one of the largest industries in Scotland. Scotland’s three hundred plus fish farms are mostly on the northwestern coast.”
“That’s where we’re going,” Kewpie added.
“Exactly,” Max said. “Under cover of being tourists you can keep your eyes open for unusual activity around the ponds and lagoons.”
“Exactly what illegal activity are we investigating?” Maury asked.
“Poaching. Salmon poaching. Someone’s stealing millions of dollars worth of salmon from these fish farms.”
“Any idea who the culprit is?” Kewpie inquired.
Max paused. “We suspect it to be the work of the biggest crime boss in Scotland. Her name is Lucretia Joe. If crime occurs in Scotland, Lucretia Joe is usually involved.”
“A lady crime boss!” Kewpie exclaimed. “Is she related to Commando Joe?”
Max nodded. “His sister. Their entire family’s been criminals for generations. Richard Dugsdale’s findings, “The Jukes: A Study in Crime, Pauperism and Heredity” was published in 1884. The Jukes was a cover name for the Joefamily.”
“At that time,” Maury interrupted, “it was thought that criminal traits were hereditary. Of course, now we know they are acquired traits from knowledge passed down from one generation of criminals to another.”
“One generation training the young to be more successful crooks than they were,” Kewpie said. “With guidance from high-priced barristers, they could overwhelm the local law enforcers by operating their illegal activities just within the limits of the law.”
“That’s the problem with Joe’s younger sister, Lucretia,” Max continued. “We’ve arrested her twice, but her lawyers had her back in business within twenty-four hours. The newspapers call her a ‘black widow spider in tight-fitting jeans’, due to the fact that Lucretia’s last four husbands have died from spider bites. Her crime empire includes northern Scotland. She rules with an velvet glove covering an iron fist.”
“A queen of crime…that’s amazing!” Kewpie muttered.
“Her thugs are women,” Max said. “They’re tough and more ruthless than men. They all wear black tight-fitting jeans and shirts. In the Highlands, when you see a woman dressed in black, she’s either a recent widow or one of Lucretia’s crime family.” He opened a briefcase and handed a thick notebook to Maury. “Here is the dossier on Lucretia Joe,” he added. “These pages will give you a detailed understanding of her criminal activities.”
Kewpie looked over Maury’s shoulder as he glanced at the Table of Contents, and ran his finger down the page stopping at the letter ‘s’. “There it is, Kewpie,” he said. “Salmon Fish Farms. We’ll start reading on page 300.”
Max rose to leave. “Marlowe and I will be flying back to London tomorrow. Call me tonight if you have any questions.”
Maury nodded as he shook his hand. Kewpie gave Max a hug before he turned and walked out into the night air.
Sitting side-by-side on the couch, they read the pages until the grandfather’s clock rang twice. “It’s getting late.” Maury said. “Tomorrow, we can finish reading this on the train.”
Lucretia Joe Headquarters Northwestern Scotland
The man tapped his silver cane on the secretary’s desk. “I’d like to see Lucretia Joe,” he said.
The secretary looked up. “Who’s calling?”
“Her brother, Commando. Tell her I gotta problem with the Mouse. She’ll know what I mean.”
“Have a seat, Sir. I’ll tell her you’re here.”
She clicked on the intercom and spoke
. The secretary rose and opened a concealed door behind the bookcase.
“Your sister said for you to come in. She’s looking forward to seeing you.”
Chapter 7, Book 2
CHAPTER 7, LADIES IN BLACK
Lucretia Joe Headquarters Northwestern Scotland Monday, 8 a.m.
“Freeze!” she commanded.
The hair on Commando Joe’s neck stood up as he stiffened like a statue. He watched her come out from the shadows toward him. Gads, he thought. She’s as big as a bear...must be a lady wrestler dressed all in black.
“Raise your hands! Lay your cane on the ground and step away from it.”
Joe laid his cane on the floor and held his hands apart like the claws of a scorpion. She patted him down and picked up his cane. “I’ll take this,” she said. “You can reclaim it from the secretary on your way out.” She motioned him to follow her down a long corridor. She stopped at a brick wall, pushed a small, square brick and a door opened. She pointed an index finger at the door. “You go in. I’m Big Bertha. I’ll be waiting here for you when you leave.”
Joe stepped inside and the door slid shut. Across the room was a smiling woman dressed in black jeans and blouse.
“Hello, Brother,” she said. “How are things going? I understand that Honolulu detective, Maury the Mouse ran you out of Hawaii.”
“Well,” he stammered, “the Mouse made things too hot for me, there. I can’t come home. They gotta warrant for my arrest in Hawaii…all because of him.”
Lucretia Joe laughed. “What happened to your potato ransom? Did the Mouse gum that up, too?”
“Yeah. We hoodwinked Scotland Yard but not the Mouse. He was too smart for us.”
“Understand you lost a bundle on the British Open, too.”
“The Mouse got lucky. Holed out with a 9-iron from one-hundred yards…a million-to-one shot.”
“Seems like your luck changed when you met him.”
Joe nodded. “My scams were always profitable ‘til the Mouse came into my life. He’s bad luck for me.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I need two favors, Lucretia.”
“What are they?”
“ First, I need help to bust my assistant, Butch, out of the St. Andrews jail. And second, I need someone to take care of the Mouse.”
“What’s in it for me, Brother?” “Well,” Joe stammered, “I got my dough stashed in a Swiss bank from my stock market scam. I could cut you in for 5%.”
“Five percent of the gross?”
“No. Five percent of the net.”
“Commando, don’t try your scams on me. I’m your sister! That’s the same scam Hollywood movie studios use on their actors…promising ‘em 5% of the net profits on their movies and TV series … then charge every possible expense to the movies and TV series so there ain’t no net profits. The actors end up with nothin’!”
“How about 1% of the gross.”
Lucretia slammed her fist on her desk. “Make it 3% of the gross and you’ve got a deal!”
“Okay.”
“I know all about your stock market scam,” she said. “Issuing shares of stock to the public in YouAreASucker.comwas pure genius.”
“Yeah. Some investors are dumb enough to buy any stock with dot com after its name.”
“Brother, as soon as we get this in writing, my gang’ll help you spring Butch and get Maury off your back.” She pressed her intercom button. “Send in the barrister, Ms. Mackenzie,” she said. “My brother and I have a contract to sign.”
Auditorium 9 a.m.
“She looks tough,” a woman in the audience whispered.
“She’s big, tough and mean,” her neighbor replied. “If you foul-up an assignment, she’ll let you know about it. You could end up as fish bait.”
Big Bertha rapped the gavel on the podium and forty women jumped up and stood at attention. “At ease!” she yelled. “I’m Bertha. My orders come from my boss, Lucretia Joe. She tells me what to do and I do it. Your orders come from me. I tell your commander what to do and you follow her orders…or else you’ll deal directly with me…and I don’t think any of you want that, do you?”
“No!” a chorus of voices replied.
.“Each ten-person squad is commanded by a woman with both military and competitive martial arts experience. Check the bulletin boards in the barracks to see which squad you’re in. Report back to this room in an hour for inspection. Your basic training has begun. Only the toughest and smartest will survive. Be warned. Our washout rate is higher than seventy percent.”
“Dismissed,” she yelled. The women dressed in black jeans saluted, and then quickly filed out of the auditorium.
9:10 A.M..
Commando Joe stared at the television monitor. “I’m impressed with Big Bertha. Where did you find her?”
“The Royal Marines. She’s now my top Lieutenant. If she says she’ll do something…she always comes through. It gets done.”
Royal Hunting Lodge St. Andrews, Scotland 11 A.M.
She wedged herself between the limbs of the oak tree and waited. Her black clothing blended into the dark background in the forest. She adjusted her binoculars on the front door of the lodge and the Rolls Royce parked outside with its motor running. She smiled as the lodge door opened and a young couple stepped out.
That must be the Mouse and his wife, Kewpie, she thought. I’ll trail ‘em and then call Bertha.
When the Rolls Royce had disappeared she jumped from the tree and hopped on her motorcycle. She was off in a cloud of dust.
Concealed on a cliff above the Royal Hunting Lodge, Max Kelada dialed a number on his cellular phone. “Chief Inspector,” he said, “they’ve taken the bait. Your plan of misdirection worked. They’re following Maury and Kewpie.”
Chief Inspector Sherlock Mouse replied grimly, “Good. Now we can start Scotland Yard’s campaign to rid Scotland of crime. Initiate Plan A immediately.”
“Aye. We’ll establish headquarters in northwest Scotland by midnight.”
Max knew the CH-47 twin-rotor Chinook helicopter would pick him up in an hour. He shut his eyes and waited.
Chapter 8, Book 2
CHAPTER 8, THE ARRIVAL
Whisky Island Northwest of Blarney, Northern Scotland Monday 8:30 P.M.
Sheets of rain slid off the sloped roof like a waterfall. Jenny Mackenzie ran to the open window and slammed it shut. She stared out the window as lightning flashed in the west.
She pressed her nose to the window glass as lightning illuminated a helicopter flying low over the water. Jenny smiled when she picked up the phone and dialed.
“Yeah?” a voice answered.
“Bertha, this is Jenny Mackenzie.”
“Ain’t you barristers got a lick of sense? Ya ain’t supposed to call during a thunderstorm. Could get shocked or worse!”
“Sorry. It’s important that Lucretia Joe know this. Just saw a CH-47 Chinook helicopter hugging the coastline heading north. The coppers are on the move.”
“Thanks, Jenny. I’ll inform the Boss.” Bertha hung up and walked to the wall map of Scotland. She placed a finger on Whisky Island and moved it north until it touched land. “They’re somewhere in the Western Isles,” she muttered. “Wherever they are off the coast, we’ll find ‘em.”
Lucretia Joe Headquarters Blarney, Northwest Scotland 8:40 P.M.
“That’s the story, Boss” Bertha said. “The coppers are on the move. We’ll find ‘em,” Bertha said.
“How’re ya gonna find ‘em?” Lucretia Joe stared at the wall map. “There’s eight hundred islands off the coast…many are uninhabited.”
“Our spies are everywhere. We’ll find ‘em. I guarantee it.”
Lucretia smiled. “When you locate ‘em let me know. I’ll prepare a special welcome for ‘em.”
“Okay, Boss.” Gruinard Bed and Breakfast Gruinard Bay, Northwest Scotland 8:45 P.M. The porter carried the bags upstairs and turned right. “ ‘ere’s your room, folks,” she said. She opened the door and set the bags inside.
Maury handed her a pound banknote and said, “Thanks, Ma’am”
“ ‘ope you and the misses ‘njoys your vacation.” The porter turned and left the room. Kewpie shut the door and walked to the drapes covering a picture window and closely inspected them. She opened the drapes and put her index finger to her lips. “Sssh,” she whispered, pointing to a dime-sized globe pinned to the top of the drapes.
Maury nodded and said, “Kewpie. It’s raining outside… but let’s take a walk along the beach. It’s romantic strolling in the moonlight.”
“I like walking in the rain with you. Be ready in a minute. I want to show off my new rain hat.”
Gruinard Beach on Gruinard Bay 8:50 P.M.
They walked silently for a few minutes. Maury shook his head. “These crooks must be well-organized to have a bugging device in our room. And we’ve just arrived!”
“There must be a leak at Scotland Yard,” Kewpie added. “How else would the crooks know that the room reservation we made for Mr. and Mrs. John Doe was us? We traveled incognito on the train and they still knew who we were and where we were heading.”
“We’ll just act like tourists in our room. We’ll talk business when we’re alone on the beach.”
“Good idea, Maury. Let’s step up the pace and get some exercise.”
The porter watched them from a downstairs window until they were out of sight. “Nice couple,” she muttered, fingering the pound banknote. “I’ll let Bertha know they arrived.”
Rock Island Off the Northwest Coast, Scotland 8:55 P.M. Max Kelada pressed his face against the cockpit windshield and stared through the light raindrops. “There is it, Captain. Land on that flat rock in the center of the island.”
“Yes Sir, Colonel!” The Chinook helicopter slowly descended through the clouds and landed minutes later.
“Nice landing, Captain. It felt like we were in a canoe on the way down. As soon as we’ve unloaded the food and equipment, your orders are to return to base. Fly a different route on the way back in case you’re spotted.”
“Yes Sir!”
“You have provisions for your twenty men for a month,” the pilot said. “When you need to be re-supplied call us. Good luck!”
Max called to a sergeant. “Have the men set up camp around the flat rock,” he said. “Store food, drink and ammo in the underground caves to the east. Post 24-hour perimeter guards.”
Soldiers in camouflage uniforms jumped to the ground as the sergeant clicked his heels together and saluted. “Yessir!” he said. He turned and walked toward the men who were climbing down the stairs cut in the side of the flat rock. “I need volunteers to unload the supplies,” he shouted. He pointed his finger at them. “You, you, you and you!”
The men scurried into and out of the helicopter, like army ants each carrying his piece of the pie at a picnic. Fifty minutes later, the pilot was alone in the empty helicopter.
* * *
Max opened his sealed orders in the privacy of the Command Tent. He could hear the faint roar of the CH-47 Chinook helicopter as it disappeared in the darkening sky. When he finished reading his orders he walked outside and gazed at the stars and full moon.
Chapter 8, Book 2
CHAPTER 8, THE ARRIVAL
Whisky Island Northwest of Blarney, Northern Scotland Monday 8:30 P.M.
Sheets of rain slid off the sloped roof like a waterfall. Jenny Mackenzie ran to the open window and slammed it shut. She stared out the window as lightning flashed in the west.
She pressed her nose to the window glass as lightning illuminated a helicopter flying low over the water. Jenny smiled when she picked up the phone and dialed.
“Yeah?” a voice answered.
“Bertha, this is Jenny Mackenzie.”
“Ain’t you barristers got a lick of sense? Ya ain’t supposed to call during a thunderstorm. Could get shocked or worse!”
“Sorry. It’s important that Lucretia Joe know this. Just saw a CH-47 Chinook helicopter hugging the coastline heading north. The coppers are on the move.”
“Thanks, Jenny. I’ll inform the Boss.” Bertha hung up and walked to the wall map of Scotland. She placed a finger on Whisky Island and moved it north until it touched land. “They’re somewhere in the Western Isles,” she muttered. “Wherever they are off the coast, we’ll find ‘em.”
Lucretia Joe Headquarters Blarney, Northwest Scotland 8:40 P.M.
“That’s the story, Boss” Bertha said. “The coppers are on the move. We’ll find ‘em,” Bertha said.
“How’re ya gonna find ‘em?” Lucretia Joe stared at the wall map. “There’s eight hundred islands off the coast…many are uninhabited.”
“Our spies are everywhere. We’ll find ‘em. I guarantee it.”
Lucretia smiled. “When you locate ‘em let me know. I’ll prepare a special welcome for ‘em.”
“Okay, Boss.”
Gruinard Bed and Breakfast Gruinard Bay, Northwest Scotland 8:45 P.M.
The porter carried the bags upstairs and turned right. “ ‘ere’s your room, folks,” she said. She opened the door and set the bags inside.
Maury handed her a pound banknote and said, “Thanks, Ma’am”
“ ‘ope you and the misses ‘njoys your vacation.” The porter turned and left the room.
Kewpie shut the door and walked to the drapes covering a picture window and closely inspected them. She opened the drapes and put her index finger to her lips. “Sssh,” she whispered, pointing to a dime-sized globe pined to the top of the drapes.
Maury nodded and said, “Kewpie. It’s raining outside… but let’s take a walk along the beach. It’s romantic strolling in the moonlight.”
“I like walking in the rain with you. Be ready in a minute. I want to show off my new rain hat.”
Gruinard Beach on Gruinard Bay 8:50 P.M.
They walked silently for a few minutes. Maury shook his head. “These crooks must be well-organized to have a bugging device in our room. And we’ve just arrived!”
“There must be a leak at Scotland Yard,” Kewpie added. “How else would the crooks know that the room reservation we made for Mr. and Mrs. John Doe was us? We traveled incognito on the train and they still knew who we were and where we were heading.”
“We’ll just act like tourists in our room. We’ll talk business when we’re alone on the beach.”
“Good idea, Maury. Let’s step up the pace and get some exercise.”
The porter watched them from a downstairs window until they were out of sight. “Nice couple,” she muttered, fingering the pound banknote. “I’ll let Bertha know they arrived.”
Rock Island Off the Northwest Coast, Scotland 8:55 P.M.
Max Kelada pressed his face against the cockpit windshield and stared through the light raindrops. “There is it, Captain. Land on that flat rock in the center of the island.”
“Yes Sir, Colonel!” The Chinook helicopter slowly descended through the clouds and landed minutes later.
“Nice landing, Captain. It felt like we were in a canoe on the way down. As soon as we’ve unloaded the food and equipment, your orders are to return to base. Fly a different route on the way back in case you’re spotted.”
“Yes Sir!”
“You have provisions for your twenty men for a month,” the pilot said. “When you need to be re-supplied call us. Good luck!”
Max called to a sergeant. “Have the men set up camp around the flat rock,” he said. “Store food, drink and ammo in the underground caves to the east. Post 24-hour perimeter guards.”
Soldiers in camouflage uniforms jumped to the ground as the sergeant clicked his heels together and saluted. “Yessir!” he said. He turned and walked toward the men who were climbing down the stairs cut in the side of the flat rock. “I need volunteers to unload the supplies,” he shouted. He pointed his finger at them. “You, you, you and you!”
The men scurried into and out of the helicopter, like army ants each carrying his piece of the pie at a picnic. Fifty minutes later, the pilot was alone in the empty helicopter.
* * *
Max opened his sealed orders in the privacy of the Command Tent. He could hear the faint roar of the CH-47 Chinook helicopter as it disappeared in the darkening sky. When he finished reading his orders he walked outside and gazed at the stars and full moon.
Chapter 9, Book 2
CHAPTER 9, KATZ & DAWGS, Private Investigators
Gruinard Beach Gruinard Bay, Northwest Scotland Monday 9 P.M.
Maury the Mouse checked the illuminated dial of his watch. “It’s time to begin Phase 1 of Scotland Yard’s plan,” he said, pointing ahead. “According to our map the town is a mile up the beach. Their office is at the north end of town.”
“I like practical jokes,” Kewpie chuckled. “Wow! Are they going to be mad, tomorrow.”
“I hope so. It’ll keep them from shadowing our every move.”
Kewpie nodded. “The British are masters of misdirection. Do you know who came up with this creative plan.”
“Yes, I do,” Maury replied softly. “I did.”
Gruinard Bed and Breakfast Gruinard Bay, Northwest Scotland 9:30 P.M.
Katherine Katz hid in the dense brush by the beach. “Can ya still see ‘em on the beach, Darlene?”
“Naw. They’ve disappeared around the bend.”
“I’m gonna grab some shuteye. Wake me up in four hours and I’ll take over for ya.”
As Katherine snoozed in the soft sand, Darlene Dawgs trained her night-vision binoculars on the north end of the beach. “Bertha wanted us to tail these coppers,” she muttered. “What Bertha wants, Bertha gets.”
The Next Day Tuesday 8:30 A.M.
“They’re still in the Bed and Breakfast,” Darlene said. “Tail ‘em if they leave. I’m gonna go to the office…check the mail and calls…be back in an hour.”
“Yeah. If I leave to tail ‘em, I’ll scribble a note for you.” She pointed to the ground. “I’ll put it under this rock.” Katherine watched her partner jog up the beach toward town. Darlene’s forgotten more about being a private investigator than most PIs ever learn, she thought. I’m one lucky gal to have her as my partner.
9:30 A.M..
Katherine saw her running down the beach toward her. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
Darlene gasped for breath as she spoke, “Someone stole our sign!”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, our sign’s gone.”
“So what,” Katherine said. “Probably some kid did it. We’ll get another sign.”
Darlene shook her head. “When I got to our office, half the town was crowded around our office, laughing.”
“So?”
“They’re laughin’ at us, Dummy!”
“Huh?”
“Our sign read ‘Katz & Dawgs, Private Investigators – We Can Find Anything’. In place of our sign was hanging another sign, ‘If you can find anything…find your sign’.” “I see,” Katherine said. “If we don’t find our sign we’ll be laughed out of town.”
“Come on. We gotta prioritize … do first things first. We find our sign. Then, we come back to shadow the Mouse and his wife.”
Gruinard Bed and Breakfast 9:35 A.M..
Hidden behind the curtains in his second floor room, Maury watched the two PIs run up the beach toward their office. He smiled as he turned to Kewpie and made a circle with his thumb and index finger.
Kewpie raised her palm in the air and gave him a high-five.
Rock Island Off the Northwest Coast, Scotland 9:40 A.M.
Colonel Max Kelada opened the flap to the communications tent and stepped inside. “What’s new?” he asked.
“Scotland Yard still hasn’t got the judge to sign the search warrants, Sir,” the sergeant replied. “They’ve been sitting on his desk since Monday morning.”
“Radio The Yard, again. Tell them to give the judge a goose.”
“Yessir! We’ll send that message off immediately.” The sergeant turned to Max “The troops are ready to go,” he said. “Our rubber rafts are inflated, supplies are loaded and we’ll move as soon as you give us the word.”
Max smiled. “You’ll get it the moment I get the okay from The Yard.” He returned the sergeant’s salute and walked out of the tent shaking his head. It’s a heck of a way to run a war, he thought.How can anyone win a war against crooks when crime-fighters can’t act ‘til a bureaucrat signs off on some documents…probably on his desk at the bottom of a pile of papers.
Lucretia Joe Headquarters Blarney, Northwest Scotland
Lucretia Joe paced back and forth behind her desk. “How’s the training going?” she asked.
Bertha shook her head. “It’s going great, Boss. The new girls are catching on fast. They’re even better than our last training class. If our crime family continues growing, the coppers won’t ‘ave a chance against us!”
“Don’t underestimate the coppers. They’ve got us targeted according to our undercover agent. We got a judge on our payroll…he’ll give us plenty of warning before he signs search warrants for our offices.”
“All records and computer files have already been removed to the barrister’s office for safe-keeping.”
“Good. When the coppers raid us whatcha think they’ll find?”
Bertha laughed. “Nothin’, Boss… Just like last time. Absolutely nothin’.”
Gruinard Bed and Breakfast 9:45 A.M.
Maury opened his suitcase and removed two frogman suits. “Everything ready?” he asked.
Kewpie nodded. “Let’s put everything in this picnic basket.”
“It’s a wonderful day for a picnic,” Maury said as he put the underwater gear in the basket. Kewpie placed several cheese sandwiches on top.
“Let’s go,” she said. She opened the door and stepped into the hall, nearly bumping into the porter. Maury followed, carrying the picnic basket.
“ ‘ope yer ‘avin’ a good stay ‘ere, folks,” the porter said, glancing at the basket in Maury’s hand. See yer goin’ picnicin’.”
Maury nodded. “It’s our vacation. See you later,” he said sharply.”
“Be gone long?” the porter asked.
“All day,” Maury replied as he walked down the stairs.
That should be long enough for her to search our room, Kewpie thought. What a nerve she has to spy on us.
The porter walked downstairs, watching them leave the house like a s
cientist analyzing two specimens under a microscope. She grabbed the telephone and dialed.
“Yeah?” a voice answered.
“Brenda. The coppers ‘er walkin’ south down da beach. ‘aving a picnic, the porter said. “Ain’t nothin’ down there but an old boat yard.”
An old boat yard, Bertha thought. Hmmmm.
Chapter 10, Book 2
CHAPTER 10, DEMON ISLE
Gruinard Beach Gruinard Bay, Northwest Scotland 10:40 A.M.
Kewpie stopped and grabbed Maury’s arm. “We’ve been walking for an hour. My shoes are filled with sand. Let’s take a break,” she pleaded.
Maury nodded. He sat on a piece of driftwood and inspected his map. “The boat yard’s about a mile ahead.” He grinned and glanced at Kewpie. “Need some help?”
Kewpie playfully punched him on the shoulder. “Let’s go, Maury.” She resumed walking down the beach. Maury followed her carrying the picnic basket.
He heard the noise first and dove for the underbrush by the beach. Kewpie crawled under a fallen tree as a low-flying black helicopter flew over them. “Whew, that was close,” he said. “It was one of Lucretia Joe’s chopper fleet. They’re used for surveillance and smuggling.”
When the sound of the motor faded away in the distance, Maury rose, brushed off his clothes and moved briskly along the beach. Kewpie was at his side.
Rock Island 11 A.M.
“Colonel!” the corporal cried. “Radar indicates an unidentified aircraft heading toward us from the southwest.”
Max Kelada jumped from his chair. “Get the men under cover.”
“Yessir,” the sergeant said. “They’ve got instructions to return to the caves or to remain under camouflage netting whenever aircraft or strange boats appear. I’ll check ‘em out.” He ran from the communications tent and started shouting orders.
Soldiers scattered in all directions as the sound of a motor grew louder.
Black Helicopter 11:05 A.M.
“Get the infra-red sensors ready, “the pilot said. “We’ll make another pass over the island.”
“Can’t see nobody,” the technician stated. “Just rocks.” “The sensors tell us everything. They pick up body heat.”
The technician stared at her flashing display panel. “Well, I’ll be darned. We hit the Mother Lode. There must be twenty coppers hiding in the rocks.”
“Let’s get out of here,” the pilot cried, as she turned the helicopter back toward the mainland. “Send a coded message to Brenda. Tell ‘er we found the Mother Lode.”
Old Boat Yard Gruinard Bay 11:05 A.M..
“There’s the sign, Maury!” Kewpie cried as she pointed ahead at the crumbling buildings beside it. The boat yard looks abandoned.”
Maury ran to the rusted sign. He placed his back against the sign and walked west while he counted, “one, two, three…fifteen.” He placed the picnic basket by his right foot. “This is where we dig,” he said. “ Scotland Yard should have buried the rest of our equipment here.”
11:30 A.M..
Maury handed Kewpie the compressed-air cylinders. “Place these in the front of the raft away from the motor,” he said. “Everything aboard?”
Kewpie took the pencil from behind her ear and checked off each item in the raft on her list. She nodded. “We have two of everything on Scotland Yard’s list: face masks with mouthpieces to connect to a tube from the air tank, wet suits, weighted belts, flippers for the feet, and flotation vests.” She gave Maury a military salute. “Ready to cast off, Capt’n!” She arched her eyebrows playfully like a kitten. “How do I look in a frogman’s suit?”
“Great!” Maury chuckled as he pushed the raft away from shore and jumped in. He flipped the switch on the idling motor to forward. The inflatable raft cut through the water like a warm knife through snow. “We’ll be at Demon Isle in an hour,” he said. “We’ve a full day’s work ahead. Let’s have lunch.”
Kewpie opened the picnic basket and set two sandwiches by Maury. “These are yours, Sweetie,” she said as she opened a third one and began nibbling.
Lucretia Joe Headquarters 11:40 A.M..
Rnng. Lucretia Joe picked up her phone. “Yeah?” she questioned.
“Brenda here. Infra-red sensors picked up twenty coppers on Rock Is
land.”
“Good. Did the sensors pinpoint where their supplies are stored?” “Uh-huh.”
“Brenda, assemble your Black Beret Squad. I have an amphibious assault for you, tonight. Be in my office in an hour.”
Gruinard Bay 12:30 P.M.
Kewpie stood in the bow and squinted. “Maury,” she cried over the roar of the motor, “the fog’s too thick. Can’t see but a few feet ahead.”
Maury flipped a switch and the motor died. “We’ll drift into the island from here. According to the map it’s dead ahead. Get your scuba gear ready.”
Kewpie nodded. She opened a duffel bag and removed her equipment. “Maury,” she asked, “tell me why you picked Demon Isle to search?”
“The isle has the same reputation in Scotland that the Bermuda Triangle has in the United States,” Maury began. “Ships and airplanes disappear without a trace. For that reason ships seldom approach it and few airplanes violate its air space. If I was a crook and had something to hide… it’d be the perfect location. ”
Think the stolen salmon are there?”
“Yes,” Maury said confidentially. “It’s the logical place.”
“If we find them what’ll we do?”
“Notify Scotland Yard. They’ll get a search warrant and’ll arrest the crooks on the Isle.”
“Gee, you make it sound so easy.”
“Nothing in life is easy, Kewpie, when you deal with bureaucratic judges signing search warrants. These judges are often so slow in issuing warrants that I wonder if they’re paid by the hour.”
“I have another question. I’ve heard that fishermen report seeing sea monsters near Demon Isle.”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Maury replied. “But their stories are just Scottish folktales… much like reports of the Loch Ness Monster. Every country has stories about demons and monsters to frighten people. It’s all superstition. These stories are just tall tales.”
“Maury, I’m scared,” Kewpie said in a trembling voice. “What if these reports about Demon Isle are true?”
Chapter 11, Book 2
CHAPTER 11, UNDERWATER ADVENTURE
Atlantic Ocean Inflatable Raft, Northwest of Scotland 12:40 P.M.
“You have nothing to worry about, Kewpie,” Maury assured her. “Even if there are sea monsters around Demon Isle … remember you’re with me. I’ll protect you!”
Kewpie reached out and hugged Maury. “We’re together all the way,” she said
Maury nodded and opened his map. Kewpie crowded beside him as he ran his index finger to a circled spot on the map. “This is Demon Isle,” Maury said. “We’ll land near the rocks to the west and hide the raft in one of the limestone caves. He moved his finger to a corner of the island.”
“Where do you think the stolen salmon are?”
Maury turned the map sideways and pointed. “Here,” he said. “There’s a long narrow bay on the northwest side of the island. It’s the perfect spot for hiding stolen salmon before they’re sent to market.”
“Uh-huh,” Kewpie agreed. “The fog’s clearing!” she shouted. “ Jagged rocks ahead!”
“They reach from the ocean floor,” he continued, “like reptiles’ fangs.” He paddled the raft between them to a cave carved in the cliff by pounding waves. Inside, he tied the raft to a pointed rock.
Cave Demon Isle, Atlantic Ocean 12:50 P.M.
“I saw lightning flash to the west,” Kewpie said anxiously. “Must be bad weather’s coming up.”
Maury nodded. “This ocean can be a dangerous place. Much of the Spanish Armada was destroyed by violent storms off Scotland’s coast in 1588. Not much has changed, weather-wise, since then.”
“Should we wait for calm weather?”
“No, we can examine the island in our scuba gear in an hour or two…and be back here before the storm. We’ll stay at the safe depth of five fathoms or thirty feet. Don’t want any decompression problems, do we?” He glanced at the depth gauge on his wristwatch. “Just follow me and be careful.”
Kewpie nodded. She adjusted her air tank gauge and put on a face mask.
Maury checked her equipment. “My scuba gear is ready to go,” he said. “So is yours. Ladies first!”
She back-flipped into the ocean. Maury jumped in feet first and began swimming northwest.
As Kewpie swam behind Maury, she mentally reviewed the procedures she had learned, a year before, in the Honolulu Police Department certified scuba-training course. I’ll try not to make any mistakes, she thought. I want him to be proud of me!
Inside the cave, a pair of eyes watched Maury and Kewpie until they were out of sight. Then, the creature shook her tail twice and the rope fell off. The raft began to drift.
Lucretia Joe Headquarters Blarney, Northwest Scotland 12:50 P.M.
“Ladies,” she said sharply, “my name is Lucretia Joe! This is my plan of attack. I want it carried out with precision timing. Brenda’s the team leader and will lead the attack tonight at midnight.” She handed the laser pointer to Brenda and left the room.
Brenda pointed to a wall map of the northwestern coastline of Scotland. “There is Rock Island,” she said, outlining it with her laser. “They’ll be no moon tonight. A submarine will take us within a mile of the island…so the copper 's radar shouldn’t pick us up. From the sub, we’ll paddle the rest of the way in. We’ll carry ocean survival gear, weapons and explosives. Any questions?”
“How’ll we get back?” a squad leader asked.
“Good question. An hour in, an hour to do the job, and another hour to get back to the sub. The sub’ll wait three hours and then will leave. If you miss the three-hour deadline you’ve got a lot of paddling ahead of you.” She paused. “It’s thirty miles to shore…so don’t miss the boat!”
“No Ma’am! We’ll be there!” the ladies shouted as they stood at attention and salute
. Brenda returned the salute and said, “Meet with your squad leader, check your equipment and be ready to depart headquarters at 2100!”
Lucretia Joe watched the group on a television monitor. They’ll do a good job, tonight, she thought. Brenda and the girls will give payback to Scotland Yard’s harassment of my organization. Let’s see how coppers like having their supplies destroyed. She laughed. “The only good copper,” she
muttered, “is a thirsty and hungry one!”
Rock Island 1 P.M.
“No search warrants issued, yet, Colonel!” the sergeant cried as Max Kelada walked into the communications tent.
Max shook his head. “We can’t move without ‘em,” he muttered. “We’ll have to sit here until the judge signs them. Keep the men alert. Our mission could be approved anytime.”
“Yessir!”
Cave Demon Isle, Atlantic Ocean 2:30 P.M.
Kewpie swam to the surface first. Inside the cave, she hoisted herself on a flat rock, removed her facemask and flipped the switch on her air tank.
A moment later Maury’s head appeared above the surface of the water. He pulled himself up to where Kewpie was sitting. “Well, what do you think?” he asked.
“You’re the best Honolulu detective since Charley Chan,” Kewpie replied.
“You hypothesized about where the stolen salmon were hidden…and you hit it right on the nose. We found ‘em. What do we do next?”
“We call Scotland Yard. They’ll do the rest…get search warrants…return the salmon to their rightful owners…and jail the crooks. My cellular phone’s in a
waterproof compartment in the raft.”
Kewpie looked around the inside of the cave. “Maury!” she exclaimed, “that pointed rock where you tied the raft is gone…and so is the raft!”
“It’s a deep cave. With the tides flowing east, the raft likely drifted toward the back”
A large wave pushed into the cave briefly covering them both. “Get your equipment on and follow me,” he ordered. “This storm indicates bad w
eather ahead. We’ll find higher ground in the back of the cave.”
“I hope so,” Kewpie thought as she swam behind Maury. “I certainly hope so.”
Chapter 12, Book 2
CHAPTER 12, STORM OF THE CENTURY
Cave Demon Isle, Atlantic Ocean 3 P.M.
Kewpie nodded when Maury pointed upward. They swam to the surface and looked around. “This is a huge cave,” he said. “It’s much bigger in the back than in the front.”
Maury’s voice shattered the silence as sound echoed from the limestone walls. He opened a pocket in his wetsuit and pulled out a flashlight.
“Shine it ahead!” Kewpie cried. “I saw something move. Maybe it’s our raft.”
Maury slowly moved the beam of light to where Kewpie was pointing. “Must’ve been a fish,” he said, staring at the bubbles in the water. “Had to be a big one.” He turned off the flashlight and replaced it in his pocket. “Let’s keep looking. The raft’s got to be around here.”
“Okay,” Kewpie replied. She adjusted her face mask and followed Maury deeper into the cave.
3:15 P.M.
“There it is!” Maury cried. “The raft’s balanced on that big rock near the roof. Wonder how it got up there?”
A loud splash echoed throughout the cave. The raft disappeared in the swirling water. “I don’t think that was a big rock,” Kewpie said in a trembling voice. “That was a monster, Maury.”
Maury blinked his eyes and shone the flashlight where he last saw the raft. “Well, I’ll be doggoned. Both the rock and raft are gone. Never seen anything like it.”
“Let’s get out of here. I’m scared!”
“There’s a logical explanation for everything,” Maury said. “I’m staying here until I uncover the solution. Watch out!”
The raft popped to the surface and lay motionless by Kewpie.
Le t’s get in the raft,” Maury suggested. “We’ll go to the cave entrance and try to contact Scotland Yard on the cellular phone. Maybe the storm has died down by now and our call can get through.”
3:20 P.M.
“Hold tight!” Maury cried as he started the engine. “Here we go!” In a few minutes he saw lightning flash in the distance. He cut the motor and the raft drifted to the front of the cave.
“Should I tie the raft to this rock while you make your phone call?” Kewpie asked.
Maury nodded. He opened the waterproof compartment, removed the cellular phone and dialed. Bbbzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. “Static is all I get. This storm’s interfering with satellite communications.”
“The waves are getting bigger, Maury. We better move back for safety.”
“You’re right. We’ll find out where this cave leads. We’ll be like explorers Lewis and Clark…mapping new territory.”
Kewpie gulped. “What about that big fish we saw? Could it eat us?”
“Not likely,” Maury said. “If it didn’t in the past, it shouldn’t think of us as a meal in the future.”
“Are you sure?”
“In life, nothing is sure. Everything we do is a calculated risk.” He cranked the motor and the raft moved deeper into the cave.
Kewpie crossed her fingers as she crouched in the bow. I’m not going to let him know I’m scared, she thought. If he’s not frightened, neither will I be!
“Life’s a great adventure,” he said. “It’s a balance between certainty and uncertainty. I’m always willing to take a chance, Kewpie. Venturing into the unknown has brought success for me in the past. It should work just as well in the future.”
“That’s why you’re Honolulu’s greatest detective!” Kewpie interrupted. “Success comes to the risk-takers…not to those who always play it safe.” She pointed ahead. “This cave ends in a tunnel over there.”
Maury stopped the raft. “I’d like to explore this tunnel…see where it leads,” he said. “Is that okay with you?”
“Sure. You taught me that even the turtle has to stick his neck out to get ahead. Let’s stick our necks out and check the tunnel.”
Maury focused his flashlight and gunned the motor. “Full speed ahead!” he shouted as the raft sped into the tunnel.
5:20 P.M.
“Up ahead!” Kewpie yelled. “There’s a light at the end of the tunnel.”
Maury cut the motor to neutral as the raft drifted into the bright light. Kewpie shielded her eyes and looked around. “We seem to be on a lake,” she said. “There’s a sign over there on the bank.”
He steered the raft toward the sign. “Ah ha,” he chuckled. “We’re at Loch Ness southwest of Inverness on the mainland.”
Loch Ness
Kewpie stared at the sign. “So what we saw was the…….”
“Yes,” Maury interrupted. “Nessie does exist. She found us and led us to safety. She’s a good Loch Ness monster.”
Maury took out his cellular phone and dialed.
A voice answered, “Scotland Yard, Chief Inspector Sherlock Mouse speaking.”
“Uncle Sherlock,” Maury said, “We located the stolen salmon in the northwest bay of Demon Isle.” He listened for a few minutes and hung up.
“What did your uncle say?”
“Scotland Yard will get a search warrant and rescue the salmon as soon as the storm is over. All ships in northwest Scotland are now confined to port and airplanes are grounded. It’s being called The Storm of the Century.”
“What did he suggest we do, next?” Kewpie asked.
“He told us to return the way we came…and as soon as the storm breaks he advised we return to the Old Boat Yard to rebury our equipment, and finish our vacation at Gruinard Bed and Breakfast. Scotland Yard will handle everything now.”
“When did he say the storm will be over?”
“Around midnight,” Maury replied. He steered the raft back into the dark tunnel and shifted the motor to full speed.
Finally, we’ll have a vacation, together, she thought. Kewpie’s fingers were still crossed as she huddled in the bow of the raft. Maury was smiling and unconcerned as the raft raced through the tunnel on its way back to Demon Isle.
Chapter 13, Book 2
CHAPTER 13, CHERCHEZ LA FEMME
Black Submarine Off Demon Isle, Atlantic Ocean Tuesday 11:30 P.M.
“Down periscope!” the captain cried. “There’s a raft heading toward us! Proceed north at full speed! Make a course for Rock Island!”
“
Is the storm over?” Brenda asked. “Will this mission begin on schedule?”
“Yes to both questions,” the captain said. “We’ll surface off Rock Island within thirty minutes.”
Brenda checked her watch and smiled.
Inflatable Raft Off Demon Isle, Atlantic Ocean 11:31 P.M.
“Maury, did you see it?” Kewpie exclaimed. “It was twenty feet to our right. I thought it was a Cyclops, at first.”
“Yes, I saw the periscope,” Maury replied calmly. “It could be a Royal Navy sub …or it might even be Russian on a secret mission. I better let Scotland Yard know about it.” He removed the cellular phone from the waterproof compartment and dialed. He spoke for a few minutes and turned off the phone and put it back in its compartment.
“Did they say anything about the sub?” Kewpie inquired.
“No. There was a skeleton crew at The Yard. A sergeant took the message; said he’d give the information to Uncle Sherlock in the morning when he came to work.”
“I’m tired, Maury.” She looked at her watch. “We should be in our beds by 2:30.”
“Yup. In a couple of hours our vacation will begin.”
Thank heavens, Kewpie thought. We finally get a vacation together. She crossed her fingers as she stared at the Scottish mainland from the bow. The distant coastline was illuminated by a full moon. “Isn’t the night romantic?” she purred as she moved to the stern of the raft and kissed him on the forehead.
Maury was blushing when he said, “Yup.”
Mackenzie Farm Carnousie, Scotland 11:45 P.M.
Mactavish banged on the front door. “Open up. That crooked caddie’s escaped!” he shouted.
Mackenzie opened the door wide-eyed. “You mean the fellow, Butch, we tarred and feathered last week?”
“Yeah. He may seek revenge against you. I came to warn you as soon as I heard.”
“How’d he escape?”
“A shapely lass dressed in a sexy black outfit delivered a birthday cake to him. Then she dazzled the jailer with small talk, gave him her address and phone number and left. That night, Butch used a hacksaw blade concealed in the cake to saw through the bars. He’s on the loose.”
“What about the shapely lass? Did they track her down?”
Mactavish shook his head. “No. Her address was a vacant building and her phone number was bogus. The constable suggested that you leave the area until the escapee is captured. It’ll be safer for you away from your farm. We neighbors’ll take care of your animals.”
“I could always visit my daughter, Jenny,” Mackenzie said. “She’s a barrister up north on Whisky Island.”
“Good idea. I’ll help you pack.”
“Let me call her first. If it’s okay I can make the noon North Scotland train. Can you give me a lift to the station, tomorrow?”
“Sure, old friend. It’ll be a pleasure.”
Edinburgh, Scotland 86 Shady Lane Wednesday 2 A.M.
He took the key and inserted it into the lock. The door opened and he stepped inside.
“Did everything work on schedule, Butch?” a voice asked.
“Uh-huh, Boss. I found the clothes and bicycle where you left ‘em. I got here as fast as I could on the back roads. Didn’t see a single copper.”
Commando Joe laughed. “They’ve set up roadblock on the highways lookin’ for you. We outwitted them like we’re gonna do to that Mouse. No copper’s as smart as us.”
“They just got lucky in the past.”
“Yeah. With my sister’s help we’ll nail the Mouse once and for all.”
Butch scratched his head. “How do we get ‘em?”
“My sister’s got it all figured out…he’ll be arrested for possession of a loaded Tommy Gun, tomorrow.”
“But he’s a copper, Boss!”
“Yeah, but it ain’t legal to possess an automatic weapon in Great Britain.”
“Brilliant strategy. It’ll keep that Mouse out of our hair for a long time.”
“My sister’s got a magistrate in her hip pocket. He’s already signed the search warrant for her. Two constables will serve it on the Mouse in a few hours and search his room. The Tommy Gun’s hidden under his bed.”
“Yeah, but he can always say he never saw it before.”
Joe laughed. “He can say that all day…but no one’ll believe him. Sis’ fingerprint expert used scotch tape to transfer fingerprints that she found in his room to the gun. His print are all over it.”
Butch clapped his hands. “Brilliant…just brilliant, Boss!”
“The Mouse’ll be drawing Social Security before he gets out of prison. We’ll frame him good. We’ve got the best framer in Scotland working on the case.”
“Who’s that?”
“A barrister on Whisky Island named Jennie Mackenzie. She does all the legal work for my sister, Lucretia Joe.”
“Wow!” Butch exclaimed. “Lucretia Joe’s the Al Capone of northern Scotland. I’m impressed with your sister and her lady gangsters. They got me out of jail.”
“Lucretia’s in the big leagues,” Joe replied. “It takes a big league thinker who’s smarter than the Mouse to frame him. If anyone can do it, my sister can.”
Gruinard Bed & Breakfast Gruinard Bay, Northern Scotland Wednesday, 2:30 A.M.
Maury kicked off his shoes, switched off the light and fell on the bed.
.“Aren’t you going to change to pajamas?” Kewpie asked as she turned on her flashlight.
“No. Too tired,” Maury replied. He slipped under the covers and pulled a pillow under his head. “What are you doing?” he muttered.
“Going to check under the bed.”
Maury grinned. “You women are t-o-o-ofunny…always looking for Mel Gibson under your bed.”
He shook his head and chuckled.
“We’d have heard him snoring if he was there!”
Kewpie blushed and turned off the flashlight. She stretched out on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
A moment later Maury was asleep.
Chapter 14, Book 2
CHAPTER 14, THE QUEEN’S REQUEST
Gruinard Bay, Northern Scotland Wednesday, 3 A.M.
Private Investigator Katherine Katz trained her night vision binoculars on Maury’s room. “Can’t see nothin’, Darlene,” she said. “Lights are out. They musta hit the sack.”
Darlene Dawgs puffed on a small cigar. “I wonder where they went yesterday. By the time we found our office sign and got back here for the stakeout it was midnight. A couple hours later they walked down the beach to their room.”
“No tellin’ where they went. They couldn’t have gone far on foot.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll get some shut-eye for two hours. Wake me at 5.”
“Okay.”
Rock Island Off the Northwest Coast, Scotland 4 A.M.
“Earthquake,” a voice yelled. Soldiers ran from the caves in their pajamas.
Colonel Max Kelada quickly dressed and jogged to the communications tent. “What happened?” he asked. “A jolt knocked me out of bed.”
“Dunno, Colonel,” said the sergeant. “Maybe an earthquake.”
“Check the food and equipment. Make sure our supplies are okay.”
“Yessir! We’ll do it right away.” The sergeant left the tent. Max sat in his chair and waited.
Gruinard Bed and Breakfast Gruinard Bay, Northwest Scotland 4:30 A.M.
Knock…Knock…Knock “Open up!” cried a voice.
Kewpie poked Maury on the shoulder. “Maury, wake up,” she muttered. “Someone’s at the door yelling. It must be important.”
Maury sat up, rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock. It better be important, he thought as he got out of bed, it’s 4:30. He walked to the door. “What do you want?” he demanded.
“We want to talk with you.”
“Who are you?”
“Constable Murray and Constable Brown.”
“Shove your identification under the door, please.”
Maury turned on the lights as Kewpie pulled her bathrobe over her pajamas and joined him at the door. She reached down and checked the two badges as they were pushed under the door. “They look good to me,” she said.
Maury nodded and opened the door. Two constables burst into the room; one handed Maury a search warrant while the second, a bear of a man, stood blocking the doorway with his massive shoulders.
“What’s going on?” Maury protested.
The first constable clicked his flashlight on and pointed it under the bed. “There ain’t nothing there,” he muttered. “A stoolie told us you had a loaded Tommy Gun under the bed.”
Kewpie walked toward the constable. “Let me turn off the light and I’ll show you something,” she whispered. She turned off the light switch, walked to the window and pointed. “Out there, about fifty yards down the beach are two shady characters…maybe about to rob someone.”
“I can see one of ‘em move,” the second constable said. “Sorry to disturb you, Govern’r. We’ll check out those characters on the beach.”
Kewpie stayed by the window and watched the constables creep up on the PI’s. Maury was at her side. They watched a flashlight illuminate the darkness as the two PI’s raised their hands above their head. In the moonlight, Maury could make out the outline of the large constable holding a Tommy Gun in his hand.
“Was there really a Tommy Gun under the bed?” Maury questioned.
Kewpie nodded. “Woman’s intuition told me something was wrong. After you fell asleep, I found the gun planted under the bed. Someone was trying to frame you. Mouse-sized fingerprints were on it.”
“I’m impressed.”
“I looked out the window and saw shadows of someone looking into our window. I thought it could be Commando Joe and his sister…so I wiped the fingerprints from the gun, jammed it so it couldn’t fire, wrapped it in a pillow case and carried it down the back stairs. I circled around to where the shadows were and hid the gun under a log behind them.”
“You’re a genius,” Maury said admiringly.
“You’re a flatterer,” Kewpie replied. “Let’s get our beauty sleep.”
Maury nodded as he jumped in bed. Kewpie stood by the window and watched two handcuffed prisoners protesting as they were shoved into the police wagon.
8 A.M..
Rrrnnnnggg……………………
Kewpie sat up in bed and poked Maury’s arm. “The phone’s ringing.”
Maury muttered. “You take it. This is our vacation. I’m going back to sleep.” He turned over and began to snore.
Kewpie reached for the cellular phone. “Yes, Kewpie speaking.”
“Is Maury there? This is Uncle Sherlock.”
“He’s asleep. Should I wake him?”
“Yes!”
“Maury, wake up!” she cried. “Uncle’s calling from Scotland Yard!”
Maury rubbed his eyes and sat up. Kewpie handed him the phone. “Hello Uncle, what’s up.”
“Danger, Maury. The Queen’s requested you return to London immediately for your own safety. The word on the street is that Lucretia Joe has a hit contract out on you.”
“Okay, Uncle. We’ll take the morning train to London. We’ll finish our vacation at The British Museum and Tate Galleries.”
“Sorry, your vacation must wait.”
“Why?” Kewpie stood next to Maury trying to hear every word.
“There’s a crisis on the London Underground, our subway system.”
“I understand it’s falling apart,” Maury interrupted.
“If you were built in 1863 you’d be in bad shape too!” Sherlock said sharply.
“However, the problem is with a gang of hoodlums who’ve been robbing the subway cars like Jesse James did in the 1870’s. They rob ‘em and disappear without a trace into the tunnels. Scotland Yard needs your help.”
Kewpie motioned for Maury to give her the phone. He handed it to her. “Uncle Sherlock,” she asked. “Can’t Max Kelada handle the robbers? Maury and I are vacationing.”
“Sorry, Kewpie,” Sherlock replied. “Max and his men were airlifted back to London this morning. Gangsters blew up their supplies on Rock Island.
They’re on another assignment at this time.”
Kewpie shrugged. “It’s up to Maury,” she said. She handed him the phone.
Maury watched Kewpie glare at him when he said, “Uncle, we’ll be on the next train to London!”
* * *
At 5 P.M. they stepped off the train at Victoria Station, London.
Chapter 15, . Book 2
CHAPTER 15, A TASTE OF ALMONDS
Edinburgh, Scotland 86 Shady Lane Wednesday, 5:15 P.M.
Rrrnnnggg………………….
“Shall I get the phone, Boss?” Butch asked.
Commando Joe waved his hand. “Naw,” he growled. “I got it.” He spoke briefly and hung up.
Butch opened his London map. “Good news, Boss? Ain’t seen you grin like that since you trimmed those suckers with your Internet stock.”
Joe rubbed his hands together like a scout starting a fire. “Not just good news…but great news! That was my sister. A hit man’s been hired to eliminate Maury the Mouse!”
“That Mouse’s bad news. He’s cost us plenty of dough!”
“Yeah. The hit’ll take place in London. I wanta be there when it happens.”
“Can I go with ya, Boss?”
“I need someone to carry the bags. Start packin’ right now. The plane leaves in an hour.”
Butch’s eyes widened like a weasel. “That Mouse is gonna get it!” he shouted… “and I’m gonna have a front row seat! Wow!”
Scotland Yard, London 5:30 P.M.
“Can I help, Govern’r?” a constable asked.
Maury nodded. “I’ve been carrying this suitcase from Victoria Station.”
“Who you seein’, Govern’r?”
“My Uncle, Sherlock Mouse.”
“Oh, the Chief Inspector,” the constable said. “Right this way, folks.” He carried the bag to the door at the top of the stairs and knocked.
“Come in!” a voice cried.
The constable opened the door. “Your nephew’s ‘ere,” he said. He set the bag on the floor and left. Maury and Kewpie stepped inside.
Sherlock motioned them to the couch. “Sit here,” he said. “I’ll brief you on what’s happened in your absence.” He sat across from them and reached into a large file folder. “Here is the front page article about the Underground Bandits. They rob London’s Underground trains whenever the moon is full. After the robberies they vanish like magicians.”
Maury thought for a moment and asked, “Did you track them with the bloodhound Tallyho?”
“Aye. Talleyho followed them a half-mile down the tracks and lost their scent. We’ve searched the entire Underground tube system for clues and have none. We need your help.”
“Bring us up-to-date on the hit man that Lucretia Joe’s hired to get Maury,” Kewpie interrupted.
“This hit man is a woman,” Sherlock continued. “An informer told our agent that she strikes like a black widow spider. Unlike most hit men who shoot you, she does away with her victims in an unusual way.”
“How?” Kewpie asked. “What’s her modus operandi?”
Sherlock pointed to his mouth. “She poisons them. She was a chemistry major at The Sorbonne.”
“French?” Kewpie inquired.
“Yes. Goes by the alias Francine LaChat. Here’s a copy of her graduation picture.”
Maury took the picture and studied it carefully with Kewpie. “We’ll watch our back, Uncle.”
“Your lodging is at a Scotland Yard safe house at 221-B Baker Street. One of the magistrates suggested you go there.”
“Isn’t that where Sherlock Holmes used to live?” Kewpie asked.
“Yes. It’s the last place crooks would look for Maury. After you check in, you’re both scheduled to attend a wine tasting party at eight. The Prime Minister will be there and wants to speak with you. Here are your tickets.”
Kewpie took the tickets as Maury picked up his bag. “Thanks Uncle,” he said, “we’ll call you after the party for further instructions.
“Good luck! Be careful!” Sherlock cried as the door closed behind them.
Royale Winery Trafalgar Square, London 8 P.M.
The taxi stopped at the door. “’ere you are Govern’r. This ‘ere’s the place where the Royals hang out,” the driver said.
Maury nodded and helped Kewpie from the cab. “You look beautiful in your evening dress,” he said.
“I’ve never seen you in a tuxedo, before. You look so distinguished.”
He paid the driver as Kewpie hooked her arm in his. They walked in step like soldiers at a parade and entered the foyer. “Don’t we make a beautiful couple?” she murmured.
Maury nodded as a butler opened the door to the ballroom. Maury handed him his reservation card. He motioned them to follow him to the staircase. “Maury the Mouse and Kewpie,” he announced to the crowd. “Make yourselves at home, Govern’r,” he said.
Maury took Kewpie hand and descended the stairs. “Keep your eyes open in the ballroom, Kewpie. We may have enemies down there.”
“They’re jammed into this room like sardines in a tin container,” she replied. “There must be five hundred people here.”
A waitress approached Maury. “Good evening, Monsieur,” she purred. “Would you like champagne?”
“Do you have sarsaparilla?”
“Oui,” she said. She handed him a glass of sarsaparilla. The waitress turned to Kewpie. “Madam, would you like one, too.”
“Yes, thank you,” Kewpie replied as she reached for the glass, which she clicked with Maury’s. “Good health and a long life,” she toasted.
Maury glanced over Kewpie’s shoulder. “I wonder where that French waitress disappeared to. She was here one moment and gone the next.”
“Strange that she had two sarsaparilla glasses on her tray.”
Maury put his finger into Kewpie’s drink, sniffed and touched it to his tongue. “Aha, just as I thought,” he said. “It has the smell and taste of bitter almonds.” He repeated the procedure with his drink.
“Maury the Mouse, you ruined my drink!” Kewpie complained. “You stuck your finger in it! How can I drink it now?”
“I saved your life my dear. What was in the sarsaparilla was deadly…part of a double assassination attempt.”
“What was it?” she gasped.
“A colorless, deadly liquid called cyanide. It smells like bitter almonds. At the FBI Academy, I learned what a solution of hydrogen cyanide gas can do when mixed with water.”
Kewpie trembled as Maury took her in his arms. “It’s my job to protect the
world from evil,” he declared. “I’ve dedicated my life to stamp out crime and corruption.”
It seems like an impossible task, she thought. But if anyone can do it… he will!
Chapter 16, Book 2
CHAPTER 16, THE TUBE
Scotland Yard, London Office of Chief Inspector Sherlock Mouse Thursday, 8 A.M.
Sherlock was on the phone when Maury and Kewpie opened the door. “Sit down,” he said, motioning with his hand. “I’ll be with you in a jiffy. We’re checking the people working at the Royale Winery.” A minute later he hung up.
“Was that French waitress the hit man, Francine LaChat?” Kewpie asked.
“Yes, you’re right,” Sherlock added. “She vanished after giving you both a glass of sarsaparilla. We have her picture from the security videotape. English and French custom inspectors are on the lookout for her. We suspect she had accomplices in London. We’re scouring the city for them.”
“I called you as soon as I analyzed what was in the drinks,” Maury said. “It was cyanide.”
“Glad you did, my lad. The Yard started gathering information about this assassination attempt minutes after you hung up.”
“Are we working the Underground Bandits case by ourselves?” Maury inquired.
“No. Marlowe can help. He knows London inside-out.”
“Can we also use Talleyho on this case?” Kewpie questioned.
“Certainly. He’s the best bloodhound in England.” Sherlock reached into his desk. “Take this file, Maury. It’ll tell you all you need to know about the robberies on the Tube.”
“The Tube?” Kewpie gasped.
Sherlock laughed. “That’s what us Brits call what you Yanks refer to as the London Underground railway system. It’s the quickest way to get around town. Robberies on the Tube have terrorized citizens!… You’ll be the Number 1 hero in London if you capture the Underground Bandits!”
“I don’t want to be a hero, Uncle,” Maury muttered. “I just want to solve this case... We’ll be at Baker Street reviewing the file. Marlowe can contact us there.” Kewpie shrugged and followed Maury from the office.
221-B Baker Street, London Noon
Maury glanced up from the stack of pages on the desk. “Kewpie, the phone’s ringing in the other room,” he said. “It’s probably Marlowe. Tell him to join us.”
Kewpie put her notes on a chair and ran into the other room. She returned a moment later. “Maury,” she mumbled, “it’s some man named MacKenzie.”
Maury’s teeth firmly clenched shut. “No one’s supposed to know we’re here. I’m going to find out how he found us.” He rose and charged into the other room. He picked up the phone, took a deep breath and said, “Hello, may I help you?”
“Yes. I’d like to speak to Maury the Mouse.”
“Why do you want to speak with him?”
“My name is MacKenzie from Carnousie. I’m a farmer who bet his farm on the Mouse in the British Open. He saved my farm, Lad. It’s the least I could do to thank the bloke.”
“I’ll relay your thanks to him,” Maury replied, disguising his voice. “Might I ask you a question?”
“Surely.”
“How did you get this telephone number?”
“I ain’t no clairvoyant… just taking the place today for my daughter’s secretary answering the phone. My daughter’s a barrister, you know. Some bloke called the office and left a message that the Mouse was staying at 221-B Baker Street in London… gave me this telephone number, too.”
“Do you remember the bloke’s name? He may be a friend.”
“Aye, he sounded friendly. Said his name was Maguiness.”
“Thanks for calling, Mr. MacKenzie. I’ll tell the Mouse you called.” Maury hung up the phone and leaned against the wall in thought. “Kewpie!” he cried, “have you ever heard of anyone named Maguiness?”
Kewpie entered the room. “It may not mean anything,” she said, “ but the search warrants to search the London Underground were signed by a magistrate named Maguiness.”
London’s East End 12:15 P.M..
Butch slouched in the chair and opened the newspaper. He stared wide-eyed at the headline. “Did you see the paper, Boss?” he shouted. “They didn’t get the Mouse! He escaped the hit!”
Commando Joe’s teeth clenched. “We got to do it ourselves,” he sneered. “If ya want a job done right, you got to do it yourself.”
“Yeah, right. The Jackal’s still in jail?” Butch said. “Who you gonna get for the hit?”
“You!”
“Me? I’ve never done this kind of work before.”
“You’ve got to start sometime. Here’s the plan.”
Scotland Yard, London Office of Chief Inspector Sherlock Mouse 12:20 P.M.
“Marlowe,” Sherlock said, “have a seat. We have a problem.”
“What’s up?”
“Maury just called. The public knows where he’s staying.”
“How they find that? I thought that only Scotland Yard knew.”
“Someone named Maguiness spread the word.”
“Magistrate Maguiness?” Marlowe gasped.
“Could be. We’re checking his office phone records… I want you at 221-B Baker Street immediately. Maury’s in a dangerous situation.”
“Yessir! I’m on my way!”
Lucretia Joe Headquarters Northwest Scotland 12:30 P.M.
Lucretia Joe hung up the phone and turned to her visitor. “Francine, what happened at the Royale Winery?”
“Zee Mouse was too smart.”
“Yes. My brother’s been trying to stop him all his life.”
.“Is Scotland Yard after moi?”
“Aye. Word’s out that your photo’s posted all over Great Britain. You gotta go undercover ‘til the heat’s off.”
“What about zee Mouse?”
Lucretia stuck out her chest proudly. “My brother’s going to take care of him personally. When he does you’ll still get your fee.”
“Merci, Lucretia. Merci beaucoup!”
221-B Baker Street 12:40 P.M.
Kewpie heard the knock on the door first. “Who is it?” she inquired.
“The housekeeper.”
Kewpie opened the door and a middle-aged woman entered. “Ma’am, I’m Mrs. Hudson.”
“The housekeeper’s here,” Kewpie cried. “Is your shopping list ready?”
Maury handed it to her. “We need everything,” he emphasized.
M rs. Hudson glanced at the list. These Yanks‘re strange, she thought . Wonder why they want five kilos of modeling clay?
“The clay is part of the plan…” was all that Mrs. Hudson overheard Maury before she closed the door behind her and walked to the stairs.
Chapter 17. Book 2
CHAPTER 17, FEBRUARY 14th
“Can’t get this Tommy Gun together, Boss,” Butch complained. He threw his hands in the air. “There ain’t noinstructions with it!”
“Give it to me!” Commando Joe said. “Don’t point the barrel at me, Dummy!”
“Sorry Boss.”
“It’s easy to assemble,” Joe continued. “First, you screw the barrel into the stock. He took the barrel, turned it clockwise, and picked up the belt of bullets. “Then thread the ammo into this slot. Hear it click?”
.“Yeah.”
“The click means it’s ready to fire. All you do is point it at the Mouse, line up the front with the rear sight and fire in bursts of six shots.”
“Why only six-shots, Boss?”
“You don’t want to burn out the gun barrel do you? We might need it on another job.”
“How come we got to do this job tonight?”
“This is the anniversary, Butch. Ever heard of the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre.”
“Yeah. Every crook knows about that. They used Tommy Guns. Chicago gangster Al Capone made sure seven members of Bugs Moran’s gang had a bad day.”
Joe smiled. “What Capone did to Moran’s men we’ll do to the Mouse. Just across the street is the Mouse’s apartment. At sunset we turn off our lights…and wait. When he steps in front of the window you let him have it.”
“I remember, Boss. Six shots at a time… This is exciting. I’ve started a new career.”
“When you get him every gang in England will bid for your services. Youcan print up business cards that say Have Tommy Gun, Will Travel.”
Butch looked up dreamily. “Cool,” he muttered. “Ma will be so proud of me.”
221-B Baker Street 2:45 P.M.
Mrs. Hudson knocked and opened the door. “Detective Marlowe from Scotland Yard to see you,” she announced.
Maury motioned him in. “Sorry I was delayed,” he apologized. “The Tube ain’t running no more ‘cause of the Underground Bandits. The streets‘re clogged with cars. Hard to get about the city.”
“Kewpie and I am working on that problem now.”
“Got any leads, Govern’r?”
“Maybe. Have you seen this file about the Bandits? It’s on the desk”
Marlowe walked to the desk and squinted his eyes. “Can’t read it,” he complained. “I’ll open the curtains behind the desk to let some light in. “Just curious,” he said spying Kewpie working in a corner of the room, “what’s the lady doin’?”
“She a sculptress… making a bust of my head.”
Marlowe shrugged and started reading the file.
Rooms-For-Rent Flop House 3 P.M.
“Get some shut-eye, Butch. We could have a long night in front of us.”
“Boss, how we gonna escape after we get the Mouse? Will we go through the streets or over the roofs?”
“It’s a three-step escape: 1) I’ll disassemble the Tommy Gun and put it back into its case; 2) You take the case and follow me up to the roof; and 3) We jump from building-to-building until we get to the river. We scoot down a fire escape to the alley and run to the river where a motor boat will be waiting to slip us out of town ‘til the heat dies down. We’ll lay lowin Paris.”
“Great planning, Boss. You thought of everything.”
It’ll go like clockwork,” Joe boasted. “Hit the sack. I’ll wake youat six.”
Butch closed his eyes, stretched on the bed and yawned.
221-B Baker Street 4 P.M.
Marlowe closed the file and stood up. “When do we start solving the Tube holdups?” he asked.
“Not quite yet,” Maury replied. “We expect an assassination attempt before midnight. That takes precedence.”
“Blimey. How’d you know?”
“Police informers say that Commando Joe’s in London. His hero’s an American gangster named Al Capone. Capone bumped off rivalson this day in 1929. I believe he’ll make an attempt on my life tonight.”
“What protection do you have?”
“The Chief Inspector’s men are in the street surrounding this house.” Maury pointed out the window. “See that man selling newspapers,” he explained, “and the peddler with the pushcart. They’re agents with Scotland Yard… So is the woman at the corner with the baby carriage.”
Marlowe grunted as he sat down on the couch. Maury drew the curtains and said, “Now for the first step in our plan.”
Kewpie moved her fingers nimbly over the clay and made eye contact. “Maury,” she said as she held up the bust, “it’s finished.”
Marlowe eyes widened. “Why it looks just like Maury! What’s it gonna be used for?”
Kewpie smiled. “It’s Maury’s idea.”
“It’s a decoy to trap assassins,” Maury interrupted. “The plan’s already approved by Scotland Yard.” Marlowe moved closer as Maury sketched the main points on a blank sheet of paper.
Rooms-For-Rent Flop House 6 P.M.
“Wake up,” Joe said.
Butch sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Will you help me, Boss. I’m nervous.”
“Sure. I was nervous before my first hit, too. It’s normal. When you’ve got your equipment ready I’ll turn off the lights.”
6:30 P.M..
. Butch walked to the open window. “I’m ready Boss,” he said. “It’ll be dark, soon.”
“Lights out! When you see the Mouse…let himhave it!”
“Yeah,” he laughed. “Bursts of six. Then another…and another to make sure!” Butch flexed his trigger finger and stared at a window in the building directly across the street.
221-B Baker Street 7 P.M.
“Is the bust in position, Kewpie?”
“Yes, Maury. It’s on the desk.”
“Sure looks like you, Govern’r!” Marlowe interrupted.
“Hope the assassins think so, too,” Maury said. “Get in the hallway when I turn on the lights.”
“Aye, we’re both in the hall.”
“Here I go! Lights on!” Maury cried as he dove to the floor. The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was the sound of bullets crashing through the window.
“Are you okay, Maury?” Kewpie screamed, but there was only silence before another cascade of bullets splattered the bust to smithereens.
Chapter 18, Book2
CHAPTER 18, RETURN OF A HORSE NAMED COCHISE
221-B Baker Street 7:02 P.M.
A third blast of bullets shattered plaster and glass in the living room. Kewpie stiffened like a statue. From the hallway, she reached her hand around the door jamb and flicked off the lig
“I’ll check on Maury,” Kewpie whispered. “See if the agents in the street can pinpoint where the shots came from.”
“Aye, Ma’am,” Marlowe replied. “I’ll check with ‘em…Be back in a jiffy.” He raced down the stairs two-at-a-time.
Kewpie crawled into the room like an infantry soldier advancing on an enemy machine gun nest…head down, nose to the ground. She brushed fragments of hardened clay from her path. Glad I took the advanced First Aid Course at the Police Academy, she thought. She took Maury’s wrist between her thumb and index finger. His pulse is strong. What ………?
“Hi Kewpie,” he mumbled as he hugged her.
“ Maury the Mouse! Were you acting?” Kewpie pouted. “I thought you were injured or worse!”
Maury pointed to the lump on the back of his head. “Something hit me here,” he explained. “I think it was that big piece of clay over there! It knocked me out!”
Kewpie picked it up. “It was the nose on the bust of your face,” she said laughing. “If your nose wasn’t so big the lump on your head’d be smaller.”
Maury smiled. “That’s what I like about you…a smart lady with a sense of humor.”
Kewpie hugged him. “I was concerned about you. Lie still while I get you an icepack. I’m so happy the assassin missed.”
“I’m happy, too.”
Rooms-For-Rent Flop House 220 Baker Street
“Got the Mouse, Boss!” Butch boasted. “Right between the eyes!”
“Good job! A dead Copper is a good Copper! Let’s vamooseout of here!”
221-B Baker Street 7:45 P.M.
A black hearse stopped in the street. Two men carried a stretcher from the hearse and rushed up the stairs.
“He’s here,” Kewpie said, pointing at Maury who was still on the floor with an icepack on his head.
“Lie still, Govern’r, when we carry you out,” the first man advised.
“The crooks may have spies around,” the second man added. “The chief inspector wants the assassin to think he succeeded.”
Maury nodded and rolled onto the stretcher. Kewpie slipped the icepack under his head as the first man placed a sheet over Maury’s body and head.
“Can he breathe?” Kewpie questioned.
“Yes, Ma’am,” the second man replied. “Scotland Yard designed this sheet with small breathing holes concealed in the material. You and Detective Marlowe are to come with us, too.”
Kewpie nodded and walked behind them down the stairs to the hearse. Marlowe opened the back doors and the stretcher was hoisted inside. Kewpie and Marlowe followed it inside and shut the doors. The two men jumped into the front seat as the hearse sped off.
Hearse 8 P.M.
Maury sat up and looked around. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. “Marlowe,” he asked, “did you find who fired the shots?”
“No, Govern’r. The assassins escaped, but we found where the shots were fired from. The Yard has agents sealing off the building across the street at this moment…and a constable is tracking the assassins with Talleyho over rooftops. That’s how they escaped.”
“What’s next?” Kewpie asked.
“Standing Operating Procedure,” Maury said. “Disinformation will be the key to our future work in Great Britain. With the crooks thinking they eliminated me, we’ll have a free hand to investigate the Case of the Underground Bandits.”
“No need to keep watching our backs all the time,” Kewpie explained. “We can concentrate our effort on this baffling case.”
“Watcha goin’ to do, Govern’r?”
Kewpie opened her pocketbook. “Here’s your Groucho disguise, Maury,” she said laughing. I’ll wear my red wig, again.” She adjusted her wig as Maury slipped on his disguise.
“I wouldn’t know you in a thousand years,” Marlowe muttered…“Incidentally, the constable with Talleyho will meet us after he finishes tracking the assassin.”
“Having a bloodhound like Talleyho will be important,” Maury stated. “A bloodhound and a horse are both essential if we’re to crack this case.”
“A ‘orse?” Marlowe questioned.
Kewpie laughed. “Not just any horse. My horse Cochise is already in London. He can help us solve this baffling case?”
Marlowe scratched his head. “What can he do that a bloodhound can’t?”
“After each holdup, the bandits disappear in thin air,” Maury said. “Citizens tell of a band of wild horses sighted, whenever the moon is full, in Pegasus Park. By the morning the horses have disappeared.”
“Blimey. Maybe these Londoners drank too much ale.”
“Perhaps,” Maury continued. “Kewpie will work with Cochise. You and I will handle Talleyho.”
"Aye Govern’r.”
arse stopped at a secluded estate outside London. The doors opened. “Here we are at a Scotland Yard Safe House,”the driver said. “Guards are patrolling the grounds twenty-four hohTurs a day. Take any bedroom you like on the second floor.”
“Where’s my horse?” Kewpie asked.
“In the stable, Ma’am, ‘the driver explained. “It’s behind the house. Be ‘appy to take you there.”
"Thanks. I’d like to see him, tonight.” Kewpie turned to Maury. “I’ll only be a few minutes. See you, soon.”
They watched her march off with the driver. Maury turned to Marlowe and pointed toward the house. “Let’s go,” he said.
“Aye, Govern’r. It’ll be good to start working on another case, t’morrow.
“Yes it will,” Maury agreed, holding the icepack to his head. “It certainly will!”
London Waterfront 8:45 P.M.
“Boss, I heard a dog barking behind us!”
“Follow me down the fire escape, Butch! See the boat waiting down there?”
“Yeah! I’m right behind you.”
* * *
Minutes later, Talleyho stopped at the edge of a roof overlooking the waterfront, and stared at a boat speeding into the Thames River. A constable stood helplessly by his side.
Chapter 19, Book 2
CHAPTER 19, THE WRITER’S JOURNAL
Scotland Yard Safe House London Outskirts February 14, 9 P.M.
“What are you doing, Maury?” Kewpie asked as she stepped into the room.
Maury moved away from the telescope. “Have a look. Tell me what you see.”
She pulled the barrel of the telescope to eye level and exclaimed, “It’s beautiful! The stars sparkle like fireflies in the sky. What are we looking at? Is it the Milky Way?”
“It’s a group of stars called the Pegasus Constellation. It’s located in the northern sky named for the mythological, winged horse Pegasus.”
“Pegasus? Is he the flying red horse who used to appear on Mobil gas station signs?”
“Yes. Stories from ancient times tell of strange happenings in Great Britain whenever the moon was full.”
“Like werewolves and vampires?”
Maury nodded. “That and reports of flying horses,” he said. “And recently, the Underground Bandits have been robbing trains.”
“But the trains have stopped running,” Kewpie replied.
“True. Tomorrow night is a full moon. A special train will be running and I’ll be on it with Marlowe.”
“Won’t I be with you?”
“No, Kewpie. I have a special assignment for you and your horse, Cochise. I’ll review it with you, tomorrow.” He pulled down the shades and hopped into bed.
Kewpie slipped under the covers beside him. “What was it you’re going to tell me, tomorrow?” she giggled as she tickled him. “I won’t stop ‘til you tell me.”
Maury threw his hands in the air. “Okay, but please stop tickling me.” He moved to the edge of the bed and picked up a red file folder. “It’s all in here,” he said as he handed it to her. She opened the file and began reading.
February 15, 9 A.M.
Maury sat at a desk as the dog burst into the room, followed by the constable and Marlowe. “Hello, Talleyho,” Maury said, stroking the bloodhound’s head. “Tonight, we’ll be working together.”
“Taleyho’s already found a clue in the Tube,” the constable said. “We rechecked the area where the holdups occurred, and these papers were lying on the tracks. They weren’t there the last time we checked.”
“It’s unusual, Govern’r,” Marlowe added. “The words on the papers don’t make sense.” He handed them to Maury.
“I studied code-breaking at The FBI Academy,” Maury said. “Give me an hour and I’ll see if I can break the code.”
10 A.M.
“Eureka, it’s a writer’s journal!” Maury shouted, holding up the pages. “This case is solved!”
The constable looked at Maury wide-eyed. “How can it be solved until we catch the crooks?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you after the Underground Bandits rob their last train at midnight, tonight. We shall be on it.”
Marlowe poked the constable in the ribs. “Govern’r knows what ‘ee’s doing,” he whispered. “Just do what ‘ee says and we’ll solve this case.”
1 P.M.
Marlowe put his corn-beef sandwich down when the phone rang. He picked up the phone as the constable and Talleyho continued eating. “Marlowe ‘ere,” he said.
This is the Chief Inspector.”
“Yessir!”
“Tell Maury that you’re to be at the Pegasus Park Station before dark. An empty train’ll meet you there. Follow Maury’s instructions. He’s in charge.”
“Aye, Chief Inspector. We’re all on the same team!”
Hotel Des Gangsters Paris, Left Bank 1:30 P.M.
Butch grabbed the newspaper and jumped to his feet. “Did you see the headline, Boss?” he yelled. “The Mouse’s funeral is tomorrow!”
Commando Joe smiled as he read the headline. “I’ll celebrate tonight at the racetrack. What are you gonna do?”
“Folies,” Butch grunted. “The Folies-Bergere.”
Pegasus Park London 5 P.M.
The truck towing a horse trailer stopped at the curb. Kewpie opened the passenger door of the truck and stepped to the curb. She led Cochise from the trailer.
“Here’s a box, Miss,” Marlowe said as he jumped from the truck. He placed the box beside the horse and helped Kewpie mount. “Good luck,” he muttered as he watched Kewpie ride into the woods.
Scotland Yard Safe House 6 P.M.
“Ready to go, Govern’r?” Marlowe asked. “I already left Kewpie and her ‘orse at Pegasus Park.”
.Maury nodded, picked up a file of papers and entered the truck. “It’ll be dark and a full moon, tonight,” Maury said. “Kewpie’s already been briefed. I’ll tell you my plan on the way to headquarters.”
Scotland Yard Office of Chief Inspector Sherlock Mouse 7 p.m.
“It seems like science fiction!” Sherlock exclaimed. “Extra-terrestrial writers robbing trains?”
It’s strange, but true,” Maury said. “When the constable and Talleyho found these pages, it provided the key to solving this case.”
“How?”
“First I had to translate their language,” Maury began. “It was easy as the aliens write and probably speak in acronyms.”
“What’s an acronym?” Marlowe inquired.
“It’s a word made with the first letter of other words,” Maury explained. “At The Yard, you call Standard Operating Procedure SOP, or The Federal Bureau of Investigation the FBI. The aliens write in acronyms all the time.”
“What did you translate from these pages, Maury?” Sherlock asked.
“I discovered that this is their final night on earth. After tonight’s holdup, the writers will board a UFO and return to the Pegasus Constellation with enough material for over a hundred cowboy movies.”
“Aliens watch cowboy movies, too?” Marlowe added.
“Yes,” Maury continued. “After work, Pegasusans crowd around their TV sets and watch reruns of cowboy movies featuring all kinds of robberies. Train robberies are their favorites…especially ones with Frank and Jesse James.”
“Fantastic!” Sherlock said.
Amazing, but true. Tonight, Marlowe, Talleyho and I will be on the train. We ‘ll meet the aliens for the first time.”
“Blimey!”
“What’s Kewpie’s role?” Sherlock asked.
“She’ll report any horses that appear in Pegasus Park. We’ll be in touch by cellular phone.”
“I hope she’s careful.”
“She’s a professional, Uncle Sherlock. She can handle any situation.”
Chapter 20, Book 2
CHAPTER 20, ALIEN DEPARTURE
Pegasus Park London February 15, 11:55 P.M.
“Whoa!” Kewpie cried, as she pulled on the reins. She dismounted to the seat of a park bench and hopped to the ground. She led her horse to a nearby stream. “Have a drink, Cochise,” she said. “We’ve searched the park for hours without luck. Haven’t found anyone or
anything…maybe Maury was wrong to think this park was involved in the Underground Bandits’ plans.”
She took her cellular phone from the saddlebag and clicked the SEND button.
“Maury the Mouse speaking,” a voice answered.
“Nothing on this end,” Kewpie said…”searched the park twice and found nothing…no people…no horses…nothing suspicious.”
“It’ll be midnight in a few minutes,” Maury stated. “If the bandits don’t show up, we’ll call off our stake-out at two a.m. Let me know if you see anything suspicious.”
“Roger. Out.” Kewpie muttered, clicking off the phone. She placed it in her pocket, sat on the bench and watched Cochise drinking. She walked to the stream, and stared at the water, sparkling in the moonlight. The moon’s so bright I can see stars to the north, she thought. Wonder which ones are in the Pegasus Constellation?”
“They all are!” a voice replied behind her.
Her muscles tensed. She clicked the SEND button of her phone and slowly reached into her saddlebag for a can of Mace.
“I wouldn’t touch that Mace if I were you,” a voice warned in front of her.
Kewpie glanced around. “I can’t see you,” she complained. “Who are you? How can you tell what I’m thinking?”
A horseman rode up to Kewpie. “We are visitors on this planet,” he explained. “Generations ago our species learned to communicate without speech. We read minds. Before I leave, may I inspect your horse?”
Kewpie nodded.
He dismounted, inspected Cochise’s teeth and stared into the horse’s eyes. “Intelligent animal,” he said. “We need horses like him on Pegasus. He held out a gold bar. “Would you trade this gold for him?”
“Absolutely not!” Kewpie said sharply. “I love my horse!”
“Keep your horse if you wish,” he shrugged. “We Pegasusans admire your custom of bartering. We may adopt it on our planet.”
“Is this your first visit to Earth?”
“No, we’ve been here before,” he admitted. “Many years ago, our ancestors lived on your planet. Come with me and I’ll tell you about it.”
Kewpie led Cochise back to the bench, mounted the horse and rode off after the stranger. She noticed other riders who filed onto the trail behind her. In the moonlight, she stared at their horses. They have red coats and wings, she thought. Maury was right!
The Tube London Underground Local February 16, 12:15 A.M.
“Wot’s wrong, Govern’r?” Marlowe asked. “You’ve turned white as a ghost!”
Maury took the phone from his ear. “Kewpie’s found the Underground Bandits. They’re not planning to rob this train…they’re trying to abduct her!” He rose and pulled the emergency switch. The train screeched to a stop. “Get us to Pegasus Park!” he demanded. “Pronto!”
“Immediately!” Marlowe responded as he raced forward to give directions to the engineer.
UFO Pegasus Park 12:30 A.M.
“Come aboard,” he suggested.
Kewpie stared at the ramp, which sloped into the saucer-shaped ship, and pretended not to hear. She whispered into Cochise’s ear, “Run!” Horse and rider sped into the woods.
* * *
When Kewpie awakened, she and Cochise were inside the space ship. “Would you like a cup of tea?” an alien asked. “An apple for the horse?”
“I demand to speak with your leader!” Kewpie replied indignantly. “I resent being kidnapped! It’s against the law!”
“We didn’t kidnap you, my dear,” an alien said. “We merely wish to speak with you, since you have greater intelligence than the others. As leader of my followers, may I ask several questions?”
“Yes. If you will answer some of my questions, too.”
“Agreed. My first question is why bandits no longer rob trains?”
Kewpie laughed. “That’s easy. Money and other valuables are no longer transported on trains. Criminals go where the money is … banks, jewelry firms and the Internet.”
“Pretend you are one of us. What type of movie would you like to see on your television screen?”
“I don’t like violent movies. I prefer educational movies about how our species has progressed from a farm society to an industrial one over the past five hundred years. How gre
at men like Gutenberg perfecting printing, Edison harnessing electricity, Babbage developing the computer and Pasteur’s proving his germ theory have benefited our world.”
“Bravo!” the aliens chanted in unison. “Bravo, Kewpie! This is what we wanted to finally hear from an earthling.”
“You and your horse are now free to leave,” the leader said.
“I won’t leave,” Kewpie said indignantly, “until you answer my questions.”
“What would you like to know?”
“When and where did you originally live on Earth? How often do you return, and how did your people evolve more rapidly than our species?”
“
If you will be seated in front of this movie screen,” the leader replied, “we will answer your questions with both words and pictures.”
Pegasus Park 3 A.M.
“Searched the park, Govern’r,” the constable said. “No trace of the Missus. Tallyho picked up her scent two miles east and traced it to this spot.”
“Watch your step,” Marlowe cautioned. “Must’ve been a herd of ‘orses ‘ere.
“Shine your flashlight in that field up ahead!” Maury shouted. “I see something.”
“Well, I’ll be,” Marlowe muttered. “That ring around the field is a perfect circle. Looks like it was burned into the ground.”
Maury ran into the field, with the others close behind. He touched the ground. “The dirt’s still warm,” he said, picking up a piece of cloth. “Here’s Kewpie’s scarf!”
“Wot ‘appened?” Marlowe inquired.
“Extraterrestrials,” Maury replied. “Another alien abduction on a UFO.”
Chapter 21, Book 2
CHAPTER 21, KEWPIE’S ADVENTURE
Scotland Yard Office of Chief Inspector Sherlock Mouse 5 A.M.
He slipped his key in the lock and opened the desk drawer. “No one else’s around at this hour,” he muttered. “It’ll be all right to light up.” He reached into a drawer, opened a box and bit off the end of a Cuban cigar. Leaning back in his chair he lit the cigar and puffed. The smoke rings floated like dirty clouds to the far end of the office.
An hour later
Rrrnnnggg ……………………………
He reached for the desk phone. “Chief Inspector, here!” he grumbled.
“Uncle, is that you?” a voice asked.
“Maury, I came to my office as soon as I heard that Kewpie was missing.”
“Not missing…abducted by aliens!”
“Don’t believe that hogwash, nephew,” Sherlock laughed. “Alien stories are what the Tabloids invented to sell newspapers. We have hundreds of these phony stories in our files.”
“Why don’t you speak to Detective Marlowe? He’ll give you his report. He’s here with me.” Maury handed the phone to Marlowe.
“Okay.”
“Chief Inspector,” Marlowe said nervously, “both Kewpie and her ‘orse disappeared into thin air. Something weird is going on. Talleyho tracked ‘em to this field where we’re standing, and no further. Signs of a flying saucer are burned into the field. Residents near Pegasus Park report seeing a UFO a few hours ago.”
“Marlowe,” Sherlock growled, extraterrestrials don’t exist! Keep looking and call me back with concrete information…not theories!” He blew more smoke rings across the room.
“Ahhh Chooo!”
“Was that you, Chief Inspector?”
“No!” Sherlock cried. “Something’s at the far end of my office. Hold on while I check this out.” He put down the phone and flicked the light switch behind his desk. The bright lights momentarily blinded him. His eyes widened as he stared through he cigar smoke.
He raced back to the phone. “I don’t believe it!” he yelled.
“What?” Marlowe questioned.
“A horse is in my office!” Sherlock screamed. “Get it out of here!”
“He says a ‘orse is in his office,” Marlowe whispered to Maury. “He’s batty! No ‘orse could ever get up those steep steps at the Yard. You speak to your uncle.”
Maury took the cellular phone. “Uncle, how’re you feeling?” he asked. “Been working too hard?”
“Blast it, Maury. There’s a real horse, here. The smoke’s so thick I can barely see it.”
“Smoke?” Maury questioned. “Was there a fire?”
“No. I smoked a few Cuban cigars that fogged up the office.”
“I thought you promised Auntie that you’d give up stogies?”
“Well,” Sherlock admitted, “I did give ‘em up at home…kept half my promise.”
“Ahhh Chooo!”
“Uncle! That sounded like a person coughing. Is the horse by itself?”
“I don’t know.” Sherlock turned on his desk fan and pointed it in the direction of the cough. “Well, I’ll be,” he stammered as the smoke cleared, “there’s someone asleep on the ‘orse. It looks like Kewpie. Get over here!”
“We’re on our way!” Maury shouted.
Scotland Yard 7 A.M.
Tires screeched as the car slowed and stopped. A door swung open and Maury jumped to the street. “I’ll see you in Uncle’s office!” he shouted. Maury flashed his badge at the 1st floor guard and dashed up the narrow staircase to the second floor.
Office of Chief Inspector Sherlock Mouse 7:02 A.M..
“Is Kewpie all right?” Maury stammered. “Where is she?”
Sherlock pointed to the couch. “When I helped her off her horse,” he said, “she was dazed and couldn’t speak. She lay on the couch and fell into a deep sleep. She’s been there for over an hour.”
Maury walked to the couch and placed his hand on Kewpie’s forehead. “Call a doctor,” he suggested. “She has a fever.” He grasped her hand. “I’ll wait here until the doctor comes.”
Sherlock dialed a number, spoke briefly and hung up. “Maury,” he said, “the doctor’s on his way.”
Hallway Outside Chief Inspector’s Office 7:40 A.M.
“The Doc’s been in there a long time,” Marlowe muttered. “How’d she look, Govern’r?”
Maury stopped pacing and stared at Marlowe. “She was dazed…may be in a trance…couldn’t speak. Her horse’s in a trance, too.”
“Blimey! Read once that aliens alter your brain cells so you can’t remember…even planted a gadget in someone’s ear in a movie I saw with my wife.”
“Good thinking, Marlowe,” Maury replied. “We’ll X-ray her when she gets examined. We’ll X-ray the horse, too.”
The door opened and a doctor appeared.
Maury stepped forward. “How is Kewpie?”
“She’s coming around…but she’s weak. We’re taking her to the hospital for observation, and the horse to the vet for a checkup. You can ride in the ambulance with us.”
Thanks, Doctor. They’re a few questions I’d like to ask you on the way.”
Marlowe watched the paramedics guide their stretcher down the narrow staircase. He turned to the constable who was petting Talleyho. “They barely made it down those steps with the Missus,” he said. “How’re they gonna get that big ‘orse out of ‘ere?”
The constable scratched his head. “Dunno,” he replied. “I’m wondering how a ‘orse got up ‘ere in the first place.”
* * *
The ambulance pulled away from the curb and a piano mover’s truck slipped into the parking space it vacated.
Sherlock leaned over the balcony rail. “Up ‘ere!” he shouted. “Bring your ropes and pulleys to the second floor!”
.Ambulance 7:50 A.M.
“Baffling case,” the doctor said. “She seems almost hypnotized.”
“It’s possible,” Maury added. “Aliens have been known to blank-out a victim’s mind.”
“Another extraterrestrial abduction?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll try to talk with her at the hospital.”
“Good idea. Perhaps we can re-write history books…with what she tells us.”
Chapter 22, Book 2
CHAPTER 22, MEMORIES
Crown Hospital, Rm. 201 London 9 A.M.
“May I talk with her?” Maury asked. “Kewpie looks much better.”
The doctor nodded. “Go ahead,” he suggested. “She mumbled she’d like to see you.”
Maury planted a kiss on her cheek. Kewpie’s eyes sparkled as she pulled herself to a sitting position on the bed and motioned toward a chair. “Have a seat Maury,” she murmured. “I can’t remember anything about last night. What happened?”
“Do you recall anything?” the doctor interrupted.
“No. It’s like a lost night in my life.”
“Have you ever been hypnotized?”
“No. Would that help, Doctor?”
“Perhaps. Hypnotists have claimed success in uncovering UFO abductions.”
“Is that what happened to me?” Kewpie questioned. “Was my horse, Cochise, abducted by aliens, too?”
“According to Maury,” the doctor continued, “you both were abducted about midnight…and were returned to the Chief Inspector’s office at Scotland Yard around six this morning.”
Kewpie pointed toward Maury. “Could you hypnotize me?”
“Are you a hypnotherapist?” the doctor asked.
“Yes,” Maury admitted. “I’ve taken classes and have my certificate as a Lay Hypnotherapist. I’ve used hypnotism to solve baffling cases in the past.”
“Let’s start, Maury,” Kewpie pleaded. “I want to know what happened to me and Cochise.”
The doctor sat in a corner. Maury dimmed the lights and took a gold watch from his pocket. “Keep your eyes on this watch, he said softly “…swinging like a pendulum…back and forth…here and there…your eyelids are getting heavy…you are sleepy…very sleepy.”
Kewpie’s eyes closed.
“Can you hear me?” Maury asked.
Yes.”
“Can you recall what happened to you, last night?”
“Yes.”
Maury removed a tape recorder from his pocket and clicked the on button. “Tell me what happened last night in Pegasus Park.”
“It was almost midnight,” Kewpie related, “when I met the Aliens by a stream. They look just like ordinary people…except their heads are bigger, especially the brain cavity. Cochise and I tried to escape, but they caught us. The next thing I remember we were inside their spaceship. We chatted for hours.”
What did you talk about?” Maury inquired.
“Everything,” Kewpie answered. “The Aliens’ Neanderthal ancestors lived on earth one hundred thousand years ago in the Neander River Valley near Dusseldorf, Germany. It’s a long story…where do you want me to begin?”
“At the beginning, Kewpie. Start at the beginning.”
“Minerals in the Neanderthals’ drinking water stimulated growth of neurons and other information-processing systems in their brains,” Kewpie began. “Over time, the Neander River Valley overflowed with men and women with Einstein intellects. They were as advanced technologically then, as we are now…and the people were pacifists who believed in love not war! Unfortunately, their valley was threatened by primitive, warlike tribes. Similar to the Pilgrims who fled Europe for America, the Neanderthals fled their valley to find peace and intellectual freedom in space.”
“Incredible!” the doctor muttered.
“Like Noah building his Ark,” Kewpie continued, “they constructed a huge space ship which they flew to the Pegasus Constellation. There, they established their homes and periodically revisit Earth to assist mankind…or for a research project.”
“What else did they tell you?” Maury asked gently.
Kewpie spoke without interruption.
An Hour Later
“Is that all you can remember, Kewpie?” Maury asked.
“Yes, that’s all they told me.”
“I am going to snap my fingers,” he said. “When you hear the snap you will awaken and remember everything that happened. You will be the same way you were before you met the Aliens.”
Snap!
Kewpie’s eyes opened. She jumped from the hospital bed into Maury’s arms. “I am so-o-o happy to see you again,” she purred. “I thought I might never get off that UFO!” She sobbed as she snuggled in his arms.
Scotland Yard Office of Chief Inspector Sherlock Mouse Noon
“I’ve read your report about Kewpie’s UFO abduction,” Sherlock said. He shook his head. “This is the most fantastic tale I’ve ever heard!”
“It’s true, Uncle,” Maury replied. “Aliens held up the trains. It was the same Aliens who abducted Kewpie and her horse. When they completed the interrogation, they beamed her and Cochise to your office. How else do you think they got here?”
Sherlock shrugged. “Dunno,” he said. “It took over an hour to lower the horse to the ground. If it was Aliens, can’t figure out how they got that horse up the stairs.”
They know how to use levitation to transport objects from one place to another. With their help, the Egyptians and Mayans built pyramids. Moving a three-quarter-ton horse, like Cochise, to your office is child’s play compared to lifting two-and one-half-ton limestone blocks atop the Cheops Pyramid in Egypt.”
So the Aliens are good Samaritans?”
“Yes, Uncle. They are also pacifists…who avoid conflict and war.”
“But they robbed our trains on the Tube. That’s against the law!”
Maury laughed. “The robberies were staged to gather material for cowboy movies the Aliens love to watch on TV sets back home. Camera crews filmed the hold-ups and writers drafted plots for more than one hundred new westerns. The Alien leader told Kewpie that the writers had enough material for the next century.”
“So we won’t see them, again, until one hundred years from now?”
“Right!”
“The Aliens broke our law,” Sherlock replied grimly. “There’ll be an arrest warrant waiting for them when they return to earth.”
Maury chuckled. “And you’ll be waiting to arrest them all.”
“You bet!” he said smiling. “No one is above the law. In Britain, criminals pay for their crimes in jail.”
Maury glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “The sedative the doctor gave Kewpie at the hospital should wear off, soon. I want to be there when she awakens.
“Give her my love.”
“I will, Uncle.”
Maury walked down the stairs humming happily. Would he have been so carefree if he knew what adventures lay ahead?
Chapter 23, Book 2
CHAPTER 23, IN THE FAMILY
Hotel D’Gangsters Paris, Left Bank February 16, 2 P.M.
Butch checked his watch. “What time is it in London, Boss?”
“It’s an hour earlier than here,” Commando Joe replied. “Why are you interested?”
“The Mouse’s funeral’s today.”
“I almost forgot. What time’r they burying him?”
Butch ran his finger down the newspaper obituary column. “Let me read what it says. Maury the Mouse, world-famous Honolulu detective will be buried in Westminster Abbey, London, at 4 P.M., February 16th.”
I’m proud of you, Butch,” Joe said. “You bumped off the only detective smarter than me. He was my nemesis. In doing so you’ll became famous in the underworld. Soon, all the crooks in Europe will have jobs for you to do. I’ll be your agent. I’ll earn my fifteen percent commission.”
“You’re my mentor, Boss. Everything I know I learned from you.”
“Yeah. Everything I know I learned from my pop. Ever heard of Crazy Legs Joe?”
“Sure. Every crook’s heard of the only guy to hold up three banks in the same town in a single day.”
“Pop was a genius. Jesse James tried it and failed. Pop succeeded.”
“You’re lucky to have him for a Dad. My father only robbed Convenience Stores.”
“Pop taught me all I know about crime. For generations it’s been a family tradition to succeed as a criminal. He’d be proud of my sister and me.”
Is he still around?”
“The Feds jailed him on income tax evasion…same charge they nailed Al Capone on. Pop’s doin’ ten to twenty at Attica.”
“How’s your mom?”
+“She’s in the joint, doin’ three to five for forgery at Elmira. Be out next month. What about your family, Butch?”
“We’ve been crooks since the Revolutionary War,” Butch began. “One ancestor stole chickens from English loyalists to feed George Washington’s army. Because of him the Continental Army didn’t starve at Valley Forge and we won the war.”
Crown Hospital, Second Floor London
“Maury the Mouse! Howdy old chap,” a voice called out.
Maury wheeled about. “Max Kelada, what have you been up to?” he said, glancing at his uniform. “See you’ve been promoted to Brigadier. Congratulations!”
“Just lucky,” Max explained. “Like a jigsaw puzzle, all the pieces fit perfectly when we raided Lucretia Joe’s headquarters. Arresting her Northern Scotland lady hoodlums along with the crooked magistrate, Maguiness, resulted in my promotion.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Let’s see Kewpie. I can inform you both about what I’ve been doing lately. You can also report what you Yanks are up to.”
Maury stopped at room 201. A guard jumped to attention. “May I help you, sir?”
Maury showed his identification. “I’m the husband and am assisting Scotland Yard,” he said. “With me is Brigadier Kelada with Scotland Yard.”
The guard gazed at Maury’s I.D. card and Max’s Yard credentials. He knocked on the door. “Authorized to enter!” he commanded as the door opened. Maury and Max stepped inside.
Scotland Yard Office of Chief Inspector Sherlock Mouse 5 P.M.
Sherlock answered the telephone on the first ring. “Hello,” he said.
“Marlowe here,” a muffled voice whispered. “Francine LaChat showed up at Maury’s funeral in disguise… like you expected.”
“Good. Follow that hit woman wherever she goes. Do you have back-up?”
“Inspector Surete, from the French Secret Service is taking pictures from our van.”
“Stick to her like peanut butter on the roof of your mouth.”
“Aye, Chief Inspector. We’ll stick to her like glue.”
“Good. Call in at least once every 24-hours.”
.“Understood. She’s leaving, now. We’ll trail her. Roger Out!”
Crown Hospital Room 201 5:15 P.M.
“It was an interesting story, Max,” Kewpie sighed. “Thanks for coming.”
“See you, soon, Yanks,” Max said. “We’ll be working on a case together. The Chief Inspector will brief you on it, tomorrow.”
The nurse looked at Kewpie who nodded. “Sure,” said the nurse. “Stay as long as you like. I know you have a great deal to discuss so I’ll leave for a while. I’ll be in the hallway if you neeed me. Just click the buzzer.”
Maury pulled his chair toward Kewpie’s bed. “All our hard work in Northern Scotland paid off,” he said. “Max’s troopers used the information that we uncovered there to arrest the Lucretia Joe lady mobsters.”
“A dishonest London magistrate has also been removed from the bench as the result of our work,” Maury emphasized. “Crime doesn’t pay. Magistrate Maguiness will spend years in prison for receiving kickbacks from the mob.”
“Unless,” Kewpie interrupted, “his barrister is able to befuddle a brain-dead jury into believing his innocence.”
“Anything is possible in a court of law.”
nodded. “The underworld still believes you were gunned down,” she said. “Will you continue to wear a disguise, tomorrow, when we team up with Max, again?”
Maury raised his eyebrows. “We?” he questioned.
Sure. The hospital’s releasing me in the morning,” Kewpie said grinning. “I’m part of your team. I want to assist you. Keeping the world free of crime is as important to me as it is to you.”
As long as the doctor okays it, you’re back on my team…I’ll wear the same Groucho
disguise I wore in Honolulu when I worked undercover… glasses, nose and mustache.
“Was that disguise effective?”
Maury laughed. “It was so effective that one criminal I was following noticed me and actually asked for my autograph.”
“What did you sign?”
“The crook opened his autograph book. I signed ‘Groucho Marx’. He thanked me and walked off.”
“Criminals are dumb, aren’t they?”
“Absolutely. If they were smarter they’d understand that crime doesn’t pay.”
Crime never pays,” Kewpie interrupted, “when Maury the Mouse is on the case!”
Chapter 24, Book 2
CHAPTER 24, PYRAMID SCHEME
Scotland Yard Office of Chief Inspector Sherlock Mouse, London February 17th, 8 A.M.
Sherlock placed his hand over the telephone receiver. “Sit on the sofa,” he said. “I’ll be off the phone in a minute.”
Kewpie stepped into the office, followed by Maury and Max Kelada.
Sherlock hung up and clenched his teeth when he spoke. “That Commando Joe bloke is stirring up trouble again.”
“In London?” Maury questioned.
All over the world he’s taking people’s savings. Reports are that he’s in Paris now, using the Internet to swindle millions of francs from people on his YouAreASucker.comwebsite.”
“How’s he doing it, Uncle?”
“Using a pyramid scheme,” Sherlock began. “Ever since he spent a summer in Egypt stealing artifacts belonging to the Pharaohs, Joe has promoted one illegal pyramid scheme after another.”
“What’s a pyramid scheme?” Max asked.
It’s when you pay dividends to your old investors with money deposited by new investors. Then, when too many investors attempt to redeem their shares, the pyramid scheme falls apart like a house of cards…and a crook, like Joe, skips town one step ahead of the sheriff.”
“Charles Ponzi tried a postal-coupon pyramid scheme in Boston in the 1920’s,” Maury added, “saying he’d pay people fifty percent profit in forty-five days. Ponzi took advantage of people’s gullibility and greed.”
“Citizens should realize,” Kewpie emphasized, “that if a scheme seems too good to be true…watch out! In this life you don’t get something for nothing.”
“Swindlers, like Commando Joe,” Sherlock continued, “are the only winners in a pyramid scheme. Investors are the losers.”
“What’s the plan to catch Joe?” Maury asked. “He’s a slippery character…like a greased pig he’s been impossible for the police to catch…hasn’t spent a day in jail so far.”
“He’s smart,” Sherlock replied, “but not as smart as Maury the Mouse.” He turned to Maury. “I’m assigning you, Kewpie and Brigadier Kelada to Paris. You’ll work with the French police to locate Joe, arrest him and his henchman and bring them back to London.”
“Paris is a big city, Chief Inspector,” Kewpie inquired. “What leads have you to help us narrow down the search for him?”
We traced all the phone calls made from and received at Lucretia Joe’s headquarters,” Sherlock said. “Brigadier Kelada retrieved this information for us when he raided her headquarters. Several calls were traced to a phone booth on the left bank of Paris.”
“That’s where the students live,” Maury explained. “Joe’s smart…he thought we’d never look for him in the Bohemian section of Paris.”
“My men can stake out that phone booth 24/7, “Max said, “while Maury, Kewpie and I scour the city for Joe.”
“Excellent plan of attack, Brigadier,” Sherlock said. “How’s that seem to you, Maury?”
“I like it!” Maury replied. He turned to Kewpie. “Sweetie,” he whispered, “how does the plan sound to you?”
“Great!” she gushed. “When do we start?”
“Immediately,” Sherlock said. “A car is waiting for you downstairs. A bus with the
Brigadier’s men will follow you through the Chunnelto France.”
“The Chunnel?” Kewpie questioned. “What’s that?”
That’s the name for Eurotunnel’s thirty-one mile tunnel dug under the English Channel between Great Britain and France,” Sherlock replied. “Its oversized trains for cars and busses are faster than boat trains to Europe.”
* * *
From his balcony, Sherlock watched the car and bus disappear into the London fog. Maury will catch up to Commando Joe in Paris, he thought. I know he will. He shut the balcony door and returned to his desk as the phone rang.
“Chief Inspector, Marlowe ‘ere,” a voice said… “Trailed hit woman Francine LaChat to Paris. Must ‘ave seen us tailing ‘er. Gave us the slip at the Louvre. Went in the Ladies Room and never came out. After an hour we checked and the place was empty…must ‘ave climbed out an open window.”
Sherlock’s jaw firmed. “Blast her,” he grunted. “Wait in Paris for Maury, Kewpie, and Brigadier Kelada. I’ll call them to meet you at the Louvre by the Mona Lisa painting tomorrow when the museum opens. Together you can locate Francine, and through her find Commando Joe and his henchman, Butch.”
“Aye… Remember that bloke, Butch, from the British Open. Inspector Surete and I will search for the hit woman, today. Look forward to working with Maury, again. Your nephew is the best there is.”
“Yes…the best detective in the world. Good hunting, Marlowe.”
“Aye. Roger. Out.”
U.S. Embassy 24 Grosvenor Square, London 9 A.M.
“My E-mail is jammed up with complaints from American citizens about a pyramid scheme,” the ambassador fumed. “Have you ever heard of YouAreASucker.com, Doreen?”
“Yes. While I programmed the embassy computers in Paris, the French newspapers had ads for the website. Never paid much attention to them.”
“I’m sending you to our Paris embassy, tomorrow. Investigate this French company and their Sucker.com website. Give me a full report in a day or two.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll pack and be on the Boat Train, tonight.”
“Take the Chunnel. You’ll get to France faster. I’ll also alert Scotland Yard to this pyramid scheme. Perhaps they’re not aware of it.”
Hotel D’Gangsters Paris, Left Bank 9:30 A.M.
“Boss!” Butch cried out. “Where you going?” You’ve got all the comforts of home here!”
Commando Joe set two bulging bags by the door. “I’m just leavin’ for Geneva. My safe’s overflowin’ with suckers’ money. Gotta deposit it. Can’t leave it around.”
“Yeah. If you did that, Boss, some crook’d probably steal it.”
“Absolutely. In my Swiss bank account, no crook but me can get his hands on the dough.”
“Smart thinkin’.”
“Dunno, Boss, I’ll think of something.” One day, Butch thought, I’ll have my own Swiss bank account…just like Commando Joe, Russian politicians and other successful crooks. My day in the sun is coming. I’m sure of it.
Chapter 25, Book 2
CHAPTER 25, SUCKER.COM
Louvre Museum 99 rue de Rivoli, Paris February 18th, 9:05 A.M.
“I never realized that the Mona Lisa painting was so small,” Maury said incredulously. “I thought it would be larger than this.”
“Size doesn’t matter with art,” Kewpie stated.
Maury shrugged and glanced around the gallery. “Kewpie,” he asked, what would you like to do tonight? Get to sleep early?”
“Are you kidding?” she said laughing. “My first night in Paris? I want to see the city after dark…the illuminated Champs Elysses…and the Follies-Bergere. After the Follies, tonight, we could go to a sidewalk café.
“Okay, we’ll do it. Maury wheeled about when he heard footsteps behind him. “Here comes Marlowe and the French detective, Inspector Surete,” he whispered. “We’ll work with them, today, and then have a night on the town!”
American Embassy 2 Avenue Gabriel, Paris 10 A.M.
“Doreen’s here, Ambassador,” the secretary said. “Shall I send her in?”
Yes! Right away.” He switched off the intercom and took a thick file of papers from his desk as a door opened and a well-dressed woman stepped inside.
He held out his hand and walked toward her. “Doreen, It’s a pleasure to meet you. You’ve been highly recommended for your work as a software engineer on the London Embassy computers.”
“It’s my job, Ambassador,” she replied smiling. “Yours is to keep Russian bugs from your embassy. Mine is to eliminate bugs from computer systems.”
We have an important job for you in Paris,” he said solemnly, handing her the papers he held. “These complaints arrived in the morning mail…over fifty of them. In the next office are boxes containing letters from irate Frenchmen and women about another Internet fraud. Many have lost every franc to con artist Commando Joe.”
“Don’t they realize that in every transaction the buyer should beware of fraud?”
“Greed,” he said laughing. “It numbs an investor’s mind, making rational thought impossible. These suckers become putty in the con artist’s hands.”
“Where shall I begin?”
Doreen, after you’ve read my report and reviewed the letters of complaint, use the computer in the next office to track down the whereabouts of this scoundrel. Commando Joe must be stopped! Because of pressure from angry French voters, the President of France has threatened to cut off diplomatic relations with the U.S.A.”
What progress have the French police made on this case?”
“They are baffled as to Joe’s whereabouts in Paris. They’ve asked Scotland Yard to lend them their best detective for this case. He’s an American, and he should arrive today.”
“What’s his name, Ambassador?”
“You may have heard of him. His name is Maury the Mouse.”
Hotel des Gangsters Paris, Left Bank 11 A.M..
Butch rubbed his eyes with one hand and grabbed the ringing telephone with the other. “Yeah?” he grunted.
Did I wake you?” a voice asked.
Butch jumped out of bed. “That’s okay, Boss,” he said. “Went to the Follies, again… Didn’t get home ‘til late.”
“Good. Enjoy yourself. When I return from Geneva in a couple of days I’ll have a new caper for us. We’ll separate more suckers from their dough”
“ Terrific, Boss. I always wanted to retire rich.”
“Stick with me, Butch, and we’ll take over the world.”
Passenger Ferry Seine River, Paris 6 P.M..
“Comfortable, Govern’r?” Marlowe asked. “Inspector Surete’s sure a nice chap to get us a boat to ourselves. These ferries usually take passengers for sightseeing only from April to mid-October."
We earned a bit of rest,” Maury said, “after scouring the city without success for Francine LaChat and Butch.”
“I’m tired, too,” Kewpie added. “I’ll sit here, stretch out and watch the Eiffel Tower and the rest of Paris as we move down the Seine. We have a big night ahead.”
“What’re you planning, tonight, Govern’r?”
“Kewpie and I will go to the Follies Bergere and then sit at a sidewalk café and watch Paris come alive at night…with lights … life … and laughter. What are you going to do, Marlowe?”
“Me? Me flat feet’s tired from trapsing ‘round Paris. I’m going to soak two sore feet in a bath tub, tonight. No night life for me!”
Café de la Chocolate Paris, Left Bank 11 P.M.
“Maury,” Kewpie sighed, “our first day in Paris was romantic. We saw the city first by foot and then by boat. Then, attended an exciting show on our first night, here. Now, we’re sitting in a sidewalk café having the best hot chocolate in Paris… watching the world walk by.”
Maury lifted the pot of hot chocolate. “Would you like more chocolate in your steaming milk?” he asked.
Kewpie held out her cup. “Thank you, kind sir. Pour away.”
She sipped for a few minutes and put her cup on the table. “You seem to be deep in thought,” she said. “What’s on your mind?”
Maury looked into her eyes. “I was thinking about something you said to me, months ago, when we located the Honolulu werewolves.”
“Yes. That was the case of the attorneys who were normal by day but howlers at night. They kept the mayor and half the city awake.”
“You advised me to let my fingers do the walking. I took your advice and found Ura and Ima Werewolf’s address and phone number in the Honolulu telephone book.”
“Do you think that the Paris phone book…”
Yes,” Maury interrupted. “I’ll ask the waitress. Here she comes.” Je cherche une cabine telephonique.” The waitress pointed to the next room.
A moment later Maury returned with the Paris telephone book. He opened it and ran his
finger down a page. “Here it is!” he shouted “ LaChat, Francine, 4 rue Notre-Dame.”
At a nearby table, a man buried his face in a newspaper. He was perspiring.
Chapter 26, Book 2
CHAPTER 26, PURSUIT
Mafia Bank Nationale Geneva, Switzerland February 19th, 9:30 A.M.
The guard banged his nightstick on the vault’s steel door.
Go away!” a voice cried from inside. “I’m busy!”
“Sir, It’s an emergency phone call for Commando Joe!” the guard replied. “Otherwise I’d never interrupt a customer. We’ll transfer the call to the vault phone.”
Where’s the phone?”
“Use your vault key to open the red box next to the door. Inside you’ll find the phone.”
“Thanks.” Joe inserted his key, twisted it in the lock and the box slid open. He grabbed the telephone and shouted, “Commando Joe, speaking. What’s wrong? Who is this?”
“It’s me, Boss,” Butch said trembling. “I heardaghost, last night. Couldn’t sleep a wink…I’m scared.”
“What happened?”
“Last night after the follies I went to the Café de la Chocolate near our hotel. I was sittin’ there readin’ the Enquirer when I heard his voice.”
“Whose voice?”
“Boss, I swear it was the Mouse.”
Joe laughed. “How much cognac did yo uhave? The Mouse was strumming a harp last night. I guarantee he wasn’t at the Café. You bumped him off in London, remember.”
“A funny-looking guy and a blonde were sitting near me,” Butch said hesitantly. “It was dark, but I recognized the Mouse’s voice when he spoke. The blonde looked like the Mouse’s wife.”
“Describe the guy who spoke like the Mouse.”
“Black hair, big nose, handlebar mustache and horn-rimmed glasses…Looked like Groucho Marx.”
“Hmmm.”
“There’s more, Boss. This Groucho character located Francine LaChat’s name in the phone book. Both he and the dame acted like Coppers.”
“That’s bad,” Joe interrupted. “Call Francine and tell her to watch out for Coppers. Remember she’s dangerous…she’s a hit woman.”
“I’ll remember… By the way, when are you comin’ home?”
“Be finished counting my money, today… Returning to Paris, tomorrow.”
“Sure, Boss. How’re you traveling?”
“Like always, Butch…First Class!”
Stakeout 4 rue Notre-Dame noon
Govern’r, come quick!” Marlowe panted. “I had to run clear ‘round the building to get you. Francine LaChat’s on the run.”
How’d she escape?”
Maury nodded and jumped into the car. “I’ll drive,” he said. “Get in the back seat behind Kewpie.”
Aye govern’r. While you’re driving, I’ll call Inspector Surete on my cell phone and tell him wh
at we’re doing. He’s still staking out the phone booth for Commando Joe and Butch.”
As the car sped north down the cobblestones, Marlowe removed his phone from his trench coat and dialed.
American Embassy 2 Avenue Gabriel, Paris 12:15 P.M.
“Have you located the crook’s location, yet?”
Doreen clicked her mouse and an address flashed on the monitor screen. “Yes, Ambassador,” she said smiling. “It took some time but I narrowed down Commando Joe’s location to within a one block radius of the Café de la Chocolate. What shall I do next?”
“If you’ll wait a moment, I want to call Chief Inspector Sherlock Mouse at Scotland Yard with this information. He’ll pass it along to his agents in Paris… If you’re free for lunch, Doreen, would you join me at Café de la Chocolate.”
“Yes. I’d love it. It’d give us a chance to check out the area. Maybe we’ll uncover a clue for the police.”
“Bring your silver laptop along,” he said. “You might be able to more precisely pinpoint the crook’s location.”
“Good idea, Mr. Ambassador.”
Left Bank, Paris 12:45 P.M.
“Where’d she disappear to?” Marlowe groaned. “ Francine LaChat was ‘ereone minute and gone the next.”
Maury pulled the car to the curb and shut off the motor. “Any idea where she might be?” he asked.
Kewpie pointed to a side street. “We lost sight of her when she ran toward the same sidewalk café that we frequented last night?”
“Café de la Chocolate?”
“Aye.”
“Think she ducked inside?” Maury questioned. “Let’s find out!”
Café de la Chocolate 12:47 P.M.
Maury stared into the crowded café. “Francine’s not at any of the tables on the sidewalk or inside,” he said. “Kewpie, could you please check the ladies room?”
Maury waited outside with Marlowe while Kewpie opened the door. She glanced around. “It’s empty,” she muttered. “The window’s open and a bench is below it. Francine LaChat escaped again through a rear window.”
“Did the same thing to us at The Louvre and at her ‘ouse,” Marlowe added. “Escapes out bathroom windows. Smart lady. Knows men can’t enter Ladies Rooms. It’slike the Church being a sanctuary for criminals in the old days.”
“
She’s not as smart as she thinks,” Kewpie interrupted. “It takes a woman to catch a woman. We think alike.”
What do you suggest we do?” Maury asked.
Kewpie glanced at her watch. “It’s time for lunch. Let’s dine here. Café de la Chocolateis famous for cheese tarts, butter cookies and hot sourdough bread.”
“Sounds good to me,” Maury said. “Let’s eat. I’ll check with Scotland Yard while we’re waiting for our order.”
* * *
Maury clicked off his cellular phone and looked around the room. “See anyone with a silver laptop computer?” he asked. “My uncle said a lady’s dining here who’s located Commando Joe’s headquarters.”
“See that attractive lady with the well-dressed gent?” Marlowe said. “They’re sitting at an outside table. She’s typing on a silver laptop.”
“Kewpie,” Maury said, “ could you speak with her? If she’s on our side ask her and the gent to join us.”
* * *
“Fellows,” Kewpie said, “let me introduce Doreen and the American Ambassador. Doreen’s on special assignment to help locate Commando Joe.”
“Have you found Joe?” Maury asked anxiously.
“No,” Doreen answered. “However, I’ve pinpointed his website being within a block radius of this café.”
Maury smiled. “We’ll comb the neighborhood…inch by inch …house by house. We’ll capture him.”
Chapter 27, Book 2
CHAPTER 27, THE TRAP
Hotel Des Gangsters Paris, Left Bank 1:30 P.M.
Knock, knock!
“ Who’s there?” Butch cried.
“Francine,” she whispered. “Francine LaChat.”
The door swung open and she stepped inside. Butch bolted the door and turned to face her. Wow! She’s a knockout.
“Lucretia Joe gave me your address before the Coppers raided her office,” Francine explained. “Said if I ever was on the run to see you and Commando Joe.”
“Yeah. Have a seat. What are you running from?”
“Coppers’ been trailing me. I escaped three times… climbed out of ladies room windows. Lost thema few minutes ago at Café de la Chocolate.”
“That’s just down the block. Saw coppers therelast night. One of themlooked like Groucho Marx and sounded like the Mouse.”
“But Butch, you bumped off the Mouse in London. You’re famous as a celebrated hit man.”
“And you are a world-famous hit woman, Francine,” Butch said gallantly.
Francine stared out the picture window. “Just think, ” she said laughing. “If you and I married…we could raise a family of little hit boys and girls. Like the Kennedy’s raised a family of politicians…we could create a dynasty of future assassins.”
Butch blushed. “I don’t know much about women and marriage,” he stammered. “The Boss has kept me too busy to go out on dates. He’s got plans for me when he gets back from Geneva tomorrow.”
“I’ve got plans for you tonight. Wear a fake beard when you go outside and I’ll switch my reversible coat and put on my red wig.”
He stared admiringly as Francine took a red wig from her pocket and turned her blue coat inside out. “Gee, you look like a different lady in the red coat and wig.”
“You like it?” she purred.
turned beet red as he nodded.
Side Alley, Café de la Chocolate Paris, Left Bank 1:45 P.M.
“Get me a box,” Francine said, “so I can see in the side window.”
Butch pushed a large crate under the window. “Put your hand on my shoulder and I’ll give you a boost.” He watched her vault onto the box. “Where’d you learn to do that?” he ga
sped.
“I was a cat burglar before working as a hit woman. I still use my burglar techniques on every contract.” She stared though the window as he paced impatiently below.
“Whatcha see?”
“One of the coppers who trailed me to The Louvre, yesterday, and from my house, today, is at a table with a man who looks like Groucho Marx and three others.”
“Groucho!” Butch exclaimed. “Must be the same copper I heard last night…Sounded just like the Mouse. I’ve got to see him again. I’m getting up on the box too. Here I come.”
Francine moved over as he jumped up and jammed his face against the glass.
Café de la Chocolate Inside Table 1:47 P.M..
“You’re not Maury the Mouse,” Doreen snarled. “You don’t even look like him.”
“If you are that famous detective, then prove it!” the Ambassador demanded.
Maury looked around the café. “I guess it’s safe…we’re in a dark corner,” Maury whispered. He removed his glasses, false nose and mustache.
Hi’s eyes widened. “Your disguise fooled me.”
“Amazing,” the Ambassador said with a shrug. “Never would have recognized the great detective in that get-up.”
“Maury’s as good a master of disguise as Sherlock Holmes was,” Kewpie added. “Even Charlie Chan wasn’t in Maury’s class where disguises are concerned.”
Side Alley, Café de la Chocolate 1:48 P.M.
Francine watched Butch’s face turn white as he crumbled to the ground.
He fell off the box,” she muttered. “Before I revive him I want to see what frightened him.”
She stared through the window and froze. How can it be? Maybe the Mouse has a twin.
She lowered herself to the ground, and dragged Butch to a water fountain.
Water splashed in his face. Butch’s eyes opened. “I’ve seen a ghost,” he moaned. “Last night he sounded like the Mouse. Today, he looks like him.” He shook his head. “How can he be in Paris when I bumped him off in London?”
“I saw him too. The Mouse is no ghost!”
Then what is he?” Butch asked trembling.
“Either a twin brother,” Francine explained, “or it really is the Mouse.”
“How can I find out?”
We’ll set a trap.” Francine replied. “Get back on the box and watch him.” She took a cellular phone from her purse and dialed. Butch crawled back on the box.
Rrrnnnggg
“Café de la Chocolate,” a waitress answered.
“An emergency telephone call for Maury the Mouse…person-to-person,” Francine commanded. “He should be at the same table as the woman with a silver laptop.”
Just a minute. I see them in a corner.” She carried the phone to their table and said, “Emergency call for Maury the Mouse.”
“It must be Uncle,” Maury said. “I’ll take the phone.”
“Who is speaking?” a voice asked. “Scotland Yard calling! Identify yourself!”
“Maury the Mouse speaking. What’s the emergency message?”
Francine pushed the END button on the cellular phone. The line went dead.
“He’s not a ghost,” Butch said with relief. He ain’t so smart either. You trapped him into revealing his identity.”
“You’re right. If he was smart he’d be a crook like us!”
Butch jumped off the box. “You’re my kind of woman,” he said. “You have beauty and brains.”
“Let’s turn the tables on the Mouse. Get back on the box and let me know when he leaves.”
He nodded and moved to the window. “The Mouse’s paying the bill with his credit card,” he muttered.
Francine dialed a number on her cellular phone.
Rrrnnnggg
“Café de la Chocolate,” the manager answered.
“This is the credit bureau…reporting a stolen credit card belonging to Maury the Mouse,” she said. “Anyone presenting his card should be arrested.”
Chapter 28, Book 2
CHAPTER 28, COMMANDO JOE’S REVENGE
Charles de Gaulle Airport Paris February 20, 8 P.M..
“There’s the Boss,” Butch yelled, pointing to his right.
Francine stared at a tall man walking rapidly from the exit door. He brushed lint off his pinstriped suit and stopped before them.
“Have a good trip, Boss?”
“Yeah. Who’s your friend?”
“Francine. Francine LaChat,” Butch replied. “Your sister told her to look us up if she ever was on the run.”
“Who’s after you, Francine?”
TheMouse.”
“The Mouse is strumming a harp in the clouds,” Commando Joe laughed. “Butch bumped him off in London.”
“Maybe I missed,” Butch stammered. “We saw himtoday near our hotel. It was theMouse.”
“He looked like theMouse,” Francine interrupted. “He walked like the Mouse and talked like the Mouse. It was theMouse!”
Joe stamped his feet. “Rats!” he growled. “That Mouse has nine lives! What was he doing near our hotel?”
“Having lunch at the Café de la Chocolate,” Francine explained. “We played a joke on him
. We had the Mouse arrested. Now, French police and British agents are going door-to-door to find you.”
“They traced your Internet website to near our hotel,” Butch said. “We moved our stuff out of there fast.”
“Where are we living now?” Joe inquired.
“I picked it out for you and Butch,” Francine said smiling. “My cousin, Helene, owns Hotel de Follies in Montmatre, on the Right Bank of Paris.”
“It’s a great layout,” Butch added. “It’s on the other side of town from Hotel Des Gangsters. The Mouse’ll never know where we went.”
Joe rubbed his hands together. “Good job! You showed executive ability in moving my office when the Coppers got close. Let’s get the luggage and take a cab to our new hotel.”
Café de la Chocolate Inside Table 8:15 P.M..
“Glad you’re back, Govern’r,” Marlowe said. “We’ve been busy since they arrested you.”
“The French police believed Maury was machine-gunned in London on February 14th,” Kewpie said grinning. “It took the Ambassador six hours to convince them that Maury was alive.”
“They were just trying to be sure,” Maury added, “They released me as soon as my fingerprint file arrived from the FBI.” He turned to Marlowe. “What’s happened in my absence?” he asked.
Brigadier Kelada’s troops ‘ave checked all buildings in a two block radius from ‘ere. Showed Commando Joe’s and Butch’s photo to shopkeepers and hotelkeepers in this area. An hour ago we pinpointed Joe’s headquarters in the Hotel Des Gangsters.”
“Need my help in arresting Joe and Butch?”
Govern’r,” Marlowe stammered, “When we raided their hotel room it was empty. They must ‘aveskipped out a back window without paying the rent.”
Did you check their phone calls?” Kewpie inquired.
“They called an local airline and a Swiss Bank. We’re checking the airline records and who they called at the bank.”
“They’re smart crooks,” Maury said thoughtfully. “Search the records of cellular phone companies. See if Butch, Joe or Francine LaChat use cellular phones. If so, trace their calls too.”
“Good thinkin’, Govern’r,” Marlowe said, rising from the table. “My phone’s in the car. “I’ll ‘ave Inspector Surete check the wireless calls with the French police.”
Hotel de Follies Montmatre, Right Bank, Paris 8:30 P.M.
“Nice room, Boss,” Butch panted as he set down the suitcases. “We’re in the penthouse suite with a great view of Paris.”
“Yeah,” Commando Joe agreed sarcastically. “Why’yapick a room on the top floor? This jointdoesn’t even have an elevator.”
“Exactly for this reason,” Francine interrupted. Coppers would never think that a connoisseur like you, Mr. Joe, who travels first class, would ever live in a dump like this.”
Joe nodded and stared into Francine’s green eyes. “Good thinking,” he said softly. “My name’s Commando. That’s what my close friends call me. After my new scam’s over,maybe we could get to know each other better over dinner. How’s L’Ambroisie sound to you?”
L’Ambroisie’smy favorite restaurant,” Francine cooed. “Their fricassee of lobster in wine sauce warms my heart. I’d love to go therewith you.”
Their desserts are world-famous, too,” he continued. “Especially the chocolate pie with bitter chocolate and coffee ice cream.”
Oui,Commando. I l-o-o-k forward to dinner with you.”
Butch stared at the floor. A tear rolled down his cheek.
Commando Joe set his carry-on bag on the floor. He opened it and placed the evening newspaper and a notebook on the table. “Did you see the Paris evening newspaper?” he asked.
“No.”
“The front page’s all about the Mouse escaping Butch’s assassination attempt in London. The Mouse’s now the most famous policeman in Europe.”
“Shall we try to bump off the Mouse again, Boss?”
“No! I’ve a better idea for getting even with him. The Mouse’s foiled my best-laid plans in Honolulu, Britain and France…cost me a bundle. When we’re through with him he’ll be finished as a copper…This most-famous policeman in Europe will become the most disgraced copper in the world! We’re changing our method of operation. No longer are we going after the suckers’ pocket-moneyon our website .YouAreASucker.com. I’ve reserved a new investment website, which should reel in the big dough from people wanting to invest in IPO’s.”
“What’s an IPO?”
“Butch, it’s an Initial Public Offering. We’ll sell shares in phony Internet start-ups to the public. They’ll buy overpriced stock with their Euros, pounds and dollars. There’s a thousand suckers born every minute…especially on the Internet.”
“Does your website have a good name, Commando?” Francine questioned.
Joe laughed. “The investment website has the best domain name in the world,” he replied. “We’ll make a ton of dough with it…and get our revenge on the Mouse at the same time. We’ll snare suckers…hook, line and sinker. We’ve got the right bait to catch millions. Let me
elain how it’ll work.”
Butch and Francine crowded around the table as Commando Joe opened his notebook and pointed at the first page.
Chapter 29, Book 2
CHAPTER 29, JOE’S NEW SCAM
Café de la Chocolate Paris, Inside Table 8:45 P.M..
Marlowe rushed into the café. “Govern’r,” he gasped. “Bad news on all fronts. Brigadeer Kelada’s troops ‘ave no leads on Commando Joe’s whereabouts. Doreen reports that Joe’s website, YouAreASucker.com,has vanished off the Internet…so she can’t pinpoint its source. Inspector Surete says no crooks ‘ave used that Paris phone booth he’s staked out. Finally, the cellular phone company and the airline won’t ‘ave the information you wanted about the crooks ‘til tomorrow.”
Maury took a deep breath. “Might as well call it a night,” he said. “We’ll resume our search for Joe in the morning.”
Kewpie stared as Marlowe strolled out the door. “He’s a hard worker and a good detective.”.
“Yes, Maury agreed. “With you, Marlowe, Inspector Surete, and Max, we’ll succeed in our mission to stamp out crime in France. We’re like a football team composed of the best players who play by the rules. Our opponents, Joe and his hoodlums, have an opposite philosophy…they’re a team of crooks who don’t play by society’s rules. They have their own rules…which are illegal! …These criminals must be stopped!”
Kewpie clapped her hands. “Bravo!” she cried. “That’s the best explanation of cops and robbers I’ve heard. You’ve become a philosopher as well as the world’s most famous policeman. After you catch Joe, you should consider writing a book about your adventures around the world, Maury.”
“Interesting that you said that,” he replied. “When retirement comes, I plan to work on my autobiography. We could write it together.”
Kewpie gave him a High Five. “It’s a deal,” she said smiling. “It’ll sell a million copies and be on The New York Times Bestseller List, forever!”
Hotel de Follies 9 P.M.
.
“Can you do that, Boss?” Butch grunted
“Sure!” Joe replied.
“Is the Mouse in with us on this scam?
“No. He’s still a Copper on the opposite side of the law. But only you, Francine and I know this. When we’re through with the Mouse, everyone will think that he’s switched sides.”
“A brilliant scam,” Francine cooed. “What better way to get rid of an honest adversary than to discredit him. They do it all the time in politics, in love and war. Why not do it in business? Commando, you are a genius! How did you think of this scam? ”
Joe puffed his chest out like a rooster. “Every scam I’ve tried has been stopped by the Mouse. He’s either the luckiest Copperin the world or the best. I knew I had to get him out of the way to make big dough.”
“The Mouse was just lucky, Boss,” Butch commented. “You’re smarter than him any day.”
“I knew I had more gray cellsthan the Mouse when I came across the perfect plan… while I was counting my dough yesterday.”
“Bank vaults are very inspiring, Commando…especially in Switzerland.”
“Yes, Francine. I get my best ideas, there. The peace and quiet helped. I used the bank computer to access the Internet. From there the rest was easy.”
“What did you do, Boss?”
“Opening a numbered Swiss bank account for the Mouse was my first step. Next, it cost twenty bucks to register MauryTheMouse as my domain name on the Internet. I own his name for the next two years. Tomorrow, we’ll get to work building this investment website.”
Mafia Bank Nationale Geneva, Switzerland February 20, 9 A.M..
The secretary knocked on the door.
“Come in,” the Director said. “What is it?”
“Another American opened a numbered account, yesterday,” she said. “Where shall I put it?” “With the American accounts… gangsters, business executives, politicians and other crooks.”
“But, Director, there are hundreds of thousands of these accounts. There’s no more room in the bank vault.”
He slammed his fist on the desk. “If there is no room…make room! American hoodlums are our best customers.”
“Yessir,” she stammered.
“Shut the door on your way out!”
Café de la Chocolate Paris, Outside Table 9:15 A.M.
The workmen approached the table. “Bonjour Madam and Monsieur. Are you Maury the Mouse and Kewpie?” the tallest man asked.
“Yes.”
“We’d like to shake your hand, Monsieur,” the man said. “As long as you are in France, honest Frenchmen and women can safely walk thestreets of Paris. Aside from General Charles DeGaulle, you are the most-admired man ever to walk along the ulevards of Paris. If you were French you’d be elected leader of our country!”
Maury rose and shook hands. “Merci, mon ami,” he said. “We still have much work to do to catch a master criminal named Commando Joe who’s loose in Paris.”
“You will find him, Monsieur. Of this we have no doubt. It was a pleasure meeting you. We must get back to our job.”
“Where do you men work?” Kewpie asked.
He pointed to the street. “In the sewers, Madam. We are sanitary engineers who keep Paris sewers clean.”
Marlowe walked up as the men were leaving. He stuck out his hand. “Good to see you, Govern’r,” he said.
Maury ignored him as he rose and walked into the café.
“Did I offend ‘em?” Marlowe questioned, his hand hanging in mid-air.
Kewpie laughed. “Heavens no. He had to wash after shaking hands with a dozen sewer workers.”
9:20 A.M.
“Here’s my report, Govern’r,” Marlowe began. “Butch’s cellular phone company recorded calls to a Swiss bank and to Charles de Gaulle Airport, yesterday.”
“Which bank?”
Marlowe glanced at his pocket notebook. “Mafia Bank Nationale in Geneva. He placed a person-to-person call to Commando Joe.”
“What did you find out from the airlines?” Maury asked.
“They reported that a passenger named Eoj Odnammocreturned from Geneva last night.”
Eoj Odnammoc is Commando Joe spelled backward,” Kewpie said. “Maury thought he’d use the same name he did in Britain. Joe’s not asbright as he thinks he is.”
“Don’t underestimate this master criminal,” Maury cautioned. “Joe’s shrewd and cunning like a fox. I don’t know what he’s doing now…but I know he’s up to no good!”
Chapter 30, Book 2
Chapter 30, Book 2
CHAPTER 30, THE WEBSITE
Hotel de Follies Montmatre, Right Bank, Paris February 20, 9 A.M.
“I’m sick of the Mouse kicking sand in my face,” Commando Joe muttered. “With him around, my scams have been disasters. Now, I get revenge. First, I’ll destroy his reputation. Second, I’ll crush him like a fly on the wall!” He pointed to the desk. “This laptop computer will be my fly swatter!”
“Boss, how can I help?” Butch asked.
“Building the investment website’ll take me a day or two,” Joe said. “I need to know what the Mouse is up to now…where he goes, what he does, whom he sees. You and Francine trail him! Keep at a distance… What disguises will you wear?”
“With a fake beard and wearing a French beret, the Mouse’ll never recognize me,” Butch boasted. “He’ll think I’m French.I like undercover woik.”
Joe nodded and glanced at Francine. “I’ll wear my red wig and red coat,” she said. “With sun glasses my disguise will be complete. I know an old friend with the police, who can tell me where the Mouse is.”
“Sounds good to me,” Joe commented. “Take this fake ID with you. I had both of them made by one of the world’s finest forgers.”
Butch took the two bogus passports. “Hey Boss, Francine’s doesn’t have a picture in it.”
“I knew I forgot something,” Joe replied. “Francine, stand against the wall. I’ll take your picture.”
Paris Metro Station Pigalle 9:30 A.M.
“The Metro is like an American subway,” Francine said. “It’s an underground train…But, before we take the Metro, I need to call my friend.”
Butch reached into his pocket. “Here, use my cell phone,” he said.
“Merci.”
Butch watched Francine walk to a bench, sit and dial. He leaned against a building and waited…and waited…and waited.
10 A.M.
“Sorry I took so long,” Francine said sweetly, handing him his cell phone. “I hadn’t talked with my friend in a long time. He told me where to look for the Mouse. Let’s go!”
Butch glanced at the Low Battery indicator flashing as he placed the phone back in his pocket. He followed Francine down the steps at Station Pigalle.
American Embassy 2 Avenue Gabriel, Paris 10:30 A.M.
“Ambassador,” Doreen said sadly, “I can’t locate Commando Joe’s website on the Internet. He may have changed domain names or just closed down YouAreASucker.com. What do you want me to do?”
“Keep working on your computer. It’s of utmost importance in our relations with our overseas allies that foreign citizens are not fleeced by an American, like Commando Joe.”
“Yes sir. I’ll keep trying. When I find this crook, what shall I do?”
“Call me immediately…anytime, day or night… Next to keeping spies away from our atomic secrets, stopping Joe is the most important task America faces today.”
Side Alley, Café de la Chocolate Paris, Left Bank 11 A.M.
“The Mouse ain’t inside!” Butch pouted, staring through the side window. “We came all the way here for nothin’.”
Francine checked her watch. “It’s close to lunchtime,” she said. “My friend said he’d be at this café for lunch. The Mouse’s making this place his headquarters. He’ll arrive soon.”
“All the tables are filled except one. Maybe he won’t be able to get a table.”
“Butch, you are a genius! You’ve given me an idea… Stay where you are. I’ll be right back.”
Café de la Chocolate 11:05 A.M.
“Bonjour,” the manager said.
“I would like a table,” Francine said.
“Pardon Mademoiselle, but no tables are available.”
She pointed to the empty table. “I’d like that one.”
“Sorry, but it is reserved by that famous American detective, Maury the Mouse. He’ll be here, shortly.”
Francine placed her pocketbook on the table, removed her compact and dropped a comb on the floor. The manager bent down and retrieved it. “Merci, Monsieur,” she said. She put the comb back in her purse, turned and walked out the door.
Side Alley, Café de la Chocolate 11:15 A.M.
Francine vaulted up on the crate and gave the two-finger victory sign.
“What did you find out?” Butch asked. “I saw you talking to the manager.”
“The Mouse should arrive any moment. This restaurant is his Paris headquarters. Remember that a cat must have patience if she wants to trap a mouse. We’ll wait and he will come.”
Francine opened her purse and removed an appliance the size of a cellular phone. She extended its antenna and showed it to Butch.
“You’ve got cell phone, too?” he asked in amazement. “How come you used mine to call your friend?”
“This is no cell phone. It’s a telephone receiver.”
“What’s that?”
“It transmits all sounds coming from the Mouse’s table.”
“Don’t you have to have a bug at their table for that receiver to work?”
Francine smiled. “You are smart and observant,” she said. “While the manager peeked up my comb from the floor…I slipped a bug under the Mouse’s table.”
“You’re one smart babe,” Butch said admiringly. “You and the Boss are too smart for the Mouse.”
“Yes, Butch. When Commando and I finish with him, the Mouse will have no reputation left… We will destroy him
Chapter 31, Book 2
CHAPTER 31, THE BUG
Café de la Chocolate Paris, Left Bank 11: 30 A.M.
The manager dashed to the open door. “Entre, Monsieur et Madame,” he said, sweeping his hand toward the empty table. “Here is your table. We are honored to have the world’s greatest detective visit us again.” He clicked his fingers. A waiter appeared with two glasses and a liter bottle. “Compliments of the house.”
“Merci beaucoup,” Maury replied. The waiter nodded and followed the manager into the kitchen.
“I didn’t know you spoke French,” Kewpie said. “It was nice of them to bring your favorite soft drink.”
“I could drink the liter of sarsaparilla all by myself. Chasing through Paris after Commando Joe, this morning, made me thirsty.” He filled the glasses and handed one to Kewpie. “Cheers,” he whispered, clicking his glass with her. “May our plan to trap Joe, Butch and Francine be successful.”
Side Alley, Café de la Chocolate 11:45 A.M.
“Why are you smiling?”Butch questioned. He moved closer to the side window.
Francine placed her index finger on her lips. “Quiet. The Mouse’s discussing his plan to trap us. I can barely hear him.” She extended the receiver antenna to its maximum length.
Wow, Butch thought, this dame is one smart babe… putting a bug under their table.
12:45 P.M.
“ What’s happening?” Butch complained. “Youain’t said nothing for an hour. I’m getting’ nervous just standing around.”
“I’ve got it!” Francine interrupted. “Commando will be pleased.”
“Whatcha got?”
“The Mouse’s plan to capture us all. We must warn Commando!”
Butch removed the cellular phone from his pocket. “My battery’s dead,” he muttered.
“Call him from a pay phone. Hereis what you tell Commando.
Butch busily took notes as Francine outlined Maury’s plan.
Scotland Yard Office of Chief Inspector Sherlock Mouse, London 12.45 P.M.
Rrrnnnggg…………….
“Chief Inspector, here,” Sherlock answered.
“Uncle, it’s Maury.”
“How’re you coming… finding that Commando Joe bloke?”
“We almost had him…but he slipped through our fingers a few days ago. Wanted Posters of him and his hoodlums are posted throughout Paris. No leads yet, but we’ve got a plan to trap his gang.”
“You’ll have to do it alone, my boy. Tomorrow, I need Marlowe, Brigadier Max Kelada and his troops for a special London assignment.”
“I’ll brief them on my plans, Uncle. Marlowe or Max can review them with you.”
“Fine. We’ll do that. How’s Kewpie like Paris?”
“She loves it. Especially the abundance of ladies’ stores,” Maury laughed. “After work, she spends hours window-shopping. Bought three French chapeaus.
“Three castles?”
“
Chapeaus…not chateaus. A chapeau’sa hat.”
“Oh… Glad for your pocketbook it is. Give me a report when you have more to report. Bye.”
Paris, Left Bank 1 P.M.
Butch whistled softly as he approached the phone booth. He picked up the receiver, inserted a coin and dialed.
“Yeah!”a voice answered. “Whatcha want?”
“Boss! Thisis Butch. I’ve got a report on the Mouse. He’s waiting for you to connect to the Internet. Then the Coppers will use satellites to isolate your location. Then they’ll pounce on you like a cat ambushing a mouse.”
“Good work! When you and Francine get back here, you can give me a detailed report. I’ll stay off-line ‘til tomorrow.”
Butch hung up and walked briskly toward the east.
Across the street, a figure slipped out of the shadows and followed him.
Café de la Chocolate Paris, Left Bank 1:15 P.M.
Rrrnnnggg…………….
“Hello, Maury the Mouse speaking.”
“Monsieur, this is Inspector Surete. Butch just called someone from that phone booth I staked out. He was indisguise…red wig and beret.”
“How did you know it was him?”
“Elementary, Monsieur,” he chuckled. “ Three beautiful women walked by him and he didn’t even look them over. Any Frenchman would have noticed. I knew right away he was a phony.”
“Where’s he now?”
“I followed him toward the Café de la Chocolate. He slipped into a nearby alley.”
“Keep him in sight. Kewpie and I will be right there.” Maury dashed to the door with Kewpie close behind.
Side Alley, Café de la Chocolate 1:15 P.M.
Francine waved her hand frantically, as soon as she saw Butch. “Let’s go!” she commanded. “A Copper’s followed you from thephone booth.” She scooted to the end of the alley and vaulted over the fence. By the time Butch climbed the fence, Francine was a block away, heading toward a Paris Metro station.
1:16 P.M..
“He’s gone,” Maury exclaimed, pointing toward the fence. “That’s the only way out. Inspector, you trail him. Kewpie and I’ll stay here and look for clues.”
Kewpie watched the inspector scale the fence and disappear in the distance. “What’re you doing?” she questioned.
“See that crate under the window? Is our table visible from there?”
Kewpie jumped on the crate. “ I detect a scent of Tantalizing Lilacs in the air,” she said. “That was the same perfume Francine LaChat wore when she tried to assassinate us in London with the doctored drinks.” Kewpie turned toward the restaurant wall. “The window gives a direct view of our table,” she observed. “Any lip reader could understand every word we said.”
“Or they could have used a portable directional-finder bug to listen to everything we said inside.”
“Good thinking, Maury…so we must assume that the crooks know our plan to capture Joe.”
Maury smiled. “Yes. We’ll use that information like as spider weaving its web to catch a fly. We’ll weave our web and Joe and his hoodlums will fly right into it.”
Chapter 32, Book 2
CHAPTER 32, MAURY SINGS THE BLUES
Hotel de Follies Montmatre, Right Bank, Paris 3 P.M.
“It was a close call, Commando,” Francine said. “The French Copper almost caught Butch.”
“Yeah, Boss. The subway car doors closed in the Copper’s face. Otherwise he’d have nabbed me… He must have been on the track team in college.”
“It was funny. Butch stuck out his tongue at the Copper as the Metro train left the station. The Copper banged on the closed doors of the moving train in frustration.”
Mmmm, Joe thought. I must do something to occupy the Mouse and other Coppers for the next twenty-four hours. Joe pulled three chairs to the table. “Have a seat,” he said. “I have a plan to keep the Mouse busy until I complete my website.”
An Hour Later
"But Commando,” Francine interrupted, “ Paris’ Blues Festival’s in three days.”
“Yeah. He’ll have to practice every day to be ready to perform…instead of looking for us.”
“ Boss,” Butch asked, “what instrument does the Mouse play? Piano?”
Commando Joe shook his head. “The ukulele. He’s good. My sister Lucretia’s working with the Blues Festival. She’ll invite the Mouse if I ask her.”
“Last I heard she was still in Scotland.”
“The Mouse helped Scotland Yard break up Lucretia’s gang of lady thugs. She escaped to Paris, had plastic surgery and now is with the Blues Festival.”
“What’s she do there, Boss?”
“She’s in charge of skimming the profits…just like The Mob did in Las Vegas casinos in the ‘50’s and 60’s.”
Café de la Chocolate 5 P.M.
Maury the Mouse clicked off the power on the cellular phone and slumped in his chair.
“What was that call about?” Kewpie questioned.
“It’s a worthy cause. I couldn’t refuse them.”
“What? Who?”
“The Paris Blues Festival. It’s being held in the Bois de Boulogne, one of the most spectacular parks in Europe, this weekend. They want me to play American Blues on my ukulele. The festival’ll raise millions for hungry children in France… Organizers are charging seventy-five dollars a ticket. That’s about 59 Euros.”
Kewpie thought for a minute.“I wouldn’t pay that much for any ticket. It’s too expensive!”
“Yes, Kewpie. But this festival is for the children. People will think of the money they pay for tickets as a tax-deductible donation to charity.”
Kewpie nodded. She scribbled something in her notebook. The pencil slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor.
“I’ll get it, “Maury said. He kneeled, picked up the pencil and banged his head on the edge of the table. His eyes lit up when he saw it.
“What’s wrong?” Kewpie asked.
Maury pressed his index finger to his lips and pointed at the bug stuck under the table.
Kewpie smiled. “Never underestimate your enemy,” she whispered. “I’ve some work to do, tomorrow, while you practice. Let’s get to sleep early.”
“Inspector Surete can assist you. He’ll report to me at eight a.m.”
* * *
They stopped at the river and watched the sun cast its orange glow through the girders of the Eiffel Tower. On the walk back to their hotel, Maury hummed the tunes he would play at the festival.
Hotel Victor Hugo Left Bank, Paris 9 P.M.
Kewpie noticed how Maury’s eyes sparkled as he pulled the trunk from under his bed, opened it with a key, and removed his ukulele. He stared at it for a moment and placed it on the nightstand. “When I retire from police work,” he said, “I might become a professional musician. If the critics like my playing at the festival, this will be a step upward in my second career.”
“Yes, sweetie,” Kewpie murmured as she turned off the light.
* * *
Hotel de Follies Right Bank, Paris February 21, 7 A.M.
“Are you going to leave your bug in the café, Francine?”
“Yes, Commando. A friend is a waiter at the Café de la Chocolate. He will record everything the Mouse says when he is there. At the end of each day I’ll retrieve the used tape and give him a new one.”
“If we can find where The Mouse lives I’ll have another job for you. We’ll need to bug his hotel room…to find out his plans so we can trap him.”
“I will do it.”
“I can pick locks, Boss,” Butch interrupted. “Can I help Francine bug the Mouse?”
Commando Joe nodded.
Hotel Victor Hugo 7:15 A.M..
Kewpie’s eyes opened as the music drifted over the bed. She listened to the words floating in from the balcony.
My Moma done tol’ me_ When I was in knee-pants My Moma done tol’ me_ Son_A woman’ll sweet talk And give you the big eye… “I love that Johnny Mercer tune,” she called out. Blues in the Night is one of my favorites.”
Maury strolled in with the ukulele. “How’d you like the song?” he asked.
“You’re a magician with that instrument, Maury. What other songs will you play at the festival?”
“I plan to sing along as I play. So far I’ve selected The St. Louis Blues and The Birth of the Blues. Probably will play some oldies, too…like Sometimes I Feel Like A Motherless Child and other Peter, Paul and Mary favorites.”
“Great selections,” Kewpie said. “Keep practicing, Maury. “I’m going to jump into the shower. Inspector Surete will be here shortly.
8 A.M.
Knock… Knock. “Come in,” Kewpie said. “We have a full day ahead.”
Maury stopped tuning the ukulele and walked to the door. “Inspector, you’re doing a fine job,” he said. “Today, assist Kewpie in some undercover work she has planned. You should coordinate your work with both the French police and The American Embassy in Paris.”
“Oui, Monsieur.”
Inspector Surete buttoned the collar on his trench coat and followed Kewpie down the hall to the elevator.
Chapter 33,, Book 2
CHAPTER 33, KEWPIE’S UNDERCOVER ESCAPADE
Paris Blues Festival 711 Rue de l’Ecole, Left Bank, Paris February 21, 10 A.M..
She fell as the door burst opened, and a man emerged carrying a bulging suitcase. “ Sorry Lady,” he muttered. “Didn’t mean to bump into yuh. In a hurry, ya know.” He checked his watch. “Gotta run. My plane leaves in an hour.”
“Where are you going?” Kewpie asked.
“Geneva!”
Kewpie watched him struggling with the suitcase as he heaved it into the back seat of a waiting taxi.
She turned to Inspector Surete. “Ready?”
“Oui, Madam. Undercover work is my specialty.” He held the door open. “Entre par la po
rte.”
“Merci,” Kewpie said as she entered the building.
American Embassy 2 Avenue Gabriel, Paris 11 A.M.
Doreen stared at the blank computer monitor as the door opened and a man entered.
“Any activity?” he inquired.
“None, Mr. Ambassador. Commando Joe’s YouAreASucker.com website is still inactive. I’ll let you know when he reactivates it.”
“Good. Internet swindlers like Joe must be stopped. It’s up to you and Maury the Mouse to prevent this type of electronic crime.”
“I’ll monitor the Internet as long as it takes, Sir.”
“Let me know when you discover what Joe’s up to.”
Doreen nodded and resumed her work.
Hotel Victor Hugo Suite 200, Paris 2 P.M.
Kewpie inserted her key in the door and stepped inside. “I start, tomorrow,” she cried, “in the cashier’s department. Inspector Surete was hired, too, as a money counter. The Blues Festival’s sold out.”
Maury set the ukulele on a chair and greeted her. “It was lonely playing these blues tunes without you around,” he admitted.
“It’ll only be for a couple of days, until the Festival is over. After that we’ll work together every day. By the way, what were you playing when I came in? I don’t remember hearing that tune before.”
“It was The Bayou Blues…a type of blues singing that originated in the Louisiana swamp country…” He began to sing:
She left me broke …In Louisiana’s Bayous Ran off wit de Preacher …Hidin’ out in de Bayous She let me down …At de bottom of de Bayous……….
“I like it, but the lyrics are so sad,” Kewpie interrupted. “But that’s the way most blues songs are, aren’t they.”
“Yep,” Maury replied. “If they weren’t so unhappy they wouldn’t call them The Blues.
She removed her wig and glasses, set them by the mirror and began brushing her short, blonde hair… “Interested in what we discovered at the Festival office, today?” she asked.
Maury nodded.
“The office is highly organized,” she began. “Armed guards with X-ray equipment are stationed at every door. They search employees going both in and out of the office. Security cameras are ceiling-mounted in every room, They’re used to monitor the employees. Large, colored tables are crowded in the money-counting room. Red tables hold stacks of one hundred-dollar bills…the Euros are stacked on the blue table. British pound notes and Norwegian krone are piled to the ceiling on the white table.”
“So the festival’s attracting attendees from all over Europe?”
“Yes, Maury. People are coming from Asia, too. As soon as you were announced as a featured performer, all remaining tickets were sold in twenty minutes. This may be the biggest event since the Olympics.”
“What happens to the money once it fills each table?”
“An armed guard takes it somewhere. I don’t know where. Tomorrow, when we start our jobs, the inspector and I will find out. I promise you that… now, get back to your practicing. You’ll be performing before over one hundred thousand people in only two days!”
Maury smiled as he cradled the ukulele in his arms and began to play.
Crayfish blues, Creole cookin’ Ain’t had none Since my love Turned me down That night in N..e..w O..r..l..e..a..n..s………….
Hotel de Follies Montmatre Right Bank, Paris 3 P.M.
Rrrnnnggg…
She grabbed the phone. “Paris Blues Festival,” she answered, “May I help you?”
“Lucretia. Is that you?”
“Who is this speaking?” she demanded.
“It’s me, Commando Joe. Your brother!”
“Commando,” she whispered. “I’m known here as Joan d’Arcquette. If you call again that’s the new name on my passport. Don’t blow my cover!”
“Don’t worry. I’m smarter than that. What have you found out about the Mouse?”
“Full name’s Maury the Mouse… staying with his wife at the Hotel Victor Hugo, suite 200, on the second floor facing the street… phone number’s 01-00-00-00-00… He has played the ukulele all his life… Favorite food is a cheese omelet smothered with a thick Roquefort sauce. That’s all the information he furnished.”
“Great! That’s what we need. Thanks, sister!” Commando Joe hung up the phone. “I got it!” he exclaimed.
“Got what, Boss?”
“The Mouse’s address, Butch. He’s staying at the Hotel Victor Hugo, across the river.”
“How’d your sister get his address?”
“She’s smart. Called him and told the Mouse that all performers at The Blues Festival had to fill out a form over the telephone…name, local address, phone number and other questions.”
“It’ll be a piece of cake. All we have to do is get the Mouse and his wife out of the hotel. Then Francine and I bug his room.”
“I’ve got just the plan to do that,” Joe said, grinning… “Pull a chair up to the table… the best defense is a good offense .Our counterattack on the Mouse is about to begin.”
Chapter 34, Book 2
CHAPTER 34, DAY BEFORE THE FESTIVAL
Paris Blues Festival 711 Rue de l’Ecole, Left Bank, Paris February 22, 8 A.M.
“Let me open thedoor for you, Madam.”
“Inspector,” Kewpie said, “you are a gentleman!” She stepped forward into the path of a man exiting the building. He brushed by and shoved her out of the way.
Without a word he tossed his suitcase into a waiting taxi, jumped in and slammed the door.
Kewpie opened her purse, retrieved a pencil and wrote a series of letters and numbers on her notepad as the taxi sped north through rush-hour traffic.
“He certainly is neither a gentleman nor a Frenchman,” Inspector Surete reflected. “He istoo rude to be either.”
“In his pin-stripe suit, blue shirt, and white tie he’s dressed like the big fellow with sunglasses who knocked me down, yesterday,” Kewpie reflected.
“He also had big hands and cauliflower ears… probably a former prizefighter or wrestler.”
“Hmmn,” Kewpie muttered. “I’m going to call Maury. He’ll know what to do.” She took her cellular phone from her purse and dialed.
Hotel Victor Hugo Sidewalk facing front of hotel 8:30 A.M.
“You sure this will work?”
“Butch,” Francine answered, “if Commando said it would work, it will work.” She pointed to a spot on the sidewalk. A man dressed in a chef hat and white apron pulled a vendor’s cart to the spot. “Remember, charge five Euros an omelet,” she added. “After you heat up thegrill put on beaucoupRoquefort sauce. We’ll smoke the Mouse out of his room. You do your job and we will do ours.”
“Do I get a bonus, Madam?”
“Oui, Monsieur. You keep himhere as long as possible. After we bug his room, you get a one-hundred-Euro bonus.”
His eyes lit up like Christmas lights. “Merci, Madam! I will do my job well.”
Charles de Gaulle Airport Paris 9 A.M.
He stepped from the taxi, grabbed his bulging suitcase and walked briskly into the terminal. He never saw them coming.
Four men in blue blocked his path. “Airport security, Monsieur,” one gendarme said. “Please follow me!”
He nodded and followed the men to a door marked, Security. Authorized Personnel Only!” The door opened and he was pushed inside.
“Would you open your suitcase, Monsieur?”
“Uh. I don’t have a key. Some guy in Geneva has it.”
“What guy?”
“A banker…the manager at the Mafia Bank Nationale.”
Hotel de Follies Montmatre Right Bank, Paris 10:30 A.M.
Rrrnnnggg……………
Joe grabbed the phone. “Yeah!” he shouted. “Who’s calling?”
“Boss, this is me. We got trouble.”
“Butch, I gave you a perfect plan to get the Mouse down to the street.”
“It may be a perfect plan…but the Mouse’s windows are closed tight. He can’t smell the cheese omelet with its thick Roquefort sauce. How can we get him to open his windows?”
“Ever heard of the parable of the bet that the wind made with the sun? They both tried to get a man to take off his coat. The sun won the bet.”
“ How much did he win on the bet, Boss?”
“He won a bundle. Just like we’re going to do when you bug the Mouse’s room… First, write down these instructions. Do you have a pencil and paper?”
“Yeah.”
“Second, do you or Francine have a one hundred Euro note?”
Butch opened his wallet and pulled a banknote out. “I’ve got one!” he exclaimed.
“Good! Rip it in half. Give half of it to the concierge in the hotel. Tell him he gets the other half after he turns up maximum heat to the Mouse’s room.”
“What good will that do?”
“Dummy! That’ll make the Mouse open a window. Once he smells the aroma of Roquefort cheese he’ll fall into our trap. When he comes downstairs for his omelet you know what to d
“I’ll pick the door lock and Francine will bug his room.”
“Right! Get to work!”
“You can depend on me, Boss. We’re startingnow!” He signaled Francine to follow him into the hotel. He stopped at the door marked Concierge and knocked.
Paris Blues Festival 711 Rue de l’Ecole, Left Bank, Paris 11:30 A.M.
Kewpie’s beeper startled her. She shut it off. “I’ll be in the rest room,” she whispered to a co-worker. She rose and walked into the small room with a Mademoiselles sign on the door. She bolted the door, opened her purse, removed a cellular phone and dialed. The phone rang briefly and a familiar voice answered.
“Maury the Mouse speaking.”
“Hi. Learned a lot today. Money’s still stacked up to the ceiling. After it’s counted, the currency is moved to the vault. That’s the inspector’s job. I’m one of the money counters… By the way, I called you, this morning about the suspicious man with a suitcase leaving the festival’s office… any news on him?”
“I alerted the French police. The gendarmes detained the courier at the airport. They opened his suitcase after a search warrant was issued by a local judge. The police are still counting the banknotes… word has it that the total’s over a million dollars.”
“Wow! This is a big-time scam!”
True. Also, the French have alerted Swiss authorities to freeze the account of The Paris Blues Festival. No telling how much they’ve already skimmed.”
What a bunch of rats, Kewpie thought. Anyone stealing from hungry children should go to jail…and the jailer should throw away the key! “I have to get back to work. Have a good lunch, Maury.”
Maury glanced at his watch. “Have a good lunch, too, sweetie. See you tonight!”
“I’ll have my report for you. How about a romantic supper this evening?”
“Super idea. I have just the place. Bye.” He hung up the phone and tugged on his collar. This place has gotten awfully hot, he thought. He removed his sweater, walked to the window and stared down at the street below.
Chapter 35, Book 2
CHAPTER 35, INTRIGUE BEFORE THE FESTIVAL
United States Department of Justice Washington, D.C. February 22, morning meeting
“Should the U.S. government have the ability to monitor Internet traffic without benefit of a search warrant?” a Justice Department lawyer asked.
“In my courtroom,” the judge pointed out, “monitoring or tracing Internet traffic could violate the U.S. Constitution’s Fourth Amendment: The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures shall not be violated.”
“Rubbish!” the Attorney General exclaimed. “Criminals who ply their trade in cyberspace are no different than street thugs. They rob the public.”
“Until the Fourth Amendment is modified or reinterpreted, Internet security should not come at the cost of stripping Americans of their constitutional rights. I’d advise you to contact the American Embassy in Paris, immediately.”
“But this would give Commando Joe a free hand at fleecing greedy Web investors,” the Attorney General objected.
“Sorry,” the judge said. “That’s the law.”
“Then the law’s an ass,” the Justice Department attorney muttered under his breath.
“What did you say?” the judge asked.
“The same thing I always say whenever the courts release a convicted crook on a technicality.”
American Embassy 2 Avenue Gabriel, Paris early afternoon
“Come in,” he said. “Have a seat. I have an important communication from the Justice Department in Washington.”
Doreen sat on the couch and stared at the Ambassador. “Is it about Commando Joe? I haven’t seen any Internet activity from him.”
“I have been ordered by the Attorney General to cease and desist any Internet monitoring of Joe,” he began. “A judge has advised that tracing cybercriminals could violate the Fourth Amendment to the Constitution.”
“But this opens up the Worldwide Web to cybercrooks, hackers and master criminals like Joe,” Doreen objected.
“Sorry,” the Ambassador said, shrugging. “You can’t fight city hall. My boss says to stop this monitoring.”
Doreen rose and left the room. This is nutty, she thought, walking back to her office. I’ll keep monitoring the Internet…no matter what the bureaucrats say. When I locate any illegal activity I’ll contact my friend, Maury the Mouse! He’ll know what to do!
Hotel de Follies Montmatre, Right Bank, Paris 5 P.M.
“What are you doing, Butch? You’re making me nervous tapping your feet.”
He removed his earphones. “ Sorry Boss,” he explained. “I’m just keeping time to the music. That Mouse ain’t bad at all on guitar.”
“He plays ukulele,” Francine interrupted. “The Mouse is a world-class musician.”
“He may be a good musician,” Commando Joe said, “but he’s a lousy detective… imagine falling for a stunt like we pulled on him.”
“Butch and I make a good team, Commando,” Francine added. “As soon as the Mouse opened his second-story window and smelled Roquefort cheese hewas trapped. The chef took his time making the Mouse’s omelet…giving Butch time to pick his door lock and for me to bug his room… while he was on the street having lunch.”
Joe turned back to his computer keyboard. “I’ve got another day’s work ahead of me. When my websites are completed, we’ll have all the ammunition I need to ruin the Mouse…keep monitoring his room. Let me know any news you overhear.”
“Sure, Boss.” Butch tapped lightly on the arm of his rocking chair as he glided back and forth. Soon he was asleep.
Hotel Victor Hugo Left Bank, Paris 5:30 P.M.
"No more etouffe,
No more cajun cookin’
Since ma darlin’ ran off
Wit da Fuller Brush Man…"
The door creaked open and Kewpie stepped inside. “Great song, Maury,” she said. “You’ll be a hit, tomorrow.”
“I’ve never performed before one hundred thousand people, before.”
“Just imagine you’re singing to me. I’ll sit in the front row. Look into my eyes when you’re on stage and you’ll forget about the audience.”
“I’ll do it, Kewpie.”
“Where are we celebrating, tonight?”
“At Chez de la Souris. It’s near the Eiffel Tower. We can dine by candlelight and look down on the Paris lights. The restaurant features French home cooking. Their chocolate mousse dessert with dried fruit and herb-flavored ice cream is world-famous.”
Kewpie hooked her arm in his. “Let’s go,” she said. “I have a lot to tell you.”
Hotel de Follies 6 P.M.
He rose, stretched and crossed the room. “Are you asleep?” he cried.
Butch sat up in the chair and rubbed his eyes. “ I was listening with my eyes closed. Ain’t heard a peep from the Mouse’s room…not practicing or talking…must have gone out.”
“When you get tired of listening to the bug, switch off with Francine. We must know what The Mouse has up his sleeve.”
“Right, Boss!”
Chez de la Souris Ave Gustave, Paris 9 P.M.
“The sequins on your evening dress sparkle like fireflies in the candlelight.”
“Maury, you are so romantic. That’s why I married you…and for your gentleness and intellect. You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met.”
“We make a good team, Kewpie…we complement each other. On this job you infiltrated the office of the Paris Blues Festival, retrieved valuable information which I relayed to the French gendarmes. We coordinate together like a pair of shoes, each doing an assigned job to get to a destination on time.”
“You’re right,” she replied, pushing her chocolate mousse to the center of the table. “I’m full. Would you like my dessert?”
Maury’s eyes brightened as he reached for it. “Sure. Mine was delicious, yours should be twice as good.”
Paris Blues Festival The Next Day February 23, 8:30 A.M.
Rrrnnnggg…….
“
Paris Blues Festival”
“Joan d’Arquette, please.”
“Hello.”
“Lucretia, this is Commando. The Coppers are aware of your scam. They’re waiting to arrest you after the festival.”
"Are you sure?”
“Yep. We bugged the Mouse’s room. He talked about the Copper’s raid, tonight.”
“How’d they know?”
“Your couriers spilled the beans… Coppers arrested them.”
“Commando, you’ve got to get rid of the Mouse. He’s cost us plenty.”
“I’ll get him, sister. I’ll get him good!”
Chapter 36, Book 2
CHAPTER 36, PARIS BLUES FESTIVAL
Hotel Victor Hugo Left Bank, Paris 9:15 A.M.
Ma
ury reached for the ringing telephone. “Maury the Mouse speaking,” he answered.
“Sorry to interrupt your practicing,” Kewpie said breathlessly, “but the crooks at The Paris Blues Festival have flown the coop.”
“How do you know?”
“The inspector told me that as soon as the mail arrived, the sorters separated the checks and the cash. Then, the executives took only the cash and stuffed it into two suitcases. They scurried out of the office without a word, tossed their loot in the back of a truck and disappeared into traffic.”
“Has Inspector Surete notified the gendarmes?”
“Yes. They’ll be here in a few minutes. We also got a partial license plate number for the truck. They’re tracing that, too.”
“Someone must have tipped off the crooks,“Maury said. “Otherwise they’d have stayed ‘til after the festival. They could have made a bundle on the concessions.”
“The festival workers are upset. None have been paid.”
“Assure them that all workers will receive their earnings after the festival.
“Oh,” Kewpie murmurred. “You are so-o-o good. I’ll let them know.”
“Since you’re unemployed today, how about lunch?”
“I’d love it. Where shall I meet you?”
“Café de la Chocolate at noon. I’ll make reservations.”
“Wonderful,” Kewpie replied. “It’s my favorite place. See you, there.” She hung up and turned to speak with the gendarmeswho had just entered the building.
Hotel de Follies Montmatre, Right Bank, Paris 10 A.M.
“She’s here, Boss…waiting outside. Good looking lady.”
“I hired Jo Anne for her skills,” Commando Joe said sharply. “She’s the best counterfeiter in France. Send her in!”
” Sure Boss!” Butch walked to the open door and waved her inside. “He’ll see you now.”
“Have a seat,” Commando Joe said as she entered the room. “My sister tells me you know your business.”
“I’m known as the Rembrandt of the underworld. Whatever it is you need I can forge ‘em…passports, checks, ID…you name it, I can do it. My fee is high.”
“Whatever it is, I’ll pay it. Have you heard of Maury the Mouse?”
“Of course. The Mouse is the most famous detective in the world. People love him in Europe… Isn’t he performing, tonight, at The Paris Blues Festival?”
“That’s him.” Joe handed her a file folder and plastic case. We need his signature and fingerprints on these checks and documents. Here’s a copy of one of his signed checks. His prints are on the tape in the case. Butch lifted them from the Mouse’s room, yesterday.”
Jo Anne leafed through the file. “This will take some time,” she said. “Do you have a desk near the window?”
“
Yes. Use the desk in the other room. If my assistant, Butch, bothers you, tell him to drag his rocking chair in here. I’ll be finishing building another website… Any questions, I’ll be here.”
“Fine. It may take several hours.” She walked into the adjoining room, placed the file and case on the desk and sat down.
Café de la Chocolate Noon
“I’ve already ordered for you,” he said, as Kewpie approached the table.
“You’re so considerate, Maury. That’s why we work well together.”
“You’ll love the cheese omelet smothered with Roquefort sauce. I had one for lunch yesterday. It was wonderful.”
“Did you cook it yourself?”
“No. A street vender did. He was stationed by our hotel..
Was he back there, today?”
Maury scratched his head. “It’s strange,” he mused. “That was the only time I’ve seen him.”
“Did you lock the door when you left our room?”
“Yes.”
“Were you gone long?”
“Maybe thirty minutes. The cook worked slowly…but he knew his business. He gabbed too much, but made the best omelet I’ve ever tasted.”
“Did anything appear moved when you returned to our room?”
“Yes. I didn’t remember leaving a chair under the chandelier.”
Paris Metro 3 P.M.
“How did you know there was a bug in the chandelier?” Maury asked. “You also located one that crooks planted in the curtains when we were in northern Scotland.”
“Commando Joe and his companions will risk everything to keep ahead of Maury the Mouse,” Kewpie replied. “You’re too smart for them…so a bug is the only way they can keep up with you.”
“We’ll use it to our advantage. I have a plan to trap Joe using his bug. I’ll tell you about it after the show.”
“Okay… do we have everything you need tonight with us?” Kewpie asked.
“Yep,” Maury replied. “You have my music in the briefcase and I have the ukulele. We’re all set.”
She put a coin in the turnstile and walked to where the train brakes were squeaking as they pulled into the station. Maury was right behind her.
Paris Blues Festival Bois de Boulogne 4 P.M.
“What a beautiful place,” Kewpie exclaimed. “So quiet and peaceful.
“This is one of Europe’s most beautiful parks,” Maury said. “In a few hours it’ll be overrun with over one hundred thousand concert-goers cheering the singers” He pointed to the north. “Past those trees are the performers’ dressing rooms. Come along and I’ll introduce you to the other musicians on tonight’s program.”
Performers’ Dressing Rooms 6:30 P.M.
“What do you think?” Maury asked.
“I think you’ll sing like an angel, tonight,” Kewpie said. “It was exciting meeting so many famous singers…but you’ll hold your own compared to them.”
“I’ll sing only to you. Your seat’s in the middle of the front row… You better be going. The show starts at seven.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “Break a leg, Maury! Knock ‘em dead!” Kewpie said forcefully. She turned and walked toward the sign, Paris Blues Festival.
Chapter 37, Book 2
CHAPTER 37, MAISON DE LA GUERISON (part 1 of 2)
Hotel Victor Hugo Left Bank, Paris Midnight
Maury opened the door. “You were magnificent tonight,” Kewpie said as she stepped inside. “One-hundred-thousand people howled for a dozen encores when you finished. I thought you and your ukulele would be there all night.”
“I would have stayed if the audience kept applauding. Their donations and ticket purchases will help provide for the recovery of homeless orphans throughout Europe.” He pointed at the bug in the chandelier and smiled.
“How much money did the concessions raise at the concert?” Kewpie asked, taking the cue.
“Around a quarter of a million Euros.”
“Wow! That’s a bunch of money. Isn’t it dangerous having that much money around on a weekend? The banks don’t open until Monday.”
“It’s safe. We hid it in the last place crooks would look for it.”
“Where’s that?”
“The safe at The Paris Blues Festival office,” Maury said, winking. “We’ll pick it up on Monday and deposit it.”
Kewpie turned the radio dial until music filled the room. She waved Maury away from the chandelier to a far corner. “Do you think the crooks heard us?” she whispered.
Maury nodded and smiled.
That night as he slept, a thought kept popping up in his dreams: the trap is set and baited…maybe catch us a rat or two.
Hotel de Follies Montmatre, Right Bank, Paris February 24, 4 A.M.
+ “How come I have to go?” Butch whined.
+“You can pick locks and crack safes.” Commando Joe replied. “The coppers changed the locks when they raided the Festival office. My sister, Lucretia, will accompany you. She’ll have two bodyguards with her.”
“How much dough will I get?”
“Five percent of whatever’s in the safe.”
“ Sounds good. Where do I meet them?”
“Sis will drive by in a few minutes to pick you up downstairs. The job shouldn’t take but an hour or two.”
“Okay, Boss! Wish me luck!”
Four Hours Later
Rrrnnnggg………
“Yeah!” Joe grunted. What do you want?”
“Boss, this is Butch. Coppers were waiting for us. When I cracked the safe and pulled the door open, they jumped out of the vault and slapped handcuffs on us before we knew wha
t was happening. The coppers had to know we were coming.”
“Curses, foiled again by that Mouse,” he muttered.
“What did you say, Boss?”
“I said the Mouse is smart. But, we’ve got to be smarter…where are you now?”
“Coppers just booked us. We’re all in the slammer on 9 boulevard du Palais, near metro station Cite.”
“Yeah. I’ll get a lawyer down there to post bail. Keep your mouth shut!”
“Sure. I’m not that dumb to sing like a canary.”
“Sit tight ‘til you get out.” Joe hung up his cellular phone, packed it in a case with his laptop computer and yelled into the next room. “Francine, grab the briefcase of documents that Jo Anne forged. We got to get out of here fast! Coppers will trace Butch’s call. They could be here within thirty minutes.”
“Got the briefcase and my suitcase, Commando,” Francine yelled back. “Meet you on the roof in two minutes.”
Hotel Victor Hugo Left Bank, Paris 9 A.M.
“We made an electric sweep of your rooms,” the gendarme said. “Besides the chandelier, we removed a bug in the kitchen and another under the bed. We’ll check them for fingerprints and let you know what we find.”
“Merci,” Maury said, as the gendarme unplugged his testing equipment.
“It’s our job to protect the public. After last night’s Paris Blues Festival, you are a national hero in France. I feel honored to work with a fine detective like you.” He bowed, opened the door and said. “Adieu, Monsieur et Madam,” as he walked out the doorway.
“The French are so friendly and helpful,” Kewpie said.
“Yes,” Maury agreed. “At this moment, Paris police are tracing a call that Butch made after his arrest. In civilized societies, criminals are allowed one phone call. We suspect he called his boss, Commando Joe.”
“You are so-o-o smart. Joe fell into your trap.”
“I never count my chickens before they hatch. Joe’s a slippery character…keep your fingers crossed that the police nab him.”
“How’re your plans coming along for providing for the homeless orphans throughout Europe?”
“We’re using donations and funds raised in The Paris Blues Festival to remodel an abandoned hospital, La Maison de la Guerison. A French Internet billionaire has donated this former hospital to house the orphans.”
“What does the name mean in French?” Kewpie asked. “I know La Maison is ‘The House’…but what does de la Guerison mean?”
“Of Healing,” Maury said softly. “La Maison de la Guerison is The House of Healing. By providing shelter, food, clothing and love for these orphans, we will heal wounds inflicted by fate…and make them better citizens. Remember that the children of today are the world leaders of tomorrow.”
“What a wonderful place this will be! When will the orphanage open?”
“In a few months. At this moment, trucks hauling building material are on their way to the orphanage. Construction begins immediately.”
“Where’s it located?”
“Twenty miles east of Paris…near Disneyworld Paris, in the suburb of Marne-la-Vallee…a wonderful location for the boys and girls. It’s only a forty-five minute train ride from Paris.”
Kewpie kissed his cheek. “Maury, you are the most-respected person in Europe. You do so-o-o much good for ordinary citizens. They love you as much in France as anywhere on earth. I’m proud to be your partner, friend and wife.”
Rrrnnnggg………
“I’ll get the phone!” Kewpie cried. She listened for a minute and hung up. “It was Inspector Surete. When the gendarmes raided Joe’s hotel room all they found was a photo of you with a bullseye drawn around it.”
He’s out to get me, Maury thought. I’ll have to get him, first!
Chapter 38, Book 2
CHAPTER 38, MAISON DE LA GUERISON (part 2 of 2)
American Embassy 2 Avenue Gabriel, Paris February 25, 9 A.M.
Rrrnnnggg………
He picked up the phone. “Ambassador speaking.”
“I was told Doreen no longer works at the embassy,” a voice said.
“Who wants to know?” the ambassador demanded.
”This is Maury…Maury the Mouse. We met a few days ago at Café de la Chocolate.”
“Yes, indeed. It was a pleasure meeting the great crime fighter. What may I do for you?”
“I’d like to talk with her.”
“That will be difficult. Department of Justice has reassigned Doreen to Moscow on a secret mission. I’ll have her contact you whenever she returns…but I don’t know when that will be.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ambassador.”
“It’s my pleasure, Maury. Good luck…bye”
One Month Later La Maison de la Guerison Marne-la-Vallee 9 A.M.
“Is the cellar deep enough?” the foreman asked.
“Yes,” the architect replied, checking the floor plan. “Pour the concrete immediately. The forms are in place.”
“When are the enfants arriving?”
“The orphans are expected this afternoon. They’ll occupy temporary quarters in town until all construction is complete. That could take several more months.”
“Will the Mouse be here to welcome the enfants?”
“Yes. Maury the Mouse and his wife, Kewpie, are arriving from Paris today, before noon.”
“Without him there would be no Maison de la Guerison. He's a great American."
“Indeed,” the architect agreed. “Crooks would have run off with the millions raised by The Paris Blues Festival had he not stopped them. Now, orphans will find love and acceptance, here. They can make their recovery from rejection at La Maison de la Guerison, The House of Healing.”
“The Mouse is as famous as Louis Pasteur. All France loves him.”
“Yes. He is as admired by the American public, too.”
Marne-la-Vallee Train Station 11:30 A.M.
“The train’s slowing,” Kewpie observed. “We must be almost there.”
Maury stared through the window. “There’s a large crowd on the platform,” he observed. “Must be a famous Frenchman on this train.”
Kewpie saw a man running beside the slowing train. “Look at the sign he’s holding above his head!” she cried. “It reads Viva le Mouse.”
Maury scratched his chin. “Well, I’ll be,” he muttered.
Kewpie took his hand as the train’s brakes squealed and hissed. “They love you, Maury,” she purred. “Just like I do. You are the most admired detective in the world.”
Maury and Kewpie walked down the train steps to the platform. Townspeople crowded around them and cheered, “Viva le Mouse! Viva le Mouse!”
Hotel Des Criminels Left Bank, Paris March 25, noon
“The lawyer you got for Butch did a superior job in his contre-interroger,” Francine said.
“Yeah,” Commando Joe agreed. “He did the best cross-examination I’d ever seen. Had the jury in the palm of his hand. As a first offender Butch got only six months for breaking and entering. With time off for good behavior he’ll be out of the slammer sometime this week.”
“How’re you doing with the suckers?”
“We’ve received electronic transfers from every country in the world. Suckers’ dough is flo
wing into the Swiss bank like an avalanche of snow in the Alps. This is the biggest scam ever conceived.”
“You are a genius, Commando. Only a genius would rent an apartment in a hotel next door to the Mouse’s.”
Joe chuckled. “I bolted the receiving antenna on the roof of The Hotel Victor Hugo. It was a piece of cake to jump from our roof to his. We’re planting enough incriminating evidence to put the Mouse behind bars forever!”
“
It was creative of you to have Jo Anne transfer Maury’s fingerprints to the antenna, too.”
“She’s a master forger. Her signatures on the stock certificates, bank drafts and checks are identical to the Mouse’s signature. She was expensive…but worth every euro.”
“Is her job finished here?”
“Yes, for now. All we do is wait for the downfall of the Mouse. It will be swift.”
“Let’s celebrate, tonight,” Francine murmured coyly. “I know just the place.”
Joe laughed. “I’ll bet it’s that restaurant that we talked about last month…the one specializing in fricassee of lobster in wine sauce.”
“Oui. I love the cuisine at L’Ambroisie. Even desserts are superb.”
Joe picked up his cellular phone and dialed.
“Alooo…L’Ambroisie.”
“I’d like to reserve a table for two at eight tonight… a candlelight table in a dark corner. My name is Joe.”
“Oui, Monsieur Joe. I know just the table for you.”
La Maison de la Guerison 4 P.M..
“The orphans will be well-cared-for in town until we’re finished here,” the architect said. “This residence will give them back their self-esteem and help transform them into future leaders…your motivational speech when you met them at the station, brought tears to my eyes.”
“Maury’s a Distinguished Toastmaster and was on the debating team in high school,” Kewpie added. “He thought of studying to be a lawyer while in college…but became a detective, instead.”
“Lucky for us he did. Otherwise the world would be ruled by criminals.”
Maury shrugged. “Like crabgrass on a lawn, criminals must be weeded out of society for countries to have a chance to prosper.”
The architect shook Maury’s hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir. You are the most admired detective in the world. People trust you and would follow you anywhere. He glanced at his watch. “I’ll escort you to the station…your train leaves for Paris at five.”
Marne-la-Vallee Train Station 5 P.M.
“Shall we have dinner at La Café de la Chocolate?” Maury asked.
“Well, if you don’t mind,” Kewpie purred, “I’ve always wanted to dine at a famous restaurant in Paris.”
“Name it and we’ll go there.”
“L’Ambroisie.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Its chocolate pie with bitter chocolate and coffee ice cream is world-famous.”
“Okay,” he chuckled. “I’ll call and make reservations when we get to Paris.”
Chapter 39, Book 2
CHAPTER 39, CALM BEFORE THE STORM
L’Ambroisie Place des Vosges, Paris 8 P.M.
“Commando, it was a good idea to arrive early,” Francine said. “This table in a private room allows us to see everyone entering or leaving the restaurant.”
“With my back to the wall and the dim lighting in the center of the dining room we can see diners but they can’t see us.” Commando Joe chuckled. “Look what the cat dragged in,” he
whispered, pointing to the headwaiter escorting a couple to a table.
“It’s the Mouse!” she exclaimed. “How did he know we’d be here?”
“He’s not that smart…just a coincidence.”
“What shall we do?”
“Nothing… We’ll take our time with dinner and wait ‘til he leaves. Then I’ll pay the bill and
we’ll depart.”
“His wife looks elegant in her black-lace dress. The Mouse is talking to the waiter. What is
going on? He’s clawing in the air like a lobster.”
“He’s describing what he would like to order.”
“The Mouse will never catch us. Anyone who doesn’t know how to order a lobster in a French restaurant hasn’t the brains to catch master criminals like us.”
Commando Joe raised his water glass. “A toast to you and me and other great criminal minds of the century,” he toasted. “To the future success of our campaign against the Mouse!”
Francine lifted her glass, clicked it with Joe’s and smiled.
Hotel Victor Hugo Left Bank, Paris 11 P.M.
“What a wonderful restaurant, Maury,” Kewpie said as she hopped into bed.
Maury stared at his wallet. “My wallet seems a lot smaller now than earlier tonight,” he reflected. “On a policeman’s salary it’s difficult to afford lobster very often.”
“Yes, but it was s-o-o good. Thanks for the treat.”
“You’re welcome…Get some sleep. Tomorrow we resume our search for Commando Joe.”
“Do you have any clues to his whereabouts?”
Maury shook his head. “It’s as if Joe disappeared into thin air a month ago. We’ll just keep searching until we find him.”
Hotel Des Criminels Left Bank, Paris March 26, 9 A.M.
“Did you read the newspaper?” Francine asked, holding up the front page.
“Naw, I’m still half-asleep,” Commando Joe moaned. “Something I should see?”
“It’s the Mouse. He’s Grand Marshal of tomorrow’s Easter Parade.”
Joe jumped to his feet. “How many crooks can you hire?”
Francine counted on her fingers and toes. “Sixteen,” she replied.
“Good! Have them, and others they can recruit, report to me here, at 7 A.M. Tell yhem I pay top dollar.”
CNBC-TV New York City, New York 9:30 A.M.
“Special report from London,” the announcer said. “European stocks are up sharply, especially technology shares. Technology stocks in London, Paris, and Frankfort have risen nearly thirty percent in the past month. With more on this story, here is our Paris correspondent, Millie LaFleur.”
“Millie LaFleur, reporting from the trading floor of the Paris Stock Exchange. Selected dot-com stocks have rocketed into the stratosphere in March. The most-heavily-traded tech stock has been YouAreASucker.com. On your TV screen you can see its growth in the past month from twenty Euros to over one hundred today. Other dot-com stocks have followed on the upside. Millions of press releases are sent daily into cyberspace by European investment houses. These Internet communications have helped stock prices surge on three major overseas stock indices: London’s Footsie 100, Frankfurt’s DAX-30 and Paris’s CAC-40… with up-to-date overseas stock news this is Millie LaFleur signing off from Paris.”
“Whenever radical changes happen in overseas markets,” the announcer concluded, “we will cut into regular programming with a special report from our Paris correspondent… now back to local business news.”
American Embassy Moscow, Russia 9:35 A.M.
Doreen stared wide-eyed at the television screen. “Commando Joe is active again with his phony company, YouAreASucker.com,” she muttered. “I better warn Maury the Mouse.” She clicked off CNBC-TV, and turned on her computer e-mail. She began typing: WARNING: Commando Joe is active again on the Internet. His YouAreASucker dot.com stock is still being sold to investment suckers. Keep on your toes. Regards, Doreen. She clicked the SEND button.
Hotel Victor Hugo Left Bank Paris 5 P.M.
“It’s discouraging, Maury,” Kewpie sighed. “No sign of Commando Joe again, today. He must be lying low.”
“It’s been over a month since we’ve heard about him. He’ll surface soon enough. Could you please check our E-mail on the laptop computer?”
Kewpie accessed the Internet and cried, “Bingo! Doreen sent us an E-mail from Russia about Joe. His scams are back!”
Maury looked at the monitor screen. “I’ll call Inspector Surete,” he said. “The police can trace the signal from YouAreASucker.com to its source…then we can arrest him and put the crook behind bars.”
“Great idea, Maury. What kind of vehicle will you ride in at the Paris Easter Parade?”
“A Bugatti convertible. Sunshine is forecasted for tomorrow, so I expect they’ll put the top down. I’ll wear sunglasses to keep the sun out of my eyes.”
“I’m so proud of you,” Kewpie said. “My husband, the Grand Marshal of the entire parade. I’ll be in the crowd cheering you.”
“I’ll turn in early after I speak with Inspector Surete about Joe. The parade begins on the Champs-Elysees at nine.
Hotel Des Criminels Left Bank, Paris March 27, 7:30 A.M.
“Any questions?” Commando Joe asked.
The men shook their heads.
“Follow the map and instructions I gave you,” he continued. “Both groups will be spaced fifty feet apart. Group A will be North of Avenue des Champs Elysees, and Group B will be stationed on the south side. When the Mouse’s car drives by, you’ll get him in a crossfire. Francine will videotape the Easter parade. The group which scores the most direct hits gets a bonus.”
Like a football team leaving the locker room after a coach’s pep talk, the men picked up their equipment and charged out of the hotel, cheering.
Chapter 40, Book 2
CHAPTER 40, EASTER PARADE
Jardin des Tuileries Place de la Concorde, Paris 8 A.M.
“There’s the black Bugatti in front of the Jeu de Paume Museum!” Kewpie exclaimed.
Maury nodded and strolled toward the car.
“May I see your identification?” a gendarme asked. “Only authorized persons on my list are allowed beyond this point.”
Maury took his ID from his wallet. “I’m Maury the Mouse.” I’ll be riding in the Bugatti convertible” The gendarme checked his list and nodded. “Go ahead, Monsieur. The parade begins at nine.”
“Sorry, Kewpie, but they won’t let you in with me. We’ll meet here after the parade.”
“Okay. I’ll be waving to you from Avenue Montaigne. That’s about half-way down the Avenue Des Champs Elysees… on the south side of the avenue.”
“I’ll look for you…but a crowd in excess of fifty thousand will line the parade route.”
“You’ll still be able to pick me out of the crowd. I’ll be the one cheering the loudest.”
8:55 A.M.
“Monsieur, my name is Francois,” he said extending his hand. “I am the police chief of Paris. Welcome to our city.”
“I’m honored to be riding in your Paris Easter Parade,” Maury replied as he shook hands.
“I must caution you, Monsieur. I’ve received reports from gendarmes that troublemakers are agitating the crowd. I’ve called for reinforcements. It might be safer to put the convertible top up.”
Maury shook his head. “I love Paris and its people. I want to wave to them all. I’ll take my chances today. Please keep the convertible top down.”
“As you wish, Monsieur.”
Avenue Montaigne 9:45 A.M..
“I can’t see anything,” Kewpie complained to the gendarme. “Is the parade delayed?”
“No Madam. Demonstrators are bad today. The Bugatti, followed by floats, bands and can-cangirls should arrive soon.”
“Merci, officer.”
10:15 A.M.
“Here he comes!” a voice cried.
Kewpie shielded her eyes, as she stared to the east. Maury’s riding in a yellow Bugatti, she thought. They must have switched cars. What are they throwing at him? Must be flowers.
Nearby a man began to cry, “Voleur! Voleur! Mouse un voleur! Voleur!
Others in the crowd picked up the chant as the Bugatti passed by. “Voleur! Voleur. Mouse
un voleur!”
Kewpie nudged a lady next to her. “What’s going on? What are they chanting?”she asked. “What’s a voleur?”
“Parisians are mad. Many have lost life savings. People say that the Mouse is a robber!”
“How can they believe that? Maury the Mouse is an honest man!”
“I do not know, Madam. I do not gamble in the stock market…but those who lost life savings did…they invested in stocks recommended by that man in the Bugatti!”
“Maury the Mouse?” Kewpie questioned, incredulously.
“Oui!”
Hotel Victor Hugo Left Bank, Paris 10:30 A.M..
A police van stopped at the curb and a swat team jumped onto the cobblestones. “Secure the area,” a captain commanded. Four men in flack jackets ran to the corners of the building, guns at their hip.
“You six men follow me!” He ran into the lobby followed by the rest of the squad.
The desk clerk stiffened. “Is something the matter?” he said nervously, starring at the gu
ns pointed at him.
“We need to search the hotel!” the Captain said. “The financial future of France is at stake!”
“Oui, Captain. How may I help?”
“Here’s our search warrant,” he said, handing the clerk a sheet of paper. We need a list of all residents, especially those who have a computer.”
“That’s easy. We have only one resident who owns a computer.”
“Is that person here?”
“No, Captain. He and his wife are at the Easter Parade.”
“We’ll search his room, and wait for him to return. Also, check closets, supply rooms, basement and roof for clues.”
“Oui, Captain,” the sergeant said.
Jardin des Tuileries Place de la Concorde, Paris 2:30 P.M..
The ring of police cars opened briefly as the Bugatti pulled safely to the curb.
“Would you like a towel, Monsieur?”a gendarme asked, smiling.
“Yes. Thanks.” Maury wiped the egg yokes from his hair and cleaned his sunglasses. “Do they do this often at Easter parades?” Maury asked.
“Only once before, Monsieur. The mayor predicted his horse would win last year’s Paris Derby. Unfortunately, his horse finished last. When the mayor rode in the Easter parade, Parisians who lost money on his horse threw raw eggs at him, too. It’s a tradition in France to throw eggs at those who cost you money.”
Maury scratched his head. “I didn’t cost anyone money,” he stammered. “Maybe they have me confused with someone else.”
“Perhaps, Monsieur. Perhaps they do.”
2:45 P.M..
A familiar voice carried over the roar of the crowd. Maury ran to the closest gendarme. “It’s my wife,” he pleaded. “Let her in.”
The phalanx of blue uniforms parted as Kewpie slipped between two gendarmes and threw her arms around Maury. She was crying as eggs splattered on the pavement like they were shot from a Gattling gun. A crowd of thousands stood outside the police barricade, waving their fists, chanting “Voleur! Voleur! Mouse un Voleur!”
“This is a madhouse,” Maury shouted. “Let’s get out of here! The crowd could break through the police barricades any moment.”
Kewpie nodded and followed him to a police car with dark-tinted windows. “Take us to The American Embassy on Avenue Gabriel!” Maury shouted to the driver. “It’s urgent!”
“Oui, Monsieur.”
Maury took his cellular phone from his pocket and dialed.
“American Embassy,” a voice answered. “We’re closed for the weekend.”
“Then open up! This is Maury the Mouse speaking. My wife and I are on our way! We’ll arrive in twenty minutes! I wish to meet with the Ambassador on an urgent matter!”
“Yessir. I will also alert the Embassy guards. They’ll escort you inside. Be careful. We hear there’s a riot going on at the Easter Parade.”
Chapter 41, Book 2
CHAPTER 41, THE FRAME
Hotel Des Criminels Left Bank, Paris March 27, 3P.M.
“Commando!” Francine shouted. “Come to the window! Coppers have Hotel Victor Hugo surrounded!”
“Excellent!” Commando Joe gloated. “They’ve taken the bait we left for them. They’re here to arrest the Mouse!”
“Is it safe to stay here?”
“I’m stayin’ ‘til I see ‘em wrap handcuffs around the Mouse’s wrists. It’s in my blood, Francine. For generations, the Joe family has framed coppers…it’s the heritage of the Joe clan to destroy law and order.”
“Why go to the trouble of framing the Mouse? Butch could try to Tommy gun him, again.”
“I want to see the Mouse destroyed… mocked by honest citizens…and to be imprisoned by coppers. With him behind bars, the entire world is at my mercy. He was the only lawman smarter than me.”
“Commando,” Francine cooed, “you are another Napoleon Bonaparte. He also believed in divide and conquer! Rather than fight one formidable enemy, he gave them each false reports. They split into two smaller armies and Napoleon fought and defeated them one at a time.”
“You’re my kind of woman…who understand me. When Butch gets out of prison, we three will conquer the world. As long as The Mouse is behind bars the coppers are no match for us. We’ll run rings around ‘em!”
“I’ll keep a watch on the coppers. I’ll let you know when they arrest the Mouse.”
“As soon as they do, we’ll sneak out the back door to the alley. I’ve already rented a house for us outside of Paris. It’s the last place coppers will ever think to look for us.”
“Where?”
“Marne-la-Vallee. We’re across the street from a new orphanage called La Maison de la Guerison.
Police Headquarters Boulevard du Palais 3:05 P.M..
“Any word from the captain?” a major asked.
The detective shook his head. “He’s been at Hotel Victor Hugo for over four hours,” he said. “Are you sure Maury the Mouse is really a crook?”
“Oui, for four reasons. First, he is American. Frenchmen know Americans take a P.T. Barnum approach to business…they feel their is a sucker born every minute. Second, our fingerprint expert found the Mouse’s fingerprints on a roof antenna, from which Internet websites manipulating stock prices were created. Third, the Mouse has a Swiss bank account where some illegal stock proceeds were shifted electronically. Fourth, phony stock certificates found hidden at Hotel Victor Hugo had his fingerprints on them. Experts are checking the hard drive on his laptop computer at our laboratory.”
“Sounds like an open and shut case,” the detective agreed. “He’s a voleur!…I’ll go back to my duties, now.”
“Bien. When you leave, send in Inspector Surete. He’s worked closely with the Mouse. I want to question him! Shut the door on your way out.”
“Oui, Major.”
American Embassy 2 Avenue Gabriel, Paris 3:15 P.M.
“Nice seeing you, again,” the ambassador said, extending his hand.
“It’s good to see you, too,” Maury replied. “Kewpie and I came here to discover what’s happening in Paris. Parisians have gone mad!”
“They loved Maury, yesterday,” Kewpie interrupted. “Today, they bombarded him with raw eggs and called him a voleur, which is a bandit and crook!”
“Well, you know how people are,” the ambassador shrugged. “They have a short memory. What have you done for me lately is the way people think these days. However, I’ll phone the local police chief and get the scoop on what’s agitating the Parisians.”
Maury took Kewpie’s hand in his as the ambassador dialed his telephone. He watched the animated conversation and the flashes of red on the ambassador’s cheeks. The ambassador hung up the phone and stared solemnly at Maury. “It’s worse than I thought,” he muttered. “It’s awful! There’s a warrant out for your arrest.”
“What?” Maury asked, incredulously. “I’m a detective, not a hoodlum?”
“Why do they want to arrest Maury?” Kewpie inquired.
“Stock market fraud.”
“Impossible!” Maury exclaimed. “Not only do I own no common stock, but I don’t even und
erstand how the stock market operates. How could I be involved in stock fraud?”
The ambassador shrugged. “The police chief has an arrest warrant out for you. Gendarmes are waiting at your hotel.”
“Can’t you do something about this situation?”
“Sorry, Maury, but the American Embassy can only advise a citizen of his rights and furnish a list of attorneys. We cannot interfere with the French judicial system in any way.”
“Maury’s being set up and framed by someone who wants him out of the way!” Kewpie said indignantly. “It’s an outrage for an honest man to be defamed in this way!”
“Only one man could be responsible,” Maury said slowly. “My arch-enemy, Commando Joe must be behind this. Joe’s a computer wizard on the Internet. Likely, he conducted this scam in cyberspace and somehow used my name as the fall guy.
“Joe’s tried to shoot Maury, twice!” Kewpie interrupted. “He even tried to poison us both! Now Joe’s framing Maury to get him out of his way…so he can continue to hoodwink the police.”
“Call the police chief, again,” Maury requested. “Tell him that I’ll surrender to Inspector Surete at this embassy.”
5 P.M.
“He’s here,” a voice said over the intercom.
“Send him in!” the ambassador commanded.
Inspector Surete walked through the doorway and stopped. “I hate to do this, Monsieur,” he said sadly, but it’s my job.” He pulled a small card from his pocket and began to read: “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to the presence of an attorney to assist you prior to questioning, and to be with you during questioning if you so desire. If you cannot afford an attorney, you have the right to have an attorney appointed for you prior to the questioning. Comprendez-vous these rights, mon ami?”
“Yes.”
Chapter 42, Book 2
CHAPTER 42, THE ARREST
Hotel Des Criminels Left Bank, Paris 6 P.M.
“Commando!” Francine shouted. “Come to the window. Coppers have captured the Mouse!”
Commando Joe pressed his nose to the window and grinned. “It was smart of you to alert the TV studios,” he said. “The street is filled with film crews recording his arrest. Turn on the TV. We’ll see what they’re saying about him.”
She pushed the POWER button and a figure appeared on the screen. “This is Millie LaFleur, reporting from Paris,” the announcer said. “I’m standing a few meters away from the Hotel Victor Hugo, where the most sensational Internet stock scam of the century was pulled off by the alleged defendant in this case, Maury the Mouse. Accompanied by police inspector Surete, and closely guarded by SWAT team members, The Mouse has been returned to his apartment for further questioning before being booked into the Paris jail. His wife is by his side. At the scene of the crime, this is Millie LaFleur in Paris.”
“His arrest is being broadcasted to the entire world,” Joe gloated as he opened the window. He leaned out to get a better look and turned to Francine. “The Mouse is as good as convicted!” he exclaimed. “They’re entering Hotel Victor Hugo, now.”
“Shall I pack my bag?”
“Yeah! Our job is done. Let’s get out of here!”
Hotel Victor Hugo Left Bank, Paris 6:10 P.M.
A huge man in a blue uniform blocked the door. Inspector Surete walked up to him and flashed his badge. The man nodded and opened the door. The inspector motioned for Kewpie and Maury. “After you, Madam et Monsieur,” he said respectfully.
“This place looks like a tornado hit it!” Kewpie gasped. “Where’s the laptop computer? It’s missing.”
“Evidence, Madam. It’s being examined at police headquarters for clues.”
“How much clothing should I take with me to jail?”
“As much as you can carry, Monsieur. You may be there for some time.”
“Maury the Mouse is an honest man!” Kewpie said indignantly. “Can’t you see he’s being framed?”
. “Madam.I am just following orders. It is difficult to believe that Monsieur is a voleur! But, I’m ordered to bring him to police headquarters after he picks up hiis clothes.” He turned to Maury. “ Headquarters received an E-mail message from your brother, Hercule, who will arrive in Paris, tomorrow. The United States President has assigned him to work with Paris gendarmes to prove your innocence.”
“Will you be working with Hercule?”
“Oui, Monsieur. Both Madam and I will also assist him. What is his specialty with the FBI?”
“Computer crime!” Kewpie interrupted. “He’s forgotten more about the computer, than experts like Commando Joe will ever learn.”
American Embassy 2 Avenue Gabriel, Paris March 28, 11 A.M.
He marched into the room like a soldier and dropped a business card on the Information Desk. “I’d like to see the Ambassador!” he demanded. “He’s expecting me.”
The clerk glanced at the card and smiled. “Go right in, Sir. It’s the oak door on your right.”
“Thank you.” He opened the door.
“Come in!” a voice cried. “I’ve heard a great deal about you from the FBI Director.” He extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Hercule. Have a seat and I’ll brief you about your brother.”
“Where is Maury now? I called his hotel from the airport. The clerk wouldn’t give me any information.”
“He’s sitting in a jail cell, waiting for his lawyer. The jail is near the site of The Bastille.”
“I know the area, well,” Hercule said, rising. “My work has often taken me to Paris. Goodbye for now, Mr. Ambassador. I’ll return for your briefing, later.”
Jail, 11th Municipal Ward (Arrondissement) Boulevard de la Bastille, Paris Noon
“Have you had lunch?” a familiar voice asked.
Maury dropped the sandwich on a tray, jumped to his feet and wheeled around. “Hercule!” he cried. “Thanks for coming!”
“I was working in Washington, when the President asked me to drop everything and go immediately to Paris to assist you. He also believes that you are innocent of all charges. Can you bring me up-to-date on your situation?”
“Sit down. I have a great deal to tell you,” Maury said. “It began when Kewpie and I discovered that Commando Joe was headquartered in Paris………….”
Three Hours Later
Hercule shook his head. “Joe is smart,” he said. “It looks like an airtight frame…but the criminal always makes one mistake that trips him up. Kewpie and I’ll find that mistake.”
“She’s expecting you at the hotel at seven. You can compare notes.”
Georges Brigand Law Office Right Bank, Paris 4:30 P.M.
“ Thanks, Monsieur Brigand,” Butch said. “It’s a breath of fresh air to get out of that jail.”
“That’s what MonsieurJoe pays me for…to keep him and his friends out of jail. Grease a few palms here and there and you were released early. French politicians are like politicians everywhere. Most are honest, but there are always a few voleurs. They are the people I deal with every day.
“I’d like to see the Boss. I called his hotel but he’s moved. Do you have his new address and phone number?”
“Oui. Monsieur Joe is expecting you.” He handed Butch a slip of paper.
Paris TV Studios Left Bank, Paris 4:45 P.M..
“Could you show me that last shot in slow motion?” Kewpie asked. “It’s after you say, ‘The Mouse has been returned to his apartment for further questioning before being booked into the Paris jail’.”
Millie LaFleur tapped the REWIND button and the videotape made a whirling sound. “Here we go,” Millie said. “Tell me when to stop.”
Kewpie held her breath as Commando Joe’s sneering face came into view. “Stop!” she shouted. “I need a copy of that tape! It can help prove that Maury’s not a swindler!”
Chapter 43, Book 2
CHAPTER 43, JAIL
Hotel Victor Hugo Left Bank, Paris 7 P.M.
Kewpie held the door open. “Come in, gentlemen,” she said. “Take a seat facing the television set. I have an important clue to show you.”
“I prefer to stand,” Inspector Surete mumbled.
“The Inspector and I have been busy tracking leads,” Hercule added, taking a seat on the couch. “We’re interested in seeing what you have.”
Kewpie inserted a cassette in the VCR, and pushed the PLAY button.
“Why, that’s the same TV newscast that the airline showed us on the flight to Paris!” Hercule said impatiently.
“Wait until Millie LaFleur finishes her statements,” Kewpie said slowly. “Watch when the camera crew films the crowd and the hotel next door. You’ll see our first clue in this case.”
Hercule cleaned his glasses and stared at the screen like a scientist trying to locate a new planet through a telescope. His jaw dropped when he saw the face. “The criminal always returns to the scene of the crime!” he exclaimed. “This answers many questions.”
“Who was that man… leaning out of the window next door?” Inspector Surete asked. “His face looks familiar.”
“Commando Joe,” Kewpie answered. “A voleur, cheat, crook and the only man in France capable of framing Maury the Mouse. He heads the list of the FBI’s Top Ten wanted criminals!”
“This answers how that Internet antenna was anchored to the roof of Maury’s hotel,” Hercule said. “Joe must have jumped from his roof to Maury’s and installed it.”
Inspector Surete stiffened. “But how did Monsieur’s fingerprints get on it?”
Kewpie shrugged. “That’s the sixty-four dollar question, Inspector. When we answer it, this case will be solved.”
Hercule jumped to his feet. “The Inspector and I,” he stated, “will now interrogate the manager of the Hotel Des Criminels, next door. We’ll see you in the morning.”
Commando Joe’s Hideout Marne-la-Vallee 7:30 P.M..
“This is a nice place, Boss,” Butch stammered. “Hope the food’s better here than it was in the slammer.”
Joe laughed. “Do you know who’s a resident in the same jail you just left.”
“No.”
“The Mouse,” Joe chuckled. “Jo Anne’s the best forger in Paris. She helped us frame The Mouse.”
“Yeah. I heard about her in the slammer. They said she’s good…real good. That Mouse is smart. Think the coppers can keep him behind bars?”
He can't weasel out of this frame. Coppers think he's the biggest crook in Europe.
“Boss, you’re too smart for the Mouse. You’ll never get caught.”
“The only way I could get tripped up is by you or Francine. Did you cover your tracks from the lawyer’s office?”
“Sure. I cut through alleys, over fences and through backyards before I caught the train from Paris. No one followed me from the lawyer’s office.”
“George Brigand’s a great attorney. He’s expensive but he keeps me out of jail. Brigand’s doing a job for me tonight which could put the final nail in the Mouse’s coffin.”
Francine strolled in. “I’ve checked,” Commando,” she said. “Major Internet message boards have the Mouse’s message.” She turned to Butch. “Welcome back! We need all the help we can get in our campaign against the Mouse.”
“We may have won the first battle by getting him jailed,” Joe mused. “We still have to win the war against the Mouse. When we do, victory will be ours!”
Jail, 11th Municipal Ward (Arrondissement) Boulevard de la Bastille, Paris 8 P.M.
He rapped on the bars with his silver-headed cane. “Monsieur” he said,” my name is Brigand… Georges Brigand. Here’s my business card.”
Maury studied the card. “You’re an attorney?” Maury asked. “What is your legal specialty?”
“Criminal law, Monsieur. I have a personal relationship with every judge in Paris…and that’s why none of my clients have ever spent more than six months in prison. You would do well to retain me as your lawyer.”
Maury glanced at his Armani suit, blue shirt and white tie. He dresses like a gangster, he thought. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Brigand,” Maury said, extending his hand. “I’ll give some thought to my legal representation, and will let you know of my decision, soon.”
“A friend has paid for my services to free you from jail. He feels you are an honest man who has been greatly wronged by the police. It will cost you nothing for George Brigand to be your lawyer.”
“Who is the friend?”
“He wishes to remain anonymous, Monsieur. He’s a rich and powerful man who believes
you are innocent of all charges.
An hour later 9 P.M.
Maury was deep in thought when he heard approaching footsteps. He opened his eyes and smiled. “Hercule,” he said. “How’s the case coming along?”
“We’ve made some progress. I showed Commando Joe’s mug shot to the manager of Hotel des Criminels, next door to your hotel. He identified him as a tenant in the penthouse, which has roof access. We believe Joe installed the Internet antenna on your roof.”
“But how did my fingerprints get on the antenna, stock certificates and other incriminating documents?”
“I don’t know, Maury. I have checked the documents you mention. Whoever framed you was an expert forger…one of the best I’ve seen. Kewpie, Inspector Surete and I will search for him in Paris.”
“How can I help?”
Hercule lowered his voice. “When you talk with the other prisoners in the exercise yard,” he whispered, “tell them you need some important papers forged when you’re released on bail. See which forger they recommend.”
“Good thinking,” Maury said. “I’ll do it!”
“Anything else we could do for you?”
“Yes, there is,” Maury said, pulling out a business card. “Could you check out a local attorney-at-law, Charles Brigand? He’s offered to represent me for free. Brigand visited me an hour ago.”
Hercule nodded and took the card. “Brother, I pledge to find the villains in this case and to free you of all charges!”
“Hope it’s soon. The meals are terrible here and the bed’s as hard as the floor.”
“It’ll be soon,” Hercule pledged. “It definitely will be.”
Chapter 44, Book 2
CHAPTER 44, MOB JUSTICE
American Embassy 2 Avenue Gabriel, Paris March 29th, 9 A.M.
The Ambassador turned on CNBC-TV. “I’ll check the financial news before I start work,” he muttered.
“We are switching to Versailles,” the announcer said, “to learn about the Group of Eight Organization which meets outside Paris today. Our correspondent, Millie LaFleur has the story.”
“I’m reporting from a three-day conference of judges, police, diplomats and high-tech business leaders from the U.S., Japan, Germany, the U.K., Italy, Canada, Russia and France. Since recent Internet scams by the alleged perpetrator, Maury the Mouse, these eight leading industrialized nations are meeting in Versailles to develop uniform laws to crack down on Internet fraud. We have one of the organizers of this conference with us, Vladimir Krookov from Russia. Will you say a few words to our world-wide audience?”
“Russians lost millions of rublesto the Mouse!” Krookov shouted. “In Russia, he’d be doing hard labor in Siberia…instead of living in luxury at a Paris jail!”
“Thank you for your comments, Sir… Before we sign off I’d like to caution tourists to avoid Paris. A crowd estimated at twenty thousand angry Parisians has assembled near the University of Paris, a few miles southwest of the Rue de la Bastille where the Mouse is jailed. It has become a dangerous situation in which a riot could result at any time, similar to 1789 when The Bastille was destroyed by a Paris mob. On the scene from Versailles, this is Millie LaFleur reporting.”
The ambassador pushed the mute button on the TV and called to his secretary. “Get me the Paris Chief of Police on the phone!” he demanded. “This is an emergency!”
9:15 A.M..
“Is this the Chief?” the ambassador asked.
“Oui, who wants to know?”
“This is the American Ambassador. I understand that an American citizen is in danger at the jail near The Bastille. What are you doing to protect him?”
“You mean Maury the Mouse?”
“Yes.”
“We have erected police barricades on the Pont De Sully and other bridges across La Seine. A thousand gendarmes surround the jail and are equipped with riot gear. The Mouse is w
ell-protected.”
“I don’t wish to question your judgment,” The Ambassador said quietly, “but the mob near the university is growing larger all the time. Radicals are giving inflammatory speeches to the crowd. They could storm the jail anytime! ”
“Perhaps, Monsieur. If the mob breaks through our bridge barricades we have an emergency plan…we will remove all prisoners through sewers to safety.” “Thank you for taking precautions to protect American citizens, Sir.”
“Monsieur, it is my job. I have met the Mouse and am impressed with him. He is a hero to me and most gendarmes and is innocent until proven guilty in a court of law. Fake news, which this likely is, can destroy a man and his reputation.”
Jail,11th Municipal Ward (Arrondissement) Boulevard de la Bastille, Paris Noon
“I hurried here as soon as I saw the mob rushing the police barricades on one of the bridges crossing The Seine,” Hercule said. “The police forced them back, but it’s only a matter of time until they break through.”
Maury shook his head. “I can’t believe people think that I cheated them. The culprit has to be Commando Joe.”
“Yes. Joe lived next door to you and transmitted his scams over the Internet from an antenna mounted on your hotel’s roof. How this antenna had your fingerprints on it is a mystery to me.”
“It’s a mystery to me, too. Someone with great skill has to be behind it.”
“Did you obtain any information from the other inmates, Maury?”
“Sure. During the morning exercise period I asked ten prisoners for recommendations of t
he best forger they knew. They all gave the same reply, Jo Anne.”
“Jo Annewhat? Does she have a last name?”
“No. That’s her full name, and she lives in Paris. According to the prisoners, Jo Anne’s the best forger in France.”
“Thanks, Maury,” Hercule said as rapped on the bars to get the guard’s attention. “I must be going. Kewpie, Inspector Surete and I will find this forger.”
New York Stock Exchange Wall Street, New York City, N.Y. USA March 30th, Early Morning
“Did you invest in the technology stock, YouAreASucker.com ?”a broker asked.
“Naw. I keep away from those dot-com stocks. They’re for suckers. Heard a lot of people bought them. Did you buy any?”
“…couple thousand shares. My customers bought some, too. The stock looked good when it broke through the three hundred level…but yesterday it fell like a rock?”
“What’s it selling for now?”
“Fifty cents a share!”
“Wow! From three hundred dollars to fifty cents…must have been a crook touting that stock! What’s the crook’s name? Maybe I’ve heard of him.”
“Maury. Maury the Mouse.”
“They ought to lock him up and throw away the key!”
“This may not happen. According to The Times, France’s Prime Minister recommends justice
be administered by the guillotine if found guilty in a court of law.”
Group of Eight Organization Versailles, 13 miles SW of Paris 1 P.M.
“
Meeting will come to order!” the U.S. Representative shouted, rapping his gavel on the podium. “Will the Russian delegate read the charges against the alleged perpetrator, Maury the Mouse?”
Vladimir Krookov spoke slowly into the microphone. “First the Mouse sold YouAreASucker.com stock to investors at twenty-five dollars a share. Second, he manipulated the stock price to three hundred dollars a share, inducing more greedy investors, many of them Russians, to buy at the inflated price. Third, he sold all his shares at the inflated price. Today the price is fifty cents a share!”
“Thank you, Mr. Krookov,” the U.S. Representative said. “More charges are pending after a probe of a secret Swiss Bank account is completed. Are there other comments?”
“I have a report,” a voice shouted,” The Paris mob broke through police barricades. It may be unnecessary for us to hold further meetings if the mob gets its hands on the Mouse!”
Chapter 45, Book 2
CHAPTER 45, PERFECT FRAME UNRAVELS
Jail 11th Municipal Ward (Arrondissement) Boulevard de la Bastille, Paris March 30, 6 P.M.
“Hit the door, once more!” Jacques shouted. “It’s about to cave in!”
Crash………
Jacques stepped into the jail and signaled his followers to accompany him. “The cells are downstairs,” he cried. “We shall give le voleur some western justice!”
The mob stopped in front of a room of iron-bared cubicles, and stared at each other. “Where is Maury the Mouse?” asked a woman holding a hoe. “This jail’s empty!”
“ The Mouse has escaped our wrath for now,” Jacques muttered, “but the people of France will locate him… and bring le voleur to justice.”
Hotel Victor Hugo Left Bank, Paris 7 P.M..
Kewpie opened the door. “Come in, Hercule. Where’s Inspector Surete?”
Hercule removed his trench coat and sat on the couch. “Surete’s following-up a lead a stool-pigeon gave us about Jo Anne…says she owns a small shop on Paris’ Left Bank. It’s a cover for her underworld activities.”
“What else did you find out?”
“I investigated a lawyer for Maury…a Frenchman named George Brigand. Brigand had volunteered to represent him for free. Brigand has the worst possible reputation…the Paris lawyers’ association’s been trying to disbar him for years. He handles cases for the most notorious criminals in France…and resorts to every legal and illegal trick to free his clients.”
What illegal tricks has he done?” Kewpie inquired.
“Bribed jurors, intimidated witnesses, framed competitors …”
“So,” Kewpie interrupted, “how did he frame competitors?”
“Forged their names to incriminating documents.”
Jo Anne’s Frame Shop Left Bank, Paris 8 P.M.
. Jo Anne poured her café au lait into a cup, and sat down before the television set. She turned on the financial channel. After a long day’s work, she thought, it’s relaxing to watch the news.
“Now for the latest on the Paris riot from Millie LaFleur,” the announcer said.
“This is Millie LaFleur on the Boulevard de la Bastille, where two hours ago, a mob of over twenty thousand destroyed the jail where the alleged swindler, Maury the Mouse was incarcerated. The police have the Mouse in protective custody until he’s arraigned in court, next week. This will give police time to follow up on leads, which involve a connection with a French forger. Our next report from Paris will be on the morning news, tomorrow.”
Rrrnnnggg ……………………..
Jo Anne reached for the phone. “Frame Shop,” she answered.
“Jo Anne,” this is Commando Joe. “An Inspector Surete has been asking questions about you in your neighborhood. I’d suggest you get lost for a while.”
“What do you mean by ‘get lost,’Monsieur Joe?”
“Get out of town until the Mouse is arraigned, next week. He’ll get a fast trial before they convict him.”
“I can visit my sister in Germany.”
“Excellent. When can you leave? The sooner, the better!”
I’ll pack and leave within the hour.”
“Fine. Have a good trip.”
. “Thanks for the warning, Monsieur.”
Rue Descartes Left Bank, Paris 9 P.M.
The screech of tires alerted him as the Porsche swerved around him and sped south down the street. “That wa close!” he exclaimed. He grabbed the cellular phone from his pocket and dialed. “Paris police dispatcher,” a voice answered.
“This is Inspector Surete. A speeding driver almost hit me on Rue Descartes. License plate on a purple Porsche is P007… It’s heading west toward Meaux.”
“We will stop the Porsche, Inspector, and arrest the driver.”
“
Tres bien! Call me when you arrest him.”
“Oui, Inspector!”
West of Paris 9:45 P.M.
“There he is,” the policeman stammered. “That Porche must be traveling two hundred kilometers an hour…The driver must think he’s on the Autobahn! ”
“We’ll follow as long as we can,” the second officer said, pushing the accelerator pedal of the police car against the floorboard. “If we lose him, radio ahead for a roadblock at Nancy.”
Commando Joe’s Hideout Marne-la-Vallee, France 10 P.M.
“Boss,” Butch said. “Shouldn’t we lam out of here? We made a bundle on these scams. We got a crooked lawyer who’s going to make sure the Mouse never sees the light of day, again. We’re in the clear.”
“Butch is right,” Francine agreed. “It’’s dangerous for us to stay in France.”
I’m staying,” Commando Joe growled, “until I see my mortal enemy, Maury the Mouse, humiliated as a crooked copper and convicted in a court of law. What a joke it’ll be. The most honest cop in the world will spend the rest of his life behind bars!”
Hotel Victor Hugo Left Bank, Paris March 31, 7 A.M..
Kewpie awakened when she heard the banging on her door.
“We have another clue in this case!” Inspector Surete yelled. “Open up!”
She unlatched the lock and Inspector Surete burst into the room. “Come with me, Madam,” he said. “Suburban police chased a speeding purple Porsche last night. It crashed at a roadblock near Nancy.Inside the car was a computerized fingerprint- duplicating kit. Guess whose fingerprints were in this kit?”
“Maury’s?”
”Oui!”
“Wonderful news, Inspector. It’ll take a few minutes to dress. Then we’ll go to the scene of the crash. Did the police arrest the driver?”
“No. The driver wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. When her car hit a barricade and flipped in the air, she was ejected out of a window into the river…police are searching for her now. It’ll be difficult to find her. She wore a purple outfit and the river bank’s covered with deep-purple iris.”
“Purple flowers provide good camouflage,” Kewpie muttered as she stepped into the next room. “I doubt if they’ll catch her…be dressed in a jiffy, Inspector.” She closed her bedroom door.
Ten Minutes Later
“Let’s go, Inspector,” Kewpie said. “I’ll call Hercule from your car and have him meet us at the crash scene. I’ll ask him to bring along his FBI fingerprint kit.”
`Chapter 46, Book 2`
CHAPTER 46, COMMANDO JOE’S ESCAPE
Police Headquarters Boulevard du Palais April 1, 9 A.M.
The major hung up the telephone. “This is incredible,” he moaned. “Swiss bank authorities claim Maury the Mouse neither opened a Swiss Bank account nor ever set foot in their country.”
“His laptop computer had no evidence of having been used to transmit fraudulent stock tips on Internet websites,” the detective added. “Someone else could have used that antenna on the Mouse’s roof to frame him.”
“But who?”
The detective shrugged. “Ask the Mouse, himself. He may know.”
“Tres bien. Bring in the Mouse. Be careful with the Paris mob still on the prowl. His picture’s in every newspaper in France. ”
“Oui. I will bring him here in an armored car with police escort. We’ll defend him with our lives
Hotel Victor Hugo Left Bank, Paris 9:10 A.M.
“Good news, Maury,” Kewpie said, smiling into the telephone speaker. “Not only did we find the computerized fingerprint-duplicating kit, but Hercule had the agent in The American Embassy in Geneva check on a phony bank account in your name. You were framed by an expert. Hercule said the fingerprint-duplicating kit the forger used was the best one he’d seen.”
“That’s wonderful news,” Maury said. “Did you investigate the lawyer named Georges Brigand?”
“He’s crooked…has the worst reputation in France. You wouldn’t want to share a jail cell with him…he’d likely steal your wallet.”
“Thanks, Kewpie.”
Maury’s cell door swung open. “Come with me, Monsieur, a guard said.
“Got to go now, Kewpie. They’re probably going to interrogate me, again. Speak to you, soon. Bye!”
Police Headquarters Boulevard du Palais 9:30 A.M.
The major smiled as Maury was escorted into his office by armed guards. “Be seated, Monsieur,he said, waving to the couch. “On behalf of all French citizens, I would like to apologize for this misunderstanding. We were duped into believing that you were un voleur. Have you any idea who framed you?”
“We regret, Monsieur,” the detective apologized, “any inconvenience you may have suffered in jail.”
Maury addressed the detective. “In life,” he began, “we have our good days and our bad days. The days in jail were the bad days. The good days are those I use to arrest criminals who prey on society…like the man who framed me, Commando Joe.”
“Where shall we look for thisvoleur?” the major asked.
“Keep an eye on a crooked Paris lawyer named Georges Brigand…who likely advises Commando Joe. Watch what Brigand does, where he travels and whom he calls…and you should locate Joe. Brigand visited me in jail, and volunteered his services to defend me in court…probably on Joe’s suggestion.”
“We will bug his phone,” the major answered. “My cousin is a judge. If he’s sober, I’m sure he will sign the request for a bug on Brigand’s phone this morning.” He handed the request to the detective, who nodded and left the room.
“Am I free to go?” Maury questioned.
“Oui, Monsieur. However, until we apprehend Commando Joe, we shall not release any information to the press. I would advise wearing a disguise. It’’s not safe for you on the streets of Paris as long as citizens think of you as un voleur.”
Maury reached into his pocket and took out his Groucho disguise. “How does this look?” he asked, putting on the glasses with the large nose and mustache.
“You look just like a typical Frenchman, now,” the major said with a chuckle. “Stay here, this morning. You can brief me on how Commando Joe operates.”
“It will take some time,” Maury began. “Joe is sly like a fox, wise like an owl and as slick as a greased snake…….”
Commando Joe’s Hideout Marne-la-Vallee Noon
Rrrnnnggg………………….
“Yeh?” Butch answered.
“I need to speak to Commando Joe?” a voice said.
“Who’s calling’?”
“Brigand, George Brigand. It’s important I speak to Monsieur Joe.”
.“Sure, Mister Brigand. The boss will be right there.”
Joe took the phone. “How is everything going with the Mouse?”
“According to a police snitch, the Mouse is a free man. Paris police dropped all charges against him..”
“How could they do that? We framed him.”
“After they recovered Jo Anne’s fingerprint-duplicating kit, and the FBI interrogated Swiss bank officials, French police dropped all charges against the Mouse, today.”
“That’s bad news.”
“That’s the good news. The bad news is that gendarmes are looking for you. They suspect you framed the Mouse. I advise you to leave the country, immediately. You are at risk for capture, Monsieur.”
“Curses, foiled again by the Mouse,” Joe growled as he hung up the phone. He glanced at his watch. “Get ready to clear out of here in thirty minutes!” he shouted. “I have the money in my suitcases. Dump all incriminating documents in the fifty-gallon barrel outside. We’ll burn everything before we leave. Without incriminating evidence, the gendarmes won’t have any evidence against us!”
La Maison de la Guerison Marne-la-Vallee 12:30 P.M.
“Fire!” the teacher cried, pointing across the street. “Flames are shooting out of that barrel next to a wooden house. Each child grab a bucket of water and follow me! If we don’t douse the fire, it could destroy the house!”
Police Headquarters Boulevard du Palais 2:30 P.M.
Rrrnnnggg…………………
He reached for the telephone. “Major speaking,” he said.
“This is Captain Toulouse, fire chief of Marne-la-Vallee. Firemen found money-laundering documents in a burning barrel, this afternoon. We saved most of the papers, thanks to fast work by orphans living across the street.”
“Excellent work, Captain. I will send detectives to pick up the documents.”
Belgium Border Commando Joe’s Auto 3 P.M.
Boss,” Butch whined, “why are we going to Belgium?”
“Wanted to skip the country fast before the gendarmes found us. Belgium’s the closest border from Paris. We’ll be safe and out of France in a few minutes.”
“What are you going to do next, Commando?” Francine asked sweetly.
I’ve got an important job for both you and Butch.”
“In Belgium?”
No. I’ll tell you about it after we get settled in Brussels.”
Chapter 47, Book 2 (Final chapter of Book 2 of 3)
CHAPTER 47, MAURY RETIRES
Hotel Victor Hugo Left Bank, Paris 3:30 P.M..
Kewpie ran into the room and hugged Maury as he walked through the door. “I missed you, so!” she sobbed. “Hercule, Inspector Surete and I have been working to clear your name ever since you were jailed.”
Hercule pointed to the monitor screen. “Look what Commando Joe has done to you, brother!” he said.
Maury peered over Kewpie’s shoulder at the monitor. “How can Joe do that to me?” he gasped. “It must be illegal to use someone else's name like that!”
It’s called ‘cybersquatting,’ ” Hercule explained. For a few dollars, Joe reserved the Internet domain name www.MaurytheMouse.comfor two years. He used a website with your name to spread false investment information throughout the world.”
“When people received stock market information from MaurytheMouse.com ,” Kewpie interrupted, “they thought the stock tips came from you. Since you’re known throughout the world as an honest detective, many gullible and greedy investors bought stock they thought you recommended. Some lost their life savings.”
“Now,” Maury sighed, “my reputation is so bad I have to wear a Groucho disguise on the streets of Paris to keep from being assaulted.”
“Until French police release news of your innocence,” Hercule suggested, “you would be safer home in Honolulu than in Europe. A Paris mob is still roaming the streets looking for you. They believe you’re a voleur. It’s dangerous for you to stay in Europe.”
You’re right,” Maury agreed. “Kewpie, let’s start packing. We’re going home! This will give us time to think about our future.”
Hercule picked up the telephone and dialed. “Is this Charles de Gaulle Airport?” he asked. “I’d like to make two reservations on the evening flight from Paris to Honolulu. The name is Marx…Mr. and Mrs. Groucho Marx. I’ll charge the tickets on my credit card
Commando Joe’s New Hideout Waterloo, Belgium 4 P.M.
“Has Butch finished unloading the car?” Commando Joe asked.
Francine glanced out of the window at the black 1934 Bugatti parked at the curb. “Not yet,” she replied. “One more bag and he’ll be finished. We had beaucoup bags.”
“Yeah. We had lots of bags. So what? Butch needs the exercise. He’s out of shape. That’s why we’re taking a vacation.”
Butch staggered into the room and dropped a heavy brown suitcase on the rug. “Where do you want this bag to go, Boss?”
“In the room with the green door. Leave it on the floor.”
nodded and disappeared. A moment later he returned. “How come we settled in this hick town,” he questioned, wiping the perspiration from his brow. “You said there was a job for me and Francine when we got to Brussels.”
“There is, Butch. That job can wait. First, you and Francine have to get in better physical condition. Waterloo’s the place to do it. You’ll see the sights tomorrow.”
“What’s to see?” Butch asked.
“One of the most famous battlefields in history,” Commando Joe explained. “Ever heard of Napoleon?”
Sure. I ate one every day in Paris. Napoleon desserts are delicious. What a crème filling they got
.” He patted his stomach and smiled.
“That’s why you’re here. Starting tomorrow, you and Francine are to spend every day walking the battlefield. You’ll work off those Napoleons by exercising.”
“Why’s the battlefield’s so famous? What happened there?”
Francine ran up to Butch and pointed a finger in his face. “You are the only crook in the world who has never heard of France’s greatest general, Napoleon Bonaparte. Napoleon was defeated by a combined European-British army at Waterloo in 1815. If he won the battle instead of losing it, you and Commando would be speaking French today, instead of English!”
Charles de Gaulle Airport, Paris Four Star Restaurant 7 P.M.
“May I have your autograph, Monsieur Groucho?” the waiter asked.
“Certainly,” Maury said, as he signed the slip of paper, Groucho Marx.
The waiter placed the paper carefully in a folder. “I am a autograph collector,” he explained. “In this folder are autographs of famous people. The only autograph I need to complete my collection is that voleur who escaped the Paris mob, yesterday.”
Maury adjusted his glasses, and glanced at his watch. “Our airplane leaves at nine and we are thirsty. Could we have three sarsaparillas… jumbo size?”
“Oui, Monsieur.”
Hercule waited until the waiter was out of hearing range. “Maury,” he said, “have you and Kewpie discussed your plans for the future?”
“Anything Maury does is okay with me,” Kewpie added. “He’s both my partner and family decision-maker.”
“A family is what Kewpie and I should have. I’ve been thinking of retiring in Honolulu, since I was jailed… and saw French citizens, who loved me one day as an honest crime-fighter, hate me the next day as a voleur. It’s discouraging working in a ‘what have you done for me lately society!’ ”
“But Maury,” Hercule protested. “Without your help, European authorities will never be able to catch Commando Joe and his thugs. Joe will be free to prey on suckers throughout the world if you retire.”
“Kewpie and I have had tremendous responsibility placed on our shoulders. We both need a rest.”
“Yes,” Kewpie agreed. “Maury’s been through a great deal the last few days. We need quiet time at home.”
The waiter placed his tray on an adjoining table. He carried the three glasses to the table. “Here is yours, Madam,” he said. “And yours, Monsieurs.”
* * *
9 P.M.
Hercule waved as Maury’s airplane taxied from the boarding gate.
9:15 P.M..
Maury held Kewpie’s hand as he stared out the window at the Paris skyline. A tear ran down his cheek as he thought of the taunts and raw eggs thrown at him …and the humiliation of being jailed in Paris.
“I’ve worked hard for too long fighting crime,” he admitted. “Kewpie, it’s time to retire!”
“That’s wonderful news, Maury!” she exclaimed, hugging him. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that!”
Continued in Book 3
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