The Loo Sanction

shoulders and conducted him on a leisurely stroll down the nave of the Art Nouveau church. 'Beautiful, isn't it? Quite unique.'

'Is it yours?'

'God's, actually. But if you are asking if I am the regular vicar, the answer is no. I am standing in for him for a fortnight while he is on honeymoon in Spain. But the less said of that the better.' He made a wide gesture with his arm. 'When would you guess this church was built?'

Jonathan stepped away from the encircling arm and glanced around. 'About 1905.'

The Vicar stopped short, his bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows arched high. 'Amazing! Within a year!' Then he laughed. 'Ah, but of course! Art is your province, isn't it.' He glanced quickly at Jonathan. 'That is, it is one of your occupations.'

'It is my only occupation,' Jonathan said with mild stress.

The Vicar clasped his hands behind his back and studied the parquet floor. 'Yes, yes. Your Mr. Dragon informed me that you had left CII in some disgust after that nasty business in the Alps.' He winked.

Jonathan leaned against the side of a pew and folded his arms. This vicar evidently knew a great deal about him. He even knew the name of Yurasis Dragon, head of Search and Sanction Division of CII: a name known to fewer than a dozen people in the States. Obviously, the Vicar would prefer to approach whatever dirty business he had in mind through the gentle back alleys of trivial polite conversation, but Jonathan decided not to cooperate.

'Yes,' the Vicar continued after an uncomfortable pause, 'that must have been a nasty affair for you. As I recall the details, you had to kill all three of the men you were climbing with, because your SS Division had been unable to specify which one was your target.'

Jonathan watched him steadily, but did not respond.

'I suppose it takes a rather special kind of man to do that sort of thing,' the Vicar said, winking. 'After all, a certain camaraderie must grow up amongst men making so dangerous a climb as the Eiger. Isn't that so?'

No answer.

The Vicar broke the ensuing silence with artificial heartiness. 'Well, well! At all events, the little project we have in mind for you will not be so grisly as that. At least, it need not be. You have that much to be grateful for, eh?'

Nothing.

'Yes. Well. Mr. Dragon warned me that you could be recalcitrant.' The tone of robust friendliness dropped from his voice, and he continued speaking with the mechanical crispness of a man accustomed to giving orders. 'All right then, let's get to it. How much did Yank tell you about us?'

'Only as much as you instructed him to. I take it that your Loo organization is a rough analogue of our Search and Sanction, and is occupied with matters of counterassassination.'

'That is correct. However, what we have on for you is a little out of that line. What else do you know?'

Jonathan began walking down the nave toward the vestibule. 'Nothing, really. But I have made certain assumptions.'

The Vicar followed. 'May I hear them?'

'Well, you, of course, are Mister Loo. But I haven't decided whether this church business is simply a front.'

'No, no. Not at all. I am first and always a man of the Church. I served as chaplain during the Hitlerian War and afterward found myself still involved in government affairs. We are, after all, a state church.' He winked.

'I see.' Jonathan passed out through the vestibule and turned up a path that led through the churchyard, cool and iridescent in the gloaming. Yank and The Sergeant were standing at some distance, watching them as the Vicar fell into step alongside.

'It is not uncommon, Dr. Hemlock, for C. of E. churchmen to have some hobby to occupy their minds. Particularly if their livings are of the more modest sort. Nature study claims a great number; and some of the younger men toy about with social reform and that sort of thing. Circumstance and personal inclination directed me along other paths.'

'Killing, to be specific.'

The Vicar's response was measured and cool. 'I have certain organizational talents that I have placed at the service of my country, if that's what you mean.'

'Yes, that's what I meant.'

'And, tell me, what else have you assumed?'

'That this young lady—Maggie Coyne, if that is her real name—'

'As it happens, it is.'

'...that this Miss Coyne is one of your operatives. That she set me up in that little affair of the man in my bathroom.'

'My, my. You are perceptive. What brought you to this conclusion?'

Jonathan sat on a headstone. 'In retrospect, the thing was too neat, too circumstantial. I seldom use the Baker Street penthouse. But your men knew I would be there that particular night. And it was Miss Coyne who proposed the restaurant a half block away.'

'Ah, yes.'

'And along with a rack of trumped-up circumstantial evidence linking me with the poor bastard, there must be some hard evidence—probably photographic. Right?'

'I blush at our being so transparent.'

Jonathan rose and they continued their stroll.

'How did you get the photographs?'

'The young woman took them.'

'When? With what?'

'The cigarette—'

'...The cigarette lighter!' Jonathan shook his head at his stupidity. A gold cigarette lighter in the possession of a girl who didn't know where her next meal was coming from. A camera, of course. And she had fumbled with it, unable to light her cigarette, as she stood there at the bathroom door.

He snatched a twig from a shrub, stripped the leaves with an angry gesture, and crushed them in his hand. 'And the gun, of course, would be found in my apartment.'

'Very well hidden. It would be found only after an extensive search. But it would be found.' The Vicar winked.

Jonathan walked on slowly, rolling the leaf pulp between his palms. 'I'm curious, padre...'

'The sign of a healthy intellect.'

'After hitting that man in my john, your men left. They didn't try to put the hand on me then, presumably because they didn't yet have the photographs.'

'Just so.'

'Why did they come back later?'

'To pick up the cigarette lighter and develop the film. Miss Coyne was supposed to leave it behind.'

'But she didn't.'

'No, she did not. And that threw my chaps into some confusion.'

'Why do you suppose she broke the plan?'

'Ah.' The Vicar lifted his hands and let them fall in a gesture of helplessness. 'Who can probe the human heart with only the brutish tools of logic, eh, Dr. Hemlock? She was shocked perhaps by the sight of that poor fellow in your bathroom? It is even possible that some affection for you misdirected her loyalties.'

'In that case, why didn't she destroy the films?'

'Ah, there you go. Asking for sequential logic in the workings of emotion. Man is nothing if not labyrinthine. And when I say 'man' I include, of course, woman. For in this context, as in the romantic one, man embraces woman. I shall never understand why Americans doubt the Briton's sense of humor.'

Jonathan could. 'So your men were running around London looking for both Miss Coyne and me.'

'You gave us a few difficult hours. But all that is behind us now. But come now! Let's not look on the gloomy side. Provided you lend your skills to our little project, the police will be allowed to remain in that state of blissful ignorance so characteristic of them.' The Vicar stopped beside a fresh grave that did not yet have a headstone.