heavily into his reading chair beside the fire. As a passing gust of wind stiffened the tongues of flame and sucked them up the fire step, Jonathan recognized the ironically Dickensian quality of their little grouping.
'Let me say at the outset that I am not very pleased with you, Dr. Hemlock,' the Vicar said, winking.
'Oh?'
'No. Not pleased. You have not kept in regular contact with us as you were instructed to do. Indeed, were it not for Miss Coyne's report of this afternoon, we shouldn't even have known that you had gained entree into The Cloisters.'
'I've been busy.'
'No doubt. You have also been disobedient. But I shall not dwell on your insubordination.'
'That's wonderful of you.'
The Vicar stared at Jonathan with heavy reproof. Then he winked. 'The situation is grave. Much graver than I could have guessed. As you will recall, we were puzzled over the fact that Maximilian Strange did not seem to be making use of the damaging film for blackmail. Doubts concerning his ultimate motive for collecting the filthy evidence have plagued us almost as much as have the films themselves. And the Loo organization overseas has concentrated all its energies on solving the enigma. Bits and pieces of information have been collected, and they fit together to make a frightening picture. Not to put too fine a point on it, the situation is this: England is for sale.' He paused dramatically to allow the significance of this to sink in. 'In point of fact, effective control of the British government is to be auctioned off. The power holding those recriminating films will be able to bleed us dry—trade concessions, NATO secrets, North Sea oil—all this will go to the highest bidder.'
Jonathan found himself wondering whether it was the fact of the sale or the democratic nature of the bidding that pained him the more deeply.
'At this very moment,' the Vicar continued, 'representatives of every major power are congregating in London; gold transfers are being arranged in Switzerland; and secret talks are being conducted in embassies. Not excluding your own embassy, Dr. Hemlock,' he added with stern emphasis.
'Who knows? You may enjoy working for Yurasis Dragon when CII takes you over.'
'Don't be flip, Hemlock!' He winked angrily. 'I promise you that long before such a thing is realized, you will be in the dock facing irrefutable charges of murder. Is that clear?'
'Get off my ass, padre.'
'Sir?' He winked three times in rapid succession.
'Your threats are empty. You say the entire Loo organization has been working on this?'
'They have.'
'Do they know when the sale is to take place?'
'No, not precisely.'
'Do they know where?'
'No, they don't.'
'Do they know where the films are now?'
'No!'
'I know all three. So get off my ass, and stop making empty threats.'
Maggie smiled into her glass, as the Vicar brought his indignation under professional control. He rose heavily and crossed to his desk, where he shuffled some papers around pointlessly, making thinking time. 'Dr. Hemlock, you represent everything I detest in the aggressive American personality.'
Jonathan checked his watch.
The Vicar's hands closed into fists. Then they relaxed slowly, and he turned back. 'But... I have learned in my business to admire efficiency, whatever its source. So!' He pressed his eyes closed and took a deep breath. 'I assume you have worked out a way to intercept the films and deliver them to me?'
'I have.'
'You realize, of course, that you must accomplish this quite on your own. I won't have the police in on this, or the Secret Service. No one must have the slightest hint of the awkward predicament our leaders have gotten themselves into.'
'You've made that abundantly clear.'
'Good. Good. Now tell me—where are the films?'
'They're inside a bronze casting by Marini.'
'How do you know this?'
'Fairly obvious deduction. Maximilian Strange has engaged me to help him sell a Marini Horse at auction for five million pounds—more than a hundred times its market value. It's obvious that the Marini is not the item for sale. The Horse is only the envelope.'
'I see. Yes. Where does this auction take place?'
'At Sotheby's, three days from now. The Horse will be on display at the National Gallery the day before the auction, and that's when I get the films.'
'You are going to steal from the National Gallery?'
'Yes. I have a friend who is a regular nocturnal visitor there.'
'And you are quite sure you can manage this?'
'I have great faith in my friend's ability to get in and out of the National Gallery at will. I shall be going with him on this occasion.'
'He knows about the films?'
'No.'
'Good. Good.' The Vicar mulled over the information for a time, winking to himself. 'Tell me. How did the films get inside the statue in the first place?'
'This particular Marini is known as the Dallas Horse. It was broken by a careless Texan, then brazed together. The story is widely known in art circles. It was a simple matter to cut it open along the braze, deposit the films, then braze it over again.'
'I see. And you are absolutely sure the films are there?'
'I'm satisfied they are. Maximilian Strange detests England. It's his only passion. If he were only selling a bronze statue, there would be no reason to do so from London. In fact, the statue was brought over here from the States. Clearly it's the films that are the homegrown product.'
The Vicar returned to his reading chair and mused for several minutes, slight noddings of his head accompanying his location of each piece in its place. 'Yes, I'm sure you're right,' he said at last. 'It's so like Strange. An open auction at Sotheby's!' He chuckled. 'Brazen and amazing man. A worthy foe.'
'You told me earlier that you considered Strange to be the cleverest man in Britain... which might be considered damning with faint praise.'
The Vicar looked up. 'Did I? Well, now I am sure I was right.' He turned to Yank, who had been looking on without participating, still heavy with the wine he had been drinking to excess. 'Fill the doctor's glass. It appears we have reason to celebrate.'
'I'll take the wine, but you shouldn't delude yourself that we're home and dry. I still have to go back into The Cloisters and deal with Strange. You see, he doesn't know that his Horse is going on display in the National Gallery. He won't know that until he reads the newspapers. And I'm not sure how he will react. He's been keeping the Horse somewhere deep, and he won't be pleased to have it in the open, its gut full of films, for twenty-four hours before the auction.'
'What might he do?'
'He might smell a rat. If he does, he'll probably go to ground with the films.'
'What then?'
'We lose.'
'I shouldn't say that so fliply, if I were you, Dr. Hemlock. Remember the dire consequences to your freedom should you fail at this.'
Jonathan closed his eyes wearily and shook his head. 'I don't think you see the picture. If Strange doesn't buy my story about putting the Horse on display to allay governmental curiosity over the selling price, then his response to me will be vigorous, probably total. And your threat of trial for murder won't matter much.'
'You seem to take that rather calmly.'
'Cite my alternatives!'
