On a Sting and a Prayer 1/3
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saroseficsSummary: Britt Reid is in London on newspaper business, but the Green Hornet and Kato are there chasing a con artist who specializes in fake fundraisers for children's charities. Will Chief Inspector Teal's decision to have Simon Templar shadow Britt help or hinder the cause of justice? (The Saint '62/The Green Hornet '66, gen, brief Britt/Casey)
A/N: This story is very definitely based on both 1960s TV series (The Saint starring Sir Roger Moore and The Green Hornet starring Van Williams and Bruce Lee), with references to the 1966 Batman series and, via Batman, the larger DCU. The setting is sometime after Batman “A Piece of the Action”/“Batman’s Satisfaction,” toward the end of The Green Hornet’s television run, and during The Saint Season 5; mild spoilers for The Saint 2.19 “Luella,” 3.3 “Jeannine,” and 3.22 “The Crime of the Century” and The Green Hornet 17-19 “Corpse of the Year” and “Bad Bet on a 459-Silent.” Many thanks, as usual, to KayValo87 and![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jennytork for the beta, and especially to Kay for helping me get unstuck a few times!
On a Sting and a Prayer
By San Antonio Rose
Chapter 1
The Stinger and the Stung
June 1967
London, England
“See that man over there?” asked Chief Inspector Claude Eustace Teal quietly, facing away from his quarry so as not to watch too obviously.
Simon Templar looked at the stream of people coming through the International Arrivals gate at Heathrow. Which one, Claude? he nearly asked when his eye was caught by one man in particular—tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, with piercing blue eyes that searched the room but didn’t seem to have a specific target. He made eye contact with Simon briefly before moving on, physically and observationally. Something about him screamed Texan, but Simon couldn’t put his finger on what; the suit was a standard business cut.
“Tweed suit?” Simon asked at a volume to match Chief Inspector Teal’s.
“Mm,” confirmed that worthy.
“Who is he, Claude?”
“Britt Reid, publisher of the Century City Daily Sentinel.”
“Why the interest? I don’t think you have much to gain from my getting my name in yet another American newspaper.”
“I don’t.” Chief Inspector Teal pulled a roll of peppermints out of his pocket and unwrapped one. “But wherever Reid goes, the Green Hornet seems to follow.” He popped the peppermint in his mouth.
Simon raised his chin and watched Reid’s departing back more narrowly. He’d heard stories about the Green Hornet, arch-criminal with a technological arsenal matched only by Batman’s. The Hornet’s enemies in the underworld always seemed to get caught, but the Hornet himself never did.
“It was Commissioner Gordon from Gotham who put me onto Reid,” Chief Inspector Teal continued. “Apparently he has legitimate business here with the Times and the Guardian, so I’ve no reason to hold him or even bring him in for questioning. For all we know, the Green Hornet is someone else entirely who may or may not have a vested interest in following Reid. All the same….”
“You want me to find out what he’s up to and, if possible, catch the Green Hornet.”
Chief Inspector Teal finally looked Simon in the eye. “You’re the one man I know who can catch the Green Hornet. On his home turf, he’s unstoppable; even in Gotham, he’s managed to elude Batman. I know we’ve had our differences, Simon, but the Yard’s out of its depth if the Green Hornet’s after a piece of somebody’s action here.”
Simon nodded slowly. “Not only because of the Hornet’s reputation but also because a score big enough to draw him here….”
“Might not be on a par with Bernhard Raxel’s heist at the Government Printing Works, but it would have to be pretty close.”
Simon pursed his lips as he returned his attention to Reid, who was just making the turn to go to the exit nearest the taxi stands. “All right, Claude Eustace. You have a deal.”
Shadowing Reid was, quite frankly, rather boring to begin with. Simon followed Reid to his hotel, learned what suite he was in, found that it had a convenient balcony that he could access from the fire escape through a less convenient ledge, and eavesdropped enough to know that Reid was attending a party that evening to which Simon himself had been invited. Simon thus went home and changed, arrived at the party just after Reid, and allowed himself to be introduced to Reid by the hostess, then made small talk and mingled while keeping an eye on Reid and casing the whole crowd and the house while watching Reid do the same. But was Reid’s interest that of the Hornet looking for a mark or merely that of the publisher looking for a story?
Having put in enough of an appearance to fulfill obligations and allay suspicions, Simon left the party early and waited on the road until Reid left a few minutes later, then followed him back to the hotel. If Reid knew he was being followed, he didn’t show it, but he made no stops along the way, not even in the hotel bar. He just went straight up to his room.
Heigh ho, Simon thought and headed to the fire escape.
“I still don’t know why you talked me into letting you come on this trip,” Reid was saying when Simon eased onto the balcony. “Without the car, there’s no reason for you to be seen in public with me.”
“And I still say you should have brought the car,” countered another male voice with a strong Hong Kong accent.
“The Black Beauty is far too recognizable, Kato. I’d never have gotten her through Customs. For that matter, I’m not sure how you avoided attracting attention.”
Well, that clinched the identity of the Green Hornet. Simon edged closer to the French doors that opened onto the balcony.
“I still have a British passport,” replied the Hornet’s Asian chauffeur and sidekick.
“Oh, right, I forgot,” said Reid. “Sorry. Well, I guess you didn’t notice those two men at the airport.”
“What men?”
“Chief Inspector Teal and Simon Templar. They were right outside the arrival gate.”
Simon frowned to himself. He’d noticed Reid notice him, but he didn’t know how he’d missed Kato’s arrival. Then again, nobody knew what Kato’s face looked like, and Simon knew as well as anyone how seldom people noticed the man behind a chauffeur’s livery, mask or no mask. In plain clothes, Kato wouldn’t even be recognizable as a chauffeur.
“Did you speak to them?” Kato asked.
Reid scoffed. “What good would that have done? They saw me, but they were looking for the Green Hornet. How could I possibly convince them that we’re here to stop a crime, not commit one?”
Simon was suddenly intrigued, enough so to start working at the latch on the French doors.
“If you can’t trust Scotland Yard….” Kato began.
“That’s just it,” Reid interrupted. “I can’t trust Scotland Yard, or anyone other than Casey and Frank. And you, of course. With the Saint in the mix, I don’t even know if I should try to do anything as the Hornet.”
“It would be easier as Batman,” Kato agreed sympathetically.
Simon slid through the French doors, shutting them silently behind him, and parted the drapes just enough to see Reid sink down on the sofa with a groan and bury his face in his hands. “I don’t want to be Batman,” Reid complained, “but sometimes I do envy Bruce, I really do. Everyone knows the Caped Crusaders are good guys, but here I am, the Lone Ranger’s great-great-nephew, and everyone thinks we’re criminals. Granted, that’s why we can do what we do… but who’s gonna believe the Green Hornet came all the way to London just to prevent a million-dollar scam?”
“You’d be surprised,” Simon said, revealing himself.
Reid jumped to his feet, and Kato, who was standing between the sofa and all the other exits, dropped into a fighting stance.
Simon raised both hands placatingly. “Easy, Kato. I come in peace. After all, if anyone knows what it’s like to be misunderstood by the police, it’s the infamous Simon Templar.” And he showed his halo.
“You’re not working for the police?” Reid asked skeptically.
Simon shrugged, not lowering his hands. “Scotland Yard is concerned, naturally, but neither the Green Hornet nor you personally are wanted for anything in this country, and I’ve heard nothing to suggest that you plan to commit a crime. Quite the opposite, in fact. Now, I haven’t your crime-fighting pedigree—although I wouldn’t be surprised if your famous relative ever crossed paths with one of mine who happened to be traveling the West at about the same time.”
Reid frowned. “What was his name?”
“Maverick. Beauregard Maverick, my maternal great-grandfather. He was a gambler by profession.”
Reid shook his head. “Doesn’t ring any bells.”
Simon shrugged again. “Oh, well, no matter. My point is, while I am actually a criminal, your attitude toward the ungodly and mine are in complete agreement, and I see no reason why we can’t be allies as long as you’re here. And I shan’t betray your secret to Chief Inspector Teal. He barely believes it when I want to work on the right side of the law, and he’s known me for ages. You’re quite right that he’d never believe it of the Hornet.”
Reid studied Simon for a moment, then sighed and nodded. “It’s all right, Kato.”
Kato finally relaxed, as did Simon.
“Just for reference,” he told Kato as he walked around the sofa, “I am a black belt in karate, but I hardly ever fight in that style anymore.”
Kato bowed slightly in acknowledgment.
“Can I offer you a drink?” Reid asked Simon.
“Whiskey, soda,” Simon accepted and sat down at the opposite end of the sofa from Reid.
“Same for me,” Reid told Kato, who bowed again and saw to it while Reid sat down again.
After they’d saluted each other and each taken the first sip of their drinks, Simon settled back and asked, “Now, then, what’s all this about?”
“At the party this evening,” Reid began, likewise leaning back, “did you notice the Marquise of Calais?”
“And her diamonds. They were fake.”
“So’s the Marquise.”
Simon frowned. He’d spotted that himself—her accent was atrocious, her laughter vapid, her clothes American, and her hair dyed blonde—but he wondered what Reid’s interest in the matter was.
“Clark Kent at the Daily Planet tipped me off about her,” Reid continued. “She’s never been to Century City that I know of, probably because of the Hornet, but she’s pulled this same scam, or variations of it, in both Gotham and Metropolis that he knows of, and probably elsewhere across the country. The whole Justice League is after her—that’s why she’s come over here. Not that the Atlantic Ocean is any barrier to Superman, Wonder Woman, or Aquaman, but then again, they don’t normally work over here, and neither does Batman. So it’s up to the Green Hornet… and the Saint,” he added with a wry smile and raised his glass in salute.
Simon returned the smile and the salute and drank. “So what exactly is this scam?”
“From what Kent said, it starts off as the ‘lost heir’ con. Then when the Marquise, or whatever she’s calling herself next, has herself firmly in her marks’ good graces, she declares that she wants to ‘give back to the community,’ only her inheritance is all tied up in a trust, so all she can do is raffle off her jewelry.”
“Dear, dear, those are musty old tricks. What’s got the Justice League so upset over it?”
“The raffles are supposed to benefit children’s charities. Some of them are even legitimate charities that need the money desperately.”
Frowning, Simon set down his drink. “Go on.”
Reid grimaced. “Raffle’s announced with vastly overstated prize values. In Gotham, she got other families to donate their own jewels—even Marsha, Queen of Diamonds, didn’t pull that off. Then poof, the day before the drawing, everything gets stolen, the money, the prizes, everything. Naturally, nothing’s insured. The Marquise makes a show of exquisite grief….”
“And the rats walk away with the whole shebang.”
“Batman managed to recover some of the donated jewelry in Gotham, but only because he was hot enough on their trail that they dropped it to throw him off. In Metropolis, Wonder Woman caught one of the henchmen with the Lasso of Truth, but he’d only gotten half the story out before someone shot him.”
To Simon, stealing from the rich was a hobby that required a judicious choice of targets, but stealing from children was as despicable as blackmail. And then to murder to cover their tracks…. “Right. This ends now.”
Reid and Kato both looked surprised at his vehemence. “Glad to have you on board, Simon,” said Reid, “but where do we even start?”
“Well, for a start, we’re not going to be able to keep the Yard out of it altogether, so I think Britt Reid and I should go see Chief Inspector Teal first thing. You tell him the story just as you told it to me, framed as a story you’re pursuing while you’re here, but with the angle that you’d rather give it to him than to Fleet Street.”
Reid nodded. “Makes sense.”
“Then, speaking of Fleet Street, it might be a good idea for Kato and I to let the Green Hornet be seen in the vicinity of the Marquise’s flat while you’re off tending to newspaper business. Not only would that establish that Britt Reid and the Green Hornet are different people, but it would also lay the groundwork for a nocturnal visit later on.”
Reid and Kato exchanged a look. “You mean you’d be the Hornet?” Reid asked.
“You don’t look like Mr. Reid,” Kato objected.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Simon returned, studying Reid. “It only has to look right from a distance, and you’re not well known in London. A replica Black Beauty might be beyond me, but I think I can manage the suit. Our eyes are more or less the same colour, and we’re similar in height and build. With the greatcoat, gloves, hat, and mask… I might not even need to dye my hair.”*
Reid’s eyes narrowed as he considered the idea. “Okay, assuming I let you do this, what’s the next step?”
“Why, then the quickness of the hand deceives the eye. You and Kato go in the front door and cause a big scene making your demand—what would your demand be, by the way?”
“Haven’t decided how high yet, but it’s usually a hefty percentage.”
“Not a dollar amount?”
“No, since I know I won’t get it once I shut down the operation.”
“Excellent, because while you two are drawing everyone’s attention, I shall empty the safe.”
Reid exchanged another glance with Kato before asking, “Then we do give the fake jewels to Chief Inspector Teal, right?”
Simon raised his eyebrows. “Of course. Even if they weren’t worthless, they’re evidence.” He picked up his glass again. “Then the next move is up to the Marquise. She’s only just arrived in town, so she can’t be terribly far along in her schmoozing, and she can’t go to the police about the burglary because the jewels are fake.” He punctuated that with a drink.
Reid smiled slowly. “How do we get the stolen money back?”
“Oh, I haven’t worked that out yet, but give it time.”
“All right. Just one condition.”
“What’s that?”
Reid grinned. “Call me Britt.”
“You have a deal, Britt,” Simon replied with an answering grin, and they shook hands.
“And that’s about all I know,” Britt concluded the next morning at New Scotland Yard. “I realize it’s not much to go on, but….” He reached into the inside pocket of his suitcoat and pulled out a piece of paper, which he passed to Chief Inspector Teal. “Here’s contact information for Kent at the Daily Planet and Commissioner Gordon in Gotham, as well as Bruce Wayne and Diana Prince—I understand they were involved with the fundraisers in Gotham and Metropolis.”
“I see,” said Chief Inspector Teal, glancing over the list before returning his attention to the men sitting across the desk from him. “And you’re sure this phony Marquise is the Green Hornet’s target?”
Britt looked over at his companion. “Simon is.”
Simon took over from there. “Yes, I managed to trace the Green Hornet last night to where he and Kato are staying. The exchange rate being what it is and considering that he’s not known in London, he’d thought it better to try to get in on her racket over here. But once he heard that she was defrauding children’s charities, he was furious. It seems even petty hoodlums have standards in America.”
Britt bit his tongue. Simon wasn’t sure Chief Inspector Teal noticed.
“In any case,” Simon continued, “he’s agreed to cooperate, provided I make it worth his while, as it’s rather a long way to come just to go home empty-handed.”
Chief Inspector Teal looked at Simon suspiciously. “Just what did he mean by ‘worth his while’?”
Simon feigned outrage. “Honestly, Claude! What kind of question is that?”
Britt fought a smile.
“I know you, Simon,” drawled Chief Inspector Teal.
Simon didn’t flinch. “I promised him girls, a show, and any financial reward to be paid out of my own pocket and no one else’s.”
“That’ll be the day.”
“Well, there will be a reward for the capture of the Marquise, won’t there? So you pay me, and I split it with the Hornet. No need for anything more underhanded than that.” Simon smiled placidly.
Britt gave up and grinned.
Chief Inspector Teal wasn’t nearly as amused, but all he said was, “Thank you for coming in, gentlemen. If I need anything else, I know where I can reach you.”
After some parting pleasantries, Britt and Simon left together in Simon’s car. Britt managed to wait until they’d driven two blocks away to say, “Forget it, Simon.”
Startled, Simon asked, “Forget what?”
“Showing me the high life. That might be what you promised the Hornet in your dreams last night, but Britt Reid has to decline. I promised Miss Case I’d keep this trip all business.”
“Oh. Girlfriend?”
Britt shifted uncomfortably. “Not exactly. She’s my secretary, and the Sentinel has a policy against office romance.”
“Ah. But you do care for her.” Simon shot him a sidelong glance.
Britt’s silence was answer enough.
“In that case, what would she say to a homecooked dinner with no female companionship and a healthy donation to one of those charities?”
“For me or for her?” Britt teased.
Simon shrugged his eyebrows. “Both, if you like.”
Britt laughed.
“No, seriously, we can fly her out for the week-end if you want.”
Britt laughed again. “Seriously, you don’t have to, but with or without Casey, it does sound safer than a night on the town.”
“It would be my pleasure. The last time I had an American visitor, he insisted on my showing him the high life despite my promises to his wife, and he managed to get away from me and fell slap bang into a blackmail trap. You can imagine the shouting matches that ensued when she came back from Paris early.”
“Heh, yeah. Oof. Casey’s not a screamer, but she’d snap sarcastic remarks at me for days.”
“Let’s avoid that,” Simon agreed.
Britt nodded. “So about this friend of yours at the Times….”
“Ken Shields. He’s the city editor. I called after breakfast, and he said he’d look after you. I don’t know what interest he might take in you or in the Green Hornet, but he should have some dirt on the Marquise.”
Britt nodded again. “I can handle any questions about the Green Hornet. One thing I’m not gonna miss on this case is having to dodge Mike Axford, my ace crime reporter. He’s a good guy, don’t get me wrong, and I keep him on staff for a reason—but he’s determined to catch the Green Hornet, and he doesn’t always think things through, even when he’s after someone else.”
“Zeal without understanding?”
“Basically.”
“I’ve known some policemen like that. Inspector Quercy of the Sûreté usually assigns Sgt. Luduc to shadow me whenever I’m in Paris just to make sure I’m not doing anything I shouldn’t. Comes in handy sometimes, but usually I have to lose him at some point and let him catch up with me later.”
Britt laughed but then winced and rubbed at his left shoulder.
“Are you all right?” Simon asked, concerned.
Britt nodded. “I got shot a few months back. The wound’s healed, but it still hurts every now and again.”
“Ken may ask you about that.”
“I’ve got a cover story, and it’ll hold up if he calls the Sentinel to confirm it.”
Simon nodded. “All right. Shall we meet for lunch?”
“Actually, I’m lunching at Television Center. The Sentinel has a TV station, so I’ve made some calls about possibly syndicating some British shows to give our viewers some variety. I can take a cab back to the hotel when I’m done this afternoon.”
Simon nodded again. “Dinner, then?”
“I am free for dinner, yes. Is the hotel restaurant any good?”
“Never eaten there, but it’s supposed to be.”
“Okay, let’s meet at my room at 7 and take the Marquise right after dark.”
“Fine,” Simon agreed and pulled to a stop outside the Times. “See you at 7, then.”
Britt got out and waved goodbye, and Simon drove off to a seedy warehouse in Hackney that was currently functioning as a garage. Thanks to some late-night phone calls that had prompted some early-morning tinkering, he parked his Volvo inside the garage next to a black ’66 Imperial Crown. Kato, already in his livery, opened his car door for him.
“Good morning, Kato,” said Simon as he got out. “Will she pass?”
“Good morning, Mr. Templar,” Kato replied with a slight bow. “The car looks similar enough, but it does not have the devices we have in the Black Beauty.”
Simon tilted his head in acknowledgment. “It’s a bit Heath Robinson, I’ll grant you, but the looks are all we’re after for the moment.” He strolled around the front of the car and saw that the grill and front bumper had been changed and the green headlights installed. “Oh, good, ’Orace even managed to get the right number plates—V194 is correct, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. But how did you convince him to do this for you?”
Simon smiled. “In England, the words ‘fancy dress’ cover a multitude of sins. Speaking of which, you’d better help me into mine.”
Kato bowed again and ushered Simon over to a table where a bag with the Green Hornet costume in it was resting. Simon was already wearing a black suit and tie and a white shirt, and Kato swiftly helped him arrange the white scarf that went over the lapels of his suitcoat and held the green overcoat while he slid into it and straightened its velvet lapels. Then Simon buttoned the coat, pulled on the green gloves and short-brimmed fedora, and slipped on the mask, which fitted like glasses.
Kato cast a critical eye over the get-up. “It’s better,” he pronounced, “but you still don’t look like him from this distance.”
“Let’s try it further away,” Simon suggested and sent Kato to one end of the warehouse while Simon went to the other.
Once they were in position, Kato tilted his head this way and that, then scrambled up to the catwalk, presumably to get closer to the view from a flat.
“Well?” Simon called.
Kato waggled his head again, then flashed a thumbs-up and came down again.
Simon met him back at the ersatz Black Beauty. “I’ve got my makeup kit in my car, if you really think we need it.”
Kato made a face as he considered. “I don’t think so, as long as we’re going to be across the street and not speak to anyone.”
“The Marquise’s flat is on the fifth floor,” Simon noted and pulled a plan of the building out of the inner pocket of his suitcoat. Spreading the paper out on the bonnet, he pointed to the flat in question. “It overlooks the road and the park beyond, so we should circle the building slowly several times with the car—that will give me a chance to check my exit routes as well as yours. Then we should park a few streets over and walk across the park to a good point for surveillance.”
Kato nodded his understanding. “How long will we stay?”
“Depends on how long it takes her to notice us, but I’d say most of the morning, possibly until lunchtime.”
“That could be risky, if someone calls the police.”
“Well, in that case, we would cut the visit short, although if it’s just PC Plod on his normal rounds who’s caught sight of us, ‘fancy dress’ may be the magic words once again. We’re fairly tolerant of eccentrics in this country.”
That got a smile out of Kato, so Simon folded up the building plan again, and they left.
“You’re sure you and Simon got everything straight?” Britt asked Kato that evening as the two of them went into the bedroom of Britt’s suite.
“Everything,” Kato confirmed. “There are three guards, two in the living room and one in the study, where the safe is. The study has two doors, one to the living room and one to the hall that’s directly opposite the door to the kitchen. The kitchen has a service hatch that leads to the back stairs and the service elevator—Mr. Templar says that’s the easiest way in.”
“We can’t be sure our entrance will draw the third guard out of the study, though.” Britt opened his suitcase and triggered the hidden switch that opened a secret compartment. Surveying the gadgets he’d brought, he hummed thoughtfully. “The easiest thing is to give Simon the gas gun for this evening. I’m sure he’s used to using sleeper holds to take guards out silently, but Hornet Gas is safer and lasts longer.”
“You don’t think we need it?”
“It doesn’t matter how much noise we make or how long we fight. In fact, a longer fight gives Simon that much more cover.”
“How long will he need?”
“I don’t know….”
A knock at the door heralded Simon’s arrival.
“But I’ll ask him,” Britt concluded and shut the secret compartment.
Kato nodded and went to let Simon in while Britt closed his suitcase.
Simon, who’d changed into a black turtleneck and white sports coat, was exchanging pleasantries with Kato when Britt came out of the bedroom with the suitcase. “Evening, Britt,” Simon said. “How’s life on Fleet Street?”
“Busy,” Britt answered and shook Simon’s hand. “How was your afternoon?”
“Oh, satisfactory.” Simon’s smile proclaimed that an understatement.
“How much time will you need to get in and out?”
“That is a good question. The safe’s no problem—I can open it in a matter of seconds—but getting through the kitchen, taking out the guard if he’s still there, getting things into the valise… five minutes? Ten to be safe.”
“Sounds fair.” Britt handed the suitcase to Kato. “Better go out the back way, Kato. We’ll meet you at the garage after supper.”
“Yes, sir,” Kato replied and left.
Simon sat down on the couch. “So, what dirt did Ken have for you?”
“Plenty,” Britt said and sat down in a chair. “The Marquise has been in town for a week, but she’s not getting many high-status social invitations. Apparently her version of the ‘lost heir’ doesn’t play as well among people who own a copy of Who’s Who and know that there’s no such title as ‘Marquise de Calais.’”
Simon chuckled.
“Her real name is Emma Foster; she’s from Connecticut. Ken didn’t know anything about warrants out for her in the States, but then again, that’s not his department.”
“No, we’d best leave that to Claude Eustace Teal, the Bloodhound of the Yard.”
Britt couldn’t help laughing at the way Simon said that. It was obvious that the two men respected each other, but it was the sort of grudging respect that meant Simon could gleefully annoy Teal and Teal would just as gleefully arrest Simon for committing a real crime if ever there were sufficient proof. On balance, Britt preferred his own collaborative relationship with District Attorney Frank Scanlon, where both men supported each other and each was willing to listen to the other’s suggestions or advice, even when he chose differently… but watching Simon and Teal needle each other sure was entertaining.
“I believe he’s been onto Commissioner Gordon this afternoon,” Simon continued. “He said something about extradition papers, but the process isn’t as quick as all that, as I’m sure you know. And there is the problem that the Marquise hasn’t committed any crimes in the UK to anyone’s knowledge. Still, that does give us a certain window in which we have a free hand.”
Britt nodded. “So we definitely need to take her tonight. Ken said she didn’t have invitations to any events happening before the weekend but that she has been invited down to Torquay for the weekend by somebody or other’s kindly old aunt.”
“Oh, she must be desperate if she’s cultivating kindly old aunts in Torquay.”
Britt laughed again, and they went down to the restaurant for a decent, though not stellar, supper, after which they left the hotel together while talking about shows that were running on the West End. They didn’t return to the subject of the Marquise until they were safely in the car, but during the drive to the garage, they rehearsed the attack plan and discussed timings and contingency plans until they were both confident that they could pull it off without anyone suspecting that the Saint was working with the Green Hornet. On their arrival at the garage, Simon changed from his white coat to a black sweater while Britt started getting into costume, and Kato handed Simon the gas gun and a small two-way radio hidden in a pocket watch.
“How does the gas work?” Simon asked, tucking the gun into his waistband and pulling his sweater over the grip.
“Point the muzzle at his face and squeeze the trigger, like a handgun,” Britt answered, pulling on his gloves. “A three-second burst should be enough to keep him out for twenty minutes. The gas is heavier than air and dissipates pretty quickly, and it’s tinted green to make it easier to see; just be careful not to inhale any yourself.”
Simon nodded. “Sounds reasonable. I’ll open the study window in any case, but especially if I do have to use the gas, it should help disperse the gas that much quicker.”
“I won’t radio you until we leave, but timing our entrances should be no problem. You’ll be able to hear the Hornet Sting from the back stairs.”
Simon nodded again. “I’ll go on now and get in position. Meet you back here after, unless there’s a problem.”
“Sounds good.”
Simon left while Britt finished arming himself. Then Britt and Kato paused for another look at the car they were borrowing.
“It’s not the same,” Kato said sadly.
Britt squeezed his shoulder. “Well, with any luck, we won’t need any of the features from the real Black Beauty tonight. I don’t think the residents of Soho would be happy about us using the rockets anyway.”
Kato actually laughed, and they left.
They drove past the apartment building just in time to see a shadow that Britt was 99% sure was Simon disappearing through the back door, so Kato took his time finding a place to park, and the two of them strolled down the street toward the building at a leisurely pace. Britt checked his watch once in the lobby to make sure Simon had had enough time to get up to the fifth floor—sixth, by American reckoning—before opting for the elevator over the stairs. Once they themselves had arrived on the Marquise’s floor and found her door, Britt checked his watch again while Kato made sure the coast was clear.
And then it was showtime. Kato got into position, and Britt extended the Hornet Sting, aimed it at the door lock, and blew the door open. Inside, the Marquise screamed once and then twice as Britt and Kato appeared through the smoke from the Sting.
“Everybody relax,” said Britt. “I’m just here to talk.”
The two goons already in the living room stared dumbfounded at the intruders. But the third guard burst through the door from the study, gun in hand, and asked the Marquise, who was on the couch, “Qu’est que c’est ça?”
“Le Frelon Vert!” she wailed. “Allez, allez, vite! Get them!”
Britt promptly aimed the Sting at the third goon’s gun, forcing it out of his hand before the first two goons recovered enough to try a fistfight. The one that attacked Britt turned out to have a glass jaw, and the other quickly went down under Kato’s whirlwind kicks and hand strikes. By that time, the third goon was reaching for his gun again, but Kato flung a dart through the trigger guard, which put an effective end to that.
The Marquise was in tears and shaking when Britt shut the Sting with a snap and advanced toward a chair, Kato subtly moving in behind him to a point where he could see into the study. “Please… please, M. Frelon,” she pleaded, her accent so bad it was comical. “Do not hurt me.”
Britt huffed and let one corner of his mouth curl upward as he sat down. “Your Grace, I said I only wanted to talk.”
Instead of taking offense, she shrank further back into the couch cushions. “T-t-to talk? About what?”
Britt took a deep breath to help him stay in character, not sure whether to be mad about her continued attempt to play him or amazed that she was so clueless. “First of all, no noblewoman would calmly allow a man, any man, who was not a member of her family to sit down in her presence without formally being invited to do so. Second, no noblewoman would allow herself to be addressed by a higher title than the one she rightfully claims. In England, only a duke or duchess is called ‘Your Grace.’ Third, your French accent is terrible, and fourth, there’s no such title as ‘Marquise de Calais.’”
That finally got her Irish up. “How dare you—”
“The jig is up, Emma,” Britt interrupted firmly. “I know.”
Astonished, she tried to speak several times and failed. “What… how….”
“I make it my business to know things, like the racket you ran in Gotham and Metropolis. I know why you’re in London. And I want in.”
“Eh… eh… pardon, monsieur—”
“Don’t give me that. Your English is as good as mine, and so are your ears.”
“You say you want in,” she tried again, still keeping up the phony accent, although her approximation of a Gallic shrug was better than the rest of the act. “Alors, I do not know—”
“Half.” Britt was really getting irritated now.
“HALF?!” she squawked, letting the accent slip.
“Of all proceeds, past and future, or the tabloids get the whole story.”
“Of all the arrogant….” She spluttered a moment before recovering enough to step back into character. “This, this is why I do not go to Century City!”
“That’s too bad. If you’d cut me in from the start, I would have taken only 5% of the gross.”
She fumed. She pleaded. She raged. She cajoled. She screamed. She sobbed. Britt just sat back and watched impassively, trying not to look at the clock until Kato nudged the chair slightly with his knee to signal that Simon was on his way out. Then Britt mentally counted sixty seconds before yawning pointedly.
The Marquise broke off her current outburst. “I bore you, monsieur?” she sneered.
“Terribly,” said Britt, which was true. “If I’d wanted melodrama, I could have stayed home and watched the remake of Winchester 73.”
She huffed loudly.
“Half your take. Now. I’ll contact you for the rest later.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he pressed, “Come on, I know how much you stole in Gotham and Metropolis. There’s more than enough for you to still live on as comfortably as you please after you pay me.”
“I do not have it all here, monsieur.”
“Then I’ll settle for half of what you do have.”
A renewed attempt at sulking was cut short when the two unconscious goons started to come around and Kato swiftly knocked them out again. The third goon tried to rush Kato and joined them in dreamland. Clearly realizing that she was running out of options, the Marquise huffed again and flounced off to the study. Britt and Kato waited to follow until she let out a very loud, very American curse.
“What is it?” Britt asked as he reached the doorway.
“The safe!” she answered, pointing to the picture Simon had moved out of the way and the safe door, which he’d left partway open.
“What are you trying to pull?” Britt demanded.
She rounded on him. “ME?! I haven’t touched that safe all evening! This is your fault, you… you… giant bug!”
“Don’t try to pin this on me, Emma. You know where I’ve been every second I’ve been in this apartment, and Kato’s never left your sight, either.”
“Then how do you explain the safe being empty?!”
“Is it?”
She paused with her mouth open, blinked, and went around the desk to actually open the safe. It wasn’t quite empty. “What… what’s this?” she asked dazedly and picked up what looked like a business card.
“What is it?” Britt prompted.
Confused, she held it up to show him a haloed stick figure.
At that moment, Simon was braking to a stop beside a police car that was parked facing the opposite direction. “Ah, Claude, just the man I was looking for,” he said to the man in the back seat of the police car and passed him the valise. “Courtesy of the Green Hornet. Now you won’t have to execute that search warrant.”
“What’s all this?” asked Chief Inspector Teal, pulling the valise into his lap.
“The contents of the Marquise’s safe.”
Chief Inspector Teal looked at him sharply.
“It’s all there,” Simon assured him truthfully. This was one time he was going to content himself with the reward money. “The fake jewels, the stolen jewels from Gotham that can’t be fenced this side of Amsterdam, $100,000 in cash, and a notebook with the details of the gang’s Swiss bank accounts—plural.” He pulled out the radio watch to check the time. “And you’ve still time to call Commissioner Gordon before close of business in Gotham.”
Chief Inspector Teal looked sour. “One of these days, Simon, I swear….”
“Sorry, must dash. I left Britt at a cinema, promised I’d join him for drinks after.”
Meanwhile, Britt was striding across the Marquise’s study to snatch the card out of her hand and look at it. “Templar,” he snarled and slapped the card down on the desk.
“Huh?” asked the Marquise.
“You mean to tell me you’ve never heard of Simon Templar, the Saint? He’s an even bigger hood than I am!”
Kato coughed.
The Marquise sank down in the desk chair. “He’s got the jewels… I can’t run the con without the jewels.” She looked up at Britt. “What am I gonna do?”
“I suggest you think of something, fast,” said Britt and turned to go. “Maybe you can sell some furs or something. But I didn’t come all this way just to go home empty-handed.”
“Templar can’t sell the jewels; they’re fake. Maybe you can convince him to give them back.”
“That’s your problem.”
She laughed as her left hand landed on his shoulder. “I wasn’t asking.”
“HAI!” Kato yelled and launched himself at her.
Britt dodged—but not quickly enough. Something thin and sharp plunged into the meat of his thigh as Kato took the Marquise to the floor and knocked her out, and then both men stared in horror at the hypodermic needle that was still sticking out of Britt’s leg. Whatever was in it, some of it had gotten into his system—he could feel the cold liquid under his skin.
Swallowing hard, Britt scrabbled in his pocket for the radio watch while Kato knelt to remove the needle. “Simon!” Britt called. “She drugged me! Get help!”
“On my way,” Simon radioed back.
Britt’s head was already starting to swim as Kato put the needle back in the case the Marquise had left in the desk drawer Britt hadn’t heard her open. Kato then stuffed the case in his pocket and pulled Britt’s arm across his shoulders, and together they raced to the elevator. By the time they reached the ground floor, Britt was leaning heavily against his old pal, and running out the front door was much harder. But a white Volvo was waiting, gleaming like a beacon in the nighttime gloom, and a flashing light suggested maybe the police were coming.
“You’ve a radio, Kato?” Simon asked as they stumbled up to the white car.
“Yes,” Kato replied. “I got the needle. She didn’t give him a full dose.”
“Give it to Chief Inspector Teal. He’s right behind me.”
Britt didn’t catch much else as Kato and Simon bundled him into the car. His vision was flickering. He was just aware enough to see Simon jump back into the driver’s seat and drive away before darkness took him.
Next
* Van Williams and Sir Roger Moore were both under contract to Warner Brothers at a time when, according to Sir Roger, all of Warner’s stars looked alike, “except for James Garner and Clint Walker.” While that’s not literally true, as you’ll see if you put pictures of the two side by side… they’d be close enough with the costume on to be hard to distinguish from a distance.
A/N: This story is very definitely based on both 1960s TV series (The Saint starring Sir Roger Moore and The Green Hornet starring Van Williams and Bruce Lee), with references to the 1966 Batman series and, via Batman, the larger DCU. The setting is sometime after Batman “A Piece of the Action”/“Batman’s Satisfaction,” toward the end of The Green Hornet’s television run, and during The Saint Season 5; mild spoilers for The Saint 2.19 “Luella,” 3.3 “Jeannine,” and 3.22 “The Crime of the Century” and The Green Hornet 17-19 “Corpse of the Year” and “Bad Bet on a 459-Silent.” Many thanks, as usual, to KayValo87 and
jennytork for the beta, and especially to Kay for helping me get unstuck a few times!By San Antonio Rose
Chapter 1
The Stinger and the Stung
June 1967
London, England
“See that man over there?” asked Chief Inspector Claude Eustace Teal quietly, facing away from his quarry so as not to watch too obviously.
Simon Templar looked at the stream of people coming through the International Arrivals gate at Heathrow. Which one, Claude? he nearly asked when his eye was caught by one man in particular—tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, with piercing blue eyes that searched the room but didn’t seem to have a specific target. He made eye contact with Simon briefly before moving on, physically and observationally. Something about him screamed Texan, but Simon couldn’t put his finger on what; the suit was a standard business cut.
“Tweed suit?” Simon asked at a volume to match Chief Inspector Teal’s.
“Mm,” confirmed that worthy.
“Who is he, Claude?”
“Britt Reid, publisher of the Century City Daily Sentinel.”
“Why the interest? I don’t think you have much to gain from my getting my name in yet another American newspaper.”
“I don’t.” Chief Inspector Teal pulled a roll of peppermints out of his pocket and unwrapped one. “But wherever Reid goes, the Green Hornet seems to follow.” He popped the peppermint in his mouth.
Simon raised his chin and watched Reid’s departing back more narrowly. He’d heard stories about the Green Hornet, arch-criminal with a technological arsenal matched only by Batman’s. The Hornet’s enemies in the underworld always seemed to get caught, but the Hornet himself never did.
“It was Commissioner Gordon from Gotham who put me onto Reid,” Chief Inspector Teal continued. “Apparently he has legitimate business here with the Times and the Guardian, so I’ve no reason to hold him or even bring him in for questioning. For all we know, the Green Hornet is someone else entirely who may or may not have a vested interest in following Reid. All the same….”
“You want me to find out what he’s up to and, if possible, catch the Green Hornet.”
Chief Inspector Teal finally looked Simon in the eye. “You’re the one man I know who can catch the Green Hornet. On his home turf, he’s unstoppable; even in Gotham, he’s managed to elude Batman. I know we’ve had our differences, Simon, but the Yard’s out of its depth if the Green Hornet’s after a piece of somebody’s action here.”
Simon nodded slowly. “Not only because of the Hornet’s reputation but also because a score big enough to draw him here….”
“Might not be on a par with Bernhard Raxel’s heist at the Government Printing Works, but it would have to be pretty close.”
Simon pursed his lips as he returned his attention to Reid, who was just making the turn to go to the exit nearest the taxi stands. “All right, Claude Eustace. You have a deal.”
Shadowing Reid was, quite frankly, rather boring to begin with. Simon followed Reid to his hotel, learned what suite he was in, found that it had a convenient balcony that he could access from the fire escape through a less convenient ledge, and eavesdropped enough to know that Reid was attending a party that evening to which Simon himself had been invited. Simon thus went home and changed, arrived at the party just after Reid, and allowed himself to be introduced to Reid by the hostess, then made small talk and mingled while keeping an eye on Reid and casing the whole crowd and the house while watching Reid do the same. But was Reid’s interest that of the Hornet looking for a mark or merely that of the publisher looking for a story?
Having put in enough of an appearance to fulfill obligations and allay suspicions, Simon left the party early and waited on the road until Reid left a few minutes later, then followed him back to the hotel. If Reid knew he was being followed, he didn’t show it, but he made no stops along the way, not even in the hotel bar. He just went straight up to his room.
Heigh ho, Simon thought and headed to the fire escape.
“I still don’t know why you talked me into letting you come on this trip,” Reid was saying when Simon eased onto the balcony. “Without the car, there’s no reason for you to be seen in public with me.”
“And I still say you should have brought the car,” countered another male voice with a strong Hong Kong accent.
“The Black Beauty is far too recognizable, Kato. I’d never have gotten her through Customs. For that matter, I’m not sure how you avoided attracting attention.”
Well, that clinched the identity of the Green Hornet. Simon edged closer to the French doors that opened onto the balcony.
“I still have a British passport,” replied the Hornet’s Asian chauffeur and sidekick.
“Oh, right, I forgot,” said Reid. “Sorry. Well, I guess you didn’t notice those two men at the airport.”
“What men?”
“Chief Inspector Teal and Simon Templar. They were right outside the arrival gate.”
Simon frowned to himself. He’d noticed Reid notice him, but he didn’t know how he’d missed Kato’s arrival. Then again, nobody knew what Kato’s face looked like, and Simon knew as well as anyone how seldom people noticed the man behind a chauffeur’s livery, mask or no mask. In plain clothes, Kato wouldn’t even be recognizable as a chauffeur.
“Did you speak to them?” Kato asked.
Reid scoffed. “What good would that have done? They saw me, but they were looking for the Green Hornet. How could I possibly convince them that we’re here to stop a crime, not commit one?”
Simon was suddenly intrigued, enough so to start working at the latch on the French doors.
“If you can’t trust Scotland Yard….” Kato began.
“That’s just it,” Reid interrupted. “I can’t trust Scotland Yard, or anyone other than Casey and Frank. And you, of course. With the Saint in the mix, I don’t even know if I should try to do anything as the Hornet.”
“It would be easier as Batman,” Kato agreed sympathetically.
Simon slid through the French doors, shutting them silently behind him, and parted the drapes just enough to see Reid sink down on the sofa with a groan and bury his face in his hands. “I don’t want to be Batman,” Reid complained, “but sometimes I do envy Bruce, I really do. Everyone knows the Caped Crusaders are good guys, but here I am, the Lone Ranger’s great-great-nephew, and everyone thinks we’re criminals. Granted, that’s why we can do what we do… but who’s gonna believe the Green Hornet came all the way to London just to prevent a million-dollar scam?”
“You’d be surprised,” Simon said, revealing himself.
Reid jumped to his feet, and Kato, who was standing between the sofa and all the other exits, dropped into a fighting stance.
Simon raised both hands placatingly. “Easy, Kato. I come in peace. After all, if anyone knows what it’s like to be misunderstood by the police, it’s the infamous Simon Templar.” And he showed his halo.
“You’re not working for the police?” Reid asked skeptically.
Simon shrugged, not lowering his hands. “Scotland Yard is concerned, naturally, but neither the Green Hornet nor you personally are wanted for anything in this country, and I’ve heard nothing to suggest that you plan to commit a crime. Quite the opposite, in fact. Now, I haven’t your crime-fighting pedigree—although I wouldn’t be surprised if your famous relative ever crossed paths with one of mine who happened to be traveling the West at about the same time.”
Reid frowned. “What was his name?”
“Maverick. Beauregard Maverick, my maternal great-grandfather. He was a gambler by profession.”
Reid shook his head. “Doesn’t ring any bells.”
Simon shrugged again. “Oh, well, no matter. My point is, while I am actually a criminal, your attitude toward the ungodly and mine are in complete agreement, and I see no reason why we can’t be allies as long as you’re here. And I shan’t betray your secret to Chief Inspector Teal. He barely believes it when I want to work on the right side of the law, and he’s known me for ages. You’re quite right that he’d never believe it of the Hornet.”
Reid studied Simon for a moment, then sighed and nodded. “It’s all right, Kato.”
Kato finally relaxed, as did Simon.
“Just for reference,” he told Kato as he walked around the sofa, “I am a black belt in karate, but I hardly ever fight in that style anymore.”
Kato bowed slightly in acknowledgment.
“Can I offer you a drink?” Reid asked Simon.
“Whiskey, soda,” Simon accepted and sat down at the opposite end of the sofa from Reid.
“Same for me,” Reid told Kato, who bowed again and saw to it while Reid sat down again.
After they’d saluted each other and each taken the first sip of their drinks, Simon settled back and asked, “Now, then, what’s all this about?”
“At the party this evening,” Reid began, likewise leaning back, “did you notice the Marquise of Calais?”
“And her diamonds. They were fake.”
“So’s the Marquise.”
Simon frowned. He’d spotted that himself—her accent was atrocious, her laughter vapid, her clothes American, and her hair dyed blonde—but he wondered what Reid’s interest in the matter was.
“Clark Kent at the Daily Planet tipped me off about her,” Reid continued. “She’s never been to Century City that I know of, probably because of the Hornet, but she’s pulled this same scam, or variations of it, in both Gotham and Metropolis that he knows of, and probably elsewhere across the country. The whole Justice League is after her—that’s why she’s come over here. Not that the Atlantic Ocean is any barrier to Superman, Wonder Woman, or Aquaman, but then again, they don’t normally work over here, and neither does Batman. So it’s up to the Green Hornet… and the Saint,” he added with a wry smile and raised his glass in salute.
Simon returned the smile and the salute and drank. “So what exactly is this scam?”
“From what Kent said, it starts off as the ‘lost heir’ con. Then when the Marquise, or whatever she’s calling herself next, has herself firmly in her marks’ good graces, she declares that she wants to ‘give back to the community,’ only her inheritance is all tied up in a trust, so all she can do is raffle off her jewelry.”
“Dear, dear, those are musty old tricks. What’s got the Justice League so upset over it?”
“The raffles are supposed to benefit children’s charities. Some of them are even legitimate charities that need the money desperately.”
Frowning, Simon set down his drink. “Go on.”
Reid grimaced. “Raffle’s announced with vastly overstated prize values. In Gotham, she got other families to donate their own jewels—even Marsha, Queen of Diamonds, didn’t pull that off. Then poof, the day before the drawing, everything gets stolen, the money, the prizes, everything. Naturally, nothing’s insured. The Marquise makes a show of exquisite grief….”
“And the rats walk away with the whole shebang.”
“Batman managed to recover some of the donated jewelry in Gotham, but only because he was hot enough on their trail that they dropped it to throw him off. In Metropolis, Wonder Woman caught one of the henchmen with the Lasso of Truth, but he’d only gotten half the story out before someone shot him.”
To Simon, stealing from the rich was a hobby that required a judicious choice of targets, but stealing from children was as despicable as blackmail. And then to murder to cover their tracks…. “Right. This ends now.”
Reid and Kato both looked surprised at his vehemence. “Glad to have you on board, Simon,” said Reid, “but where do we even start?”
“Well, for a start, we’re not going to be able to keep the Yard out of it altogether, so I think Britt Reid and I should go see Chief Inspector Teal first thing. You tell him the story just as you told it to me, framed as a story you’re pursuing while you’re here, but with the angle that you’d rather give it to him than to Fleet Street.”
Reid nodded. “Makes sense.”
“Then, speaking of Fleet Street, it might be a good idea for Kato and I to let the Green Hornet be seen in the vicinity of the Marquise’s flat while you’re off tending to newspaper business. Not only would that establish that Britt Reid and the Green Hornet are different people, but it would also lay the groundwork for a nocturnal visit later on.”
Reid and Kato exchanged a look. “You mean you’d be the Hornet?” Reid asked.
“You don’t look like Mr. Reid,” Kato objected.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Simon returned, studying Reid. “It only has to look right from a distance, and you’re not well known in London. A replica Black Beauty might be beyond me, but I think I can manage the suit. Our eyes are more or less the same colour, and we’re similar in height and build. With the greatcoat, gloves, hat, and mask… I might not even need to dye my hair.”*
Reid’s eyes narrowed as he considered the idea. “Okay, assuming I let you do this, what’s the next step?”
“Why, then the quickness of the hand deceives the eye. You and Kato go in the front door and cause a big scene making your demand—what would your demand be, by the way?”
“Haven’t decided how high yet, but it’s usually a hefty percentage.”
“Not a dollar amount?”
“No, since I know I won’t get it once I shut down the operation.”
“Excellent, because while you two are drawing everyone’s attention, I shall empty the safe.”
Reid exchanged another glance with Kato before asking, “Then we do give the fake jewels to Chief Inspector Teal, right?”
Simon raised his eyebrows. “Of course. Even if they weren’t worthless, they’re evidence.” He picked up his glass again. “Then the next move is up to the Marquise. She’s only just arrived in town, so she can’t be terribly far along in her schmoozing, and she can’t go to the police about the burglary because the jewels are fake.” He punctuated that with a drink.
Reid smiled slowly. “How do we get the stolen money back?”
“Oh, I haven’t worked that out yet, but give it time.”
“All right. Just one condition.”
“What’s that?”
Reid grinned. “Call me Britt.”
“You have a deal, Britt,” Simon replied with an answering grin, and they shook hands.
“And that’s about all I know,” Britt concluded the next morning at New Scotland Yard. “I realize it’s not much to go on, but….” He reached into the inside pocket of his suitcoat and pulled out a piece of paper, which he passed to Chief Inspector Teal. “Here’s contact information for Kent at the Daily Planet and Commissioner Gordon in Gotham, as well as Bruce Wayne and Diana Prince—I understand they were involved with the fundraisers in Gotham and Metropolis.”
“I see,” said Chief Inspector Teal, glancing over the list before returning his attention to the men sitting across the desk from him. “And you’re sure this phony Marquise is the Green Hornet’s target?”
Britt looked over at his companion. “Simon is.”
Simon took over from there. “Yes, I managed to trace the Green Hornet last night to where he and Kato are staying. The exchange rate being what it is and considering that he’s not known in London, he’d thought it better to try to get in on her racket over here. But once he heard that she was defrauding children’s charities, he was furious. It seems even petty hoodlums have standards in America.”
Britt bit his tongue. Simon wasn’t sure Chief Inspector Teal noticed.
“In any case,” Simon continued, “he’s agreed to cooperate, provided I make it worth his while, as it’s rather a long way to come just to go home empty-handed.”
Chief Inspector Teal looked at Simon suspiciously. “Just what did he mean by ‘worth his while’?”
Simon feigned outrage. “Honestly, Claude! What kind of question is that?”
Britt fought a smile.
“I know you, Simon,” drawled Chief Inspector Teal.
Simon didn’t flinch. “I promised him girls, a show, and any financial reward to be paid out of my own pocket and no one else’s.”
“That’ll be the day.”
“Well, there will be a reward for the capture of the Marquise, won’t there? So you pay me, and I split it with the Hornet. No need for anything more underhanded than that.” Simon smiled placidly.
Britt gave up and grinned.
Chief Inspector Teal wasn’t nearly as amused, but all he said was, “Thank you for coming in, gentlemen. If I need anything else, I know where I can reach you.”
After some parting pleasantries, Britt and Simon left together in Simon’s car. Britt managed to wait until they’d driven two blocks away to say, “Forget it, Simon.”
Startled, Simon asked, “Forget what?”
“Showing me the high life. That might be what you promised the Hornet in your dreams last night, but Britt Reid has to decline. I promised Miss Case I’d keep this trip all business.”
“Oh. Girlfriend?”
Britt shifted uncomfortably. “Not exactly. She’s my secretary, and the Sentinel has a policy against office romance.”
“Ah. But you do care for her.” Simon shot him a sidelong glance.
Britt’s silence was answer enough.
“In that case, what would she say to a homecooked dinner with no female companionship and a healthy donation to one of those charities?”
“For me or for her?” Britt teased.
Simon shrugged his eyebrows. “Both, if you like.”
Britt laughed.
“No, seriously, we can fly her out for the week-end if you want.”
Britt laughed again. “Seriously, you don’t have to, but with or without Casey, it does sound safer than a night on the town.”
“It would be my pleasure. The last time I had an American visitor, he insisted on my showing him the high life despite my promises to his wife, and he managed to get away from me and fell slap bang into a blackmail trap. You can imagine the shouting matches that ensued when she came back from Paris early.”
“Heh, yeah. Oof. Casey’s not a screamer, but she’d snap sarcastic remarks at me for days.”
“Let’s avoid that,” Simon agreed.
Britt nodded. “So about this friend of yours at the Times….”
“Ken Shields. He’s the city editor. I called after breakfast, and he said he’d look after you. I don’t know what interest he might take in you or in the Green Hornet, but he should have some dirt on the Marquise.”
Britt nodded again. “I can handle any questions about the Green Hornet. One thing I’m not gonna miss on this case is having to dodge Mike Axford, my ace crime reporter. He’s a good guy, don’t get me wrong, and I keep him on staff for a reason—but he’s determined to catch the Green Hornet, and he doesn’t always think things through, even when he’s after someone else.”
“Zeal without understanding?”
“Basically.”
“I’ve known some policemen like that. Inspector Quercy of the Sûreté usually assigns Sgt. Luduc to shadow me whenever I’m in Paris just to make sure I’m not doing anything I shouldn’t. Comes in handy sometimes, but usually I have to lose him at some point and let him catch up with me later.”
Britt laughed but then winced and rubbed at his left shoulder.
“Are you all right?” Simon asked, concerned.
Britt nodded. “I got shot a few months back. The wound’s healed, but it still hurts every now and again.”
“Ken may ask you about that.”
“I’ve got a cover story, and it’ll hold up if he calls the Sentinel to confirm it.”
Simon nodded. “All right. Shall we meet for lunch?”
“Actually, I’m lunching at Television Center. The Sentinel has a TV station, so I’ve made some calls about possibly syndicating some British shows to give our viewers some variety. I can take a cab back to the hotel when I’m done this afternoon.”
Simon nodded again. “Dinner, then?”
“I am free for dinner, yes. Is the hotel restaurant any good?”
“Never eaten there, but it’s supposed to be.”
“Okay, let’s meet at my room at 7 and take the Marquise right after dark.”
“Fine,” Simon agreed and pulled to a stop outside the Times. “See you at 7, then.”
Britt got out and waved goodbye, and Simon drove off to a seedy warehouse in Hackney that was currently functioning as a garage. Thanks to some late-night phone calls that had prompted some early-morning tinkering, he parked his Volvo inside the garage next to a black ’66 Imperial Crown. Kato, already in his livery, opened his car door for him.
“Good morning, Kato,” said Simon as he got out. “Will she pass?”
“Good morning, Mr. Templar,” Kato replied with a slight bow. “The car looks similar enough, but it does not have the devices we have in the Black Beauty.”
Simon tilted his head in acknowledgment. “It’s a bit Heath Robinson, I’ll grant you, but the looks are all we’re after for the moment.” He strolled around the front of the car and saw that the grill and front bumper had been changed and the green headlights installed. “Oh, good, ’Orace even managed to get the right number plates—V194 is correct, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. But how did you convince him to do this for you?”
Simon smiled. “In England, the words ‘fancy dress’ cover a multitude of sins. Speaking of which, you’d better help me into mine.”
Kato bowed again and ushered Simon over to a table where a bag with the Green Hornet costume in it was resting. Simon was already wearing a black suit and tie and a white shirt, and Kato swiftly helped him arrange the white scarf that went over the lapels of his suitcoat and held the green overcoat while he slid into it and straightened its velvet lapels. Then Simon buttoned the coat, pulled on the green gloves and short-brimmed fedora, and slipped on the mask, which fitted like glasses.
Kato cast a critical eye over the get-up. “It’s better,” he pronounced, “but you still don’t look like him from this distance.”
“Let’s try it further away,” Simon suggested and sent Kato to one end of the warehouse while Simon went to the other.
Once they were in position, Kato tilted his head this way and that, then scrambled up to the catwalk, presumably to get closer to the view from a flat.
“Well?” Simon called.
Kato waggled his head again, then flashed a thumbs-up and came down again.
Simon met him back at the ersatz Black Beauty. “I’ve got my makeup kit in my car, if you really think we need it.”
Kato made a face as he considered. “I don’t think so, as long as we’re going to be across the street and not speak to anyone.”
“The Marquise’s flat is on the fifth floor,” Simon noted and pulled a plan of the building out of the inner pocket of his suitcoat. Spreading the paper out on the bonnet, he pointed to the flat in question. “It overlooks the road and the park beyond, so we should circle the building slowly several times with the car—that will give me a chance to check my exit routes as well as yours. Then we should park a few streets over and walk across the park to a good point for surveillance.”
Kato nodded his understanding. “How long will we stay?”
“Depends on how long it takes her to notice us, but I’d say most of the morning, possibly until lunchtime.”
“That could be risky, if someone calls the police.”
“Well, in that case, we would cut the visit short, although if it’s just PC Plod on his normal rounds who’s caught sight of us, ‘fancy dress’ may be the magic words once again. We’re fairly tolerant of eccentrics in this country.”
That got a smile out of Kato, so Simon folded up the building plan again, and they left.
“You’re sure you and Simon got everything straight?” Britt asked Kato that evening as the two of them went into the bedroom of Britt’s suite.
“Everything,” Kato confirmed. “There are three guards, two in the living room and one in the study, where the safe is. The study has two doors, one to the living room and one to the hall that’s directly opposite the door to the kitchen. The kitchen has a service hatch that leads to the back stairs and the service elevator—Mr. Templar says that’s the easiest way in.”
“We can’t be sure our entrance will draw the third guard out of the study, though.” Britt opened his suitcase and triggered the hidden switch that opened a secret compartment. Surveying the gadgets he’d brought, he hummed thoughtfully. “The easiest thing is to give Simon the gas gun for this evening. I’m sure he’s used to using sleeper holds to take guards out silently, but Hornet Gas is safer and lasts longer.”
“You don’t think we need it?”
“It doesn’t matter how much noise we make or how long we fight. In fact, a longer fight gives Simon that much more cover.”
“How long will he need?”
“I don’t know….”
A knock at the door heralded Simon’s arrival.
“But I’ll ask him,” Britt concluded and shut the secret compartment.
Kato nodded and went to let Simon in while Britt closed his suitcase.
Simon, who’d changed into a black turtleneck and white sports coat, was exchanging pleasantries with Kato when Britt came out of the bedroom with the suitcase. “Evening, Britt,” Simon said. “How’s life on Fleet Street?”
“Busy,” Britt answered and shook Simon’s hand. “How was your afternoon?”
“Oh, satisfactory.” Simon’s smile proclaimed that an understatement.
“How much time will you need to get in and out?”
“That is a good question. The safe’s no problem—I can open it in a matter of seconds—but getting through the kitchen, taking out the guard if he’s still there, getting things into the valise… five minutes? Ten to be safe.”
“Sounds fair.” Britt handed the suitcase to Kato. “Better go out the back way, Kato. We’ll meet you at the garage after supper.”
“Yes, sir,” Kato replied and left.
Simon sat down on the couch. “So, what dirt did Ken have for you?”
“Plenty,” Britt said and sat down in a chair. “The Marquise has been in town for a week, but she’s not getting many high-status social invitations. Apparently her version of the ‘lost heir’ doesn’t play as well among people who own a copy of Who’s Who and know that there’s no such title as ‘Marquise de Calais.’”
Simon chuckled.
“Her real name is Emma Foster; she’s from Connecticut. Ken didn’t know anything about warrants out for her in the States, but then again, that’s not his department.”
“No, we’d best leave that to Claude Eustace Teal, the Bloodhound of the Yard.”
Britt couldn’t help laughing at the way Simon said that. It was obvious that the two men respected each other, but it was the sort of grudging respect that meant Simon could gleefully annoy Teal and Teal would just as gleefully arrest Simon for committing a real crime if ever there were sufficient proof. On balance, Britt preferred his own collaborative relationship with District Attorney Frank Scanlon, where both men supported each other and each was willing to listen to the other’s suggestions or advice, even when he chose differently… but watching Simon and Teal needle each other sure was entertaining.
“I believe he’s been onto Commissioner Gordon this afternoon,” Simon continued. “He said something about extradition papers, but the process isn’t as quick as all that, as I’m sure you know. And there is the problem that the Marquise hasn’t committed any crimes in the UK to anyone’s knowledge. Still, that does give us a certain window in which we have a free hand.”
Britt nodded. “So we definitely need to take her tonight. Ken said she didn’t have invitations to any events happening before the weekend but that she has been invited down to Torquay for the weekend by somebody or other’s kindly old aunt.”
“Oh, she must be desperate if she’s cultivating kindly old aunts in Torquay.”
Britt laughed again, and they went down to the restaurant for a decent, though not stellar, supper, after which they left the hotel together while talking about shows that were running on the West End. They didn’t return to the subject of the Marquise until they were safely in the car, but during the drive to the garage, they rehearsed the attack plan and discussed timings and contingency plans until they were both confident that they could pull it off without anyone suspecting that the Saint was working with the Green Hornet. On their arrival at the garage, Simon changed from his white coat to a black sweater while Britt started getting into costume, and Kato handed Simon the gas gun and a small two-way radio hidden in a pocket watch.
“How does the gas work?” Simon asked, tucking the gun into his waistband and pulling his sweater over the grip.
“Point the muzzle at his face and squeeze the trigger, like a handgun,” Britt answered, pulling on his gloves. “A three-second burst should be enough to keep him out for twenty minutes. The gas is heavier than air and dissipates pretty quickly, and it’s tinted green to make it easier to see; just be careful not to inhale any yourself.”
Simon nodded. “Sounds reasonable. I’ll open the study window in any case, but especially if I do have to use the gas, it should help disperse the gas that much quicker.”
“I won’t radio you until we leave, but timing our entrances should be no problem. You’ll be able to hear the Hornet Sting from the back stairs.”
Simon nodded again. “I’ll go on now and get in position. Meet you back here after, unless there’s a problem.”
“Sounds good.”
Simon left while Britt finished arming himself. Then Britt and Kato paused for another look at the car they were borrowing.
“It’s not the same,” Kato said sadly.
Britt squeezed his shoulder. “Well, with any luck, we won’t need any of the features from the real Black Beauty tonight. I don’t think the residents of Soho would be happy about us using the rockets anyway.”
Kato actually laughed, and they left.
They drove past the apartment building just in time to see a shadow that Britt was 99% sure was Simon disappearing through the back door, so Kato took his time finding a place to park, and the two of them strolled down the street toward the building at a leisurely pace. Britt checked his watch once in the lobby to make sure Simon had had enough time to get up to the fifth floor—sixth, by American reckoning—before opting for the elevator over the stairs. Once they themselves had arrived on the Marquise’s floor and found her door, Britt checked his watch again while Kato made sure the coast was clear.
And then it was showtime. Kato got into position, and Britt extended the Hornet Sting, aimed it at the door lock, and blew the door open. Inside, the Marquise screamed once and then twice as Britt and Kato appeared through the smoke from the Sting.
“Everybody relax,” said Britt. “I’m just here to talk.”
The two goons already in the living room stared dumbfounded at the intruders. But the third guard burst through the door from the study, gun in hand, and asked the Marquise, who was on the couch, “Qu’est que c’est ça?”
“Le Frelon Vert!” she wailed. “Allez, allez, vite! Get them!”
Britt promptly aimed the Sting at the third goon’s gun, forcing it out of his hand before the first two goons recovered enough to try a fistfight. The one that attacked Britt turned out to have a glass jaw, and the other quickly went down under Kato’s whirlwind kicks and hand strikes. By that time, the third goon was reaching for his gun again, but Kato flung a dart through the trigger guard, which put an effective end to that.
The Marquise was in tears and shaking when Britt shut the Sting with a snap and advanced toward a chair, Kato subtly moving in behind him to a point where he could see into the study. “Please… please, M. Frelon,” she pleaded, her accent so bad it was comical. “Do not hurt me.”
Britt huffed and let one corner of his mouth curl upward as he sat down. “Your Grace, I said I only wanted to talk.”
Instead of taking offense, she shrank further back into the couch cushions. “T-t-to talk? About what?”
Britt took a deep breath to help him stay in character, not sure whether to be mad about her continued attempt to play him or amazed that she was so clueless. “First of all, no noblewoman would calmly allow a man, any man, who was not a member of her family to sit down in her presence without formally being invited to do so. Second, no noblewoman would allow herself to be addressed by a higher title than the one she rightfully claims. In England, only a duke or duchess is called ‘Your Grace.’ Third, your French accent is terrible, and fourth, there’s no such title as ‘Marquise de Calais.’”
That finally got her Irish up. “How dare you—”
“The jig is up, Emma,” Britt interrupted firmly. “I know.”
Astonished, she tried to speak several times and failed. “What… how….”
“I make it my business to know things, like the racket you ran in Gotham and Metropolis. I know why you’re in London. And I want in.”
“Eh… eh… pardon, monsieur—”
“Don’t give me that. Your English is as good as mine, and so are your ears.”
“You say you want in,” she tried again, still keeping up the phony accent, although her approximation of a Gallic shrug was better than the rest of the act. “Alors, I do not know—”
“Half.” Britt was really getting irritated now.
“HALF?!” she squawked, letting the accent slip.
“Of all proceeds, past and future, or the tabloids get the whole story.”
“Of all the arrogant….” She spluttered a moment before recovering enough to step back into character. “This, this is why I do not go to Century City!”
“That’s too bad. If you’d cut me in from the start, I would have taken only 5% of the gross.”
She fumed. She pleaded. She raged. She cajoled. She screamed. She sobbed. Britt just sat back and watched impassively, trying not to look at the clock until Kato nudged the chair slightly with his knee to signal that Simon was on his way out. Then Britt mentally counted sixty seconds before yawning pointedly.
The Marquise broke off her current outburst. “I bore you, monsieur?” she sneered.
“Terribly,” said Britt, which was true. “If I’d wanted melodrama, I could have stayed home and watched the remake of Winchester 73.”
She huffed loudly.
“Half your take. Now. I’ll contact you for the rest later.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he pressed, “Come on, I know how much you stole in Gotham and Metropolis. There’s more than enough for you to still live on as comfortably as you please after you pay me.”
“I do not have it all here, monsieur.”
“Then I’ll settle for half of what you do have.”
A renewed attempt at sulking was cut short when the two unconscious goons started to come around and Kato swiftly knocked them out again. The third goon tried to rush Kato and joined them in dreamland. Clearly realizing that she was running out of options, the Marquise huffed again and flounced off to the study. Britt and Kato waited to follow until she let out a very loud, very American curse.
“What is it?” Britt asked as he reached the doorway.
“The safe!” she answered, pointing to the picture Simon had moved out of the way and the safe door, which he’d left partway open.
“What are you trying to pull?” Britt demanded.
She rounded on him. “ME?! I haven’t touched that safe all evening! This is your fault, you… you… giant bug!”
“Don’t try to pin this on me, Emma. You know where I’ve been every second I’ve been in this apartment, and Kato’s never left your sight, either.”
“Then how do you explain the safe being empty?!”
“Is it?”
She paused with her mouth open, blinked, and went around the desk to actually open the safe. It wasn’t quite empty. “What… what’s this?” she asked dazedly and picked up what looked like a business card.
“What is it?” Britt prompted.
Confused, she held it up to show him a haloed stick figure.
At that moment, Simon was braking to a stop beside a police car that was parked facing the opposite direction. “Ah, Claude, just the man I was looking for,” he said to the man in the back seat of the police car and passed him the valise. “Courtesy of the Green Hornet. Now you won’t have to execute that search warrant.”
“What’s all this?” asked Chief Inspector Teal, pulling the valise into his lap.
“The contents of the Marquise’s safe.”
Chief Inspector Teal looked at him sharply.
“It’s all there,” Simon assured him truthfully. This was one time he was going to content himself with the reward money. “The fake jewels, the stolen jewels from Gotham that can’t be fenced this side of Amsterdam, $100,000 in cash, and a notebook with the details of the gang’s Swiss bank accounts—plural.” He pulled out the radio watch to check the time. “And you’ve still time to call Commissioner Gordon before close of business in Gotham.”
Chief Inspector Teal looked sour. “One of these days, Simon, I swear….”
“Sorry, must dash. I left Britt at a cinema, promised I’d join him for drinks after.”
Meanwhile, Britt was striding across the Marquise’s study to snatch the card out of her hand and look at it. “Templar,” he snarled and slapped the card down on the desk.
“Huh?” asked the Marquise.
“You mean to tell me you’ve never heard of Simon Templar, the Saint? He’s an even bigger hood than I am!”
Kato coughed.
The Marquise sank down in the desk chair. “He’s got the jewels… I can’t run the con without the jewels.” She looked up at Britt. “What am I gonna do?”
“I suggest you think of something, fast,” said Britt and turned to go. “Maybe you can sell some furs or something. But I didn’t come all this way just to go home empty-handed.”
“Templar can’t sell the jewels; they’re fake. Maybe you can convince him to give them back.”
“That’s your problem.”
She laughed as her left hand landed on his shoulder. “I wasn’t asking.”
“HAI!” Kato yelled and launched himself at her.
Britt dodged—but not quickly enough. Something thin and sharp plunged into the meat of his thigh as Kato took the Marquise to the floor and knocked her out, and then both men stared in horror at the hypodermic needle that was still sticking out of Britt’s leg. Whatever was in it, some of it had gotten into his system—he could feel the cold liquid under his skin.
Swallowing hard, Britt scrabbled in his pocket for the radio watch while Kato knelt to remove the needle. “Simon!” Britt called. “She drugged me! Get help!”
“On my way,” Simon radioed back.
Britt’s head was already starting to swim as Kato put the needle back in the case the Marquise had left in the desk drawer Britt hadn’t heard her open. Kato then stuffed the case in his pocket and pulled Britt’s arm across his shoulders, and together they raced to the elevator. By the time they reached the ground floor, Britt was leaning heavily against his old pal, and running out the front door was much harder. But a white Volvo was waiting, gleaming like a beacon in the nighttime gloom, and a flashing light suggested maybe the police were coming.
“You’ve a radio, Kato?” Simon asked as they stumbled up to the white car.
“Yes,” Kato replied. “I got the needle. She didn’t give him a full dose.”
“Give it to Chief Inspector Teal. He’s right behind me.”
Britt didn’t catch much else as Kato and Simon bundled him into the car. His vision was flickering. He was just aware enough to see Simon jump back into the driver’s seat and drive away before darkness took him.
* Van Williams and Sir Roger Moore were both under contract to Warner Brothers at a time when, according to Sir Roger, all of Warner’s stars looked alike, “except for James Garner and Clint Walker.” While that’s not literally true, as you’ll see if you put pictures of the two side by side… they’d be close enough with the costume on to be hard to distinguish from a distance.
