CHAPTER TEN

STAND 12 IN THE EXHIBITION HALL Saturday – Public Day.

"Just wait till I get my hands on Henry!" fumed Mrs. Brooker, sotto voice. "As if it wasn't bad enough to send some feeble excuse why he didn't come home last night – now he keeps us waiting!" She shot an anxious glance at a distinguished looking man, standing with a distinctly subdued looking Mr. Dawkins. "Not just us!" she hissed to her mother. "That gentleman is from Barings. Henry should be here – showing him the features of the 808."

Mrs. ffoulkes-Simons clicked her tongue in disapproval.

"Men!" she scathed, comprehensively.

"Look who's coming over," sneered Mrs. Brooker, still keeping her tones low, "…The three men that vulgar Pierce girl lunched with yesterday." She gave an ill-natured snigger. "It looks as if her latest suitor has already strayed!"

Her mother stared at the approaching Kid, Heyes and Harry. Kid and Harry each had a smiling 'Darling' twin hanging onto an arm. Heyes escorted the fascinating, though admittedly mercenary, 'Aunt Beatrice'.

Mrs. ffoulkes-Simons' face creased in contempt.

"Men!" It was one of her favourite expressions.

The ex-outlaws touched their hats, politely. They were rewarded with frosty stares and what is known in the higher social circles as – the cut direct.

"Good morning, Mr. Dawkins," smiled Heyes, his cheerfulness not impaired in the slightest by the chill welcome at the Brooker stand.

Mr. Dawkins eyes widened at seeing the man he increasingly believed to be the leader of the notorious Devil's Hole Gang. He noted the physical characteristics of the blond, blue-eyed, even-featured, five foot eleven, one hundred and sixty pound man accompanying the possible Hannibal Heyes. Was this – 'Thaddeus Jones'? Mr. Dawkins had never seen the man held briefly in the notorious Barracuda Inn. Since he never mentioned the tempting name – 'Kid Curry' – to his hirelings, they had not mentioned the brunette colouring of their temporary captive. Mr. Dawkins felt a tremor of mixed apprehension and excitement. When informed of 'Thaddeus Jones' rescue, he assumed the walking twenty thousand dollar reward coveted by his employer had left the city. Now, it stood before him. BUT, it stood before him wearing an assured confident smile. Dawkins' grey brows snapped together in suspicion. He was far too wily to let his thoughts show in his manner or voice.

"Good morning," he replied, dryly, waiting developments.

Heyes summed up the elegant man beside Mr. Dawkins, clearly being treated as a VIP. Potential customer, he thought.

"Are we about to hear the features of this new safe?" he asked, as if making polite conversation.

"That's why I'm here," replied the representative from Barings, with the hint of an impatient glance first at Mr. Dawkins and, secondly, at the clock.

Mrs. Brooker made an imperious gesture at Mr. Dawkins.

"Carry on, Dawkins," she ordered. "Mr. Brooker must be detained. Open the safe."

"Looks open already," said Heyes, blandly, as Mr. Dawkins laid a hand on the dial. Dawkins frowned and glanced at the edge of the door. Looking closely, he saw this was true. A sliver of a gap showed. "Seems to be fastened ajar with something," remarked Heyes.

"You know," responded Kid, conversationally, "…I reckon that's a blob of quick dry putty."

Dawkins pulled open the door of the safe. A gasp went up from the spectators. The safe was not empty. It was filled with the plump and sweating form of Henry Brooker. His hands were firmly cuffed behind his back. His legs were firmly tethered with what appeared to be – ladies stockings. Another stocking acted as a serviceable gag. None of this accounted, completely, for the mixture of shock and laughter amongst the gasps. To appreciate the full effect it must be reported that Henry Brooker was…Not to put too fine a point upon it…In plain terms…

He was butt nekkid.

"Henry!!" barked his wife.

"Henry!!" yapped his mother-in-law.

"Mr. Brooker!!" yelped Dawkins, making haste to remove the gag and free Brooker's legs.

Behind Mr. Dawkins strategically held jacket, Henry Brooker, purple with rage and embarrassment, heaved himself out of the safe and onto his feet.

Fresh gasps of laughter arose behind him, as this exposed an unappealing back view to the Saturday crowds. Looking over his shoulder, Brooker was horrified to see two grinning men wearing 'Press' tags. One scribbled furiously in his notebook. The other hastened to turn his camera tripod away from a dull display of the latest telephone equipment and…"

"DAWKINS!" squealed the handcuffed and helpless Henry Brooker.

FLASH!

A split second too late, the loyal Mr. Dawkins flourished the concealing jacket – like a matador's cape – to conceal the ample rear end. This, of course, uncovered Brooker's – hem, hem – frontal aspect.

"OLÉ!" giggled Mary, before pretending to hide her eyes behind her fan.

Sue's heels beat a rapid flamenco rhythm, before she joined her sister in mock coyness and giggles.

"Mary! Sue!" reproved 'Aunt Beatrice', as Mr. Dawkins swung the jacket back, in an agony of indecision. She handed the clerk her shawl, to wrap around the sweating and scarlet banker. "I DO apologise, ma-am," she said, politely, to Mrs. Brooker. "You know how foolish young girls are." An arched eyebrow rose. "They laugh at the silliest little thing!"

Heyes clicked his tongue in mock sympathy with Brooker.

"Shame the press were here," he commiserated, "…Newspapers can be so – so cutting with their headlines, huh?" He drew a mock banner in the air. "'Prominent businessman makes Exhibition of himself'?" he guessed. "Or…'Crack exposed in Brooker security arrangements'?"

"Brooker family jewels spend night in safe?" contributed Kid, deadpan.

"HENRY!" exploded Mrs Brooker, by now puce with fury, "…What happened?"

"HENRY!!" yapped his mother-in-law, red with rage, "…Tell us!"

"I was… I was…" gasped Henry Brooker. "It was…"

"Oh, please… Mr. Brooker," interrupted the clear voice of 'Aunt Beatrice', "…Tell us EXACTLY what happened to you last night!"

Henry Brooker's gaze spun round to the source of the voice. Next to 'Aunt Beatrice', on Harry Briscoe's arm, stood Mary. Or, perhaps, Sue. His eyes moved left. On Kid's arm, there was Sue. Or, perhaps, Mary. Both – 'Darlings' – smiled at him, pityingly.

"HENRY!!"

The sympathetic smiles of the – 'Darlings' – widened. Their dark eyes laughed.

"Er…" gulped Henry Brooker. "Er…"

"Can't you remember?" asked Mary, compassionately.

"Perhaps he was hit on the head?" chimed in Sue.

"Or maybe – he's just absentminded?" conjectured Mary.

"We're absent minded – aren't we, Mary?" empathised Sue.

"Sure are," agreed Mary. "I can't even remember what I was doing last night! Can you, Sue?"

"Let me think," puzzled Sue.

Henry Brooker's eyes swivelled from one perfect face to the other. He glanced at his suspicious wife. Were the – 'Darlings' – going to consign him to the doghouse for the rest of his life?

"I remember what you two girls were doing last night," smiled 'Aunt Beatrice'. Henry Brooker stared at her like a rabbit staring at a snake. "You were having your photographs taken!" The delightful woman on Heyes' arm opened her bag. "Here they are," she beamed. "One for you, Mary. One for you, Sue."

"Oh, we'd like Joshua and Thaddeus to have them!" cooed Mary.

"As a keepsake!" agreed Sue.

Both ex-outlaws admired the photographs. Heyes stepped over to Henry Brooker and Mr. Dawkins and showed them.

"Isn't that clear?" he asked, appreciatively.

Henry Brooker gawped at the picture. It was not only clear. It brought a whole new meaning to the phrase 'compromising position'. Heyes tucked the photograph into his inside pocket.

"I'll treasure that," he remarked. "I can't imagine parting with it." He cast an enquiring look at his partner. "Can you imagine parting with yours?"

"Nope," said Kid. "Not unless…" he grinned, "…something ridiculous happened. Like – being arrested and having to hand over all my personal effects."

"That WOULD be ridiculous!" laughed Heyes. He turned innocent wide brown eyes onto Henry Brooker and Mr. Dawkins. "Wouldn't it?" The eyes took on just a spark of danger.

"Uh huh!" gulped Brooker.

"Indubitably," intoned Mr. Dawkins.

"HENRY!" shrilled his wife, bursting with impatience at all this apparent nonsense. "WHAT HAPPENED?"

"Er…" panicked Henry Brooker.

"Mr. Briscoe," said 'Aunt Beatrice', "…you're a Bannerman detective… I'll wager you can deduce what happened." Her lashes batted encouragingly at Harry.

"Well, ma-am…" started Harry, once again making use of his serious scowl, "…I think I can."

Henry Brooker began to shake his head. Once again, despite his considerable – and perspiring – bulk, the resemblance to a bunny facing a rattler was pronounced.

"I'll wager Mr. Brooker was here in the hall – alone," Harry made use of one sharply pointing finger – indicative of the master-sleuth. "He was working late – conscientious, dedicated – despite wishing he was home, warm in the bosom of his family…"

Henry Brooker stopped shaking his head.

"…Suddenly, he was set upon by three or four men – who appeared from nowhere…"

"…Or maybe five or six?" chipped in Heyes, helpfully.

Henry Brooker began to nod eagerly.

"Men!" he bleated. "It was …men!"

"Despite his brave struggles," went on Harry, on a roll, "…the ruffians overpowered him. Not satisfied with robbing him of his wallet and his watch… they tied him up and gagged him. You see, ma-am," he said to an incredulous, but increasingly confused Mrs. Brooker, "…they couldn't risk him going for the law until they'd made their get away! I reckon they stripped him and put him in the safe just to make extra sure! In fact – it wouldn't surprise me if they didn't tell him – that's why they did it!"

"They did!" yelped Brooker, "…That's exactly what they told me! All seven of 'em!"

"They tied you up with…these?" came his mother-in-law's sceptical voice, plucking one of the gossamer stockings from the floor.

"A refined lady like you won't know this, ma-am," explained Harry, "…but criminals have begun to use these extra fine…"

"… Pure silk. Twenty-five gauge. Direct from Paris," clarified 'Aunt Beatrice'.

"…Gauzy silk stockings…" went on Harry, "…to conceal their features." He saw his listeners frowning in confusion. "They wear them over their faces," he elucidated.

"They DID!" nodded Brooker, frantically. "They wore these over their…" he caught two identical sets of laughing brown eyes. He flushed. "…faces," he finished with a whimper.

"Are you…" Mrs. Henry Brooker's gaze disdained Harry for a moment, "…really a Bannerman?"

"Certainly, ma-am!" assured Harry. He withdrew something from his inner pocket. "Here's my badge. I'm a Bannerman man – through and through!"

"At the moment," came a distinctly malicious interjection from Mr. Dawkins.

"Mr. Briscoe," glowed 'Aunt Beatrice', "…how rude of me! I never gave you a picture of Mary and Sue here – as a keepsake." She handed over a photograph.

Harry goggled at an entrancing study of eight lissom, long, lovely Darling limbs, spoilt only by the presence of Henry Brooker. Finally, Harry managed to speak. "Thank you, ma-am. I'm goin' to keep that safe – right next to my badge. The only way anyone will get that from me is if…" he cast a look at the sour-faced Mr. Dawkins, "…if something ridiculous happens like - like George Bannerman askin' for my badge back."

"That'd be another ridiculous thing!" shot back Heyes. Again the laughing eyes darkened just a shade as he turned to Henry Brooker and Mr. Dawkins. "Wouldn't it?"

"Uh huh!" nodded the nekkid one.

"Risible," contributed the right hand man.

---oooOOOooo---

WE SEE OUR BOYS…

ON THE SAN FRANCISCO CHOO-CHOO…

AND IT IS TIME …

TO HEAR THE LAST LINE

"Kid…" said Heyes, as their train pulled away from the big – wicked – city, "…I've been goin' over the way you got me outta those cellars under the Barracuda Inn."

"With the fiendish …?" checked his partner.

"Uh huh."

"And the unbelievable …?" clarified Kid.

"Uh huh." A beat. "Know what I think, Kid?" went on Heyes.

"Nope," responded Kid. "But, I reckon I'm about to."

"The story of that escape – oughta be written down!" said the dark-haired ex-outlaw, firmly. "Folk'd wanna read some'n as exciting and just plain astounding as that!"

Kid threw him a questioning glance.

"What kinda folk are gonna want to read stories about us, Heyes?"

---oooOOOooo---

THE END.