“Unless you can produce something better than the word of your own spy he’s not going to have to answer at all.”
“Oh, there’s plenty of evidence,” said Mr. Fortescue mildly. “Robin’s been a member of the Action Committee of your Society for two years — that’s right, isn’t it, Robin? I would surmise that during all that time he’s been using your diplomatically protected luggage to bring back funds for the Committee from France.”
“Lies,” said Sir James in a strangled voice.
“He has also taken a personal part in a number of demonstrations. He was up in the Midlands last week—”
“Collecting information for me.”
“No doubt. He also put in some time kicking a police superintendent. Have you the photographs, Behrens?”
Sir James glared at the photograph. “A fake!”
Robin said, “Oh, stop bluffing, Dad. Of course it isn’t faked. How could it be?”
There was a. moment of complete silence, broken by Lady Docherty who said, “Robin” faintly.
“Keep out of this, mother.”
Sir James recovered his voice. He said, “Your mother has every right—”
“Neither of you,” said Robin, silencing his parent with surprising ease, “has any rights in the matter at all. I’m twenty-one. And I know what I’m doing. You talk about violence and ruthlessness, Dad. But that’s all you ever do — you and your Peaceful People. Talk, talk. I don’t believe” — a faint smile illuminated his young face — “that you’ve ever actually hit anyone in your life. Really hit them, meaning to hurt. Have you?” Sir James was past speech. “Well, I have, and I’m going to go on doing it, because if you truly believe in something that’s the only way you’re going to make it happen — in your own lifetime anyway. By breaking the law and hurting people and smashing things. And young people all over the world have seen it. They know what to do. Don’t talk. Kick out.”
Mr. Fortescue said, “I take it that includes kicking people when they’re on the ground.”
“Of course,” said Robin. “It’s much easier to kick them when they’re lying down than when they’re standing up. Why not?”
“I left that to Sir James to answer,” said Mr. Fortescue, sometime later, to the Home Secretary. “He’s a politician and used to answering awkward questions.”
The Theft of the Dinosaur’s Tail
by Edward D. Hoch[9]
Here is the 10th in the series about Nick Velvet, the contemporary Raffles. Nick Velvet, you will recall, is a thief with a unique “angle”: he steals only the bizarre, the baroque, end only if the object is valueless — never anything as mundane as jewels or cash.
Nick’s newest assignment is “out of this world.” All we ask is that you read the title, and if you don’t immediately plunge into the story we’ll be surprised. Imagine — hired to steal a dinosaur’s tail! Absolutely no kidding! And as usual in Nick’s most recent adventures, he has to be a topnotch detective in order to be a topnotch thief...
The affair of the Dinosaur’s Tail really began on the day of the Rockland County horse trials, when Nick Velvet met a man named Frader Kincaid. It was a gloomy October Sunday, with a definite threat of rain, and Nick had driven up because Gloria wanted to watch the jumpers.
“Nicky,” she had told him, “there’s nothing more exciting than watching those horses take the jumps with hardly a break in stride.”
Nick, who could think of several things more exciting to watch, had felt it was one of those rare occasions when he must humor Gloria, and so they’d made the trip to Rockland County. She proved to know more about horses than he’d imagined, readily explaining to his disinterested ear the features of a double oxer or of parallel bars.
“Isn’t it thrilling?” she asked at one point.
“I suppose so,” Nick replied. His eyes were following a tall, trimly built man on a chestnut mare. The man seemed to be one of the jump judges.
Presently there was some commotion across the field, and they could see that one of the horses had thrown its youthful rider at a water jump. The standby ambulance started toward the scene and the other riders were held at their starting point. The man on the chestnut mare watched for a time through his binoculars, then cantered over to Nick’s car.
“Looks like rain,” he said, smiling. “Enjoying the show?”
“We were until now.” Nick motioned across the field. “Is the rider badly hurt?”
“No, no! Just had the wind knocked out of her. It’s Lynn Peters, one of our new members. I’m afraid she’s not up to water jumps yet.” He seemed to remember that he hadn’t introduced himself. “I’m Frader Kincaid, master of the hunt here. You folks coming to the open house afterwards?”
“We’re not members,” Nick told him.
“Don’t worry about that — it’s open to all. The big house at the top of the hill. I’ll be looking for you.”
When Kincaid had ridden away, Gloria tugged on Nick’s sleeve. “I’d love to go for a little while, Nicky.”
He sighed and nodded, seeing there was no way out. “We’ll stop by.”
When Nick and Gloria arrived at the house on the hill two hours later, the party was already in full swing. A light rain had started to fall, but it hadn’t dampened any spirits. Middle-aged men and somewhat younger women in riding togs filled two large downstairs rooms, sipping cocktails while they chattered and giggled and generally relaxed. It was not Nick’s sort of gathering, but he knew Gloria would enjoy it.
“Glad you could make it,” Kincaid greeted them. It was obvious now that the house was his, and the party was his also. “Martinis all right?”
“Fine.”
He produced two with a smile and then hooked an arm around the waist of a passing girl. “This is Lynn Peters, who scared us all with her fall this afternoon. Feeling better, Lynn?”
She was young and sandy-haired, with cheeks flushed pink from drink or embarrassment. Her riding breeches and red corduroy vest fitted her well, and she was quick with a smile that included them all. “I’m fine now, Frader. My mount just didn’t like the looks of that water hole.”
Kincaid smiled benevolently, “Why don’t you girls talk it over while I show Mr. Velvet my den? I have a nice collection I’d like to show him.”
Nick followed the tall man through a door at the far end of the room, into a book-lined study that overlooked the valley where the horse trials had been held. “Beautiful country, even on a rainy day,” Kincaid commented.
Nick sipped his drink and asked, “How did you happen to know my name?”
“Oh, you noticed that? Once down at the Yacht Club someone pointed you out to me. I recognized you watching the jumps today and thought I might interest you in a business venture.”
“My business activities are strictly limited.”
Frader Kincaid moved around to the side of the desk, carefully resting his cocktail glass on a used envelope. “You’re a professional thief, Mr. Velvet, and that’s exactly the sort of venture I have in mind.”
Nick’s expression didn’t change. He simply said, “My fee is quite large — $20,000 — and I steal only objects of little or no value.”
“I understand all that.”
“What is the object you had in mind?”
Kincaid motioned toward the wall between the bookcases where an elaborate oil painting hung. It was an odd subject for a rich man’s wall — a prehistoric scene of two dinosaurs locked in deadly combat against a dank swampy landscape. “How much do you know of these things, Mr. Velvet?”