I said, "Maybe Stark's boys came to get their beeper." That would explain its disappearance, if Vadya should notice.
She frowned. "Or maybe somebody has arranged to blow us up as we get in. After my phone call last night, Madame Ling knows where we are, and I don't have a great deal of faith in that little yellow slut."
"What a way to refer to a fellow-believer!" I said. "And I thought you people were always reproaching us for our racial prejudices… Well, it's easy enough to check, in a roadster."
I unsnapped and unhooked various fastenings and managed to work the cloth top free without disturbing either door. Sports car tops do not come down hydraulically at the touch of a button. They have to be dismantled piece by piece, folded, and put away by hand. At least this is true of the tops of inexpensive British sports cars. Having uncovered the cockpit, I examined the interior, and found nothing. I grasped the handle bravely and pulled open the suspect door. No explosion resulted.
I grinned at Vadya, who'd instinctively stepped back. 'Well, now we've got it off, on this lovely morning, we might as well leave it off," I said, and I stowed the framework in the trunk and folded the top carefully so as not to further damage the plastic rear window, which already displayed a bullethole as a reminder of yesterday's adventures. "What are you doing?" I asked.
Vadya was kneeling on the seat. There was a narrow luggage space behind. At the back of this was a removable panel leading to the gas tank compartment, which also served to hold the folded tonneau cover, and any other small items you cared to tuck out of sight. She had the compartment open before I could distract her.
"Just checking," she said. "No, they didn't get it."
"Who didn't get what?"
"Stark's boys didn't get their beeper. It's still here."
She picked it off the metal to which it clung magnetically, and showed it to me on her palm. It was the tiny British homing device, all right, identical with the one I'd sneaked out of there yesterday and left in the trunk of Madame Ling's wrecked Mercedes.
I managed to conceal my surprise. For a moment I wondered if Vadya, or Madame Ling, was being very tricky; then I realized that I had simply underestimated Colonel Stark. The man had brains after all, and even a sense of humor. He'd found the beeper in the Mercedes, and then he'd had it-or another just like it-put back in my car in exactly the same place as before. This got me off the hook if Vadya should investigate, as she'd just done; it also told me that my message had been received and appropriate action was being taken.
Vadya said, "I think it's time we got rid of this, don't you? We don't want interference by the British."
Before I could give her an argument-I couldn't think of a plausible one-she'd thrown the little transmitter into the nearby stream. Well, I wasn't too eager to have Stark right on our tail myself, but I found myself feeling a little more hopeful about the guy. He might turn out to be of some use eventually.
I closed up the compartment, and set the overnight case behind the seats, along with a picnic lunch supplied by the hotel, and our thermos bottle, refilled. If everything went according to plan, I wouldn't be at liberty long enough to do much eating or drinking, but I couldn't let it look as if I were anticipating captivity. The sandwiches and coffee indicated, I hoped, that I was innocently looking forward to a full, energetic, outdoors day spent searching for a place called Brossach.
"Give me course and speed," I said as we drove away, "and estimated time to target."
"Turn right when you reach the highway," she said. "Go on through the town of Ullapool and several miles further-she didn't give me the exact mileage-and turn left toward the coast on a little one-track road. The sign is supposed to say Kinnochrue. They'll be lying in wait for us somewhere on that road."
"Sure," I said. "Well, let's hope they make it good. I have a reputation of sorts to maintain; I can't just fall into their arms or they'll know it's a plant." I paused to give the right of way to a couple of shaggy sheep, and swung the Spitfire onto the main road. Presently I glanced at the mirror and said, "Well, there's one of them already. Our little tan Austin-Cooper from London, with only one man aboard. He must have had a long, sad, lonely ride up here, grieving for his lost friend, the guy you finished off in Nancy Glenmore's room. I guess he's supposed to shepherd us into the trap."
Vadya had her purse open and was studying the mirror inside. She said, "I don't recognize him. He is too far away."
I said, "Quit your kidding, doll."
She laughed softly. "Very well. I do recognize Basil, although I never did know him well. I guess I was just… well, ashamed to admit that we have people like that, self-seeking, ambitious, and cowardly."
"I never heard that Basil was yellow."
"He did not have the courage to keep faith with the Party!"
"Oh, that," I said.
"Furthermore, he did not have the courage to die in a situation that required his death. The details do not matter-it was hushed up, of course-but that is why he became a traitor. He knew that his career with us was finished so he switched his allegiance elsewhere; now, finally, to the Chinese. A cheap, dirty little turncoat, but well trained and quite clever. Do not underestimate him."
"I'm not likely to," I said. "He made a sucker of me in London. Almost a dead sucker, or a kidnapped one." I glanced at her, and said, "Talking about kidnappings."
"Yes?" Her voice was cautious.
"You have Winnie, don't you?"
After a moment, she glanced at me. "Yes. I have her."
"Aren't you ashamed of yourself? Framing poor Madame Ling like that? Where'd you get the woman to impersonate her?"
"As you said yourself, an Oriental stooge is no harder to find than an Occidental one, in a cosmopolitan city like London. As you also said, I wanted you to myself, but of course you could not be permitted to know I had arranged it, so I threw the blame on Madame Ling." Vadya laughed. "I did not think I could get as much… cooperation from you, if you had a wife along."
"And the kid, Nancy Glenmore? Did you have her disposed of, too. For the same reason?"
Vadya was not offended by the question. She merely shook her head. "No. Basil must have ordered that. I might very well have done it, but I did not. And your little blonde playmate is quite unharmed and will be released as soon as I can get word to the people who hold her. Are you angry?"
"Sure," I said. "I'm mad as hell I let you out-bluff me, when I had that strap around your neck."
She laughed. "You are a sentimentalist, my dear. I knew you would not kill me, or even hurt me badly, no matter how threateningly you talked."
I grinned. "Crowe-Barham wouldn't agree with your opinion of me. He thinks I'm an uncouth Yankee brute. If he's still alive, poor guy. You didn't happen to get any word on him from Madame Ling?"
We hadn't discussed the details of her telephone conversation the night before. Sleep had seemed more important, once she'd let me know that contact had been established and satisfactory arrangements made.
Vadya said, "No, even if I'd thought of it, how could I have asked? What interest could I have in your friend? I merely made my offer, we haggled a little over terms, and she consulted her associates and came back to the telephone to let me know what I was expected to do. When we stop, of course, I will point my gun at you."
I said, "Sure. But be damn certain you don't do it before we stop, or I'll have to go through the motions of piling up the car, or doing something equally desperate and messy."
What I meant was that it's only on TV that a guy in a fast-moving vehicle, with a steering wheel in his hands and a hot engine under his foot, lets himself be held up by a character with a mere pistol. who obviously can't shoot since if he does his victim will be sure to wreck the heap and take him to hell for company.