The Camelot Caper Read Free Page A

interruption. Kidnaping was even more difficult; she would struggle and kick and…
    And…what? All he had to do was to get close enough to hit her, once. Then he could carry his swooning fiancée, or sister, through sympathetic crowds to a waiting car.
    He took a step forward and, with a gasp, Jess backed away. She had overcome her scruples about screaming now; but now it was too late. The clamor of the bells went on without stopping, urging late-comers to hurry.
    He was close upon her now, his outstretched arms a bar to flight, reaching out…
    All at once the room was filled with people: short people, tall people, fat ones and thin ones, but all middle-aged or older, all carrying the insignia of their class: cameras. American tourists, God bless them, in the wrong place atthe wrong time, as they so often were; a black-robed verger hurried in after them, wringing his hands.
    â€œLadies and gentlemen, please! The service is about to begin. Please—ladies! Those of you who wish to attend the service—”
    A portly gentleman removed a chewed but unlighted cigar from his mouth, contemplated the end of it, and looked at the guide.
    â€œHow long does this service last?”
    â€œApproximately forty-five minutes, sir. Now, ladies and—”
    The portly gentleman put the cigar back in his mouth.
    â€œI’ll meetcha later, Martha,” he said. “Out in front.”
    There was a hearty murmur of agreement from the other men in the group. The guide looked sadly at the leader of the rebellion, and then glanced back over his shoulder in the direction of the invisible spire, from which the bells had ceased to ring.
    â€œVery well, gentlemen. If you…Ladies. Please. This way.”
    Four ladies had come in; five went out. Jess was as close as she could get to the chubbiest of the five. The verger was behind her, making shooing motions; as she scuttled through thedoorway, Jess saw the man with the mustache come forward from the bench and follow after.
    She had hoped to make a dash for freedom when she got into the cloisters, but she didn’t know her way well enough, and there was such a feeling of safety in the comfortable contours of the lady tourist. Jess had the usual contempt for the “average tourist”—which means all tourists except oneself—but now she was ready to overlook all their other sins for the sake of their amiable curiosity, and their naïve assumption that anybody from the States was practically a member of the family.
    â€œYou on a tour?” her new-found friend asked cheerfully. “Sure is hard on the feet, isn’t it? We’re on our way home now. Harry says if he has to look at one more church he’s going to turn Mohammedan, but his bunions are bothering him. Harry says…”
    Jess couldn’t have spoken if she had wanted to. She nodded and smiled; the monologue did not end until they entered the cathedral and were shushed by the indignant verger. He indicated a row of seats, and Jess slid in, behind her compatriot.
    The music had already begun. All the cathedrals had fine choir schools, and the singing bore little resemblance to the volunteer choir ofthe white Methodist church back home. The high boys’ voices lifted over the deeper tones of the men, and for a moment the sheer beauty of the soaring song, filling the lofty vault, made Jess forget her panic. Then she turned her head, to accept the little book the verger was offering; and she saw the man with the mustache heading purposefully for her. His face was set in a scowl and his right hand was in his pocket. A gun? A hypodermic needle? A knife? Suppose he stood next to her and stuck the needle…
    Her wide eyes and frightened mouth caught the verger’s attention, and he turned to follow her gaze. Jess saw his black-clad shoulders stiffen with indignation. Visitors were not permitted to wander about the cathedral during the services, and this visitor was