Thefts of Nick Velvet (12 page)

Nick shrugged. “Perhaps someone who entered from outside in the confusion.”

“It sounds so simple,” the Englishman said.

“It seems simple because it worked,” Nick assured him. “But a great deal of careful planning must have gone into it.”

Anson Gibellion gave Nick a curious look. “You talk as if you know how it was planned.”

“It’s a business with me,” Nick told him. “I can admire another man’s work.”

He stood up, anxious to be out of there before more questioners arrived on the scene. “Where are you going?” Haskins asked.

“I’ll be in touch.”

“Needless to say, Velvet, you failed to earn your ten thousand pounds.”

“Needless to say.”

The girl was waiting for Nick at the place they’d agreed on, the bandstand near the zoo in Regent’s Park. She wore a trim yellow raincoat as protection against the overcast skies, and her face was even more glowing than he remembered. “Hello,” he said, coming up to her with a grin; he was dangling a large package from one hand.

“You’re late. I didn’t think you were coming.” But he could see she was pleased by his arrival.

“Your British police are quite tenacious.”

“Please! They’re not
my
British police.” She glanced around to see if anyone was watching, but there were only two elderly ladies chatting on a bench some distance away. “Did you get them, Nick? The ravens?”

He set the package on the grass and untied the string. Pulling away the paper he revealed a small square birdcage. “Seven ravens, as ordered.”

She stared at the black birds in their crowded quarters and listened to their complaining cries. “I heard about it on the news,” she told him. “It must have been quite a sight!”

“It was fun,” Nick agreed.

“But once you released the ravens into that blizzard of birds, how did you ever sort them out again and recapture them?”

“That’s a trade secret,” he told her. “Do you have my money?”

“Mr. Stavanger has it.”

“You mean I’ll finally get to meet him?”

She smiled and shook her pretty head. “He’s waiting in a car. I’ll take the birds to him.” He knelt on the grass to cover the cage and retie the string.

“Just what sort of man is Stavanger?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I like to know who I’ve been working for. And why.”

She sighed and picked up the packaged birdcage. “Stavanger is a revolutionary. Specifically, he is attempting to overthrow the government of Gola as a step toward establishing the country as a haven for other revolutionaries. He has built quite an extensive underground force in Gola, all ready to follow his lead.”

“And how did you get involved with him?”

“I told you—he’s a revolutionary like myself. He’s anti-British, like myself. We have that much in common.”

She led him along Broad Walk to Chester Road, where a closed black limousine stood waiting. “Is that Stavanger?” Nick asked.

“Yes. Please remain here while I take the birds to him. I’ll return with your money.”

“Can I be sure of that?”

“I’ll, be in plain sight all the time. I won’t even get in the car. Now just you wait here.”

He did as he was told and watched her cross the street to the waiting car. She opened a rear door and placed the packaged birdcage inside. The back windows were covered, so Nick could see only the uniformed driver. He suspected it might be a rented car and wondered if there was really anyone in the back seat at all. Perhaps Pat McGowan was merely a clever actress.

After a few moments of seemingly earnest conversation she closed the door and walked back across the street to his side. The limousine pulled slowly away from the curb. “Here’s your money,” she told him, holding out a bulging brown envelope. “Mr. Stavanger was surprised that you were successful.”

“I’ll bet.” Nick ripped open the envelope and riffled the corners of the ten-pound notes.

“Where will you go now, Nick? Back to America?”

He nodded, finishing his quick count of the money. “Why do you ask?”

“We could use you here, to fight for the Irish.”

“Sorry. I never get involved in political disputes.”

“Perhaps I’ll see you again, nevertheless.”

He smiled down at her eager eyes. “I hope so,” he told her, and they parted.

Anson Gibellion was working at his desk when Nick entered through the window, dropped silently to the thick carpeting, and closed the window behind him. The Ambassador turned, startled, and demanded, “How did you get in here, Velvet?”

Nick smiled and moved around the desk to a comfortable leather chair. “Your building is quite old and I’m something of a thief, remember?”

“Did you steal those birds? Did you cause all that trouble at the Palace?”

Nick shook his head. “No. As a matter of fact, I’ve come for my money. Harry Haskins offered me ten thousand pounds if I could prevent the ravens from being stolen.”

“What?” Gibellion didn’t seem to understand. “But you didn’t prevent it! The ravens were stolen!”

“On the contrary, Mr. Gibellion, the ravens were
not
stolen. When you brought the cage to the Palace today, the cage was empty. That business with all the birds was clever misdirection—but misdirection from a robbery that was
not
taking place.”

“You must be crazy!”

“Am I? The cage was covered for the presentation, and neither Haskins nor I actually saw those birds this morning. We were supposed to assume they were in the cage because you said so. I’d been visiting pet shops myself last night and had encountered an astonishing shortage of all kinds of black birds. When I discovered that someone had been buying them up, I wasn’t really too surprised to see the truck release them into the Palace—though I must admit it made quite a spectacle. I simply stood in a corner and watched—both the birds and that covered cage of yours. No one went near that cage, Gibellion. And yet later you claimed the birds were gone. The only possibility is that they were never in the cage in the first place.”

“But you are the thief, Velvet—not me!”

Nick shook his head. “Not this time. No one could seriously have suspected me of the crime, because I’d never been to the Palace before. I had no knowledge of which room we’d be in, so I could hardly have paid the dim-witted driver to back his truck into the correct window, could I? No, the driver was hired by someone who knew the Palace routine. It could have been Haskins, but when I determined the cage was empty all along, I knew it had to be you.”

“And so?”

“And so I want my money. No theft took place, so you owe me ten thousand pounds.”

“Your deal was with Haskins,” the Ambassador reminded him.

“But I’m collecting from you.”

Gibellion shook his head. “You’ve already collected your fee, Velvet. You were paid by the anti-Gola forces to steal the birds, and you collected from them this afternoon.”

Nick frowned at him across the desk. “I gather you’ve been talking with Stavanger.”

Gibellion shook his head. “You fail to fully comprehend the intricacy of the situation.” His hand came up from under the desk and it was holding a nickel-plated revolver pointed at Nick’s chest. “You see,
I
am Stavanger.”

Nick leaned back in the chair, keeping his voice casual. “That’s fine. Then I get paid twice by the same man.”

“Your payment is right here,” the Ambassador said, and the gun edged up a trifle. “You are a thief, Mr. Velvet. You have already robbed me of one payment—for seven false ravens you obviously obtained from a pet shop. I could hardly admit to the girl that I knew the birds were fakes, and so I had to pay for them.”

“Finding those birds last night was a harder job than stealing them,” Nick said. “I had to drive all the way to Greenwich to find a pet shop you hadn’t emptied for your little trick this morning. I’ll admit I was beginning to wonder about the identity of the man in the false beard who was buying black birds.”

“The birds were purchased over a period of several weeks. I have been planning this for some time.” The gun edged up another fraction.

“Before you shoot me, Gibellion, you could at least explain why you did it.”

“Why? There were two reasons, really. One was simply to embarrass the President of Gola on his visit here. But much more important, I wanted to discredit myself and force my recall back home. As Stavanger I have built up a complex underground system in Gola, an army of faithful revolutionaries waiting to follow me. But I am the only man who can lead them, and here I am in London, chained to an Ambassador’s desk. By allowing the theft to take place I incurred the President’s anger and will be sent home in disgrace—which is exactly what I wanted! It is far more effective and less suspicious than if I merely resigned. I will be back in Gola next week, ready to lead the revolution.”

Nick saw the Ambassador’s finger whiten on the trigger, and he tensed for a leap. Then suddenly the window through which he’d entered opened again, and the room was alive with birds. Gibellion jerked back in his chair as a bird darted in front of his eyes and circled toward the ceiling.

Nick waited no longer. He dove across the desk, knocking the gun away and pinning the Ambassador in his chair.

Pat McGowan entered through the window, wearing black slacks and a sweater, and looking that moment even more beautiful than Nick remembered. “The same bird trick,” he said with admiration.

She grinned and took a little bow. “Stavanger’s driver told me he didn’t even want the birds. He left them in the limousine this afternoon. I brought them here to sell them back to Gibellion—anything for a little extra money—and overheard your conversation just now. I was as surprised as you to learn that Stavanger and Gibellion were the same man. I’d never seen the Ambassador before, not even in pictures.”

“I have to thank you for saving my life,” Nick told her. The birds were still swooping around the room, enjoying their, freedom.

“I decided your life was worth saving,” she said.

Releasing his grip on Gibellion, Nick reminded him, “I believe you were about to pay me my fee. Ten thousand pounds.”

The Ambassador sputtered and struggled to his feet. Nick stood by his side as he removed the money from a wall safe. Behind him, Pat McGowan was trying to coax the birds back into their cage. “You’ve been paid twice for nothing,” Gibellion complained. “You didn’t steal the birds, and you didn’t prevent their theft.”

“But you now have fourteen ravens—these seven and your original seven. The extra birds should be worth the extra fee.” Nick grinned and pocketed the money without counting it. Then he took the girl’s hand and they left quickly by the window, before the Ambassador could retrieve his revolver.

“It looks as if I’m no longer working for Stavanger,” Pat remarked as they reached the next block.

“Just as well. Somehow I don’t think he really had much interest in your Irish matters.” He hailed a passing cab. “Let’s go somewhere for a quiet drink. I’ve already missed my plane.”

“What will happen to him now, Nick? To Gibellion, I mean.”

“Who knows? Maybe his brand of revolution is good for Gola. Maybe by next year he’ll be visiting the Queen himself, and she’ll get her seven ravens after all.”

N
ICK VELVET HAD ALWAYS
harbored a soft spot for Paul Matalena, ever since they’d been kids together on the same block in the Italian section of Greenwich Village. He still vividly remembered the Saturday afternoon when a gang fight had broken out on Bleecker Street, and Paul had yanked him out of the path of a speeding police car with about one inch to spare. He liked to think that Paul had saved his life that day, and so, being something of a sentimentalist, Nick responded quickly to his old friend’s call for help.

He met Paul in the most unlikely of places—the Shakespeare garden in Central Park, where someone many years ago had planned a floral gathering which was to include every species of flower mentioned in the works of the Bard. If the plan had never come to full blossom it still produced a colorful setting, a backdrop for literary discussion.

“‘There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance,’” Paul quoted as they strolled among the flowers and shrubs. “‘And there is pansies, that’s for thoughts.’”

Nick, who could hardly be called a Shakespeare scholar, had come prepared. “‘A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,’” he countered.

“You’ve gotten educated since we were kids, Nick.”

“I’m still pretty much the same. What can I do for you, Paul?”

“They tell me you’re in business for yourself these days. Stealing things.”

“Certain things. Those of no great value. You might call it a hobby.”

“Hell, Nick, they say you’re the best in the business. I been hearing about you for years now. At first I couldn’t believe it was the same guy.”

Nick shrugged. “Everyone has to earn a living somehow.”

“But how did you ever get started in it?”

The beginning was something Nick rarely thought about, and it was something he’d never told another person. Now, strolling among the flowers with his boyhood friend, he said, “It was a woman, of course. She talked me into helping her with a robbery. We were going to break into the Institute for Medieval Studies over in New Jersey and steal some art treasures. I got a truck and helped her remove a stained-glass window so we could get into the building. While I was inside she drove off with the window. That was all she’d been after in the first place. It was worth something like $50,000 to collectors.”

Paul Matalena gave a low whistle. “And you never got any of it?”

Nick smiled at the memory. “Not a cent. The girl was later arrested, and the window recovered, so perhaps it’s just as well. But that got me thinking about the kind of objects people steal. I discovered there are things of little or no value that can be worth a great deal to certain people at certain times. By avoiding the usual cash and jewelry and paintings I’m able to concentrate on the odd, the unusual, the valueless.”

“They say you get $20,000 a job, and $30,000 for an especially dangerous one.”

Nick nodded. “My price has been the same for years. No inflation here.”