“Undiscovered little pub, eh?” Nick laughed.

  It took all of Nick’s bulk and strength to push himself through the crush to the bar, while Tracy waited in ladylike comfort under the trees on the back patio. He liberated two pints of beer and fought manfully against the human tide that packed the room. It was impossible to make yourself heard above the wail of the electric guitars driven by three shaggy operatives in candy-striped shirts. Nick took a good grip on the foaming glasses and used his elbows diligently. Some minutes later he managed to make his way out of the crush.

  The mist was rising on the Thames. Beneath the willow tree in the court Tracy sat looking desirable, one slim, nylon-encased leg tapping to the Mersey beat. And then someone took a shot at Nick. He heard the bullet whiz by him and saw it tear a chunk out of the cement wall.

  Nick went down hard on the stone walk. Had he been followed, he wondered? Damn fast work. The beer steins shattered and poured their amber fluid in great golden puddles across the flagstones.

  “Chap’s jarred to the ears,” someone shouted jovially. “Tell ‘Arry to shut ‘im orf.”

  Nick dove back into the crowd. In that din the assassin could have used a howitzer and no one would have heard it. The crowd was packed so tightly Nick could follow the currents in it like in a body of water. He spotted a long-haired fellow in a double-breasted blue blazer, Dutch boy hat and dark glasses, making for the door, pushing people a little too hard even for that good-natured crowd. He was followed by a wake of turning heads and irritated cursing. Damn fool should have stayed put and I’d never have spotted him, Nick thought. Should have hit me in the first place, he added objectively. The red-faced man in front of Nick gave him an inebriated grin and refused to budge.

  “I say, wot’s yer ‘urry,” the red-faced man huffed. ” ‘Ow abat knockin’ orf the ruddy shovin’, mate?”

  Nick caught the man, who must have weighed around two-fifty, under the arm and performed a little jig. When it was over the red-faced man had been for a short ride through the air and ended up behind Nick instead of in front of him. The rest of the crowd, noting the warning glint in Nick’s eyes and his little demonstration Of strength and conditioning, gave way for the first time in the history of the “View.” A moment later Nick burst out onto the street. Nothing to be seen. Then he heard footsteps to his right. A shadow flitted through the ironwork of the small drawbridge that crossed the canal. Wilhelmina, the Luger, appeared in Nick’s hand with the speed of thought as he set off running in the direction of the man on the bridge.

  Ahead of him a car door slammed. Nick increased his pace. He was on the bridge now. Headlights were, born in the blackness and leaped at him like the claws of a tiger. The killer and his wheel man were coming back for him. The car leaped forward at an incredible speed for that short distance. Nick snapped off a shot at random and heard glass shatter. The lights were big as moons now, directly in front of him. He was trapped in the middle of the narrow bridge with no hiding place.

  His powerful legs tensed beneath him and he risked two running steps before hurling himself up and out into the blackness. He didn’t know whether the bridge was five feet high or five hundred. The wind of the hurtling car plucked at his trousers as it raced by him. For a moment he was alone and flying in the damp night air. Then he braced himself to land and hoped there was water underneath him.

  He hit hard with his arms folded around his head. It was water, dank and foul smelling, but water. Slowly he made his way back to the surface and treaded water in the dark, waiting for the numbing shock of his landing to wear off. Footsteps pounded along the bridge. Voices called out in cockney accents. A flashlight beam played out across the water, and explored beneath the ancient pilings of the old docks. He could hear them shouting to each other. “Get ‘is bird, ‘Arry. She’s still at the View.” They were after Tracy.

  Nick decided it was about time to get the hell out of there. He had no desire to have his head plinked like a beer bottle while it bobbed on the surface. Tracy would have to look after herself for just a while now. He took a deep breath and dived deeply.

  It would be a little while before he would come up again. Yoga training and long practice had developed his self-discipline to the point where he could remain under water for. close to four minutes before coming up for breath. When his head finally came to the surface Nick was a good distance from the probing flashlights. The gang was spread out searching for him. A few powerful strokes took him over to the side of one of the river tugs. He caught the rubber tire fender than hung from, its gunwales and eased himself dripping up on deck.

  A flashlight was coming down the dock. Nick was cut off. Silent as a wraith he glided toward the wheelhouse door. There was a light showing in the main cabin but he would have to chance it. His pursuers’ footsteps were drawing steadily nearer. Nick stepped inside. It was the strangest tugboat cabin Nick had ever seen. Shelves full of porcelain bric-a-brac were anchored into place, braided rugs were secured to the deck and in a corner under a reading lamp sat a lady of indeterminate age complete with rocking chair, cat and telly tuned to the BBC. She was two hundred and fifty pounds if she was an ounce, and she didn’t seem the least bit disconcerted to see Nick appear dripping out of the darkness.

  “Pardon me, ma’am,” Nick said, flashing what he hoped Was a disarming smile. “I was strolling on the docks and was stupid enough to fall in… .”

  The woman’s beady eyes glanced over him and nodded skeptically.

  “Don’t blarney an’ old seadog like me, mate,” were her first words, uttered in a voice so pugnacious that Nick was prepared to dive back into the Thames. “I can tell with ‘alf an eye you’re on the ruddy run. The coppers after you, lad?” she added more sympathetically.

  “Not exactly,” Nick said. “But as a matter of fact there are a few chaps around here I’m in no hurry to meet.”

  “Thought so,” the enormous woman grunted. “Woulda swore I heard gun shots a while back… .”

  Footsteps thumped up the gangplank. Hugo, the razor-keen stiletto, appeared in Nick’s hand as if by magic.

  “No need for any o’ that, luv,” the gigantic woman growled, rising from her rocking chair. “No point in getting yourself into deeper waters, dearie. Here, under my bed.” She pointed to a wide strong bed in the dimmer part of the cabin. In a moment she had Nick secreted under the capacious bed and was back in front of the telly by the time the visitor appeared in the doorway. From under the bedspread, which fell just short of the floor, Nick could see a man with a big nose and an unkempt Prince Valiant hairdo, in a double-breasted pinstripe suit and pointed boots, staring around the unlikely feminine cabin.

  ” ‘Ave you seen our pal Tommie, by any chance, dearie? Ould souse bloody well took a spill in the drink an’ we’re ‘aving a go at fishin’ ‘im out.”

  “Go on with you now, and what would I be doin’ with your old pal Tommie or all the rest of you young ruffians who spend their nights carousin’ an’ singin’ an’ keepin’ them as has to work by day up all night? That’s for them as collect the dole in the mornin’ and drink it up at night.”

  Big Nose smiled.

  “Then you won’t mind if I ‘ave a bit of a look around, Will you, dearie? We set a lot of store by our pal Tommie and we’d ‘ate to think you stole ‘im on us..” Big Nose edged further into the room. The woman’s face got suddenly red and she rose from her chair, the chair quivering.

  “I’ll say whether you’ll have a bleedin’ look around my boat or not, and the answer is not on your bloody life.” The stout tugboat lady advanced menacingly on the long-haired visitor.

  Big Nose raised a placating hand.

  “Now don’t get your steam up, dearie. Someone’s been drippin’ water on your rug, mom, and those footprints are Tommy to the inch. I’m just goin’ to have a glom about your little place, and no nonsense now.”

  A switch blade appeared in his hands and the thick lips were drawn back in a wolfish smile as he stared into the indignant blue eyes of the tugboat captain. Under the bed, Nick Carter tensed himself for action as the mountain of a woman advanced undaunted on the knife.

  “No nonsense, mom,” Big Nose repeated, “an’ no one ‘as to get hurt. Just go back to your old rocker until I’m. finished.”

  Underneath the bed, Nick calculated the odds. Big Nose would be no serious problem in a knife-to-knife encounter, but it wasn’t likely that Nick could get to him quickly enough to stop him from shouting the good news about Nick to his companions. And the companions had guns. Wilhelmina was lying back on the bridge where he had dropped her when he went in the water. Still there didn’t seem to be any way out—or so he thought until Tugboat Annie solved his problem for him.

  She was bearing steadily down on Big Nose, who stood his ground, his smile getting thinner and more vicious the closer she came. The knife blade gleamed in the lamplight and flickered in and out.

  Big Nose said, “I’m going to enjoy this, you old jakes. Think you can get away with all your cheek because you’re a bloody old hag and nice little boys ain’t supposed to muss up the old bags? Well my name ain’t Sir Philip Sydney, luv.”

  “Yeah, and I ain’t no .little Lord Fauntleroy neither,” growled the woman. She was very close now and Big Nose closed the gap by taking a step toward her. He brought the knife up trader her nose with one hand and gave her a shove back with the other. That was his mistake. The tugboat captain caught the arm he used to shove her, spun him around and fetched him a clip on the ear that made Nick wince. Big Nose cursed loudly and came back with a long upward sweep of his blade that Tugboat Annie saw coming a mile away. She caught the thrusting arm, spun on her heel and pulled it over her shoulder. Then she gave a heave of her enormous legs.

  Big Nose described an arc through the air and came down flat on his back with a crash that rocked the porcelain. Before he could recover, she had pulled him to his feet and slammed a solid punch to his midsection that had all of her’ two hundred and fifty pounds behind it. The mod sort of sighed and receded, in the direction of the floor, just in time to meet Annie’s massive knee on its way up. Blood burst from his lips like juice from an overripe tomato.

  “Ha, ha, ha.” Annie’s deep laughter shook the teacups. “Well now, look at Sir Philip Bloody Sydney, wouldn’t you.”

  The long-haired knifeman was on his hands and knees coughing and watching blood run from his mouth down to the rug.

  “C’mon, Phil,” she said dragging him to his feet with a huge grunt. “Time to go out and tell your chums there ain’t no Tommie ‘ere an’ that respect for your elders is comin’ back into style.”

  Big Nose had no reply as he marched on shaky legs to the door, Tugboat Annie supporting him by his collar. A moment later Nick heard him stumbling heavily down the gangplank. Annie returned with a satisfied grin across her broad ugly face.

  “Aren’t you worried he’ll come back with his friends?” Nick asked, emerging from his hiding place.

  “Not likely he’ll want to show ‘em it was a defenseless piece of fluff like me did ‘m in.”

  Nick’s grin of admiration widened. She looked about as defenseless as an armored, division. But the amazon had put away her warlike impulses. She bustled about tidying up the signs of the struggle and then set the teapot on the stove.

  “Now you just nip into the loo, luv, and change out of those wet clothes and I’ll have a nice cuppa all ready for you when you come back. There’s some o’ the old man’s gear, may he rest in peace, in the locker just starboard o’ the loo. Knowed all along a nice-lookin’ chap like you wouldn’t have anything to do with the likes o’ them.”

  “Appreciate all this, ma’am,” Nick said, “but I’d better be going along. People to. meet, places to go and all that.”

  “You don’t want to be dashin’ about outside with those teddy boys after you, luv. We can have a cozy little chat over tea an’ then off to bed,” she said. “After all, there’s them as thinks I’m attractive yet for the life I’ve led—but suit yourself.”

  She turned and flounced off in the direction of the kettle, tossing a flirtatious glance back toward Nick. Nick repressed a shudder at the thought of a night of steaming passion with the kind-hearted Annie and took his leave.

  “You’ll be sorry, luv,” she caroled after him. “I know how to be good to a man.”

  I’ll bet, Nick laughed to himself as he moved off through the darkness. It would be hard on the man, though. Should get hardship pay, he thought, thinking of the strength in those powerful legs. He thought of Tracy. From what the lad on the bridge had said it didn’t sound as if she were one of them. Not unless someone had got his signals crossed.

  The fog was coming up thick now on the river. It wouldn’t do to go back by the road. He had no idea how many of them were there, concealed in the shadows watching the door, ready to blast him down from the concealment of the warehouse alleys. It would have to be along the river that he approached the pub.

  Ten minutes later, wet and filthy from the grime of the docks, Nick moved silently along the wall of the back courtyard of the pub. He could see the tree where he’d, left Tracy. The pub was closed now and he could see the help moving around inside cleaning up. He placed his hands on the wall above his head and then pulled himself up and slid over with the smooth effortlessness of a prowling cat.

  The courtyard was empty. There was no sign of Miss Tracy Vanderlake. Or was there? Nick crossed to the bench underneath the willow tree where Tracy had been sitting.

  The rag lay on the ground beneath the bench. Nick picked it up and sniffed. Chloroform. Not difficult to use. No one would think twice about someone carrying a date who had passed out in that beery crowd.

  Nick went inside. He made inquiries. The bartender couldn’t help him and none of the waiters had noticed a blonde American. There were so many birds floating around, mate, you understand?

  Nick stopped. There wasn’t much that they could get out of Tracy. But it could be very unpleasant for her until they understood that she wasn’t working with or for Nick. He was sorry he had misjudged her.

  One of the guitar players was packing his instrument.

  “Looking for someone, mister?”

  Nick nodded and looked carefully at the musician.

  “Your chum slipped me a fiver to tell you they left early for a club on New Oxford Street and you can meet them there.”

  He named the club. Nick questioned him briefly but the guitar player had been told to keep his eye out for an American in evening clothes who might return looking for his blonde date.

  “Funny I didn’t see you come in,” the guitar player said.

  Nick thanked him and called a cab. Outside, no shots rang, no movement was betrayed in the shadow. Nick began -to laugh, a hard cynical laugh. This time he wasn’t going to go for the bait. He had a more important job to do. Let them keep Tracy and worry about the all-out manhunt that would be launched for the abducted daughter of an American millionaire. Nick would be working on the case while they were dodging bobbies at every corner.

  Nick made one more call. It was from a street phone booth and it was to Scotland Yard. He did not give his name. When it was finished he went back to his hotel and slept the peaceful sleep of the wicked.

  Chapter 5

  THE SHORT-RANGE jet was beginning its descent into Paris, coming down fast Paris, city, of memories. There were a lot of things that Nick would have liked to do. There were a couple of newsmen he would like to see again or maybe have a drink with Chalmers at the Embassy. On second thought, he’d better keep away from the American Embassy, old buddy or no old buddy. The American Eagle liked to keep its talons clean; it wanted nothing to do with AXE’s marauding night hawks, at least not out Where people could see.

  Perhaps Durand at the Banque Suisse. Durand was a lot of laughs and hadn’t always been a banker, not by a damn sight. Perhaps he could give Nick a word of advice about international currency movements. Durand knew it from both sides of the law. But then again, didn’t the Swiss Bank have dealings with Red China? Not that Durand would give him away, but… . No, Nick Would stay in the best hotels and eat at the finest restaurants, but Paris for him would be just another temporary duty station. Other people’s Paris, the Paris of old loves and the energetic making of new ones was not for Nick Carter.

  Beside him the irrepressible Pecos Smith bent Nick’s ear as usual. In his narrative, Coyote and Pecos had managed to acquire drilling rights in some remote part of the Amazon and were beset by headhunting Jivaro Indians who had the two Americans figured for gods or lunatics.

  “There we were, son,” Pecos roared, “crocodiles big as flatcars behind us and ahead heathen in the jungle. Old Jedge Remington was all the friends we had…

  Nick let his attention wander. Pecos didn’t mind. He had another audience now, a tall, courtly redheaded man named Kirby Fairbanks who was enthralled with Pecos’ stories. “I wish I had my tape recorder here,” he remarked at several of Pecos’ high points. “This is true Americana and it will be lost forever in another few years.”

  The true American was delighted to play to this new audience and Nick was allowed to scan the passengers in peace. The absence of Tracy Vanderlake hadn’t been widely noticed yet. Her abduction had taken place too late for the morning papers and the editors of the tabloids had apparently not thought it worthwhile to get out extras until the facts had been more carefully checked. More faces. A great smiling tub of a man and his little stone-faced wife. His name was Frank Baxter and he was the MC on a famous daytime television show under the name of Captain Smiley. His wife, in contrast to Baxter’s large good humor, was as small as he was fat and as grim as he was jovial.

  And then there was always Li Valery. She was sitting by herself as usual, remote as the Great Sphinx, her legs neatly crossed and the promise of a full bosom accentuated beneath a deep-necked silk blouse and superbly tailored jacket.