“See it?” Mrs. Foster shouted excitedly. “Out there near the center!”
Nick looked, and saw a head breaking the surface. A head, and something else behind. The thing, whatever it was; seemed to be swimming toward the far shore, toward Seeley’s cottage.
“I’m going after it,” Nick told the girl. He was looking around for Pike, but the owner of the place was nowhere in sight.
It was perhaps a mile from shore to the center of the lake, and Nick steered the outboard carefully, trying for an arc that would intersect the monster’s route somewhere before it reached the shore. Mrs. Foster and Judy had both tried to join him, but he’d kept them out, wanting to make the trip alone. He had to find the place where the serpent slept, its home somewhere along that shore. He didn’t doubt for a moment that the thing lived at least part of its existence on dry land. In this northern climate, a body of water the size of Silver Lake would be frozen during much of the winter. The creature obviously needed air to breathe, and thus could not remain on the bottom of the lake during the long, freezing winter.
No, it had spent the winter somewhere else, which was why Nick had his suspicions of Larry Pike.
He’d closed the gap a bit between himself and the monster, and now at a distance of perhaps a quarter of a mile he could make out the greenish head and neck of the beast, swimming along on a rigid course. For a moment Nick thought it might be actually pulled along from the shore, but then at the sound of his motor it shifted direction slightly, bearing away from him. He had a glimpse of the stubby snout, the small, gasping mouth, the fins or coils that broke the water behind it. And then for an instant there was something about it that seemed oddly familiar. It was as if he were not on the water at all, but somewhere else, watching—what?
The image, so close to his grasping, vanished with the full moon as night clouds moved quickly across the sky. He cursed his luck and turned the boat in the direction he’d seen the serpent take, but already it was too late. He’d lost sight of the thing. He headed for shore at the nearest point, beaching the boat on a deserted point among half-seen bushes and trees.
It was then that he heard someone scream.
He hurried toward the sound, but it was a full ten minutes before he found old Mr. Seeley, lying in a heap along a rocky stretch of shoreline. The side of his head had been crushed by a blow of some sort. He was dead.
After that, it was as if the plague had descended upon Silver Lake. The sheriff’s deputies came, and the state police, and a grand phalanx of reporters and cameramen. Already one of the Boston newspapers was headlining it the SEA SERPENT MURDER, and anyone in the Northeast who hadn’t yet heard about the monster was finding out quickly enough. Nick had known it would be like this from the moment he stumbled on the body, and he had even considered hiding it, but he knew now that the monster would not appear again immediately, whatever he did.
After the police had questioned him, he checked out of the Silver Lake Hotel and drove the twenty miles to Golden Lake and Crowder’s Cove. The police just might decide to check up on him, and Nick knew better than anyone that his background wouldn’t stand checking. He’d be safe at Crowder’s place for a few days, he hoped, until the storm about the killing blew over.
On the morning after his arrival, Earl Crowder regarded him over breakfast with a mixture of admiration and uncertainty. He waited until Nick had taken a forkful of scrambled eggs and then asked, “Did you kill that guy?”
“Of course not,” Nick replied.
“I’m not paying for no murder!”
“And you didn’t get any murder. Not from me, at least.”
“You’re giving up on the serpent?”
“Of course not. You’ll have it here. If you really want it now.”
It was a bit later in the morning when a dusty station wagon pulled up outside and Judy Martin hopped out, closely followed by Larry Pike himself. Crowder came off the porch to greet them, his expression a bit uncertain.
“How are things with your monster, Larry?” he asked, holding out his hand.
Pike shuffled his feet and glared, but Judy was in no mood to keep silent. “I’m happy to see Mr. Velvet here,” she started. “It just confirms what I’ve thought all along! You couldn’t stand the competition from Larry’s place, so you arranged a murder.”
“Don’t be silly,” Crowder mumbled.
“You figured if it looked like the monster killed somebody, the place wouldn’t be a tourist attraction any more! But you’re wrong—we’ve been busy all day taking reservations. We just wanted you to know we’re wise to your little schemes with Mr. Velvet.”
Nick glanced over at Larry Pike. “Do you have anything to say about all this?”
“I … no.”
“Go on,” Crowder told them. “Get out of here, both of you! You just came over to make trouble.”
Pike hesitated and then turned away, taking Judy by the arm. It seemed obvious that the journey to Golden Lake had been her idea, but now she backed off too, uncertain of how to press the attack.
After they’d gone, Nick followed Crowder into the resort’s little bar. He felt as if he could use a drink. He stared across at the older man and said, “You know, you might have killed Seeley just the way she said, thinking it would ruin his business.”
“Do you think that?”
Nick shook his head. “There’d be no point to it, after you’d hired me—at least, not till you saw what sort of job I did. Besides, I saw the wound on Seeley’s head. It reminded me of a friend of mine who was killed once. He was a jockey, and his mount threw him.”
“What?”
“Just thinking out loud,” Nick said. “Do you have a truck I could borrow? Some sort of closed van, if you have one.”
“I have one. What do you want it for?”
Nick Velvet smiled. “Tonight I’m going to steal the Silver Lake serpent.”
He knew where to look now, because the creature would have come ashore at the point where Seeley’s body was found. It would be a closed cottage or barn of some sort, not far from that point. He found it within twenty minutes—a boarded-up garage next to an empty cottage. The police would never have noticed it. Perhaps he would never have noticed it, either, if he hadn’t seen the tracks in the loose dirt.
Nick used one of his special tools on the lock, and stepped into the garage. Outside it was twilight, and the interior of the building was like pitch. He held his breath, remembering Seeley’s crushed skull. It seemed in that instant he could feel the hot breath of the creature on his face. He knew what the garage would contain—electric heaters for the winter, of course, and a spray gun of some sort for the green paint. He lit his flashlight and let the beam climb along the walls.
“Good evening, Mr. Velvet,” Larry Pike said from the doorway. “I see you’ve stumbled upon our secret.”
“I have a gun, Pike,” Nick warned him.
“What do you want?”
“I’m taking this thing with me. The Silver Lake serpent is all finished.”
“I doubt that. Crowder paid you, didn’t he?”
“What does it matter? You’re hardly in a position to call the police. Not when this thing killed a man.”
“It was an accident,” Larry Pike said.
“I know. What about the girl?”
“She’s out of it. She doesn’t know a thing.” But then, his eyes accustomed to the light, Pike saw the tool and flashlight in Nick’s hands, saw that there was no gun. He leaped forward, knocking Nick to one side, and suddenly there was an unfamiliar noise above them and Nick knew that death was very close—as close as it had been to old Seeley.
He rolled free, his fingers grasping for a weapon, and found the spray gun for the green paint. He squeezed the trigger and saw the spray hit Pike’s jaw and neck. “The next is in the eyes,” he warned. “Move back.”
“All right. You’ve made your point.”
“Now help me get this thing outside,” Nick ordered. “Into the truck.”
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Larry Pike nodded.
“All right. I’m better rid of it, I suppose. But tell me how you knew.”
“A lot of things—mostly remembering that you were once an animal trainer with a circus. And seeing Seeley’s head, looking as if it had been trampled by hooves. And of course seeing the thing itself. You should have stuck to animal training, Pike.”
“How do you mean?”
“It must have taken a lot of patience to teach a camel to swim across this lake.”
It was after midnight when he got Earl Crowder out of bed and led him down to the truck.
“It’s inside,” Nick told him. “I’ll take the rest of my thirty thousand now.”
“A camel?” Crowder asked, unbelieving. “Painted green?”
“Painted green. The funny thing was that it looked exactly like a camel, but Pike was relying on the psychology of what people think they see—what they expect or don’t expect to see. Old Seeley exaggerated what he saw, and Mrs. Foster didn’t really realize what she saw. No one expected to see a green camel swimming across a lake, so no one did see that. Instead they saw simply a long neck and a small head and two humps breaking the surface of the water. That was Larry Pike’s sea serpent.”
“Fantastic,” Crowder said, staring up at the placid animal in the van.
“Of course a camel is an ungulate like horses and deer and sheep, so it wasn’t impossible for an animal trainer like Pike to teach it to swim the same route across the lake. In fact, a number of recorded sea serpent sightings have mentioned the fact that sea serpents look something like camels. One in 1934 off Cherbourg, France, was said to have a neck like that of a camel’s. And sightings in 1910, 1925 and 1928 were described as having the head and neck of a camel. One viewer even spoke of the sea serpent’s traditional coils as humps, like a camel’s. I found these things in Heuvelman’s book, In the Wake of the Sea-Serpents, and I suppose some similar account might have given Pike the whole idea in the first place. It was a great idea until poor Seeley saw the thing coming ashore and tried to grab it. He fell beneath the camel’s hooves and was trampled to death.”
“What am I going to do with a camel?” Earl Crowder asked.
“That’s your problem,” Nick told him. “But I wouldn’t advise another sea serpent. Perhaps you can scrub off the paint and give camel rides to the kids.”
On the way back in the morning, Nick was tempted to swing by Silver Lake and see Judy Martin once more. But he decided against it. He’d had enough excitement for one week, and besides, Gloria would be waiting for him.
The Theft of the Seven Ravens
BECAUSE OF THE EARLY-MORNING fog, Nick Velvet’s flight to London was an hour late in landing, so it was after ten when he reached his hotel in Mayfair. A message was waiting at the desk, giving the address of a little pub a few blocks away where the man he’d come to see would be waiting. Nick unpacked his bag and took the time to shower and shave. Then he was out into the bright May sunshine.
The Red Crosse Knight was a neat and busy pub that faced the vast greenery of Hyde Park. When Nick entered he saw at once the man he was to meet—a stout balding Englishman reading the green-covered Michelin guide that was his identification. His name was Harry Haskins and he rose to greet Nick with a friendly handshake.
“Good of you to come over like this, Velvet,” he said, speaking briskly but keeping his voice low. “As soon as I heard about you I knew you were the perfect man for the job.”
Nick glanced down at the guidebook, which covered the Perigord region of France. “Thinking of taking a trip?”
“My wife and I often drive through Europe in the summer. The villages of France are especially picturesque. Have you ever been there?”
“I was in Paris once, a few years back, but not really long enough to enjoy it.”
Haskins glanced about, making certain their conversation would not be overheard in the noonday din. “We understand you’re a professional thief, Mr. Velvet.”
“Of sorts.” Nick was indeed a professional thief, but he stole only what other thieves avoided—the improbable, the valueless, the bizarre. If someone was willing to pay his fee, no task was too far-fetched. And he knew Harry Haskins had not summoned him across the Atlantic without knowing this.
“It’s a very confidential matter, really. On Wednesday morning—day after tomorrow—the Queen will receive a state visit from the President of the newly independent nation of Gola. As a goodwill gesture the President of Gola plans to present the Queen with seven ravens in a cage.”
“I see.” The waiter arrived with two mugs of warm beer.
“The ravens have an important symbolism in Gola, and since we’ve always kept a few of the birds at the Tower of London it seemed an appropriate gift.”
Nick Velvet nodded. He never questioned the motives of his clients, and the assignment seemed straightforward enough. “You want me to steal the seven ravens before they’re presented to the Queen.”
Haskins’ eyes widened. “Not at all, Velvet. You completely misunderstand. We’ll pay you to see that they aren’t stolen.”
Nick took a long swallow of warm beer and wondered about the next flight back to New York. “You’re the one who seems to have misunderstood, Mr. Haskins. I’m no sort of detective or police guard. I charge a flat fee—about eight thousand pounds in your money—and for that amount I’ll steal almost anything. But I don’t catch thieves or prevent robberies.”
“I thought this might be a special case, since it involves the British government.”
“Then get a British citizen to guard the ravens. Why bring an American over for it—and a thief at that?”
Harry Haskins leaned back in his chair, a slightly pained expression on his face. “Your reputation is the finest, Velvet. And for internal security reasons we’d rather have a non-Britisher in the role. We don’t want someone protecting the ravens who can be interviewed by the press the next day. Once your assignment is over you’ll go back across the ocean and the whole thing will quickly die down.”
Haskins’ reasoning did not fully convince Nick, but Haskins’ next action did. He slipped a piece of paper from his pocket and passed it across the table. It was a check for ten thousand pounds. “That’s more than my usual fee,” Nick commented.
“I know. But it’s all yours if the seven ravens are delivered to the Queen on Wednesday morning. You’ll note that the check is dated Wednesday. The funds will not be available until after the presentation ceremony.”
Nick Velvet thought about it. He was never one to refuse money, and to be paid for not stealing something was, in a sense, much easier than to be paid for stealing it. Perhaps, just this once—His hand closed over the check and he said, “I’ll see what I can do.”
Haskins nodded. “I’m sure I can count on you.”
In the afternoon Nick took the Underground to Regents’ Park and strolled along Broad Walk to the zoo. It was a clear day, warmer than usual for a London May, and he felt a bit carefree. With the check already in his pocket very little needed to be done. Perhaps a bit of shopping for Gloria, and some sightseeing, and by Wednesday night he’d be flying home.
He did feel, however, that a visit to the zoo might be in order since he was hardly able to distinguish between a raven and a crow. After some minutes of standing before a large domed cage full of big black birds he sought out a friendly keeper.
“Ravens and crows? Well, they’re both members of the same family, but ravens are larger, and they differ in many ways. Ravens have a wedge-shaped tail, while a crow’s tail is shorter and more gently rounded. They sound different, too, and ravens are more aggressive. Their nests are larger, and they lay more eggs. And of course there’s a great deal of superstition attached to ravens.”
Nick watched the birds circle in brief flight inside the cage. He didn’t realize at first that the keeper had moved out of earshot to attend to his chores. He asked, without looking around, “What sort of superstition?”
A girl�
�s voice answered him. “In Grimm’s fairy tales the seven ravens were seven enchanted brothers.”
He turned, startled, and faced a slim blonde girl with pale blue eyes, an upturned nose, and long slender legs. She was the best-looking thing he’d seen in London so far. “Were you speaking to me?”
“I just said—”
He grinned. “You know a great deal about ravens. And fairy tales.”
“You’re American, aren’t you?”
“Guilty. But you’re not British.”
“Irish, actually. My name is Pat McGowan.”
She paused, waiting, so he told her, “Mine’s Nick Velvet. I’m over here for a few days on business.”
“Do you like London?”
“The people one meets are certainly friendly enough.”
She blushed. “I have a confession to make, Mr. Velvet.”
“Let me guess. You followed me here.”
Her eyes widened. “How did you—?”
Nick smiled at her astonishment. “You mentioned seven ravens, and I don’t believe in coincidences. Who are you, really?”
“Just who I said I am. But you’re right. I did follow you here.”
He stared into her pale blue eyes. “Why would you do a thing like that?”
“You steal things, don’t you?”
“Not from pretty Irish girls, I don’t.”
“I represent people with money, Mr. Velvet. They’re willing to pay. We tried to contact you in America, but we learned you were already en route here.”
Nick was beginning to see it clearly. “Don’t tell me that you want me to steal the seven ravens before they’re presented to the Queen on Wednesday morning.”
“You amaze me! Now how did you know that?”
“I do have a certain reputation in such matters, and since you’d already referred to the ravens and said you tried to contact me in America, it seemed a likely guess.” It also explained why Harry Haskins had been so eager to hire Nick to prevent the theft of the ravens. It wasn’t that he wanted a non-Britisher who could be out of reach of the press. Rather, it was simply that Haskins had discovered Pat McGowan’s plan to hire Nick and had got to him first with a larger bid.
Thefts of Nick Velvet Page 8
