The Watercress File: Being the Further Adventures of That Man from C. A. M. P. by V. J. Banis

curled around the handle of a jeweled derringer, the gun he always carried when he was working on a case. It was a single shot affair, and not good for anything beyond a short distance.
    It was all that he usually needed, however, and safer for his purposes than the more lethal weapons available. For one thing, he had no special license to kill; his training, in fact, had carefully prepared him to avoid killing except as a necessity, in self-defense.
    They turned unexpectedly and sharply into a darkened alley. Another quick turn, while the passengers in the rear sat forward in alarm, and they were in a dark and deserted parking area behind some warehouses. Jackie had not counted on this, but as he saw the moving van that pulled into the lot from another alley, he realized that they were about to be transferred to the other vehicle. He had planned on their being kept in this car, but he could see now that, from their kidnapers’ standpoint, a moving van would be safer.
    The limousine had stopped. Jackie’s hand tightened on the derringer as the chauffeur pulled a gun, an ominous-looking Luger.
    â€œEverybody out,” he said, waving the gun menacingly. “And into the van.”
    Genuinely frightened, the others obeyed, scrambling out of the limousine. Jackie got out on his own side, waiting for a chance. The driver circled the car, motioning them toward the van. Jackie saw the beady eyes look aside, checking for witnesses. It was his chance. He dropped behind a fender, and fired. His aim was perfect. The chauffeur yelped and dropped the gun as the bullet tore through his hand. With lightning speed, Jackie was in front of him, and had the Luger.
    â€œNow then,” he said, brandishing the weapon. “What about your friends in the van—are they armed?”
    â€œThey aren’t,” a voice said behind him. “But I am.”
    Jackie felt a threatening poke at his spine. He didn’t have to ask—he knew the feel of a gun in his back. Cursing himself silently, he dropped the Luger to the ground.
    â€œThat’s better,” the singer said. “Now, you’ll kindly join the others at the moving van.”
    â€œYou won’t get away with this,” Jackie told him as he walked obediently toward the moving van.
    â€œWe’ll see,” the other said. “I’m just glad we decided to include me in the group, just in case. Nick had a hunch someone might have gotten wise.”
    â€œIs Nick the boss?” Jackie asked, his mind working rapidly as usual. Eventually he would make an escape, and he might as well collect all the information possible.
    â€œRight you are,” his companion answered. They had reached the van. The others, frightened and bewildered by the fast exchange of advantages, were already huddled inside. Jackie was prodded with the gun, and he climbed reluctantly inside. There was no opportunity to try for the gun. No sooner was he inside the van, than the door was slammed quickly shut and bolted noisily in place. He shoved against it at once, but it was sealed tightly. Like it or not, they were prisoners inside the truck.
    * * * *
    Aunt Nasturtia pulled the car into the darkened edge of the parking lot, switching off the engine quickly. The big Cadillac was quite a change from the older model car which they had at the house, and which she was accustomed to driving. Still, things were going smoothly.
    â€œYou’re on,” she said to Mari, beside her in the front seat.
    Mari checked herself in her compact mirror, gave the bodice of her dress a final downward tug, and opened the car door. “Here’s hoping he likes blondes,” she said. With a grin and a wave, she was gone.
    Jackie had coached her carefully about how she was to play the scene. The driver of the other limousine must think she was from the theater, so that he would be less suspicious. For that, she had to get inside the theater, and emerge from there.
    She found the