Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less

“My congratulations,” said Stephen. “That should get us off to a good start. Now, how about you, Robin?”

Robin relayed the story of his fourteen days. He reported on his meeting with the specialist, and explained the toxic effects of anticholinesterase drugs.

“This one will be hard to pull off; we’ll have to be patient and wait for the right opportunity. But, we must stay prepared every moment Metcalfe is in Monte Carlo.”

“Where will we be staying in Monte Carlo?” asked James. “I usually go to the Metropole. Better not make it there.”

“No, it’s all right, James, I have provisional reservations at the Hôtel de Paris from June 29th to July 4th. However, before that you are all to attend several working sessions at St. Thomas’s Hospital.”

Diaries were consulted, and a series of meetings agreed upon.

“Here is a copy of Houston’s Short Textbook of Medicine for each of you. You must all read the chapter on severe cuts. I don’t want any of you to stick out like sore thumbs when we’re all dressed in white. You, Stephen, will come to Harley Street the week after next for an intensive medical course, as you must be totally convincing as a doctor.”

Robin had chosen Stephen because he felt that with his academic mind he would pick up the most in the short time available.

“Jean-Pierre, you must attend a gaming club every evening for the next month and learn exactly how baccarat and blackjack are played, and how to continue playing for several hours at a time without losing money. It’ll help if you get hold of Peter Arnold’s The Encyclopedia of Gambling from Hatchards. James, you will learn to drive a small van through heavily crowded streets, and you are also to report to Harley Street next week so that we can try a dry run together.”

All eyes were wide open. If they pulled that one off they could do anything. Robin could see the anxiety in their faces.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “my profession has been carried on by witch doctors for a thousand years. People never argue when they’re confronted with a trained man, and you, Stephen, are going to be a trained man.”

Stephen nodded. Academics could be equally naïve. Hadn’t that been exactly what had happened to all of them with Prospecta Oil?

“Remember,” said Robin, “Stephen’s comment at the bottom of page 33 of the dossier… ‘At all times we must think like Harvey Metcalfe.’”

Robin gave a few more details of how certain procedures were to be carried out. He then answered demanding questions for twenty-eight minutes. Finally, Jean-Pierre softened:

“I thought none of you would beat me, but Robin’s plan is brilliant. If we get the timing right we’ll only need an ounce of luck.”

James was beginning to feel distinctly uneasy as his time drew nearer. He rather wished he had never accepted the invitation to dinner in the first place and regretted being the one to urge the others to take up Stephen’s challenge. At least the duties he had been given in the first two operations were well within his scope.

“Well, gentlemen,” said Stephen, “you’ve both risen admirably to the occasion, but my proposals will make more demands on you.”

Stephen began to reveal the fruits of his research during the past two weeks and the substance of his plan. They all felt rather like students in the presence of a professor. Stephen’s lecturing tone was not intentional; it was a manner he had developed, and like so many academics, he was unable to switch it off in private company. He produced a calendar for Trinity Term and outlined how the university weeks worked, the role of its Chancellor, Vice-Chancellor, the Registrar and the Secretary of the University Chest. Like Jean-Pierre, he supplied maps to each member of the Team, this time of Oxford. He had carefully marked a route from the Sheldonian Theatre to Lincoln College, and from Lincoln to the Randolph Hotel, and had drawn up a contingency plan if Harvey Metcalfe insisted on using his car, despite the one-way system.

“Robin, you must study what the Vice-Chancellor does at Encaenia. It won’t be like Cambridge; the two universities do everything the same but not identically. You must know the routes he’s likely to take on that day and his habits backward. I’ve arranged for a room at Lincoln to be at your disposal on the final day. Jean-Pierre, you will study and master the duties of the Registrar at Oxford and know the alternative route marked on your map so that you never come face to face with Robin. James, you must know how the Secretary of the University Chest goes about his work—the location of his office, which banks he deals with and how the checks are cashed. You must also know the routes he

’s likely to take on the day of Encaenia as if they were part of your father’s estate. I have the easiest role on the day, because I will be myself in everything but name. You must all learn how to address each other correctly and we’ll have a dress rehearsal in the ninth week of term, on a Tuesday when the university is fairly quiet. Any questions?”

Silence reigned, but it was a silence of respect. All could see that Stephen’s operation would demand split-second timing and that they would have to run through it several times to cover all contingencies. But if they were convincing they could hardly fail.

“Now, the Ascot part of my plan is simple. I will only want Jean-Pierre and James inside the Members’ Enclosure. I shall need two Enclosure tickets which I’m hoping you can acquire, James.”

“You mean badges, Stephen,” corrected James.

“Oh, do I?” said Stephen. “I also require someone in London to send the necessary telegram. That’ll have to be you, Robin.”

“Agreed,” said Robin.

For nearly an hour the others asked several questions of detail in order to be as familiar with the plan as Stephen was.

James asked no questions and his mind began to drift, hoping the earth would swallow him up. He even began to wish that he had never met Anne, although she was hardly to blame. In fact, he could not wait to see her again. What was he going to say when they…

“James, wake up,” said Stephen sharply. “We’re all waiting.”

Six eyes were now fixed on him. They had produced the ace of hearts, diamonds and spades. But had he the ace of trumps? James was flustered and poured himself another drink.

“You bloody upper-class twit,” said Jean-Pierre, “you haven’t got an idea, have you?”