Frank retreated further into the cupboard, his back now fully against the interior wall and watched mesmerized at the door being opened wider and wider. He could see the outline of a huge man starting to materialize, and the shadow he was standing in disappear as light from the hallway began to flood in.

"Yo Brendan, come and have a look at Mike’s new TV set…" called the other man from further inside the apartment, causing his partner to turn away from the door. Frank heard him chuckle to himself and move away down the hall.

Sensing the opportunity to high tail it, Frank silently stepped from his claustrophobic hiding place and fled through the front door. He took to the stairwell, and bolted down, two steps at a time, relieved to note that the men inside the flat apparently hadn’t noticed, as he didn’t hear any footsteps coming after him in pursuit.

Although he knew he wasn’t in any kind of danger, he didn’t slow his pace until he’d reached ground level. He careered into the fire door, pushing it wide, and calmly stepped through to the outside world, thankfully breathing in the fresh air.

***

Rob and Mark cruised up the village of Alnwick’s main street, both keeping their eyes open on each side, looking out for the White Swan Hotel. The car’s headlight lighting up the main thoroughfare.

"There it is!" snapped Mark, pointing to the right.

Rob just caught site of the sign as they passed it. He drove to the top of the street, performed a three-point turn and doubled back. In the darkness, it was impossible to see any sign of a parking lot, so he pulled the car up onto the sidewalk directly outside. "We’d better go and find out where we can park the car," he muttered.

Mark was the first at the entrance, impressed by the large mahogany and glass revolving doors. He pushed through, followed by his brother and turned left, stepping up to the deserted front desk.

Rob was viewing the lounge area, where there were a number of leather armchairs and coffee tables. He almost jumped out of his skin as a previously hidden figure suddenly alighted out of one of the high-backed chairs, placing a soft-back book to one side. It was a small woman, about his own age, with short, strawberry blond hair and big blue eyes. She smiled at them with impossibly white teeth and when she set her sights on Rob, her whole face lit up. Rob felt his own face going red - a feeling he was unfamiliar with.

Mark had by this time turned to see if he could get a member of staff to help him and observed the whole episode. He nudged his brother and winked.

She advanced on the both of them and boldly stepped up close to Rob - unnaturally close. "Rob Randall I presume?" she asked throatily, looking up at him. She took his offered hand and paused for just that little too long, and then finally turning her attention to Mark, "and your brother Mark?" she finished, holding her hand out to shake his as well.

"That’s me!" said Mark, amused by how dumb struck his brother appeared to be, "sorry we took so long, but the traffic was an abomination! Took us an extra two hours."

"That’s alright, I’ve reserved a room for you anyway," she said, finally stepping away from Rob and walking behind the front desk.

"Beverley I assume?" asked Rob recognizing her distinctive voice.

"Yes," she confirmed, "I’m Bev - would you care to sign the registration book?" she turned the leather bound tome, slid it forward and held the pen up to Rob. He took it, feeling a charge of electricity as her index finger inadvertedly rubbed against his. He cleared his throat and added his autograph.

"I’ve put you in the room directly next to Helen’s."

"Is she about?" asked Mark excitedly.

"She’s in bed, but you’ll be able to speak to her in the morning. I’ve added your names to the dining room roster so you’ll all be seated at the same breakfast table."

"You’ve thought of everything," complimented Mark.

"That’s my job," stated Bev simply, "Let me show you to your room."

"Wait," began Rob, "I need to deal with the car, it’s causing an obstruction outside."

"No problem, give me your keys, and I’ll have it parked around the side in the patron’s car park."

Rob handed over his key-chain before holding up the trap door for Beverly as she slithered from behind the desk. She lead them up the staircase and Mark did a double take at the wrought iron work and carved wooden newel posts, topped by overly ornate fruit. Realizing he’d seen something similar somewhere else, he proceeded to rack his brain in an attempt to place the design.

They reached the second floor, stepped up to their room and Beverley opened up. Nodding in the direction of the room next door, they proceeded to whisper, rather than alert Helen to their presence.

Mark took his brother’s bag from him and threw it on one of the beds, sitting down on the edge of the other. The door was immediately shut-too, without Rob coming through. He could hear the two of them talking in low voices outside, shook his head and smiled, hardly able be believe the speed the two had hit it off. Finally after five minutes, Rob entered the room, his cheeks flushed, "Bev’s going to send up a little supper for us," he offered up as a feeble explanation.

Mark smirked, "pork?" he asked.

***

"How you doing Frank? How’d it go?" Kiwi Dave’s voice asked through Frank Hardy’s cell phone.

"Good - very good in fact. Managed to retrieve the reproduction ring that Tim made us, and saw Helen’s paper weight on the bedside cabinet."

"That’s great, Mate! That means we can call the police in now."

"It’d be better if we found the stolen museum pieces first," said Frank thoughtfully. "Joe and myself like to follow cases through from start to finish." He smiled at the thought of beating Bramwell Kyle to the ‘prize’, imagining his livid face. "Where are you, and what’s Mike up to?" he asked.

"What do you mean he’s been making a twenty minute phone call?" asked Frank, not hearing the latter question - alarm bells beginning to ring loudly in his head.

"Why didn’t he place the call at his apartment?" he mused, an uncomfortable thought suddenly occurring to him, "he hasn’t spotted you following him has he?" he asked slowly.

"Kiwi..?"

"…I don’t like this, pull out. We’ll pick up on the surveillance tomorrow, when Rob and Mark are back. Two’s company and all that!"

"Okay, I’ll head back." Kiwi agreed, tension tightening his voice.

Frank terminated the phone call and sat for a couple of minutes, looking out through the windscreen, thoughtfully rubbing his thumb against the leather of the steering wheel. The visit Mike had received from the two men had peaked his curiosity – why were they after the ring? Were they friends of his? They didn’t exactly seem to be his buddies. He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head, completely stumped. "There’s more to this than meets the eye!" He decided and headed for home.

***

Kiwi folded up the mobile and pushed it onto his belt. He started the engine and pulled away slowly into the road. Drawing level with the phone box, Mike Gregg exited and headed for his own car. Kiwi squinted into the rear view mirror, wondering whether it was his imagination or whether Mike had just looked directly at him.

"Hang you Frank! You’ve really spooked me now!" he scolded mentally and turned his full attention to the road ahead. However, when he glanced into the mirror again, it was completely filled with the image of Mike’s car tailgating him. Kiwi began leisurely putting on more speed, trying to pull away from the pursuing car without drawing unnecessary attention to himself, his apprehension growing as the other vehicle continued to keep apace.

Suddenly and without warning, the Toyota swerved madly around Kiwi’s car and started advancing up the side. Kiwi allowed him to pass, hoping Mike would now take off, however, the car was driven directly in front of the hatchback and it’s brakes slammed on.

Kiwi swore out loud, slamming on his own brake, the car stopping mere inches from the red car’s fender. "YOU IDIOT MARTIN!" he yelled, "or whatever your name is!" he muttered as an afterthought, sweat starting to break out on his forehead.

Slapping the gears into reverse, he twisted in his seat and started to back up with Mike performing the same maneuver. Kiwi saw a driveway looming up and made the impulsive decision to swing the car up onto it, planning to immediately pull off and drive in the opposite direction away from Mike. However, as the New Zealander was readying himself for his speedy getaway, the other car pulled across the exit effectively blocking him in.

Kiwi gripped the wheel, his knuckles turning white and watched, wide eyed and fearful as Mike climbed from the car, a mace in his hand,

Mike began to taunt him: "Why, it’s Kiwi Dave…fancy meeting you here! Not going to get out and say hello? Oh, that’s right, Rob’s not with you is he?" he hit the head of the mace into his palm as he headed for the hatchback.

Feeling his mouth go dry, Kiwi tried to swallow, the effort choking him. He knew he should flee the car, but felt paralyzed. Usually in dangerous situations, people’s bodies go in ‘fight or flight’ mode, unfortunately, Kiwi’s had gone into ‘deer caught in headlamps’ mode.

Mike walked to the front of the car and swung the mace up, readying it in order to bring it down smashing through the windscreen.

Finally finding he was able to move, Kiwi wrapped his arms protectively over his head and waited for the expected explosion of glass, however, after a few seconds of total silence, he slowly lowered his arms slightly and peeped out. Mike hadn’t moved - his arm was still in the air with the mace at the end of his fist. The only difference was that he was no longer looking at Kiwi, he was staring over the top of the car at something next to hatchback’s driver’s side.

"I wouldn’t do that if I was you," said a voice gruffly.

A stocky, squat man was standing next to the car, so close to the door that Kiwi couldn’t see his face. What he could see was a heavy, wooden bar in his hand and knew the stranger was addressing Mike.

"Why? What are you going to do old man? Hit me with your little stick?" asked Mike, almost laughing – Kiwi noticed this time, however, that Mike didn’t sound quite so convincingly menacing.

The stranger was obviously unimpressed with Mike’s show of aggression: "You might be younger and stronger than me…you might even have a bigger and scarier toy…" he held his wooden club up for comparison before continuing, "and you’ll probably even win the fight in the long run. But, whatever the outcome, I’m still going to hurt you if you choose to attack me or my friend here…" he paused for effect, "So, what’s it to be? It’s your decision…"

Mike, although still smiling, was starting to look uncomfortable. "Hey, Mister I don’t have an argument with you, but I do have one with him…."

"NOT ON MY FRONT PATH YOU DON’T."

Mike opened his mouth to reply but hesitated when a phone started ringing. With one fluid movement he dug a brightly colored cell phone from his pocket with his free hand and placed it to his ear. He listened for a few seconds without saying a word, nodded once in understanding, glowered at Kiwi, returned to his car and drove away.

Kiwi suddenly felt like he was suffocating and realized he hadn’t taken a breath for the entire time Mike had been threatening him. Drawing in a huge lungful of air, he reached for the door latch and climbed out shakily. Stretching up to his full height, he turned to meet the man who’d saved his bacon. Looking down on him, Kiwi grimaced. "Oh no, this is humiliating!" he thought as he took in the sight of the short man standing before him, who was now groping in his shirt pocket for a pair of thick-lensed glasses.

The stranger’s spectacles were hooked on the end of his snub nose and pushed up his face. Squinting up at Kiwi, he offered his hand for shaking, "name’s Paul, pleased to meet you Dave," he introduced, taking Kiwi’s hand in a crushingly strong handshake.

"I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see anyone in my life!" smiled Kiwi sheepishly at the white-haired man with the handlebar mustache. He could see that Paul had once had a shock of ginger hair, but this had been whitened by time. "What on earth was that you were using as a weapon?"

"This thing?" asked Paul, holding up the club and shrugging, "it’s a table leg - the only piece of good advice my old dad ever gave me was: ‘If they’re smaller than you, hit them with the table leg - if they’re bigger, hit them with the table’!"

Kiwi frowned and looked in the direction Mike had taken, "but he was bigger than you," he pointed out.

"Couldn’t get the table through the door," Paul explained.

***

Pulling into the driveway, Frank felt a sense of relief upon seeing Kiwi’s hired car sitting safely in front of the house. He fished the house key from his pocket and slipped it into the lock. Suddenly, the door was pulled quickly from the other side, causing the key to slip out, leaving Frank standing there foolishly holding the key chain in mid-air.

Kiwi, moving at speed, with a panicked expression on his face crashed straight into his friend, almost sending them both sprawling to the ground.

"KIWI! You almost flatten…" Frank began and then stopped mid sentence at the site of Kiwi’s contorted face, "…what’s the matter?"

"…FRANK, HE’S GONE!" the New Zealander shouted breathlessly.

"Huh?"