Transvestia

While Valerie continued to coo and murmer about mathematics, her teacher goggled at this document, too dumbfounded to utter a word. So this very feminine miss was actually a boy! and a secret agent! It was staggering. But was it true? What about the alleged microphone? And what about the wax impression of the front door lock? Surely that must be a hoax! Taking an electric torch, he padded silently across the carpet and peered up the chimney. Sure enough there was a microphone hanging down against the cold brick. He inspected the lock of the front door. There was a sliv- er of wax visible inside it. So Valerie, or Paul, was right. But what to do next?

Valerie was writing again: "WE MUST LEAVE HERE QUICKLY. GO AND GET ALL YOUR FEMININE GEAR AND ANYTHING PERSONAL OR CONFIDENTIAL. PUT IT UNDER YOUR BED, AND SIT ON IT." He looked at her with a sickly grin, but she was very much in earnest.

"QUICK!" she wrote again, "I'LL EXPLAIN LATER."

She motioned urgently towards his bedroom. To his own astonishment, he obeyed, flinging his personal and official papers into a suitcase, and all his reseach material, and packing on top of them his little collect- ion of feminine clothing: his wig, his high-heeled shoes

everything. And all this time Valerie was fol- lowing him around, helping dextrously, but gushing approval of every detail of every room, so that the unseen listeners, whoever and wherever they were, would think she was being shown around the house.

"My What a lovely little picture! Did you paint it yourself?" She folded a nylon nightie and packed it for him.

"And that pair of fire-tongs you buy them in London?"

how quaint. Did

Prattling aimlessly, but peering keenly about with her swift, soft eyes, she discovered a microphone in every chimney, and was relieved, even though John Caravelle was staggered by the discovery. Obviously the enemy had not been inside the house yet, or they