Transvestia

Now, if you'll give me that telephone number, we'll have it traced and then we'll be in a position to pounce, if necessary.

The following evening, as she had promised, Jen- ny stopped at a phone box, rang her Sam Farian, and gave him the address. Unashamedly, she found herself hoping that nothing would happen there.

But on the next afternoon, just as Jenny was leaving the University office after work, Valerie turn- ed up unexpectedly to drive her home. All the way, as they sped through the city streets, she chattered about inconsequential things, but once they were safe- ly in the Club again in Valerie's room she said:

"Jenny, I went to meet you, because I thought I'd break the news to you on the way home. But I didn't have the heart, because the more I thought of it, the tougher it seemed, and I had to keep my eyes on the traffic. But this is the score. She seemed delighted and wistful, both at once, and more than a little sad.

"Go on," said Jenny steadily. She could see that bad news was coming, but she was not unused to bad news; disappointment is the usual lot of boys who yearn for femininity. Jenny had had long practice at hearing bad news; she could bear it.

But it didn't sound exactly like bad news at

first, as Valerie told her:

"Thanks to you, we've made a complete haul. We looked up that phone number of your Mr. Sam Far- ian. It wasn't Sam's headquarters, of course, but ev- eryone who came there including Sam himself - was shadowed, and so we found the place where Sam lived. Then, at the address I gave you (John Caravelle's ad- dress, remember?) they tried to kidnap John. They ev- en used the same stunt that had failed so miserably be- fore doctor, nurse, ambulance-men and all. It must be in some kidnappers' textbook. Of course we had someone in the house to play the part of Dr. Caravelle, and bless me if they didn't give him a whiff of some gas and put him to sleep! They actually had him on