“Did you hear someone speak, Mr. Fettick?” asked Mr. Flogg.
“I’m not sure, Mr. Flogg,” replied Mr. Fettick.
“Hmph.”The man rose from his chair and scuttled to sit at their table. Glancing around nervously once more, he pulled the hat brim even lower.
“Good job, men,” he murmured as Messrs. Fettick and Flogg sipped coffee. “I admit, I didn’t like your plan at first. Too grandiose.”
Mr. Flogg gave him a tight smile. “Monsieur Badeau, if the International Ornithological Society wants to create more interest in ornithology and encourage university enrollments, something truly attention-grabbing is required.”
“ ‘More Bang for Your Birders,’ ”Mr. Fettick added, and Mr. Flogg jabbed a finger at him in agreement.
“I know, I see that now,” Monsieur Badeau said. “Indeed, when the Fotheringham sisters came out with the bird in their—”
“No,” Mr. Flogg interrupted, shaking his head definitively. “Not them.”
“But they caught the lapwing.”
“I don’t care if they caught seven lapwings; for your competition, you need the kind of winner who will attract a broad audience. You need that man.”
He pointed out the window, and although the street was now empty, they all knew whom he meant.
“That man was Devon Lockley,” Badeau said darkly. “He’s a complete rascal. Copious brainpower but all he wants to do isenjoylife instead of spending his days in the noble pursuit of writing scientific papers for his peers to argue over. It’s disgraceful. And while he may be an Englishman and a professorat Cambridge, he was educated at Yale.Yale!The place isn’t even two hundred years old! It barely qualifies as a community learning center.”
“He’s an Englishman?” Mr. Flogg repeated. “What a bonus! With the British Tourism Board helping to fund this competition, we couldn’t really set up aforeignerto win International Birder of the Year.”
Mr. Fettick sighed happily. “A university professor, handsome, athletic, with simply divine legs—”
“Ahem,” Mr. Flogg interrupted.
“—in summary, this Devon Lockley is‘An Eagle Among Sparrows.’Young people will flock to university ornithology courses just to be like him.”
Badeau muttered something inaudible that nevertheless perfectly encapsulated the attitude of a man for whom “athletic” means walking from the lecture theater to the tea station three times a day. Then he huffed in surrender. “Fine. But someone’s going to have to recover that lapwing. You know what the boss will say if you lose his precious bird. Feathers will fly, and not in a good way!”
“Don’t worry,” Mr. Flogg murmured with professional reassurance. “There’s no need for concern; we know what we’re doing. That’s why IOS employed us, after all. The plan is set, journalists have been alerted, and our agents will see to it everything goes smoothly. Just relax, monsieur, and wait for the enrollments to, ha ha, roll in.”
“But what about the girl?”
Messrs. Fettick and Flogg exchanged a confused glance. “Girl?”
Badeau flicked a finger toward the museum. “Beth Pickering. She was standing there at the door.”
“I thought she was just a museum employee,” Mr. Flogg said.
“She’s an Oxford professor. Moreover, she’s a genius when it comes to birds.” Badeau paused, frowning. “I wonder why she left with Lockley.”
“Perhaps they’re lovers,” Mr. Flogg mused, staring out the window as if he could still see Beth and Devon on the doorstep.
The monsieur barked a laugh. “An Oxonian and a Cantabrigian? Never! ‘Rivals’ would be more likely.”
Mr. Fettick raised his eyebrows at Mr. Flogg, whose mouth began twitching. “Rivals, you say? The pretty lady and the dashing young man?”
Badeau nodded solemnly. “Pickering is entirely capable of beating Lockley to the bird, regardless of yourplan. If you want to knock her out of the competition, make sure you get to it quickly—and quietly, so there’s no scandal.”
“Oh, I think we know exactly how to handle this,” Mr. Flogg said. Mr. Fettick chuckled.
“Good.” Badeau frowned, glancing around yet again. “This conversation never happened,” he said, then slunk back to his table to brood.
—
