"You don't look very pleased to see me," said Brooke McKenzie contritely, standing on the front doorstep of Jonathan Chase's town house.
       "If you'd spent the entire night as an owl sitting on a cold rooftop... for nothing... you probably wouldn't look too pleased either!" Chase replied, then sneezed loudly. Although it was mid-day, he was wearing only a dressing gown, and he shivered slightly as he stood aside to let her into the house. "I'm sorry," he continued. "It's just one of those things. Not your fault."
       "Shall I make you some hot coffee?" asked Brooke as he closed the door behind her.
       "Please," he said, smiling reassuringly. "I've only just got up. I'll pull myself together in a minute. I'll tell you what... Ty got back to town this morning, and he's around here somewhere. Why don't you fill him in on the case while I go and get dressed?"
       Brooke nodded and headed for the kitchen while Chase went back upstairs. And once she'd got the coffee percolator going, she found Ty in the study, staring thoughtfully at a rearing cobra.
       The snake was safely behind glass of course, and Ty turned away from it as Brooke came in, smiling. After they'd said their hellos and she'd asked him about his trip, she settled down in a chair and began to explain what she and Chase had been working on.
       "It's the East Side dock area," she began. "You know how there are just rows of warehouses and wharves down there; most of the stuff that's imported on the east coast is channelled through that small area. And there've been a few big robberies there, mostly of easily disposable luxury items, like booze. There was a big heist last year, another three months ago. It was after that that a group of the companies who own ware- houses there got together and hired an outfit called Magnus Security to guard the whole area. Magnus are good. They've got a solid reputation. But in spite of that, there was another robbery two weeks ago, and during that one of the security guards was killed."
       "Yeah, I read about it when I was down in Florida," said Ty.
       "It was bad," Brooke continued. "Quite an old guy; an ex-cop. Somebody hit him, and his neck was broken. But whether the raiders intended to kill him, or whether it was accidental, we just don't know. But there was one strange thing: he was hit on the jaw." She paused for a moment, but Ty didn't seem to pick up the implications. "He was hit from the front, not taken by surprise from behind. He certainly saw the man who killed him; he might even have known him, and not been expecting it."
       "You're suggesting it might have been an inside job?" asked Ty seriously.
       "I don't know," she replied. "It's possible, but I doubt it. Like I said, Magnus is a solid outfit. It was started about ten years ago by a guy called Jim Walker who retired from the police department after he was shot. Still got the bullet in him somewhere, near his spine. He used to run my own precinct, and I gather he was a bit of a legend in his time. Lieutenant Rivera keeps talking about him even now. A fair percentage of his security men are ex-cops too, so I don't think we should jump to any conclusions about it being an inside job."
       There was a loud sneeze from the kitchen, and then Chase came in to join them, casually dressed and carrying a large cup of coffee. He settled himself into a chair and blew his nose as Brooke continued.
       "I've been talking to my contacts in the underworld, but there hasn't been a lot to go on ... except for a tip-off, from a guy called Mickey the Rat, that there was likely to be another raid there within the next day or two."
       "Which was why I spent the night like an owl on a cold tin roof," added Chase. "Nothing happened though."
       "So it could happen tonight instead," Brooke remarked. Chase groaned inwardly at the prospect of another night on watch.
       "What if this guy Mickey the Rat isn't telling you everything?" he asked. "Might be an idea if we went to see him together ... then I could hypnotize him, and we might get to the bottom of this."
       "Not a good idea," Brooke told him. "You have to handle these guys with kid- gloves. Mickey's usually pretty good, and besides at the moment he's dead scared about something. He might not know anything else anyway."
       "So what next?" asked Chase. "Apart from staying up all night again. Have you ever heard an owl sneeze? It isn't pleasant!"
       Brooke smiled, glad to see that Chase was getting his sense of humour back. "I was wondering if you might like to come down to Magnus Security with me, JC. You might pick up something I'd missed."
       It was just after two when the pair of them arrived at the company's offices, and had a brief interview with Walker. He was concerned, naturally, but Magnus was a big business with contracts right across the country. To talk about the actual details of the warehouse case, he put them on to Ward Stephenson, one of the company's vice- presidents. He was the man who'd actually negotiated the contract, and he was the one most concerned with the day by day running of the operation.
       "This is Professor Jonathan Chase," Brooke told Stephenson as they settled themselves into chairs in his office.
       "Professor?" queried Stephenson politely.
       "Of criminology," Chase told him, smiling. "I'm really only here as an observer. It's Miss McKenzie who wants to talk to you."
       And as Brooke started into a number of routine questions, Chase sat back and relaxed, bringing his super-sensitive hearing into play, picking up the rattle of a tea-trolley on the floor below, the ringing of a phone down the corridor. To ears like his, the whole building seemed to be alive with conversation; the problem was picking out which of it might be important.
       "Basically, there's one of our security guards in each warehouse overnight," Stephenson was telling Brooke. "I know that doesn't sound much, but the client gets what he pays for, and our men are highly trained. The system seems to work well enough under most circumstances. Now, in these particular warehouses, there's a small inspection door which our man has the key to; but he doesn't have any way of opening the doors of the main loading bays. And those have to be opened for any large scale robbery like we had a couple of weeks ago."
       "Who has the keys to them?" asked Brooke.
       "We have one set, but they're kept locked up in our own security vault," Stephenson told her. "All the other keys are with the warehouse owners. So if you're treating it as an 'inside job', I'd suggest you start with them."
       Stephenson then went on to detail the alarm systems at the warehouses, but by then Chase was no longer listening to him. Somewhere, probably on the floor below, he could hear a man talking into a telephone. A man with a deep voice that suggested he was probably of quite a big build.
       "It's tonight," the man was saying, although Chase had no way of hearing what the response was from the other end of the line. "The Wykes warehouse on wharf seven. We'll need at least four trucks... I've got to go, someone's out- side. See you later."
       "... And I myself carry out random spot-checks," Stephenson was saying as he concluded his remarks about the security system.
       "I think that's about all I've got to ask," said Brooke, glancing round at Chase. "Have you anything to add?"
       "No," he smiled. "I think I've heard all I need."
       Once they were clear of the building, Chase explained what he'd learned to Brooke.
       "So it sounds like it is someone inside Magnus after all," she said. "I'm a bit surprised."
       "Probably someone who's managed to get into the security vault at some point and made an impression of the keys," Chase told her. "It's a pity I couldn't get a look at the guy who was talking ... but you can't have everything! And at least we know when and where to expect them now."
       That evening found Chase and Ty sitting in Brooke's car with her, just round the comer from the Wykes warehouse, as they waited for the guard from Magnus to turn up for his tour of duty. When he arrived, dead on time, he turned out to be a middle-aged man with slightly greying hair, immaculately dressed in a uniform similar to that of a policeman, but light blue rather than black. He was unarmed, but carried a small radio on his belt.
       Brooke and Chase got out of the car and went over to accost him, Brooke showing him her police identity. And then, when they'd got his confidence, Chase went into action.
       "Look at me," he said firmly. "That's right, full in the face." And then the man was lost, sunk into a deep hypnotic trance which left him as no more than a helpless pawn. Brooke and Chase led him over to the car and ordered him inside.
       "Now," Chase instructed him. "You're going to take your clothes off."
       "Uh ... JC?" queried Brooke.
       "Sorry," he smiled. "You're going to take your uniform off... and then you're going to put on the clothes this gentle- man here will give you." He pointed toward Ty, who proffered a nondescript and rather baggy suit. "Then, with the money you'll find in the jacket pocket, you'll go to an all-night cinema and sit there until tomorrow morning. After which you'll go home with no other memory than having spent an ordinary night at work."
       A few minutes later, the man was ambling away from the warehouse district contentedly, while Ty put on the light blue uniform and led Chase and Brooke into the Wyke's warehouse.
       It was easy to see what the crook's target was, for the whole warehouse was packed from top to bottom with crates of imported French brandy; of a very expensive label. Brooke whistled softly.
       "If they got away with all this," she remarked. "They'd probably clear half a million, even at knock-down prices."
       "Maybe we should steal it ourselves then," grinned Ty, looking round for the security guard's office. Brooke and Chase meanwhile went off to hide them- selves among the crates, well out of sight.
       Time passed slowly until midnight, and Ty decided that the security guards certainly earned their money, if only for the sheer boredom of the job. But then quite suddenly, the inspection door of the warehouse opened, and two men came in, both wearing the uniforms of Magnus Security. Ty recognised one of them from Brooke's description as Ward Stephenson; the other was a huge muscular giant, over six and half feet tall and with a mean expression to match.
       Ty groaned to himself silently. Of all the warehouses they'd had to pick this one, on this particular night, for a spot- check. But he couldn't see anything else to do apart from meet the problem head- on, so he stepped out of the office into the warehouse itself, smiling lopsidedly at the newcomers.
       "Where's Adams?" asked Stephenson, obviously puzzled.
       "Uh, he got sick," said Ty. "He asked me to take his place."
       "Nice try," responded Stephenson, smiling suddenly. "But it isn't any good. I know all the men employed in this section, and you're not one of them. Well, it doesn't matter."
       "It doesn't?" asked Ty in surprise.
       "It doesn't matter to you," Stephenson smirked, "because you're going to be dead in a minute. And it doesn't matter to us, because the body of a stranger left behind is a handy red herring to throw the cops off our scent."
       "So you're the guys behind the robberies!" said Ty, trying desperately to keep them talking until something came up that would give him a way out of this mess.
       "You got it," Stephenson told him, reaching for the radio on his belt. "Okay, Herb, you may as well hit him, like you did last time, while I radio the guys and tell them to bring the trucks round to the main doors."
       "My pleasure," growled the big man, bunching his ham-like fists and starting toward Ty.
       "Hey, listen, couldn't we talk this over?" asked Ty, backing off hurriedly, only to find his back suddenly colliding with a pile of crates. It looked like there was no way out.
       Until there was a sudden roar from above, and a full-grown lion leaped down from the crates. It landed lightly between Ty and his attacker, shaking its mane and baring its fangs. Herb decided to back off rapidly himself.
       "Thought you'd never get here, JC!" muttered Ty, under his breath.
       Brooke was there too, appearing from among the crates with her gun in her hand. "Freeze, both of you!" she called. "Police!"
       Ty went over to join her, as Stephenson and the big man raised their hands and stood nervously by some of the crates. The lion padded up and down, claws out and clicking on the floor.
       "Take my gun and keep them covered while I use the office phone," Brooke told Ty, but just at the moment when she was handing over the weapon, Herb saw his opportunity.
       Reaching out, he managed to pull down a couple of the brandy crates, which fell to the floor with a crash and shattered. And in that moment of confusion, he and Stephenson made a break for it.
       They were out of the inspection door like lightning, but instead of heading toward the street and their car, they turned and dashed along the side of the building toward the wharf. Brooke and Ty reached the doorway and hesitated for a moment, uncertain which direction to take, but then the lion pushed past them and started heading toward the waterfront. And they knew Chase's animal instincts well enough by now to follow after him.
       There were a number of tugs and barges tied up at various points along the waterfront, but none of those would provide the men with any form of escape. Instead they hurried down a rickety wooden stairway to a small jetty at water- level itself, hidden beneath the main wharf. There they found a small two-man boat with an outboard motor.
       Up on the wharf itself, Brooke, Ty and the lion could see no sign of their quarry, and the first clue they had was the sound of the outboard motor starting up below them. Brooke braced herself on the edge of the wharf, gun pointed downwards, and waited for the boat to appear.
       But as soon as it did so, a bullet came whining up toward her, as Stephenson let loose with a previously unseen gun. Brooke hurled herself backwards hurriedly, collided with Ty, and both of them went down sprawling. Another couple of shots kept their heads down, and by then they could hear the motor-boat starting to recede into the distance. Ty looked round hopefully toward Chase, only to see the lion suddenly leap off the edge of the wharf. There was a loud splash as it hit the surface of the river.
       "I thought cats didn't like water!" remarked Ty. "Even big ones!"
       They pulled themselves forward to the edge of the wharf and looked down at the river, but all they could see then was the last few flecks of dispersing foam where the lion had hit the water. Of Chase himself there was no sign. It seemed he had simply gone straight down, and not come up again.
       The motor-boat, meanwhile, though not particularly fast, had already moved out of range for any sort of accurate pistol shot. Brooke and Ty sat on the wharf disconsolately, watching them go. They'd managed to find out who had been responsible for the robbery, but it seemed there was no way they could stop them getting away. And with the money they'd made from their previous raid, the men would probably be out of the country by morning. Not that that really mattered when they compared it with their other problem: what had happened to Chase?
       Then, as they looked down at the river, they saw a wake disturbing the surface. Something was moving along just below the water; something large and fast and heading in the direction of the motor-boat. But just what it was, they couldn't be sure.
       The wake changed direction slightly as it caught up with the boat, moving alongside until it had got ahead and then turning in front of the bow. Stephenson and Herb, still looking back toward the wharf, were quite unaware of this new companion of theirs.
       Until suddenly the twenty-foot alliga- tor rose out of the water in front of them with a soft splash. Herb looked round and, big man as he was, shrieked in terror. The alligator approached swiftly, opening its huge fanged mouth wide ...
       And snapped off the bow of the boat with one mighty bite.
       The boat filled with water immediately, and the two men had no alternative but to swim for it. They struck out strongly for the shore, fear adding speed to their strokes, but strangely the alligator made no further threatening moves. It simply kept swimming along behind them, guiding them toward a ladder that led up to one of the wharves.
       Ty and Brooke were waiting for the men when they finally reached dry land, soaked and shivering. And this time they were in no mood to argue when Brooke handed her gun to Ty and went off to phone for more police assistance.
       By the time she got back, Chase had just pulled himself up to the top of the ladder, in human form once more, but as wet and bedraggled as the men he had captured.
       "I'd heard stories about there being alligators in the New York sewers," Herb was moaning to himself, "but I didn't think they'd got into the river!"
       "Life's full of surprises," Chase told him, then sneezed loudly. "Look," he said, turning to Brooke, "how about I take your car and let you stay here and wrap this up? I'm going home to bed."