conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide a plot for a book about Bentall, Hopeman, Witherspoon entitled The Dark Crusader.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Dark Crusader: Eight top-level scientists and their wives disappear after responding to newspaper advertisements for specialists in different areas of modern technology, so when a ninth advertisement appears, Agent John Bentall is recalled to London from a mission in Turkey.\nThe advertisements offered high rates of pay to applicants who were married, had no children and were prepared for immediate travel.\nBentall, a physicist specializing in rocket fuels and working for the British government on counter espionage, is paired with Marie Hopeman, an inexperienced agent, assigned to pose as his wife.\nAll eight scientists had disappeared in Australia or en route there, and Bentall and Hopeman find themselves kidnapped at a bus stop in Fiji.\nThey escape to the island of Vardu, a remote coral atoll in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, which is currently home to Professor Witherspoon, a noted archaeologist.\nThe island has no radio transmitter and the next boat is scheduled to arrive in three weeks.\nBentall finds dr Witherspoon somewhat sketchy.\nLater, Bentall discovers Witherspoon is actually LeClerc, the mastermind behind a plot to steal a British missile, the Dark Crusader, for an unnamed foreign power.\nBentall's character displays a stumbling, self-deprecating demeanour and makes mistakes that lead to the pair falling into the trap set by the villains.\nThe story becomes more complicated when Bentall and Hopeman find themselves falling in love as they try to defeat the plot.\nNeither the female agent nor the situation are quite as they seem.\nThe novel offers has two endings, one in which Bentall must choose between saving Hopeman and preventing the theft of the missile, and the other in which he finally unravels the last details of the plot with his boss.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the first four paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Dark Crusader
  She could be as quick as a cat. She caught the all but imperceptible shake of my head and she wasn't even looking in my direction.
  At a signal from him the two Fijians caught an end of the bed apiece and lifted, not such a feat, as the bed itself probably didn't weigh even thirty pounds. The Chinese boy came in to carry all the clothes we had, the professor led the way and there was nothing for me to do but to take her hand as we walked between the two houses, bend over her solicitously and murmur: 'Ask him for a torch.'
  I didn't suggest a reason why she should ask for one, for the excellent reason that none occurred to me, but she handled it beautifully. When the professor had dismissed the bearers and was expatiating at length on how the guest house was built entirely from the products of two trees, the pandanus and coconut palm, she interrupted diffidently to ask: 'Is there – is there a bathroom here, Professor Witherspoon?'
  The westering sun had already dipped behind the shoulder of the mountain but the heat of the day still lingered in the air. For all that Marie shivered and pulled the coverlet high about her shoulders. She said: 'Would you care to let the side-screens down? Those trade winds aren't what they're cracked up to be. Not when the darkness comes.'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide four more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: But he would never have guessed that they were on Vardu, for it was almost certainly Colonel Raine himself who had worked out with the now murdered Witherspoon the scheme to have Vardu used as a protected area based on archaeological discovery: whether discoveries were genuine or not was a matter of complete unimportance: old Witherspoon and his associates would have been screened with a tooth-comb and the idea of associating any skulduggery with that part of the island would have been fantastic. Vardu would have been the last place Raine would have thought of to look for them: he had just no idea at all where they were.
  At this moment Marie made her appearance. She had dried and combed her hair and changed into slacks and T-shirt that fitted only where they touched, but they touched in enough places to show that it wasn't the original owner who was inside them. She smiled at me and I smiled back but it was a pretty mechanical sort of effort on my part, the more I thought of it the more I suspected she must have known just how the land lay with Colonel Raine. Maybe neither she nor Raine regarded me as anything other than a lucky amateur, and in this business amateurs weren't trusted. Not even lucky ones. But what hurt was not the lack of trust but the fact that if I were right then she'd fooled me throughout. And if she could fool me about that, then she could fool me about many other things, too. She was looking at me with the kind of expression on her face with which I'd always dreamed that someone just like Marie would look at me, and I knew it was impossible that I was being fooled. I knew it for all of two seconds, which was all the time it took me to remember that she had survived five years in one of the most hazardous professions in the world simply through an extremely highly developed gift of fooling everyone all the time.
  I was about to ask her some cunning leading questions when Dr Hargreaves came up to me. The others trailed behind him. They were now all dressed in their day clothes. They were worried stiff, all of them, and they looked it.
  I paused for a moment to let this sink in, but one glance round the tense still faces let me see that it had already sunk. They were looking at me as if they didn't like me very much, but I suppose that it was what I was saying that they really didn't like.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about tired.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: But he would never have guessed that they were on Vardu, for it was almost certainly Colonel Raine himself who had worked out with the now murdered Witherspoon the scheme to have Vardu used as a protected area based on archaeological discovery: whether discoveries were genuine or not was a matter of complete unimportance: old Witherspoon and his associates would have been screened with a tooth-comb and the idea of associating any skulduggery with that part of the island would have been fantastic. Vardu would have been the last place Raine would have thought of to look for them: he had just no idea at all where they were. 
  At this moment Marie made her appearance. She had dried and combed her hair and changed into slacks and T-shirt that fitted only where they touched, but they touched in enough places to show that it wasn't the original owner who was inside them. She smiled at me and I smiled back but it was a pretty mechanical sort of effort on my part, the more I thought of it the more I suspected she must have known just how the land lay with Colonel Raine. Maybe neither she nor Raine regarded me as anything other than a lucky amateur, and in this business amateurs weren't trusted. Not even lucky ones. But what hurt was not the lack of trust but the fact that if I were right then she'd fooled me throughout. And if she could fool me about that, then she could fool me about many other things, too. I was tired and weak and the thought was acid in my mind. She was looking at me with the kind of expression on her face with which I'd always dreamed that someone just like Marie would look at me, and I knew it was impossible that I was being fooled. I knew it for all of two seconds, which was all the time it took me to remember that she had survived five years in one of the most hazardous professions in the world simply through an extremely highly developed gift of fooling everyone all the time. 
  I was about to ask her some cunning leading questions when Dr Hargreaves came up to me. The others trailed behind him. They were now all dressed in their day clothes. They were worried stiff, all of them, and they looked it. 
  I paused for a moment to let this sink in, but one glance round the tense still faces let me see that it had already sunk. They were looking at me as if they didn't like me very much, but I suppose that it was what I was saying that they really didn't like.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Colonel Raine showed no reaction to any of this. His green unblinking eyes never left my face. He was waiting, waiting for a chance. He knew I was a sick man, and very tired. One false move, one slow reaction and he'd be on to me like an express train, and the way I felt that night I couldn't have fought off a teddy bear.
  He lifted his left lapel with his left hand, reached for the inside pocket with his right, the small black automatic was clear of his coat and the finger tightening on the trigger when I shot him through the head at point-blank range. The automatic spun from his hand, he jerked back violently in his seat, then fell forward, head and shoulders striking heavily on the dusty desk. I let it lie. Handkerchief in hand I picked up the fallen gun, replaced it in his inside pocket, wiped the Luger, pushed it into the dead man's hand, pressed his thumb and fingers against the butt and trigger, then let gun and hand fall loosely to the table. I then smeared the door-knobs, armrests, wherever I had touched, and picked up the fallen paper.
  It was the note from Marie. I opened it, held it by a corner above Raine's ashtray, struck a match and watched it slowly burn away, the tiny flame creeping inexorably down the paper until it reached the words at the foot, 'You and me and the lights of London,' until those, too, one by one, were burnt and blackened and gone. I crushed the ash in the tray and went.
  I closed the door with a quiet hand and left him lying there, a small dusty man in a small dusty room.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about pulling, fluttered.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Colonel Raine showed no reaction to any of this. His green unblinking eyes never left my face. He was waiting, waiting for a chance. He knew I was a sick man, and very tired. One false move, one slow reaction and he'd be on to me like an express train, and the way I felt that night I couldn't have fought off a teddy bear. 
  He lifted his left lapel with his left hand, reached for the inside pocket with his right, the small black automatic was clear of his coat and the finger tightening on the trigger when I shot him through the head at point-blank range. The automatic spun from his hand, he jerked back violently in his seat, then fell forward, head and shoulders striking heavily on the dusty desk. 
  I took out my handkerchief, pulling with it a piece of paper that fluttered to the floor. I let it lie. Handkerchief in hand I picked up the fallen gun, replaced it in his inside pocket, wiped the Luger, pushed it into the dead man's hand, pressed his thumb and fingers against the butt and trigger, then let gun and hand fall loosely to the table. I then smeared the door-knobs, armrests, wherever I had touched, and picked up the fallen paper. 
  It was the note from Marie. I opened it, held it by a corner above Raine's ashtray, struck a match and watched it slowly burn away, the tiny flame creeping inexorably down the paper until it reached the words at the foot, 'You and me and the lights of London,' until those, too, one by one, were burnt and blackened and gone. I crushed the ash in the tray and went. 
  I closed the door with a quiet hand and left him lying there, a small dusty man in a small dusty room.