19 - The Power Cube Affair (6 page)

"I can't blame you for that." She extended her legs happily for inspection. "As I said, no false modesty about me. If you care to strain a tasteful adjective or two over the limbs, I shan't mind a bit."

They were well worth scrutiny, Solo thought, but his attention returned to the functionally neat harness from which she had extracted the pistols with such practiced ease. At the top of her thigh, where the broad muscle begins to taper inward, leaving a slight hollow below the oncoming hip bulge, a slim buckled band of leather held a flat arrangement of spring clips on a firm leather base. As he looked, she palmed the gun, slapped it into place and restored her skirt hem to semipropriety, all in one movement.

"Neat!" he said with genuine appreciation. "You've practiced that a few times, obviously. But why there?"

"Where else?" she demanded instantly. "A handbag is the first place anybody would go for, so that's out. And skirt hems are getting so elevated these days that nobody would believe there could be anything underneath there except me." She left her skirt where it was, deliberately.

Just as deliberately, Kuryakin juggled the little weapon in his palm, slapped it neatly into its spring clip holder and drew down the hem on his side as far as it would go.

"What d'you do for light entertainment?" he demanded gently. "Throw rocks through the bars at the tigers?"

She gave him a sweetly savage smile. "Do you see any bars here, Illya? And you don't look so tigerish to me!"

"I'm on vacation," he said cryptically. "Can we drive on now?"

She scrambled out, resumed her driving seat, and within ten more minutes they had whipped their way through a slumbering suburb and come to rest in the gravel forecourt of a house standing in its own grounds some distance from the main road. Solo exchanged meaningful glances with his colleague as they followed their leader into the bright lights of a dignified hallway and came face to face with a tall, lean man dressed as a possible butler, but with all the look of a retired sergeant major about him.

"Evening, Curtis," she said blithely. "Would you bring the medical kit up to my room in a moment, please? And some hot water. Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin will be staying, so see if you can conjure up some pajamas, won't you?" She led the way to a handsome staircase and Solo murmured, discreetly:

"Some trollop you picked, Illya."

"A lady tiger, and with a chip on each shoulder. We'll be lucky to get out of this alive!"

The bedroom was obviously hers, but its riotous colors were tame by comparison with the one next door, which she pointed out to them as the place they would sleep.

"Sorry about the decor," she said with a grimace, "but it's part of the image I try to maintain, on the rare times I do entertain guests. For now, both of you, off top gear and sit there, on the side of the bed."

She had assumed all the confident authority of a hospital matron, and the two men obeyed without a murmur. Off came her cape, and, for good measure, off came the negligible upper half of her mesh dress.

"That saves all the nonsense about rolling up sleeves and so forth. I like freedom of action. Besides, it will take your minds off the stings, won't it? Now then!" She came close, just as Curtis appeared with a steaming bowl and a box of medical supplies. The grin left her face as she surveyed the damage. Curtis followed her look, and there was a chill glint in his gray eyes as he asked:

"Just how did you come by that, sir?"

"This? A kid with a bicycle chain."

"I hope you accounted for the murdering young devil, sir?"

"You could say that. I tried to bounce him off a brick wall, but he didn't bounce very well. Just fell down and lay there."

The leathery face twitched. Long arms reached for the shirt and coat Solo had discarded. "I'll see what I can do for the jacket, miss, but I'm afraid the shirt's had it. And you, sir. Let me look." He inspected the three inch gashes in Kuryakin's right arm and clicked his tongue.

"No need to ask about that one. You were very lucky, sir. Do you think we need a doctor, miss?"

"For a scratch like this?" protested Illya.

"That's no scratch," snorted Nan Ferrell. "Nor is that crack you've got, Napoleon. You're damned lucky you didn't crack your collarbone. But we won't call a doctor, because they ask awkward questions and have to make reports and things. Righto, Curtis, see what you can do with the repairs to the clobber, while I patch up the bodies. And the brandy, I think, in about half an hour."

She was competent enough. Solo watched her work on his colleague's arm and winced a time or two at the forthright way she employed her strong and shapely hands. Then he noticed that Illya wasn't wincing at all. When it came his turn to be doctored, he realized why. She looked rough, almost most casual, but her touch was precise.

"You're pretty good," he admitted, as she finally smacked pads over the wounds and tacked them into place with strips of tape. "You look as if you're hammering dough, but you're gentle, really."

"Thank you. I've had lessons enough. Whatever I do, I like to do it right. There you are. You'll live. Now she whirled away to grab at a telephone that stood on the mantelpiece, dialed swiftly and made a gesture. "Move apart so I can sit between you and you'll be able to listen in. Charles? I'm at home. Napoleon and Illya are with me. No, shut up and hear me out, not fun and games but a little fracas. Mr. Green strikes again." She told the tale efficiently and without adjectives.

The old man waited until she was done, then simply asked, "Any harm done?"

"Mostly to them. On our side one crocked shoulder, on slit arm, nothing that won't be cured by tomorrow, I imagine."

"Good. I think Roger's office will have to be disinfected. I'll see to that. Can they hear me?"

"Loud and clear, sir," Solo said. "If I might suggest, it can't hurt to put a tail on Miss Thompson, find out who her boss is."

"That's one way of getting a lead on Mr. Green, certainly. I'll have it attended to. In the meanwhile you two had better stick close to Nan and communicate with no one at all. I presume you're armed?"

"No, sir." Kuryakin answered for both. "We have instructions against that while we're in the U.K."

"That's not so good. Nan, I'll lay on a routine jaunt for you in the morning, to get you and those two out of town for a bit, give you the chance to teach them a thing or two." The click as he hung up was quite audible. She rose, put away the instrument and turned to face them.

"I think I'm going to enjoy lessons with you two. Now, it's late and we need to be up and about early tomorrow. I'll bring you a drink each, tuck you in, kiss you good night, and that will be it."

The pajamas were laid out on each bed. The two men made the change swiftly and in thoughtful silence.

"She has something more than a chip on her shoulder," Solo said at last, as he slid between the sheets. "Damned if I don't think she is making an open play for both of us. And she called you a tiger?"

Before Kuryakin could offer comment there came a rap on the door and Miss Perrell came briskly in. She held a tray with bottle and glasses.

"I imagine I look like one of those California waitresses," she said, putting the tray down. "Say when!"

"If it would have achieved anything I would have said 'when' some time ago," Kuryakin declared. "I also was responsible for the idea of a truce between us, but I didn't mean to suggest fringe benefits."

The corner of her mouth came up again as she grinned. "Let me invent a proverb for you," she said. "Looking at the goods in the shop window doesn't cost a thing, but if you're thinking of buying, the price comes high. Very high. Good night now." With complete aplomb she bestowed a hearty buss on each cheek in turn and marched out.

"I know another proverb," Solo observed. "When pretty lady lays the kindling in the grate and applies a match, she certainly is not praying for rain!"

"I hesitate to correct an expert, Napoleon, so let's just say I think you may be wrong. However, I think we can agree that we should discourage such complications."

"Give her the brush, you mean? That's not going to be easy, Illya. There was no point in telling friend Charles, but we're going to need all the help we can get. We have precious little to go on. One yacht, one Absalom Green, one mystery man with a voice like Orson Welles. One reference to Gorchak, whatever that is. Reference to jewels, problem, twenty-five pieces with two more to go. Seventh stone—can you fit seven into twenty-five or twenty-seven, Illya?"

"This is going to take more than mathematics. A man doesn't kill and order killings unless it's something big. Even if we are on vacation there's no reason why one of us can't call in one afternoon at the office and see what gossip there is. If any."

"No harm at all." Solo snuggled down. "But it will have to wait a bit, until the evidence of assault and battery wears off. Meanwhile we both have to be polite—but nothing more—to Miss Perrell."

"As you say," Kuryakin sighed, "it's not going to be easy. I fancy she intends to teach us some tricks, and I hate to think what they might be."

FIVE

THE MORNING began pleasantly enough, if a trifle earlier than they would have chosen. Miss Perrel1 inspected their injuries, while Curtis returned their clothing almost as good as new, and by the time they all sat down to a tasty break fast there was no echo of the previous evening's strain, apart from a twinge or two. Miss Perrell was the perfect hostess, and they were all highly amused by the newspaper account of "gang-warfare again." In fact, Solo thought, if he could only get used to the lady's habit of wearing dresses that looked as if they had been designed for a stunted twelve year old, he could have enjoyed himself very much.

"I've had my instructions," she told them, "and we're all going for a brisk run down to Folkestone this morning. It will give me a chance to see the place where Mary got it, and where your Mr. Guard lives. You must tell me more about him."

"You'd probably get on with him," Solo suggested. "May be we could call in and see him if he's allowed visitors."

"All right," she said. "Now, the sooner we start the better, as it's a busy road. But you already know that, as you drove down there the day before yesterday, didn't you?"

"We went early. Tip from John to beat the traffic."

"Wise man. I like him already,"

By nine o'clock the A20 had taken them as far as Farmingham, and on her suggestion, they halted long enough to let Kuryakin take the wheel, so that she could sit between them in the front seat.

"Getting to be a habit," she chuckled. "Actually, it's only because I hate talking across somebody and I like to be in the middle of things. While we're on the subject, you two are going to need a car. Be advised, please. Not a hired job. Not a flashy great thing like this, either. I am deliberately conspicuous, as I've told you. But you two should aim at something old, second-hand, inconspicuous."

"Just how do we acquire that?"

"Very simply. I'll give you the name and address of a little dealer I know, and he will fix you up, no awkward questions asked. Now, tell me about John Guard. Is he as handy as you two at smearing the opposition?"

"I'll tell you this." Solo was suddenly very serious. "Johnny used to carry all the gadgetry and gimmicks we all do, but he never liked them. His feeling was that you grow to count on a gun or a minibomb or things like that. Then, after a while, you're leaning on them like crutches. You get fat and slow. He always preferred to use only his hands, and without any doubt at all he could put me and Illya away for keeps without turning a hair. If he wanted to, that is. But he wouldn't even move unless he was personally involved." He watched her profile, saw the breeze stirring pink in her cheek and the butter blonde hair whipping away from her face.

"In a way, it was a handicap to him in U.N.C.L.E. You see , we get our orders, instructions that say so and so is a menace, get rid of him. Or here's a group that has to be smashed, go and do it. And we do as we're told. Most of the time, anyway!" he added, as Kuryakin cleared his throat thoughtfully. "Johnny obeyed orders too, but he never liked it. On the other hand, just let him get the conviction that so and so really was a rat, and you wouldn't stop him with a concrete wall!"

"You obviously admire him," she said.

"I hadn't met him before," Kuryakin offered, "so I can speak from first hand experience this time only. But Green shot him in the chest with both barrels of a shotgun, from no more than two feet. That was about eleven-thirty. We got there just before eight o'clock the next morning and he was still conscious. He hung on simply because he knew we were coming and wanted to be sure we knew all about it. Not because of the shot, but because of Mary."

"What's more," Solo endorsed, "I'll gamble they're having a time of it just keeping him in bed while we're chasing his game. He's that sort of person. You'll see."

"And you think I'm like that?"

"Well," Solo drawled, "let's just say you're not the type that gives up easily. Let's talk about you, eh?"

"Oh no!" she was prompt and firm. "No you don't. As I told you last night, I'm willing to put the goods in the window. They are good goods, and I know it. I welcome inspection, any time."

"But the purchase price comes high."

"That's right. You'll be surprised just how high. In other words I don't mind you looking. I like it. As they say in the shops, what you don't see in the window please ask for. We'll be happy to exhibit our wares. But I keep my soul to myself."

"And I was just about to ask," Kuryakin murmured, "what's a nice girl like you doing in a bloodthirsty racket like this?"

"No comment," she said flatly. "But I can tell you what we're going to do when we get to Folkestone. It is, as I said, a routine chore. Every so often we get inside tips. Charles does, I mean. And this is one, to say that a consignment of filth is coming in on the boat we'll be meeting, from France. Dirty stuff, the addictives. That's what Mary was watching out for. I have a detailed description of the people carrying the load. My job will be to pass it on to the customs men and observe while they collect. The rest will go through regular channels and won't concern us, so we'll have plenty of time to go visiting."