Текст книги "The Hollow Crown Affair "

Автор книги: David McDaniel

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"I'm not really sure what happened Saturday," Illya said. "I'd rather not go into it for a while."

"I have much the same feeling," admitted Napoleon. "At least you didn't get anything broken."

"Well, not exactly," said Illya. "What happened to you, anyway? You look as if you went four rounds with a tree and lost."

"It was very confusing," Napoleon said. "Let me think about it for a few weeks."

The Russian nodded. They were alone over lunch when their communicators signaled. Napoleon's mouth was full—he flapped a hand at Illya, who answered the call.

"Kuryakin here."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Kuryakin," said Waverly's familiar voice. "The information has been found. According to the inexhaustible knowledge of Section Four, monkshood means danger is near; white clover means think of me. It could mean she will be standing by to help him."

"Uh, we knew that, sir," said Napoleon, having swallowed. "Chandra told us. You were there."

"Of course, Mr. Solo. But she might have wanted to remind him, or to specify that an attack was expected. Is all well?"

"It's been quiet all weekend, sir, and nothing has happened today."

"Very well. See that nothing does. Waverly out."

Illya replaced the little transceiver as Napoleon said, "You didn't mention anything about Baldwin getting away from us for a few hours."

"No—I imagine he saw Irene during that time, and that shouldn't be any of our business. He's still all right, isn't he?"

Napoleon had to agree that he was.

* * *

Shortly past five o'clock Baldwin turned from his desk and addressed the three other residents in his cramped office. "I feel you all should know that it will be relatively unsafe for any of us to venture out of this office for the next hour or two."

Napoleon and Illya looked up from their homework; Lyn stopped checking tests.

"Miss Stier, do you know where Mr. Whalen would be now?"

"I think he's out at the practice field, but he might be at the Delta Sigma Chi house."

"Do you remember that telephone call we discussed?"

"Oh, yes sir. Do you mean..."

"Yes. The time has come to make the call."

Both Napoleon and Illya started to say something, then paused in deference to the other. In that moment of silence, Baldwin fixed them with a raised forefinger which said patience as Lyn lifted the phone and dialed.

"Hi, Billy—this is Lyn. Is Ed there?...Well, if somebody goes out that way, could you send a message? Some guys who said they were from Crawford called and said they'd found out how Dr. Fraser had been mixed up in that business a couple weeks ago—remember? And if he wanted to be one of the boys he was going to get the same thing, and pretty soon...Uh-huh. That's what I thought. Okay. Thanks, Billy. 'Bye.

"Was that right, Dr. Fraser?"

"A little overdone, my dear, but perfectly believable."

This time Napoleon spoke first. "Dr. Fraser, would you mind just a few words of explanation?"

"Not at all, Mr. Solo. Go ahead."

Napoleon bit his tongue and looked helplessly at his partner. Illya coughed.

"Sir," said Illya, "please—what's going on?"

"I am about to teach a group of men respect for both an elder and a younger generation," said Baldwin. He picked a set of powerful binoculars from the lower drawer of his desk and slipped off the lens caps. "And hardly any further action will be required of us."

"You're using innocent bystanders for your first line of defense!" said Illya in dawning realization. "How did you ever..."

"They feel they owe me a favor," said Baldwin simply, and focused his binoculars out the window, elbows braced on the sill.

"For 'that business a couple weeks ago'," said Napoleon. "What did you do for them? Blow up a police station?"

"Makes you homesick for Ireland, doesn't it," added Illya.

"Mr. Kuryakin, let us say I conducted a few badly needed extracurricular practical seminars. Vermont was the home of one of the first guerilla forces in the world, and it seemed a shame to lose such a fine native tradition."

Illya looked blankly at Napoleon and then at Lyn.

"He means the Green Mountain Boys," she said. "They were sort of our Viet Cong in the Revolutionary War..."

Baldwin spoke smoothly across her explanation without taking his eyes from the binoculars. "Miss Stier, politics has no place here. Would you please telephone Mr. Whalen? Tell him that the bogeys are all dressed in gray sweaters and blue shirts and there are..."

Napoleon and Illya rose as one and looked over his shoulder as Lyn dialed. Across the Old Quad they could see three plain black cars just pulling up in a row. All twelve doors popped open and tiny figures piled out.

"... about two dozen of them."

"Oh, Ed, I'm glad I caught you. There's twenty-five or thirty of them...uh-huh, right!...and they're wearing gray sweaters and blue shirts. They're in the Old Quad right now...Good. We'll be ready."

Illya and Napoleon looked at each other and sat back down as Baldwin lowered the binoculars and turned around. "Miss Stier, how many did you say there were?"

"Well, I thought if they thought there were more, they'd be careful or bring more people..."

"Miss Stier, I had already allowed for that factor. There are, in fact, fifteen. If matters ever devolve to a body count, the discrepancy may be noted."

"Oh, come on," said Napoleon. "Who'll remember the number by the time they get here?" He stood up again. "I'm not really quite sure what's happening, but I think it'll be fun. And I want to watch."

Out on the lawn in the gathering twilight an uncertain number of gray-sweatered figures slipped along the walks and among the trees, approaching Williams Hall.

"Mr. Kuryakin," said Baldwin, lifting the binoculars again, "I have no wish to be distracted by you pacing this office behind my back like a caged tiger because you are denied action. In the closet you will find a team jacket in your size. Mr. Solo, there is one for you as well if you wish to join him."

"In other words," said Illya, "the uniform of the defending forces. I heard about these things going on in American colleges, but I never really believed it."

"Don't worry," said Napoleon. "There are very few casualties. I happen to be a veteran of a few myself, and would be glad to show it to you as it progresses."

"You must tell us sometime just what you did to Crawford," said Illya over his shoulder as Napoleon led him to the coffin-sized closet and sorted out two green-and-gold jackets. Baldwin didn't answer. Lyn said, "Oh, do be careful," as they left, and shifted her chair over to the window next to Dr. Fraser. From the second floor front they had a perfect view.

Napoleon and Illya took the steps three at a time and then paused between the inner and outer double doors on the sheltered stairs. "Where are the forces we are to join?" Illya asked doubtfully.

Napoleon took a quick look outside and saw two gray ghosts disappear behind trees. He eased the door open and looked to either side. "Come on," he hissed. "Quick. And act casual."

As he spoke he pushed the door open wide and sauntered candidly down the next dozen steps, Illya flanking a few feet behind him and to the left. Out from between the other buildings on either side other green-and-gold jackets were wandering, idly bent on no particular business and all aimed for the center of the Quad.

It was an eerie moment, and both sides doubtless felt it. In tense silence the scattered bright jackets began to move together, and in a moment one of the gray shadows pulled away from a tree and gave ground. At exactly that moment the entire left flank shattered.

A dozen or so charged forward and something white flew ahead of them like a snowball. It burst on a tree and a cloud of white billowed out. "Flour grenade," said Napoleon. "It confuses your enemy." Illya nodded. Several more flew as the skirmish line reached the edge of the Quad, and white patches began to appear among the fleeing Thrush forces. They paused once to regroup and started towards their cars, but another line of green-and-gold jackets stood there and now started forward. The little knot of gray-sweatered figures huddled for a moment, then headed in apparent disarray directly towards the steps where Napoleon and Illya stood.

Illya braced for a defense as he saw more bright jackets hurrying to his aid from either side—and Napoleon broke and ducked back through the doors to safety. For ten seconds Illya wondered dazedly if his partner had lost his nerve, then Solo kicked open the door and emerged with something cradled in his arms. "Here's a good one," he said to Illya as the first four Thrushies reached the bottom steps. "Watch out!" he yelled to the world at large, and twisted something.

There was a quivering and a belching sound from the thing he held, and something writhed and snapped rigid behind him. Ten feet away the leading attacker was suddenly hit square in the chest with a frothing white rod just over an inch in diameter. He staggered, which can be fatal while going up stairs, lost his balance and was bowled over backwards, twisting to roll onto his shoulder as he fell.

Napoleon swung the fire hose, yelling something Illya couldn't quite follow, and swept eight more Thrushes and two University men off the stone steps like so many beetles. They scrabbled around regaining their equilibrium and occasionally swinging at each other.

The second wave of Thrushes never hit. They scattered towards every point of the compass but east. The rest of the green-and-gold jackets spread like a defensive outfield—which many of them were—and started to make interceptions.

The battle was now fairly joined. The western line moved forward from the cars in open formation, and gray shadows ducked between them. One reached a car and tore the door open, grabbing inside. He was just turning around when something slapped the side of his head and knocked him sideways. An instant later a string of tiny bright flashes in the dusk sparkled around him and the patter of small firecrackers echoed across the Quad. The Thrush straightened up, fumbling around his head, which was now a dazzling blue, as was the top of his sweater.

Napoleon said, "Ever heard of a water bomb? A water-filled balloon or paper sack designed to burst on impact."

"It works as well or better with Analine dyes," Illya observed.

"Uh-huh."

Four or five bright jackets moved in on the car, and two of them knelt briefly beside it. Napoleon and Illya dove straight down into the midst of the confusion in the middle of the Quad and were caught up in it. A flying body hit Napoleon about the knees and he folded over into the midst of several tussling figures. He was thankful he wore the uniform of the majority as three or four arms pulled him back to his feet and he looked around for Illya.

Somebody grabbed his shoulder and he spun around with his guard up and a fist cocked. Something wet and slippery filled his face and stung his eyes, and he swung his hands blindly rubbing to clear them. As he was blinking and doubling over defensively, somebody knocked him down again, but by then he was almost able to see and recognized the sharp sticky sweet smell of shaving cream.

He rolled away, wiping his sleeves across his face. The shaving bomb lay among the fighters now, its valve broken off and top blown free, spinning and spitting gobs of white lather in every direction. Both sides were slipping on the soapy grass and the cement sidewalk was little better—as in another second two more bombs landed almost simultaneously, spreading their foam in widening circles of chaos.

Illya ran up to him, face smeared. "I think this is what they would call a riot now?"

"Only a newspaper would call it that," said Napoleon, catching his breath. "This is just a little horseplay."

"I wonder what Baldwin did to inspire such loyalty?"

"He'll have to tell us eventu...Look out!"

Two club-swinging Thrushes charged from the throng towards them. Illya whirled and ducked, catching the first just below his center of gravity with a braced forearm to help him over. The other jumped aside to avoid going the same route, but slipped on a patch of shaving lather. His arms windmilled frantically as his feet skidded diagonally out from under him and he seemed to fly under his own power for almost six feet until he crashed face down at the unmoving feet of Napoleon Solo.

He looked down at Illya and said, "Why do you always do it the hard way?"

Some more of the Thrushes had made it back to their cars, and were struggling to get into them as more paint bombs burst on and around them. Suddenly motors roared up the next street and tires squealed around the corner into the campus. Five cars painted in gaudy colors swung into the Quad and thundered across the street. Heads and arms stuck out the windows waving beer bottles and banners and yelling. The doors burst open on all sides even before the cars were stopped, and at least two dozen howling collegians tumbled out and leaped into the melee.

Instinctively Napoleon and Illya faded back towards Williams Hall. As they did, the Russian asked, "Who are they?"

"I'm not sure," said Napoleon. "What color uniform are they wearing?"

"Would you believe blue and red?"

"Another precinct heard from," Napoleon sighed. "Do you want to get back into that donnybrook or retire to Baldwin's box seats?"

"Depends on who's winning," said Illya reasonably. "How is our side doing at the moment?"

"Who can tell?"

They moved to the fringes of the battle zone to see what was going on. Something spattered and hissed, and somebody swore. There were cries of Get That Guy!! and three or four people pounced on somebody else. Napoleon and Illya moved forward to investigate. Solo was tackled by somebody in a green-and-gold jacket whose eyes were clenched tight; he went down and yelled at him as he tried to pry him loose. The arms slacked and he forced a bloodshot eye open. "Sorry, fellas," he said. "Those qualified nouns got some spray stuff that fights dirty. Lemme give y'a hand—we'll take 'em out."

They helped each other to their feet and looked for the center of the brawl. Illya was over there, naturally, matching kicks and grabs with a wide-eyed Japanese boy in a red-and-blue jacket with a Frosh beanie. They both feinted and blocked in practised form, and the Freshman made a grab. Illya swung lightly to the side and almost caught his shoulders, then spun to jump for him as he landed. He charged forward, but the other had found his balance already and caught Illya's forearm as he went by. The Russian agent described a neat double somersault and landed on his back, arms out. Napoleon bent beside him and helped him up as his erstwhile partner ran on to join the action.

"That son of a gun is good," Illya gasped, getting to his feet and looking around for the little frat man who had thrown him so neatly. "You could have given me a hand," he said accusingly.

"You looked like you were having fun," said Napoleon, "and I didn't want to butt in until there was somebody for me. By the time you stopped looking as if you were having fun, it was too late."

"I'm sorry I asked. What kept you?"

They both leaped sideways as a knot of arms and legs wrapped in gray, gold and red tumbled by, threatening to destroy everything in its path. A fat, obviously heavy spheroid rolled across the grass, fallen from some courageous hand. Illya picked it up and studied it as Napoleon jumped to join him and pull him out of the way of a shower of water as somebody got the fire hose on the steps of Williams Hall into operation again. "Napoleon...oof! Sorry—Napoleon, what's this? One of those balloon things?"

"Right. You found it; it's yours to do with as you will. Just remember it's not a rigid body when you throw it, and allow for the inertia. Underhand is better."

"Think I could reach Baldwin's window?"

"Don't even contemplate it. He's probably watching with his binoculars at this very moment, and if we did anything along the lines of further escalation of hostilities he'd only give us a hard time after the war. But on the other hand he expects us to do our part out here."

"I see." Illya looked from behind the tree sheltering him from the capricious drops of the thrashing fire hose, now writhing untended across the steps of Williams Hall and showering the entire Quad with chilly water. Suddenly another sound became audible over the racket of the battle.

Sirens wailed around the corner into the campus and two police cars squealed to either end of the Quad. One braked to the curb just fifteen feet from where Illya and Napoleon stood behind trees, trying to be thin.

An amplified voice thundered across the Quad. "All right, break it up—break it up. If you clear away now you can go free. In about one minute we'll start making arrests."

From the center of the square came two Thrushes at a dead run straight for the near patrol car. Illya froze in the shadows as they whipped by him, then swung out and sent the fat quivering balloon sailing through the air towards them. Unhappily, he misjudged its weight. It arced just over their heads and burst on the top of the police car door, splattering the top, sides, hood and upholstery with a brilliant and runny blue dye.

Illya nearly choked, and looked to see if anyone had connected him with the dye bomb—only Napoleon was staring at him with an absolutely shattered expression. The two policemen grabbed the pair of charging Thrushes and instantly connected them with the desecration of their official vehicle. In record time they were handcuffed and slung into the back seat. By then Napoleon and Illya were halfway up the fire escape at the north end of Williams Hall.

As they pushed in through the door at the end of the second floor hallway, Napoleon found breath to speak. "Illya," he said. "I'm amazed at you. Throwing a paint bomb at a police car. It's your revolutionary heritage coming to the fore."

"It was purely accidental," said Illya with a touch of asperity. "And you know I didn't mean to hit that police car—I was aiming at the other two and overshot."

"Oh, I believe you," said Napoleon. "Thousands wouldn't. I only wonder whether Baldwin will."

Illya paled visibly. "He couldn't have noticed. It's nearly dark out there."

"Those were 7x50 binoculars; great for night seeing. And he has a tendency to notice everything."

"Uh, Napoleon—if he didn't notice, you wouldn't tell him."

"Well, after all..."

"I know a few things about you, Napoleon," said Illya uneasily.

"After all, as I was about to say, there's certainly no reason why he ever should."

Illya nodded, relieved. "Let's go back to the box seat and see what the stage crew has done towards sweeping up after the evening's entertainment."

Chapter 12: "Nineteen Sweetpeas And One White Rose."

If Baldwin had observed Illya's penultimate action, he made no mention of it. He had little commentary to make on the defensive battle other than to admit the results were wholly satisfactory. Two arrests had been made—both witnessed by the two UNCLE agents, and for which Illya may have deserved some glory had he not been unwilling to admit his whole share in the business.

All the student participants had escaped by their own routes, and the unnumbered strangers who had whooped in and found more fun than they'd bargained for had vanished back into the night. The police were remaining officially silent on the two Thrushes they had arrested, but it was a safe bet that both were out on some legal pretext in a matter of hours with unimpeachable voices vouching for them and a slap on the wrist from Central when they got home.

The next three days passed in perfect silence except for an occasional remark from Napoleon, whose left ankle had been tightly bandaged to ease a strain he hadn't noticed until he sat down after their retreat to Baldwin's office.

Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday held the usual round of classes and lab work, with dinner Wednesday in the company of Ed and Chandra. Friday morning started in the same groove, but Lyn had a new bouquet on her desk when they entered the office. Baldwin paused to examine it while Napoleon elbowed Illya.

"Aesthetically, that's a lousy arrangement," he muttered. "The white one in the middle is a rose, but what are those pink things around it?"

"Sweetpeas," said Illya. "I think. Do you want me to sneak out and check with Mr. Waverly?"

"You think it's another coded message?"

"Miss Stier," said Baldwin, "would you please place a telephone call to Dr. Berg and another to Dr. Carter? Simply tell them that their most generously volunteered assistance will be required for the next two weeks. And then, please, separate and order my lecture notes for the same period."

Illya spoke up. "Arranging for substitute lecturers? Are we planning on leaving unexpectedly?"

"No, Mr. Kuryakin. Nor immediately, nor suddenly. But possibly as soon as this evening."

"Golly, Dr. Fraser," said Lyn. "Is there going to be more trouble?"

"Not if we leave this evening," said Baldwin. "You need not concern yourself with it—but I will wish you to continue coming into the office daily and keeping my correspondence in order. I expect to be back well within the fortnight specified."

"I'd be glad to come in every day for the whole semester."

"You needn't. If I have not returned by Monday the fourteenth you are to tender my most sincere apologies to Drs. Berg and Carter, order all my papers and the contents of my desk, and send them to Mr. Alexander Waverly at an address which I shall give you."

Illya elbowed Napoleon and muttered, "In answer to your last question, I would not only say it was another code message, I'd even go so far as to say it told him to get ready to go tonight."

Solo nodded, and a few moments later, as Baldwin bent over some papers and Lyn dialed the telephone, he slipped quietly out. Morning classes were already in session, and sweatered students, some in rubber lab aprons, hurried up and down the hall. From one direction equipment hummed intermittently; from another lecturing voices droned through the steam-heated air of the corridors. He found a corner where he could sit and talk to his pen without attracting undue attention, and called New York.

Waverly stalled him for nearly a minute while recovering the data on floral interpretation from Section Four. "Hem," he said finally. "I think you have divined the meaning adequately already. You expect, of course, taking into account what you've heard from Mrs. Reynolds, that Irene will be coming sometime this evening to pick up Baldwin and convey him to a place of hiding."

"The flowers say all that?"

"If you know how to read them. Sweetpeas mean departure, Mr. Solo. The meaning of the white rose is said to be, quote, I am worthy of you. How many sweetpeas did you say?"

"Nineteen, sir."

"An odd number. I would suggest you expect hostilities to commence near seven o'clock this evening."

"Nineteen hundred hours, in other words."

"Precisely, Mr. Solo. If nothing happens until the nineteenth of October, I shall be very surprised."

"Especially since Baldwin expects to be back before then. I'll get in touch with you when I know a little more. Solo out."

* * *

After his three o'clock class, Baldwin gave Lyn the rest of the afternoon off—she seemed worried and wished him good luck—and returned to the Bomb Shop with his team of bodyguards. There he busied himself packing a few personal items while Solo and Kuryakin sat in the front room and fidgeted.

At five thirty he re-entered the comfortable sitting room and said, "Irene may arrive shortly; would you do me the favor of meeting her at the office? I have only a few more things to do here. And would you please carry this bag there for me? Thank you."

Solo took the small Gladstone and started for the door; Illya didn't rise. "You can handle that by yourself," he said as Baldwin left the room and the door closed solidly behind him. "Besides, I wonder if he might not be trying to split us up again. Mr. Waverly said nineteen hundred hours was the most likely time, and it's only half past seventeen."

"Well, let's check his marker," Napoleon suggested, hefting the bag. "It'll only take a minute."

The lock surrendered to a few seconds' work with one of Illya's patented pocket tools and the bag opened. On top of a blue-and-white striped flannel nightshirt with matching nightcap was an antique-gold-framed portrait of Irene. Napoleon looked at Illya and closed the bag. "He wouldn't leave this," he said. "Not with her picture in it."

"And not where anyone could find that nightshirt," said Illya. "You go ahead—I'll stick around here in case anything comes up prematurely."

Napoleon had been gone less than ten minutes when Baldwin came back into the sitting room. "Mr. Kuryakin, I've found I neglected to give Mr. Solo the key to my office, and Miss Stier will surely have gone home by this time. I have only a few minutes work left here, and shall follow you directly."

Illya rose reluctantly. "I shouldn't leave you alone if there's likely to be trouble, sir!" he said.

"Nonsense! I've been taking quite adequate care of myself for almost twice the length of your life. Here, take the key. The longer you delay the more likely Mr. Solo is to come back and you'll miss him in transit. I have no wish to spend the next two hours playing end man in an inane sequence from some French period farce."

"Look," said Illya, "sir. I'll leave my communicator with you. If anything happens you can call Napoleon; if I'm with him I'll hear the call." He slipped the little device out of his shirt pocket. "You turn the top like this to open the antenna, and push this little..."

"Mr. Kuryakin, I am intimately familiar with the operation of your transceivers. Very well—if it will ease your mind I shall keep it with me until I am able to join you." He accepted the communicator and clipped it somewhere inside his vest. Then he re-extended the key to Illya. "Now will you please take this key to Mr. Solo?"

Illya gave his heels a smart click. "Directly, sir," he said, wheeled crisply and marched out the door. Baldwin looked after him a moment, shaking his head slowly.

* * *

The mutter of muffled motors behind the Bomb Shop came faintly to Baldwin's ears less than an hour after he had dispatched Mr. Kuryakin. Twice in that interval he had answered inquiring calls from the two UNCLE agents; the second time he had said, "Mr. Solo, is there any way by which this unit may effectively be left off the hook? I have few things left to do, truly, but with your calling every five minutes to enquire after my health, it is taking me twice as long as it should. Please believe that I will call should any difficulties arise, and practice the virtue of patience." He slapped the little aerial back into its socket and resumed his time-killing perusal of a technical journal which was scheduled to be thrown out.

Now he looked up at the distant sound of heavy engines starting, and saw that two small lights on a wall panel were flickering inconspicuously. He rose, collected his stick, his overcoat and his hat, and picked up his smaller briefcase. Judging from the racket and the vibration he could feel clearly through the cement floor slab, they had brought in air-hammers to get through the back wall. He smiled. They would find there was a reason for its double protection. Two other lights on the panel flashed brightly and a muffled explosion shook the inner door as Baldwin closed the outer and stepped into a clear frosty evening.

A tarpaulin was draped loosely over his electric cart beside the door; he twitched it aside and got painfully in. A great hue and cry was going up around the rear of the Bomb Shop as he hummed quietly away into the gathering dusk, and flames were beginning to lick up through clouds of dense gray smoke. The noise had drawn away the men detailed to guard the front, and the damage to his laboratory should be minimal; the area that had exploded was shielded by steel and stone from his research facilities, and even before he hummed around the next corner out of sight he could see the flames shrinking amid clouds of steam as the automatic sprinkler system did its work.

Once around the corner he switched his single headlamp on and pushed his cart to top speed. Fire sirens wailed by one street away, going the way he had come.

He zipped into the shadow of the steps before Williams Hall, extinguished the light and climbed awkwardly out of the wide seat. Briefcase firmly in hand, bracing himself on his stick, he made his way up the outer stairs and the inner stairs to the entry hall. Twenty-six shallow steps to climb up to the second floor, with two landings; he was up them in a little over a minute.

Napoleon and Illya were both resting with their feet up as Baldwin opened the door and said, "Gentlemen, I am here. Please don't take too much longer."

Both of them were on their feet before he finished speaking, and Illya had the Gladstone bag in his fist. "Ready any time you are," he said.

"Very good. We have one more stop to make, and then we must be on our way."

Another flight of steps led to the third floor, and Baldwin was able to negotiate them with little difficulty. "The zoology lab will be deserted," said Napoleon. "Are we going down the fire escape or hiding on the roof?"

"Do be quiet, Mr. Solo," said Baldwin. "This will take less than a moment."

Just around the corner from the head of the stairs stood an old white refrigerator, humming quietly to itself. A neatly lettered sign taped to the door said, CAUTION—LIVE VENOMOUS REPTILES.

Baldwin opened the door, rummaged around in the freezing compartment for a moment and withdrew a small cardboard box. "Spare gas charges for my stick," he explained briefly as they descended the stairs. "They keep best at low temperatures."

Napoleon thought a minute. "What about the sign on the door," he asked. "What's really in there?"

"Live venomous reptiles," said Baldwin simply. "They're torpid at that temperature, and don't need to be tended. Perfectly safe."

"Unless someone leaves the door open," said Illya.