Текст книги "The Assassination Affair"

Автор книги: J Hunter Holly

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 10 страниц)

But modern America hadn't passed Riverview by, as it hadn't passed anyplace by. The street was garish with neon signs, and parking meters were lined up and down the curbs of the wide pavement.

Illya drove the car behind the hotel where the sign read, FREE PARKING FOR GUESTS and braked to a stop in one of the yellow-marked parking spaces of the tiny lot. There were a few cars already there. As Solo got stiffly out, unknotting his muscles from the long drive, he checked the lot out of habit. No one was sitting in the cars so there was no danger, but a good percentage of them sported stickers on their rear windows. He sauntered over to a green Ford and checked the sticker. U.S.D.A.

"The Department of Agriculture beat us to it, Illya. I guess we're just an afterthought."

Illya was hefting two suitcases out of the trunk of the car. He plunked them down. "We'll be able to use any help we can get. Here's your suitcase. What did you bring, anyway? You said your suits were lightweight."

"Shirts, my friend. Lots of clean, white shirts. Ever hear of those?" Solo smirked at Illya's ever-present black turtleneck.

"I've brought a couple of my own." Illya's blue eyes smoldered with as much humor as Solo was going to get out of him. "Also a tuxedo, a full dress monkey suit, and a top hat for courting the local beauties on Main Street."

"Ouch." Solo grunted, and bent to pick up his case.

They went into the old-leather smell of the lobby. It was complete with the red-patterned carpet of another era, black leather furniture, and potted palms. The palms were plastic, stuck into real dirt, Solo noticed as he passed one and the pungent scent of soil hit his nostrils.

There was no trouble getting their room. It had freshly-cleaned wallpaper done in a floral pattern, a small rug, and twin beds. A tiny bathroom opened off it, and the windows opposite the beds showed a view of the river and the cement-block factory that squatted there, ugly and sprawling. Solo tipped the bellboy, surprised to find one in the Flower Hotel.

Illya was already checking the room for "bugs" and Solo moved dutifully to help, although he couldn't see the necessity of it. They were unexpected, after all. The room turned up clean.

As they unpacked their clothes and tucked them away in the oak bureau that was big enough to hold a man, Illya voiced the obvious question. "What's the first order of action?"

"Who knows? We've seen the fields already. I think our best bet is to find some access to them. We can't just go out and trespass. I understand that farmers are opposed to that sort of thing. Shotguns, you know."

"And how do we get this access?"

Solo shrugged. He didn't really know. "Poke around – meet somebody who lives on a farm – get invited to a homecooked meal."

"I see." Illya sighed in resignation. "That all adds up to a girl."

Solo brightened. "It could well add up to a girl. And quit making faces. You follow your own prowling way and I'll follow mine. Right now, I have first claim on the shower." He made a quick maneuver for the bathroom, grabbing his robe, and beating Illya. He locked the door behind him on Illya's sour call of:

"Be sure to use plenty of aftershave. It will charm the milkmaids right off their milking stools."

Solo accomplished his routine of showering, shaving, and dressing in ten minutes. The cold water perked him up, brightened the sunny day, and the fresh clothes made him feel himself again. As he pulled on his shirt and trousers and watched them cover the barely healed scars of his night in that other farmhouse, his mind took a more sober bent. Even so, the best he could think to do was go out on the street and get his bearings, see what was happening in the town, where it was happening, and try to pick up a lead.

When he broached this to Illya seriously, Illya agreed. They couldn't call down to the desk and ask for Thrush Headquarters. They had to dig it out for themselves.

"I'll take the car," Illya said, "and drive around to the grain elevators and feed stores to pick up the farmer's gossip if you want to stay in town."

"I'll do better in town," Solo said. "I wouldn't know what I was hearing when it comes to feed and fertilizers."

"Right. But you're going to stick out like crazy in this town; you know that, don't you?"

"You want me to wear overalls? Your idea of American farmers is pretty strange, Illya. I'll manage."

Illya went into the bathroom and closed the door be hind him. Solo called, "It's one o'clock. I'll meet you back here at three." Illya's answering "okay" came through a sudden gush of water from the shower.

Solo checked in the mirror to be sure his pistol was safely tucked away without trace under his arm, straightened his tie for the tenth time, and left the room.

The sun was bright on the street, a presence in itself, and he discovered that July was hot in Michigan. He walked along the sidewalk easily, peering into the display windows, and no one paid him any attention. Other men clad in business suits were on the street, along with housewives dragging their children by the hand. But the sidewalk wasn't crowded. The shops had eaten up the people from the cars parked along the curb. The parallel parking made the street even wider than it needed to be and he liked the sense of space and old ness it implied.

He wandered one side of the street for fifteen minutes, going into a store here and there to pick up pieces of conversation. It got him nowhere. The talk was about buying and selling, and only occasionally about the crop disaster. Even then it was only talk of confusion and fear. When he tried twice to approach some conversing ladies, he was rudely stared at and ignored. The old charm wasn't going to make way for him here.

He strode out of the dime store and back onto the sidewalk. He was awfully alone. Not another pedestrian walked this block with him. The only other living being he saw was a woman steering her little boy into the soda parlor. Then she was gone and he stood still in the sun, rocking on the balls of his feet. A sense of over powering aloneness crept up on him and he pushed it angrily down. This was no dark room; he had both of his eyes, the sun was shining – He damned the unwanted emotion and stepped away from the storefront.

A horn sounded loudly from the street and a girl's voice yelled, "Mister! Sir – Mister!"

Solo turned to meet the half-running figure of a girl. She came onto the sidewalk smiling, dropping a coin in a parking meter where there was no car as she passed it. She was tall and blond with a figure that was astounding under the tight slacks and brightly printed shirt. She trotted along with firm steps. Wholesome was the word for her, he decided. Her body was young, ample, and gently muscled.

"Were you calling me?" he smiled.

"Yes, if you don't mind. I have this terrible problem and I wondered if you'd help me."

"Anything. Just ask."

She held out a set of keys that dangled on a leather strap. "Would you park my car for me? Right there in that empty space? I know it's crazy, but since they put in parallel parking, I simply can't handle it by myself. I always have to ask."

"And who would refuse?" Solo took the keys gallantly.

"It's gotten to be a town joke." She smiled at him. "All the boys know that if they want to talk to Gloryanna Piper, they only have to wait by an empty parking space. It causes me more trouble than good. You're the only man on the block today."

"And very obliging. I'll park it and be right back." Solo got into her car, swung it forward and then back into the cramped space. When he returned, she was standing hands on hips.

"Good job," she said.

"Now, is there anything else I can help you with? You look a little warm, so how about a soda, Miss Piper?"

She flushed. "Oh – I don't know -"

"My name is Napoleon Solo and I suggested a simple soda, not a drink. Chocolate, strawberry, pineapple...?"

She hesitated, then surrendered. "I suppose it would be all right." She linked her arm through his. "Make mine chocolate."

He led her along the street, liking the feel of her arm, strong and yet pliant. She seemed to be that way from head to foot. They entered the soda parlor and he was pleased to find it decorated in the old-fashioned tradition with wire-backed chairs and marble-topped tables. Pink and white walls sported pictures of confections. There was the traditional soda jerk, too, but his gaze wasn't friendly as he took their order.

Gloryanna looked down her pretty nose at him and concentrated on Solo. "You're with the Department of Agriculture?"

"No." He made up his mind quickly. It wouldn't do to identify himself with the government since they were here in such force. "I'm just passing through town. A friend and me."

"I'm glad. I don't think much of the Agriculture men, to tell the truth. They're very rude and I don't like their looks."

"Rude?"

"They swarm all over our farm, taking soil samples and checking about, but when Dad goes out to talk to them they treat him like the dirt they're walking on. We get the impression they wish we'd all move away and let them have the land."

"You've seen their credentials?"

"Of course. We wouldn't let them come around with out that. And there are so many of them."

"That's funny," Solo said. "I didn't see many names on the hotel register."

The sodas arrived, but Gloryanna went on talking. "They don't stay at the hotel. They have a better place, people say – fancier. It's a big estate about a mile from our farm."

Solo opened her straw for her and plunked it into her soda. "They like luxury, huh?"

"Well, it is luxurious. One of those gentlemen farmers, I guess you call them, built the place years ago. Acres and acres. A big house and big barns and a great fence all around it. It has hills and woods and a stream. I used to dream about living there. It stood empty for years, but a few months ago someone bought it. Not that we've seen anything of them." She sipped at her soda and smacked her lips. "I shouldn't be mean about them, though, because they did make one of their barns available to the road show that came to town. That was friendly enough."

"When was that?" Solo asked, knowing he'd soon have to stop the flow of questions or she would notice that she was giving all the answers.

"Right now," she said. "It's a big show and would have been such fun, only now we don't have the heart for it. With the trouble and all."

"Yes." Solo let his expression fall, "I've seen the fields around here."

"It makes you sick, doesn't it? Even my flower garden is gone. My daffodils and spring flowers were so beautiful, but my annuals – Sometimes I don't think I can stand to go out of the house and see the devastation."

"Do you suppose I could get a closer look at the land?"

"To gawk?" She was angry. "It's not nice to be curious about other people's tragedies, Mr. Solo. We've lost every thing we planted. We may even have to sell our dairy herd because we have no pasture for them."

"Sorry." And Solo was. He didn't mean to appear uncaring. Not to this girl with her special freshness and obvious misfortune. "Drink the last of that soda and I'll splurge for another. A double, if you like."

She forgave him with a quick laugh. "You'll make me fat. But I'll accept."

They sat in the soda parlor for a long time, talking about nothing in particular, but it wasn't wasted time for Solo. Gloryanna Piper was his link to the fields around Riverview and he had to make her consider him a friend. He had little in the way of solid leads, although the estate she had mentioned sounded interesting.

The door opened and out of long-trained habit he checked who was coming. It was Illya. He came in frowning. "Here you are! I've been looking everywhere. I thought you said three o'clock."

Solo looked at his watch and found it was three-thirty. "My apologies, Illya. You should have rung me up."

"I thought of it, and then thought better of it." Illya was looking at Gloryanna. Solo made quick introductions. "I should have known." Illya sat down. "Just follow the trail of the town belle and you find Napoleon."

"Always," Solo said. "But something more. Gloryanna is going to take us into her father's blighted farmland."

Gloryanna straightened, feeling herself maneuvered into a corner. "Now, I didn't say I'd do that, Mr. Solo."

"But you did. How about right now? While the light holds?" He softened the demand with a grin. "And call me Napoleon."

As she grinned back, he coaxed her to her feet, giving her no chance to refuse. "Men!" she growled, and led the way outside.

Chapter 9

"I Prefer the Yellow-Bellied Thrush"

GLORYANNA PILED them both into the front seat of her car – after Solo had unparked it for her – and drove them out of town into the brown desolation. She pointed out the gated entrance to the estate she had mentioned but there was nothing to see from the road since the buildings were set far back on the acreage. A mile further on she entered her own driveway and braked to a stop.

"Come on and see what you have to see," she called, striding ahead.

"Quite a girl." Illya fell into step beside Solo. "She reminds me of Russian peasant stock – sturdy, lithe, and fetching."

"There aren't any peasants around here, my friend."

"Right. But she reminds me."

They trekked off the brown lawn and away from her mangled flower beds into a lane normally used by the cows to reach their pasture. The ground was uneven, and on both sides it stretched away brown and ruined. Solo kept glancing at the woods to relieve his eyes. Something in the terrible death of the crops was depressing. It seeped into his soul and made him uneasy.

Gloryanna stopped to let them catch up. "Well, this is it."

Illya left the lane, going into the field and squatting down. He took up a stick and dug a bit in the earth, then picked up a handful of soil, squeezed it and let it run through his fingers. He looked expert, and Solo smiled at him. Illya was expert at everything, it seemed.

"It's beautifully fertile soil usually," Gloryanna told Illya. "It just seemed to turn on us. Almost like a plague from biblical times."

"It's a plague, all right," Solo said, "but not of locusts or borers. I'd call it a plague of thrushes."

She stared at him in astonishment. "You really don't know anything about farming, do you? Thrushes never hurt our crops. Have you ever even seen a thrush, Mr. Solo? Napoleon?"

"Too many," Solo said.

"Which one is your favorite then?" she pressed, trying to make him admit his ignorance.

"I'll always vote for the yellow-bellied thrush. They're easier to handle."

"There isn't any such thing!" she laughed. "I knew you'd hang yourself if I gave you enough leeway."

Illya stood up from his soil sampling. "He's teasing you, Gloryanna. Napoleon believes in the theory that if you don't know something, never admit it; just use your imagination."

Solo grimaced at Illya and stiffened. His eyes had picked up something else – strangers in the field, moving toward them with a steady pace. Two big men. "Is it my imagination that tells me two men are walking toward us across this field? And that they don't look especially friendly?"

Illya stepped a yard away, braced, as he took in the menacing appearance of their visitors.

'Those are just Agriculture men." Gloryanna was confused by their wary behavior. "I told you they weren't nice, but you don't have to look like you're going to attack them."

Solo watched the men approach. They were both tall and dark. One of them was familiar. "Check the one on the right, Illya."

"Got him," Illya said. "I've seen him before and he was in full feather."

A Thrush operative. Solo's right hand moved with a will of its own toward his coat, but he held it back. It was too early to pull guns. Maybe this particular Thrush wouldn't remember them, anyway.

Illya asked quietly, "Do we play innocent, or do I shoot? You give the word."

"Shoot?" Gloryanna gasped. "Those men are from the Department of Agriculture! You can't do anything. You have to let them have their way. And you have to be polite."

"We'll try," Solo said and relaxed his right arm.

"There's no trying about it, Mr. Solo. You simply have to, or you'll make trouble for my father. These men are in charge here now."

"All right." Solo surrendered to her worry. "Play it cozy, Illya. Back out gracefully."

The two men were twenty feet away and they came striding fast to stop in front of the little group. Their faces were pinched and ugly. "What's this supposed to be?" the one Solo had recognized demanded. A sight seeing trip?"

"Exactly," Solo answered. "Quite a sight, too."

"Unauthorized personnel aren't allowed in the fields."

"Yes, sir; sorry, sir," Solo said with mock subservience. "We didn't know that rule."

"Miss Piper knows it!"

"I'm sorry. I mean, really sorry," Gloryanna said. "I didn't see any harm in showing -"

The second man cut her off abruptly. "If I were you, Miss Piper, I'd pay attention to our rules. Careful attention."

The man's voice was edging upward. Solo backed off a few feet. "We'll get out of your way right now."

"I'd advise it," the man said. "And don't come back." Solo caught Gloryanna by the hand and started off as Illya followed, saying, "We'll leave the field entirely to you, sir." He caught up with Solo and muttered, "It's downright embarrassing, Napoleon, running like this."

"We'll have our chance," Solo promised. He looked over his shoulder. The two men were watching their re treat. He kept walking doggedly, starting to follow u the clues the girl had given him to keep his mind off the Thrush guns behind him. "Now, Gloryanna, where did you say this road show is set up? On the estate you showed us?"

"Yes. But I won't take you there. Something funny is going on. I can sense it."

"Woman's intuition?" Illya asked from the same need Solo had to make conversation.

"Plain common sense. Do you two carry guns? What the devil are you? Gangsters come to rob our bank?"

"We'll explain all of that," Solo told her.

"You'd better, and right away. Come into the house and I'll give you coffee and you can tell me. My guided tour is over."

–

An hour later she drove them back to town, satisfied with the brief explanation they had given her, and oddly proud to be part of an U.N.C.L.E. operation. It had taken no convincing. She had doubted the identity of the Agriculture men all along, though she hadn't admitted it to anyone. She knew her County Agent, and her other contacts with the Department had been with polite men who didn't order the farmers about like strangers on their own land.

–

Back in the hotel room, Solo finished his report to Waverly. "They weren't U.S.D.A. men at all, sir."

"I discovered that, myself," Waverly said. "The U.S.D.A. is aware of the problem and was just ready to move in. Since we're there already, they've decided to let us handle it. After all, Thrush is our regular adversary so they feel we have the better chance. Do you have any substantial leads, Mr. Solo?"

"An insubstantial one, sir. The Cosmic Theater. It's a road show of some sort that came into town a few days ago. Headed by a Mr. Saturn. They're ensconced in a trailer camp on a country estate. They haven't put on a show yet because no one around here is interested with their fields dying under their feet."

"They came after the devastation?"

"They did. But their advance publicity men came before. That's why I'm considering them. Naturally, all of the Thrush operatives posing as U.S.D.A. men came after the trouble started, too. But there has to be a link somewhere."

"Find it then, and quickly," Waverly said. "We have indications that Thrush is stirring all over the world, preparing for something. Probably this chemical. If they distribute it before we have the antidote, everything is lost." Waverly paused briefly. When he resumed, his voice had changed from command to concern. "And how are you making out personally, Mr. Solo?"

Solo winced at the question, a bit angry. Was every one at U.N.C.L.E. going to mother-hen him until he proved himself? "Everything is fine here, sir. But if you're really not sure of me, then -"

"Temper, Mr. Solo."

To himself, Solo said, "Ooopsl" but to Waverly he said, "I'm sorry, sir.

"That goes without saying," Waverly answered.

Solo switched the transceiver off and looked, at Illya. The blond agent was barely suppressing a laugh.

"So, I put my foot in my mouth," Solo snapped at him. "You'd better watch when you smile or I'll carry your head home in a box, shaggy hair and all."

"Temper, Mr. Solo. Let's eat and soothe the growling bear in you. Peace?"

Solo grinned and stood up. Food sounded just the thing to settle the sodas and strong coffee.

They went down to the hotel dining room and had a passable meal. The room was crowded but not one eye flickered in recognition as they sat finishing their dinner.

The Thrush agent in Gloryanna's field obviously hadn't recognized them. Solo thought they were still all right and could move about unhampered. Illya agreed. Hopefully. Because once they were pegged they stood little chance with the large number of Thrush men they had against them.

On the way back upstairs, Solo said, "We'll be having a guest for late breakfast, Illya. Gloryanna."

"Now, when did you manage that?"

"You have to run fast to keep up with me. Nothing romantic, mind you. But she's our only link to this area and its people, and I want her around."

"Besides which, she's a pleasure to look at in those tight slacks," Illya finished for him.

The next morning was sunny and boded stifling heat. Solo and Illya were downstairs waiting when Gloryanna pulled up in front of the hotel. Solo quickly ran out and parked her car, then hurried back to claim her from Illya's interested attention.

As they went into the dining room, she called out to a few people she knew and made a charming unselfconscious display of herself in her bright red slacks and white blouse. Still there was no sign of menace from the men sitting at the other tables. They admired Gloryanna. Nothing more sinister.

With coffee steaming before them, Solo changed the small talk to important talk. Gloryanna was willing to be pumped since she realized it was for a reason. He began bluntly, "Tell us all you know about this Cosmic Theater."

"I don't really know much," she admitted.

"Have you seen their setup?"

"Yes. In the old barn on that estate. It's not much of a barn, really. Unused and falling apart."

"The crop failure started before they arrived," Illya said.

"A few days before. I see what you're driving at, but it couldn't be the Cosmic Theater that caused this."

"Their advance men – their publicity men?" Solo asked.

"Let's see." She wrinkled her unwrinkled forehead, thinking. "They came here about a week before the show. "I put up posters and distributed leaflets and rented the barn. They brought this great big balloon with a basket under it and gave rides. And stardust for the kids."

"Stardust?" Illya glanced up sharply.

"It's just some sort of glittery confetti they handed out to the kids in sacks. Free. It's all gold and pretty, though. The kids had fights with it and threw it all over the place until most people dumped it out because of the mess. It melted away in the rain."

"What else did they do with the stardust?" Solo's interest was caught hard.

"They dropped clouds of it from the balloon when they went up for rides. It was a beautiful sight. Mists of gold glitter." She broke off, blushing. "I went out to the theater once. Sort of exciting, you know? I liked it a lot." She shook her head. "But those things are just foolish dreams, like my Dad says. The dead crops are the real thing."

Solo signaled the waitress for the check, suddenly eager to get out of the Flower Hotel and be underway. Stardust. Spread all about, over the town, over the fields, by children and by balloon. Little pieces of gold glitter that killed – probably with the first rain.

They went out onto the sidewalk. It was getting hotter by the minute. Illya asked, "Where is this balloon, Gloryanna?"

"On the estate. They haven't taken it up since the show people got here."

"By the barn?"

"No. Back farther. Behind the walnut grove."

Illya made a fast decision. "I'll take the balloon, Napoleon. And the car."

"Check. And I'll take the barn in Gloryanna's car."

Gloryanna clasped her hands. "Oh, good. I can go with you."

"Nope," Solo said. "I'll drop you at home."

"Then you can't have the car, Napoleon."

"A lot of good it will do you setting here at the curb. You can't unpark it yourself."

She thrust out a stubborn jaw. "There are lots of men in this town who'll do it for me. That's my deal. Take it or leave it."

Solo uttered a short sigh. "I take it." To Illya's beginning protest, he said, "It should be safe enough. We haven' t had any threats – yet."

Gloryanna was eager. "Let's meet afterward at my house. I'll make lemonade and you can meet my Dad. He'd like to know who I'm coming into town to visit for breakfast. He said so."

"I'll bet he did," Illya grunted, and left without a goodbye.

Chapter 10

"A Plague of Locusts, Maybe"

THE QUICK RIDE into the country only emphasized the heat this day was threatening to produce. Solo loosened his collar to let his skin breathe and listened to Gloryanna's delightful babbling. He was surprised that they would be allowed entrance to the estate and the barn, but she said it was all right as long as they stayed outside. With such loose security about the place, he wondered if he were chasing a dead lead.

They turned off the road between the tall gates of the estate and followed a blacktopped driveway through a great expanse of dead lawn. A red barn grew up before them, ten trailers parked about it in haphazard fashion. The trailers were painted in garish letters advertising THE COSMIC THEATER—AN EVENING'S FUN FOR EVERYONE. There was no movement anywhere.

Far behind the barn stood a thick grove of trees, and from this vantage point Solo guessed it to be the walnut grove where Illya would encounter the balloon. Way beyond that was a green woods, deep, and running for acres. The landscape was surrealistic with its withered brown leading to green trees.

Gloryanna paid no attention to anything except carrying on about her father and how Solo had to meet him. "He isn't awfully strict, remember, but he likes to pretend he is. Don't let him scare you off."

"Do you think he might try?" Solo held up his end of the banter although his senses were now alerted for movement, for action.

Gloryanna faced him squarely, a bold gleam in her eyes. "He might. Just this morning when I was describing you, he told me, 'Gloryanna, never trust a man who has a twinkle in his eye.' I took it all in very seriously, and then I told him I kind of liked the twinkle."

"What did he say to that? Stay in the house?"

"No. He laughed. And made a remark about my red slacks."

"If I were your father, I'd make a remark about those slacks, too. They don't match your personality. They're brazen and you're wholesome."

"Wholesome! What a nasty word."

They came out from among the trailers to the foot of the barn-hill, the rise that slanted up to the double doors that were big enough to pass a hay wagon into the upper reaches of the barn. It was a gigantic structure, three stories high. The hill was matted with dead grass and well trampled, which meant well traveled.

Gloryanna halted at the foot of the hill. "This is going to be the theater. The plays will go on just inside the doors and the audience will sit down here."

"They'll get stiff necks."

"But it's nice, don't you think? Mr. Saturn wanted to use the inside of the barn, but it's such a mess. Dirty and full of old straw and spiders."

"Let's get a closer look."

Gloryanna held him back. "We can't go inside. I told you."

"I can, Gloryanna. You wait for me out here. I've got to have a look around." He headed away but she kept up with him, her red sneakers hitting the ground stubbornly. "Whither I goest," he said to himself.

At the top of the hill, set inside the doors, was an area of big planks laid down to make a raised stage on the hard wood of the barn floor. Solo's heels clicked on the wood and at the sound he eased himself to Gloryanna's right so he would have his hand free for his gun if he needed it.

Deep in the barn – and it was a huge barn – the sun light shafted through dirty windows, producing small spotlights on the floor and lighting rusty farm tools. Straw matted the corners and old bales of hay were littered about. He went deeper, past the stage.

Nestled beside the central upright was a small mimeograph machine with big bottles of ink stacked beside it. The bottles were clean and white, opaque, and labeled Red and Black. What interested him most was the paper ready to be imprinted. It was very thin, tissue-like, and gold. He didn't touch it, but Gloryanna did, holding a piece of it high. He could almost see through it.

"They're going to print their programs on this," she said. "They chop it up to make their Stardust. I watched them once."

"Put it down!" Solo commanded. "Right now." If Illya's hunch was right, that paper could be impregnated with the deadly chemical and she was getting it all over her hands.

She obeyed quickly, uneasy at the edge in his voice.

Solo poked at the paper with a pencil he found by the mimeo machine. Its presence, seemingly innocent, could indicate that the entire Thrush operation was being carried on from this one barn. He picked up the piece Gloryanna had handled and stuffed it in his pocket to send to U.N.C.L.E. in Chicago. If the report came back that it was untreated, then it was sensible to sup pose that Thrush put the chemical on it right here and that could mean the main lab was present here, too.

"Is there an upstairs or a downstairs to a place like this?" Solo asked Gloryanna.

"Yes – this is a very fancy barn. There's an extra hay loft up that wooden ladder, and below us are the stables."

"Hark!" A voice echoed through the empty barn, coming from over their heads. "The sound of intruders touches my ears. Who goes there?"