"I think Mr. Smith was the beggar I followed," Illya said.
"The man with the thin beard has to be Max Steng himself," Solo said.
"Then my captors were the Stengali," Illya said, "and they appeared to be mystified by the events at The Morgan House."
"Which could be a smoke screen," Solo said. "Or Tavvi could have been working on his own. Or Tavvi could have been working with someone else without Max Steng's knowledge."
"Check," Illya said. "But who are your friends? Who is the woman who probably killed Tembo? They dress almost exactly like the Stengali, but they did not seem anxious to meet the Stengali."
"Suppose we find some food and some beds. Tomorrow I see what I can do about that woman," Solo said.
"While I have a session with O'Hara," Illya said. "He may know something about the woman and her companions."
In San Pablo the two agents went straight to the hotel room O'Hara had arranged for them. For once they slept undisturbed.
By nine o'clock the next morning Solo and Illya were in the hidden calm of the miniature U.N.C.L.E. headquarters behind the bookcase in the mansion on the hill that overlooked San Pablo.
O'Hara listened to their reports. The local Section II man agreed that Illya had been captured by the Stengali. He could not guess who the pursuers of Solo were.
"Unless it is some men imported by Zamyatta," O'Hara said, "which is a possibility. There have been reports of bands of unidentified men in the hills. All across the island, in fact. There have been other killings. Mura Khan and the attempt on Premier Roy were only the latest. Premier Roy has made some documents available to the Tribunal that seem to implicate Zamyatta with the Stengali.
"But Chairman Ramirez wants to move carefully. Zamyatta has many followers. We must be sure or the country could explode, and you know what that would mean down here. The Dominican Republic affair is bad enough, but here—"
"What about this woman, Jezzi Mahal?" Solo said. "And what is The Silver Dunes?"
O'Hara frowned. "You're sure of that name?"
"I'm quite sure," Solo said. "Why?"
O'Hara sighed. "Jezzi Mahal is a wealthy and very high and mighty young lady. Jet-set, social, and her father was my father's only rival as the richest businessman in Zambala. She has been seen often with certain important army officers."
"And The Silver Dunes?"
"Her beach cabana. She spends the summer there. She would be there now. It is a few miles out of San Pablo, on the south coast. What we Zambalans call our Riviera."
"Which army officers?" Illya asked.
"Primarily Colonel Julio Brown, who just happens to command the second motorized regiment," O'Hara said. "Our only fully-trained and crack regiment. The first regiment is largely made up of ceremonial units based in San Pablo. The third, fourth, and fifth are all garrisoned at various parts of the island, and are rarely in full training. The second motorized regiment is stationed ten miles from San Pablo, is always in full training."
There was a silence in the sound-proof, hidden room in the heart of O'Hara's mansion. Illya broke the silence.
"In short, if anyone wanted to take over Zambala, it would be good to have Colonel Julio Brown on his side," Illya said.
"I'm afraid that is it," O'Hara said.
Solo nodded thoughtfully. "Well then, I think I had better have a talk with Miss Jezzi Mahal."
"And I will do a little reading on the background of Colonel Julio Brown, Max Steng and Jemi Zamyatta," Illya said.
"Have fun," Solo said.
The handsome, boyish agent raised an eyebrow and walked from the room. In the corridor, he took time to look into the other rooms in search of the fine female voice he had talked to over his radio. He found her at her communications desk.
Her stare was withering as he smiled at her.
Solo departed.
The Silver Dunes was a cabana in name only. A vast, low, ranch house on a small cliff at the edge of the dazzlingly blue sea, it spread far and wide and must have contained at least twenty rooms. There was movement in the two rooms that faced the wide open terrace and the sea.
On the beach below the small cliff people lay on the sand in the afternoon sun, and swam in bursts of white in the blue sea.
Solo parked his car on the edge of the highway above the house and out of sight from the house. There was a wide gravel drive down and around from the coast highway to the house below on its low cliff. Solo decided on the short route down the sandy hills. He slid and skidded swiftly but silently down, and approached the house itself from a deep gully in the sandy earth.
At the corner of the house Solo paused. His keen eyes were puzzled. There was no sound from inside the house. He could see directly into one of the two rooms that faced the terrace. The room was empty. Solo moved closer. But again, he paused before he reached the house.
Something else was odd, wrong.
Then he knew what it was. There was no sound at all.
There were no voices from the beach below. This close he should have heard something down there, where the people plunged in the surf. He turned quickly and walked to the edge of the cliff in front of the house.
The beach below was empty.
Solo turned and looked back at the silent house. There had been someone in the house when he looked down from the road. He had watched the house the whole way down and no one had left. But there was no movement in the house now and no one on the beach. Had he been seen?
It looked very much that way, but the U.N.C.L.E. agent had to investigate more closely. He recrossed the terrace to the house itself. Using a small picklock, he unlocked the French doors and went in. He stood for a time in the large living room and listened. Then he moved on into the house and came to a small study. A picture of a man in a colonel's uniform stood on the desk.
Solo began to search the room. In a bottom drawer of the desk he found a secret compartment. In the compartment there was an envelope. In the envelope there was a series of dates and the signature: Z. Napoleon Solo stared at the list and the scrawled Z. One of the dates was the day the Security Chief Mura Khan had been killed, and the premier had shot the Stengali!
The light step came from the living room.
Solo quickly replaced the list in the compartment and closed the drawer. He glided into the corner of the room behind the door. The woman stepped into the study.
She was a beautiful woman, dark and exotic. She wore a deep red dress that left none of her curves hidden. Her hair was long and she wore earrings to her shoulders. But she could have been the masked woman in black who had killed Tembo.
She turned and stared straight at Solo. The agent grinned.
"Miss Mahal, I presume?" Solo said.
The woman showed no expression. "Who are you? What do you want here?"
"Who I am isn't important," Solo said. "What I want here is to return your matches."
He held out the matchbook. The beautiful woman looked at the matchbook. She stepped to Solo, took the matchbook, and dropped it onto the desk. Her green eyes stared at Solo.
"I don't recall giving you any matches."
"No," Solo said. "You forgot them. I hate to see a lady without her matches."
"Forgot them?"
"When you called on Inspector Tembo."