April had long since given up trying to analyze hunches which, in the past, had saved her life or that of a companion. She was aware that it was illogical and against the concepts of her training, but when these hunches were linked to fact they had previously been proved valid. It was too early for full understanding of the forces at work, and why, but with out doubt there was a tie-up between Carnaby Street, Karadin and incidents in America and Paris.
She had another hunch that Mark Slate would be discovering other links through the over-obvious attachment of Suzanne. April had knowledge that the vast network of U.N.C.L.E. was now following up her early reports, so that from a purely personal endeavor she now was on an assignment. She stepped from the helicopter, calmly dignified, having shed her Miss Babbling Tourist character and freed herself of the uncomfortable sticking plaster.
"I'm so glad I got to you." She smiled sweetly at Karadin. "Up to the moment when you pulled a gun on me and struck me with it, you were, as far as I'm concerned, completely within the law. Now you're guilty of assault with a deadly weapon, assault upon the person and detention by force. You're really not very bright are you?"
"Your trick was more clever than you think." He guided her towards the car. "My wife was a virago, a screaming shrew who babbled and screeched until she wore me out. So I am particularly vulnerable on that score. But I do not believe any great harm has been done. Once inside Moorfell you would have discovered you were a prisoner. Your torment of me merely caused that knowledge to be advanced."
They entered a closed car. The two attendants squeezed on to small occasional seats facing them. They were swarthy, impassive men.
"Manou and Greco," said Karadin. "Nice fellows, unless you upset them. They look like brothers but are not."
"You have some funny types working for you," said April. "Almost as if you expected prisoners."
"All secret projects must have a security force. I have overriding authority, but it is not strictly my affair. Once I hand you over to Sirdar's department, I am free of you."
"Sirdar the Turk?" said April. "I thought these two play mates looked familiar. Although you see their breed in every country. They all look as if they had the same mother—or perhaps I mean father?"
"Ah yes, of course—you would know of Sirdar the Turk in your business. It shows what an innocent I am in these international affairs. I had never heard of him. Have you ever met him?"
"Once," said April. "I broke both his arms."
"Oh dear!" said Karadin. "Then he will not like you very much, will he? But not to worry. He is not in England right now."
"He's prospered during these last few years. There seems to be limitless money to hire bodyguards, security guards and other thick-necked scum of our modern society. Oh, by the way, Doctor, I forgot to tell you..."
The car had entered a curving driveway. Karadin was moving in his seat, hand on door. He paused and looked back at her. "Yes?"
"Oh, nothing!" She smiled brightly. "It'll keep." The house was squat, dark-stoned under the dripping canopy of the trees surrounding it. Once a small moorland house, it obviously had been enlarged by wings at each side and a glass-enclosed verandah stretching from end to end, so that the original upper floor and roof appeared to have been stuck on as a builder's afterthought.
The hail was bright with fluorescent lighting, reflecting from white paint on walls and a number of smooth-paneled doors. A stone-flagged floor with a large refectory table dead center gave the place the air of a morgue. In an alcove beside the front door, an elderly man sat at a console of switches and dials. April noticed also a short-wave sender/ receiver radio.
Karadin said: "Your purse, Miss Dancer." He held out his hand.
"Oh, please!" she protested. "There's only a lady's doodads in it. Let me keep my self-respect!"
As she already had transferred certain vital U.N.C.L.E. devices to special pockets in her attractively fitting costume, she didn't really care whether or not they took it. She was not surprised when Greco snatched it from her.
Karadin searched it, tipping out the contents on to the table. The safety-catch was on the compact, so that when he flipped it open it appeared to be a harmless toiletry, as did the stiletto comb and the lipstick. April had had to take a chance on these remaining if she were made prisoner. No modern miss would be without such items in her purse. She left one red-herring—an obsolete U.N.C.L.E. communicator.
"Ah!" said Karadin, seizing it. "This is one lady's doodad you will not need!" He shrugged. "Otherwise—who wants such clutter?" He prodded the lining, then threw the purse across the table.
As her real communicator was tucked safely on her person she made a show of protest by swearing softly in French, a fact which seemed to please Karadin. He patted her hand.
"You must believe me—I am so sorry you forced me to take this action. I am not a fanatic, though many have called me one. I am sorry too that with your beauty and talents you should have chosen such a hazardous and unrewarding career." He gave a despairing gesture with his hands. "Oh, I do not mean money—no doubt you are highly paid—but you could have been a physicist, a doctor, a great sociologist—the world was yours to choose. I was one teacher who gave you the foundation on which to build. You took my teaching but laughed at my ideals and my ideas. Now, you are still the pupil and I am still the master, but this time your lesson is going to be painful—and possibly final."
"Yet you would send me to it?" she enquired.
Again he spread his hands. "As I would send a child for correction. If you will not learn, then you must suffer. If you seek only to destroy all that you do not understand or agree with, then it may be necessary that you be destroyed."
She stared at him with level, unblinking gaze.
"I believe you are planning to create a currency chaos. If you do so, then you and your associates may become the rulers of the world. Would you expect us to stand by and applaud your efforts to achieve a near-world domination?"
His eyes glittered. "Oh yes, indeed you are dangerous, my dear Miss Dancer. And I am an emotional old fool to even try respecting your womanhood. Your brain is fast and deep, and I think you too have your dreams of power, yet you deny them to others." He snapped his fingers at Manou and Greco. "Take her—you know where."
She let them—in fact, made them—carry her up the stairs. They dumped her on a divan bed in a small, sparsely furnished room overlooking the rear of the house. The window was barred, but close inspection showed these were old fittings from the days when the room might have been a nursery.
"Well, sweetie," she said to herself, "you've got yourself just where you wanted to be—nicely helped along by K, the nutcase. We will now get organized." She began testing various items of equipment, and rearranging the U.N.C.L.E. devices about her person.