Green, his complexion fading by the second, stammered that he understood.
"Very well. Now then, we've had a long night. Andy, this time you lock up the prisoner' then you and Green go back to your room. Hunter, perhaps you had better go with them and make sure they stay alert. McNulty and I will sleep here."
As they were being shepherded back to their room, Kerry reflected that the pretense that they were guests had been swiftly abandoned. Forbes evidently hadn't been fooled by her uncle's cooperative pose. However, she thought gleefully, now she had some real information for Illya and Napoleon!
Chapter 6
"What Are You Nuts Doing to My Clean Floor?"
It was a lovely morning in Cudahy. The warm stickiness of the previous day had disappeared sometime during the pre-dawn hours, and the sun had come up into a crisp and cloudless day. Looking a bit less than crisp after their all-night vigil, Illya, Napoleon and Brattner sat in the car a half block from the apartment house containing Kerry and presumably Dr. Morthley and an unknown number of Thrush agents. The remaining members of Milwaukee's U.N.C.L.E. branch were stations on streets surrounding the building.
"Apparently Thrush hasn't taken over the entire building," Napoleon was saying. "That's the tenth man we've seen leaving with a lunch bucket of briefcase."
Illya nodded. "There seemed to be a remarkable number of children leaving for school, also. Thrush has never been noted for encouraging a happy family life."
"It's not so bad, then," said Brattner. "I was a little worried about going up against a whole building full of Thrushes. This way we may stand a chance."
Napoleon declined to comment on such restrained optimism. "First we have to locate the apartment where they're being held. The detector seems to indicate the ground floor, which is logical; easier to get in and out. But someone will have to get inside the building and get readings from several locations in order to pinpoint the apartment. Anyone care to be a door-to-door salesman?"
Brattner shook his head. "We'd have to go back to headquarters and get some sample cases. Here"—he reached into the glove compartment of his car and pulled out a small notebook—"we can take a survey."
"A survey of what?"
"How about the Wisconsin margarine situation" suggested Illya. "It came in handy last night, but it leaves me a bit baffled. I'd be happy to learn more about it."
"Learn while you earn," said Napoleon. "I take it you're volunteering for the mission?"
Illya hesitated, glancing at Brattner. The latter shook his head. "The Thrushes know my men too well. Of course, we know them, too, but there's too big a chance of tipping them off if they see us first. Only two of them have seen you."
"Oh, all right," Illya said. HE rummaged in his briefcase and came out with a comb, which he dipped in a bottle of dye and ran through his hair. "At least this stuff washes out easily; as long as no irate apartment dweller throws a bucket of water on me I'll be all right. Does anyone have a hat I can wear" All reporters wear hats."
"I didn't know that," said Napoleon.
"Actually they don't," Illya replied, "but they do in movies, which is where your average citizen gets his impression of reporters."
A brief conference on the communicators elicited the fact that none of Brattner's men wore the same size hat as Illya.
"I'll get along without one," he decided. He pulled a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles from the briefcase.
* * *
Illya pushed open the door of the apartment building and entered a hallway running the full length of the building. At the opposite end of the hall were stairs leading to the second floor and a door facing the alley. Two doors opened off each side of the hall. He quickly walked the length of the hall and climbed the stairs. The second floor was said out identically to the first. Shrugging, Illya walked to the nearest door and knocked. As
he waited, the needle on his wrist detector moved, and he checked it. I pointed down, indicating a source on the first floor or in the basement. Now to get a horizontal reading to spot the exact apartment.
The door opened and a somewhat harassed-looking young woman stood facing him, holding a small boy by the hand. "Yes?" she asked in a challenging tone.
"Good morning," Illya replied as cheerily as he could. "Our local paper is taking a survey and I wonder if I might have a few minutes of your time?"
"What kind of survey?"
"We're planning a series on Wisconsin's margarine laws, and we'd like the opinions of some of the local people. So you approve, or..."
"No, I do not approve," she snapped. "Any other questions?"
Illya tried to smile disarmingly. "As I said, we're planning a series on the subject and we'd like as many viewpoints as possible. It would be very helpful if you could take the time to give me your reasons."
The boy spoke suddenly and loudly. "If you're a reporter, where's your hat?"
"I'm not a reporter; I'm a surveyor."
"Then where's your transit?"
"Hush, Johnny," the woman said. Her belligerent attitude seemed to have faded a trifle. "I suppose I can spare a few minutes, if it will help get those idiots on the ball." She made no move to invite Illya inside the apartment, and he decided not to press his luck. Keeping a surreptitious eye on the detector, he pulled out his notebook and a pencil.
"Now then," he said, "if I could have your name for the record, we can get started."
"Mrs. Denver Clark," she said and spelled it out for him. She had a variety of reasons for not liking the margarine laws. Illya dutifully scribbled note, filling several pages before she paused.
"Very interesting," he said. Suddenly the detector sprang to life. Illya deliberately dropped his pencil, and got a good look at the detector needle while retrieving it. Directly across the hall. So far so good. He straightened up. "Incidentally, I've been considering moving to Cudahy for some time. You don't happen to know if any of the apartments here are empty, do you?"
"They're all occupied right now," she answered. "There's a new building a couple of blocks south that's quite nice, I've been told."
"Someone told me one of the ground floor apartments here was vacant," Illya persisted.
"No." The woman laughed suddenly. "They probably got mixed up because that nice M. Forbes took two apartments. Said he did a lot of work at home and needed the space. Such a distinguished looking man! He seems to do a lot of entertaining, but it's all very quiet and respectable. He's a widower, I understand."
The boy had been staring at Illya wrist detector. "What's that?" he demanded loudly, pointing at it.
"Why, er...it's a wristwatch," Illya replied.
"It ain't got no numbers on it!" the boy said accusingly.
"No, it's a very modern..."
"How can you tell time if it ain't got no numbers on it?" the boy demanded.
"Hush, Johnny," the woman said. "It isn't nice to ask questions of strangers."
"He was asking you questions," the boy asserted. "I wanna know how he tells time if it ain't got no numbers!"
"Thank you, madam. You've been a great help to us. Look for our series in the paper." Illya clutched his notebook and escaped down the stairway. At the bottom he pulled out his communicator and reported his findings to Napoleon. "I'm going to try to find the exact room," he concluded. "Kuryakin out."