Napoleon looked up from the desk as the office door opened and Sascha Curtis staggered in with a huge cardboard box in his arms. He put the box down and dropped onto a convenient couch.
"Some of your samples," he explained. "There are ten more like it in my classroom; they're beginning to get in the way when I conduct classes."
Napoleon frowned. "You're sure you have the correct definition of sample? We aren't stocking up against atomic attack, you know."
Curtis reached into the box and pulled out a jar of strawberry preserves. "We could hardly ask the proprietor to spread some on a cracker for us. Do you have any idea of the variety of goods stocked by the average grocery store? We haven't even started on the restaurants."
"Mr. Waverly isn't going to be at all happy with the cost of flying this stuff to New York. Couldn't you extract a small sample from each can or jar and put it in a collecting bottle or test tube or something?"
"We need all those for our samples from the restaurants, vending machines, water supply, and so on. Even if we could get more test tubes and collecting bottles, they aren't the cheapest products in the world. Incidentally, I assume I'll be reimbursed for the cost of all this stuff?"
Napoleon winced. "Yes, we'll pay you for them, if the cost comes out of my salary - and it might. Could I further impose on you to the extent of borrowing a car to get all this stuff to the airport when it's packed?"
Before Curtis could answer, Napoleon's communicator warbled from his coat pocket. "Solo here," he said.
"Ah, Mr. Solo," said Waverly. "Mr. Kuryakin will be back with you shortly. He seems fully recovered from the drug. We've arranged for him to arrive in Fort Wayne on the 9 flight this evening. Dr. Armden has been a little slower to recover, but he's improving. He and his wife are being suitably guarded, of course."
"Could you also make arrangements to have ten…" Napoleon paused as Curtis shook his head violently and held up three fingers. "Thirteen?" Curtis nodded. "Thirteen cases of food and drink samples flown to New York?"
"Thirteen eases, Mr. Solo? You said you were obtaining samples, not..."
"Not storing up against atomic attack," Napoleon finished for him. "I know, sir, but do you realize the variety of goods stocked by the average grocery store? We had to be thorough."
"Of course, Mr. Solo, but thirteen cases!"
"Also," Napoleon added, "there is the matter of reimbursing Professor Curtis for his purchase of the sample and the various test tubes and collecting bottles used to transport some of them."
Mr. Waverly sighed. "I suppose it can't be helped. The battle against the forces of evil must never flag lack of finances. Heaven knows I've had sufficient practice in justifying your expenditures before the Board Directors; I should be able to explain this one, too." He sounded somewhat doubtful.
"Thank you, sir. We should have the samples packed in time to take them to the airport when we meet Illya."
"Very well, Mr. Solo. I'll make the proper arrangements here." The communicator went dead.
Illya stared at the car, which towered above the others in the airport parking lot, giving him the impression that he could have driven the U.N.C.L.E. car underneath it without touching anything.
"It's a Checker," Rita explained. She climbed into the driver's seat with Napoleon on her right. Illya got into the back and wandered about for a short time before sitting down.
"Where's the meter?" he inquired.
"You're too late," Napoleon told him. "I said the same thing the first time I rode in it."
"I know agents start to think alike when they've been together long enough," Illya complained. "But I had hoped for a better fate. Do we have time to stop at a restaurant? I didn't eat at all while I was drugged and I have some catching up to do. The meal on the plane was just an appetizer."
"If you'll wait until we get back to Midford," Napoleon said encouragingly, "Professor Curtis has prepared a delicious watercress salad."
Rita laughed as she swung the car onto the highway. "I know a good place here; I guess I can ignore my diet for once."
A few minutes later, the three were seated at a well-lit table and Napoleon was filling Illya in on his recent activity.
"I want to talk to Whateley," he concluded. "Logically, there's no connection between the Whateley family and U.N.C.L.E. But sometimes logical explanations fail to satisfy me."
Rita had listened with interest; now she spoke. "I can take you to see Jabez; didn't know you were interested. He's an odd sort, but his daughter Flavia will be delighted. I've been telling her about you. I did tell you that she's a friend?"
Napoleon nodded.
"I'd planned to go out there tomorrow anyway," Rita continued. "There's a Halloween festival coming up that we're both working on; you two can come along and quiz Jabez." She laughed. "I'll be interested to know what sort of answers you get."
Illya had been quietly thoughtful since Napoleon had mentioned the Whateley television station. Now he spoke slowly. "I had time to think while I was recovering. Once the drug began to wear off my mind was clear, but I just didn't have any urge to communicate. Then before I left New York I talked with some of the communications experts in Section Four. Napoleon, what do you think of subliminal suggestions to explain all this? I couldn't think how they would be delivered, but with only one TV station in the area, it wouldn't be too hard to arrange. I'd been thinking of movies, but I don't know what percentage of the populace attends movies regularly. TV simplifies matters."
Napoleon frowned. "I thought they had proved that subliminal advertising wasn't particularly effective."
"By itself, no; but don't forget the effects of the drug. A combination of the two could explain things pretty well."
Napoleon was studying the idea when Rita reached over and tapped his arm. "If you want to meet Jabez Whateley," she informed him, "he just walked in the door." Without waiting for an answer, she began waving frantically at an erect, white-haired man wearing a black suit and an opera cape. He spotted Rita and his cadaverous features readjusted themselves into a wintry smile as he approached their table.
"Miss Berman," he said, bowing slightly. "How pleasant to see you." The voice was deep, with careful enunciation and a tone that bad a sepulchral quality. It was, Napoleon decided, an ominous voice; one which did not match the innocuous topics of conversation. Whateley answered questions about his daughter and mentioned that parts of the forthcoming Halloween pageant would be shown on his television station.
"What better way to enhance the Whateley reputation?" he said with a sinister chuckle.
Rita almost forgot to introduce the two agents. Whateley bowed formally to the men.
"I've heard of your organization," he said quietly. "A veritable bulwark against the forces of evil." The sinister chuckle came again. "Or at least, against the forces of earthly evil."
Napoleon glanced at Rita, who was busily suppressing a giggle. "I'm afraid earthly evil keeps us busy enough at present," he replied. "One thing at a time, and all that."
"I doubt that Mr. Waverly would approve any budgetary items for the suppression of supernatural evil," Illya commented. "Though considering his penchant for insisting that all flights be made by coach, I suppose he might be willing to look into the matter of broomsticks."