Outside the little general store the yellow sand glowed hot on the desert noon, but inside the heavy windowless walls it was dark and reasonably comfortable. The three sat at a short rude counter with glasses of delicious Australian beer before them, talking casually with the manager, the owner, and the bartender.
Illya handed the opal back to him respectfully. "In the city, that would have to be kept under lock and key."
"Right. Then I wouldn't be able to look at it when I wanted to, and I'd 'ave to watch everybody else instead. One of the reasons I like it better out 'ere. Not many opals left now—they got pretty much mined out fifteen, twenty years ago. We find 'em lyin' about once in a while, though, and they still bring a good price in the Smoke."
"You get many tourists out here trying their luck?"
The Digger laughed. "Not likely. The last few days there 'ave been as many through as in the last six months. Countin' you, there must've been a couple dozen people. Some of 'em are 'ere still."
"Where?"
He pointed vaguely over his shoulder, indicating some place beyond the rough wood wall. "Roughing it. Two or three stayed when the rest left; they're camped down near the stream bed."
"Did one man come alone recently?" Illya asked. "A day or two ago?"
The Aussie looked at him thoughtfully. "Funny thing—t'other blokes asked that too."
"What did you tell them?"
"Not a thing, mate. In a town this size, people come and go and get lost in the crowds. We don't 'ave a registration center."
"Oh, stop it!" said Suzie, pulling out a photograph of Schneider. "We're looking for this man, and it's a matter of life and death that we find him before these other people do. They'll kill him!"
"Well, it might 'appen 'e'd know about it, wouldn't 'e? And likely would 'ave a few trustworthy people coverin' 'is trail for 'im. There's an awful lot of Outback for a man to get lost in—and stay lost if 'e don't want to be found."
"But we think he does," said Napoleon. "He left clues that would direct us here—left clues with his friends. It sounds as if these others are on his trail too, but they don't know where he is. We do. He came to Lightning Ridge yesterday or the day before. Whoever these others are—and we have a pretty good idea—they're obviously casting about all over the area looking for him."
"Well, Cobber...you might be too, y'know."
"But we aren't," said Suzie impatiently.
"Forget it," said Illya suddenly. "We're getting nowhere." Napoleon and Suzie looked at him as he said, "Diggers are stubborn—if they don't want to tell you something, you might as well talk to Ayres Rock." He finished his beer at a swallow, and started to the door. They followed him.
Once outside, he kept going. Napoleon caught up with him.
"You look as if you know what you're doing. Do you?"
"I think so. Kurt's friend in there mentioned some others who were here on the same mission—I thought we could get together with them and compare notes."
"You're kidding," said Suzie.
"I don't think he is," said Napoleon.
There were a few trees down along the dry water-course a quarter of a mile or so west of town, and the three wandered along in their shade until a couple of olive-drab tents appeared before them.
"Not much of a field headquarters," said Napoleon.
"Convenient and practical," said Illya. "No rain this time of year, no large dangerous animals, not many bugs. Not Thrush, this time—they would not stoop to roughing it in this style."
"Now what do we do?" asked Suzie. "Walk up and knock on the tent flap?"
"Ordinarily, we should wait until night and drop in unexpectedly. But if they don't already know of our presence, they soon will and I'd just as soon get to them before they can radio for help. They're pretty serious about this search for Schneider, and there is probably a respectable force scattered over the surrounding hundred thousand square miles."
"My thought exactly," said Illya. "I don't think we should even bother to knock."
Traditional methods are usually the most effective. With guns drawn, the two U.N.C.L.E. agents stepped past the flap of the larger tent and addressed the backs of two men who crouched over a radio set in the corner. Both were dressed in khaki bush jackets and trousers, with high boots. Both were deeply engrossed in the operation of the bulky transmitter, and both turned suddenly at the voices behind them.
"Stand away from there," said Illya coldly. A glance at the meters on the case told him it was not yet in operation. "Keep your hands in sight."
With some hesitation they did as directed. "What is this?" said one of them truculently. "We have no money—no valuables for you to rob."
"Who were you calling?"
"We were not calling—we were listening for the weather report."
"On the 40-meter band? There are no official weather reports broadcast on that frequency—it's a moderate-range amateur band."
The face of the spokesman betrayed ingenuous surprise. "I must have had the adjustment wrong. No wonder we could not receive the storm warnings."
"You're not Australian," said Napoleon. "Who are you?"
"We are honest tourists from Egypt," said the spokesman. "His name is Abdul. My name is Rameses. He does not speak much English."
"Okay. Let us tell you a few things. You're here looking for a German sailor named Kurt Schneider. You're probably one part of a search covering a very wide area. You were just about to call someone on that radio. The only question I want an answer to is whether you were calling with a regular check-in, or to report your finding of the gentleman in question."
Rameses was well enough trained not to register surprise. Neither did he answer.
"Perhaps I can help, Napoleon," said Illya, glancing at his watch. "The time is exactly 1:36 P.M.—not a likely time for a regularly scheduled contact. Suzie —"
"Yes?"
"While Napoleon keeps these two company, you and I will check the other tent. I think you may find an old friend there."
Napoleon shifted his gun to cover both the Egyptians as his partner and the girl ducked out behind him. Their footsteps crunched softly away across the sun-baked dirt.
Rameses made another attempt. "Believe me, sir, we are only harmless tourists," he said, stepping slightly forward.
"That's fine," said Solo. "As long as you're harmless, so am I."
The one called Abdul also took a half step forward, at a divergent angle from his compatriot. Napoleon took a step back and felt the tent flap. "That's enough," he said sharply. "Sit down." This was the difficult point. He should probably have shot one in the leg—but they still just might be innocent tourists....
The two Egyptians exchanged a glance, and Rameses made a sudden feinting move. Napoleon's gun hand swung automatically in his direction, and at that instant Abdul charged.
Solo sidestepped quickly, but a flailing arm caught him in the stomach and he doubled over. Rameses was on top of him at once, fumbling for his throat. He kept his chin tucked to his chest, and dropped to his knees, pulling the attacker over his head. Abdul had recovered from his bull-like charge and now leaped, just as Napoleon brought his U.N.C.L.E. Special up level and fired three times into the man's midsection. He made a few noises after he hit the ground, but kicked and then lay still after a few seconds. Rameses lay on his back where he had been thrown, and did not attempt to rise.