Passing eventually the blackish-grey Powder Tower with its square green copper roofing, and crossing into Poric Street, he found himself in twentieth-century Prague, with its noisy trams rattling along the rails in the middle of the road and cars and lorries rushing along, hooting frequently, the drivers swearing at each other now and again as drivers do the world over. He was struck by the contrast between the old and the new, but thought there was plenty of room for improvement in the Czech capital—by doing away with the outdated tramcars and by improving the traffic problem.
He reached the Axa Hotel without incident and was allocated the room that had been reserved for him. The bellboy led him to the elevator and took him to his room on the second floor at the end of the corridor.
"Is there anything else you'd like me to do, sir?" the bellboy said, clearly waiting to be tipped.
"Can I get a meal here?" Napoleon enquired.
"Certainly, sir. The restaurant is downstairs. Would you like me to reserve a table for you with a view of the swimming pool?"
"You have a swimming pool?"
"Oh yes, sir, it's very popular."
Napoleon pressed a generous tip into the bellboy's willing hand and said: "Reserve a table for me near the pool. I'll be down soon."
He turned the key in the lock after he'd closed the door behind the boy and studied the room. It was the usual modern hotel job, clean, square, with the customary furniture. The two windows looked out on Poric Street, with its dense stream of pedestrians and traffic, and the frosted glass window in the adjoining bathroom overlooked a small yard. His eyes searched everywhere for concealed bugging devices, until he discovered one behind the bathroom mirror, one at the back of the bed headboard, and another inside the telephone on the bedside table. He identified them as highly sensitive electronic microphones which could transmit every sound from inside the room to a receiver some distance away. But he knew how to render them useless when he did not want to be overheard.
As he left the room and locked the door from the outside, a missile whistled past his head, almost touching his hair. He had not heard the report of a shot but realized that someone had fired at him. Although he saw no one, he ran towards the other end of the deserted corridor, for this was where the missile must have been fired. His gun was ready for action. Before he reached the part where the elevator was set back into the wall of the passage, he heard the sliding metal doors bang shut and the elevator descending. He looked for a staircase to run down and catch his attacker, but being unfamiliar with the hotel layout, by the time he found the stairs pursuit was useless.
For some inexplicable reason, he connected the attack with the man he had seen on his arrival at the airport reception area; he was certain it was THRUSH, out to silence him.
He returned to the elevator and descended to the restaurant for his meal. He strolled slowly across the hotel lounge, watching for anyone who might be a fresh danger to him, but the few people around him seemed to be ordinary men and women.
"Mr. Solo?" the headwaiter asked as Napoleon entered the restaurant. "Your table is ready." He called out "Piccolo!" and when a boy waiter hastened along, he told him: "Take Mr. Solo to table fourteen."
The restaurant was full and Napoleon did not bother to try and pick out any other possible suspects, knowing this was a near impossible task. He followed the boy waiter to the table reserved for him near the swimming pool below and was pleased that he could watch the swimmers—particularly the female ones—while eating his food. It gave him such an appetite.
The headwaiter brought the menu and said:
"The Chateau Briand is exceptionally good today, and I can also highly recommend the Mixed Grill which is primaprimissimo. But perhaps you'd prefer a typical Czech dish? I can recommend our roast pork with dumplings and Sauerkraut—sweet and sour cabbage. It's delicious. We are famous for it."
"I think I'll have the Chateau Briand."
"Would you like it well done?"
"No, medium."
"May I recommend potato croquettes, French peas, mushrooms and onions perhaps?" The head waiter busied himself in the typical Central European manner. "I can assure you, it's superbly prepared."
"O.K.," Napoleon said, watching a slim blonde who was sitting on the edge of the swimming pool and putting a gay rubber cap on her head.
"May I suggest smoked trout for hors-d'oeuvre?" the headwaiter continued.
"Yes, that sounds fine," Napoleon said absently, watching the blonde stand up and dive into the water.
"We'll leave the question of the dessert till later, shall we, Mr. Solo?" the headwaiter suggested, and, without waiting for a reply, went on: "I'll send the wine waiter along."
Napoleon was fully occupied watching the blonde swimming gracefully and thinking that he wouldn't mind swimming along with her, when the headwaiter returned and interrupted his thoughts. "What is it now?" he demanded, a little annoyed.
"I'm sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Solo, but a sort of crisis has occurred…"
"If the Chateau Briand is off, make it the Mixed Grill," Napoleon said, and turned back towards the swimming pool.
"It's not that, Mr. Solo. The Chateau Briand is being cooked for you and the smoked trout will be served presently. It's... well... we have no table available and a young lady would like to have dinner at our restaurant. I came to ask you if you would agree to share your table with her." And, in an attempt to prevent Napoleon refusing his request, he added:
"She is piquant, Mr. Solo, a picture of a woman. I am sure you would enjoy her company."
"I shall be delighted to help you," Napoleon said, and smiled.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Solo. I am sure you won't regret it."
A few moments later Napoleon saw a waiter lead a young woman towards his table. She was tall, with a shapely figure, her elegant fawn dress making a startling contrast to her dark-brown hair and her pale face with its striking, almost beautiful, features. Napoleon stood up and bowed as his table companion sat down on the chair opposite him. He wanted to say something but decided it was too early to do so.
"It was very kind of you to agree sharing your table with me," the woman said, smiling her acknowledgment.
"It's a great pleasure, Madam," he smiled back.
"You are American?" Her intonation sounded as though she was surprised.
"I am," he said. "I hope my nationality doesn't turn me into a monster."
"I like Americans," she smiled, and looked into his eyes. "I think you are wonderful people."
The headwaiter's unwelcome appearance prevented Napoleon from paying a return compliment, and he had no choice other than to let the long-winded man, who turned the choice of food into an elaborate affair, go on with his business.
While his table companion talked with the head waiter and expertly selected her meal, Napoleon watched the vivid expressions as they played on her face. He admitted that he had rarely come across a female with such exquisite charm and was happy at the chance that had brought them together.
The evening was a success. They talked, drank and danced.