"It's getting late," she said, as they finished the last dance and the musicians started to pack away their instruments.
"The night is young," Napoleon insisted.
"But we haven't any nightclubs in Prague such as you have in the States," she said. "Everything is closing now."
"We could round off the evening with a drink or two in my room," he suggested.
"Let's go," she said softly; "even without drinks. I think you're intoxicating enough without alcoholic stimulants."
Napoleon settled the bill and tipped the headwaiter handsomely.
As they walked through the hotel lounge towards the elevator, Napoleon sensed that someone was watching them, but even though he turned round sharply, he saw no suspect. "Must be imagining things," he thought, and walked on.
When they entered his room and he had shut the door, she put her arms around his neck impulsively and kissed him.
"Now that's what I call a really friendly gesture," he said, "and one good turn deserves another." So he kissed her back.
As they embraced she felt the gun secured in the holster fastened under his left arm. "You carry a gun?" she exclaimed.
"It's an old American custom," he explained casually.
She held him tight with her left arm around his neck. Then, deftly and gently, she slid the automatic from the holster and hit him on the head with the butt of the gun. "I'm sorry I had to do this," she said as she landed him another blow to make certain he was out.
She patted her ruffled hair, removed the compact from her handbag, opened it and said softly:
"Assignment completed. He's in his room ready for collection."
She looked at the unconscious Napoleon, his gun now beside his head on the pillow, and said: "I bet you didn't guess that my compact conceals an ultra-shortwave radio transmitter, my U.N.C.L.E. lover. It was nice knowing you."
She turned the key in the lock from the outside as she left the room and placed it on top of the door frame. She then left the hotel.
Her message was received by the Monitoring Officer at THRUSH European Center E, and was immediately passed to the Chief of the Special Tasks Department.
"I want you to collect Solo from his room and bring him here in one piece," he instructed two of his senior officers. "I repeat, no other action under any circumstances—he is to be made use of. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," the two men acknowledged.
"To avoid creating any attention I suggest you lower him down into the yard from the bathroom window. That's safe and easy."
"Yes, sir."
As Napoleon Solo slowly recovered, he felt a sharp pain at the back of his head and he automatically raised his hand to touch the sore spot.
He lay on the bed trying to figure out what had happened. The fragrant scent of the girl's perfume tickled his nostrils. Suddenly memories flowed back and he sat up abruptly, searching the room to discover whether his beautiful companion had also been coshed. When he found he was alone, the penny dropped and he murmured angrily: "Cunning slut! I should have known better!" Her "accidental" appearance in the restaurant had been a plant. Napoleon was furious with himself for falling for the trick.
He stood up and stretched his arms and found he had not suffered any damage other than the bump at the back of his head.
As he went to the bathroom to pour cold water over his aching head, he figured out that the treacherous female could only be the prelude to something else. And, on discovering that the key of the door to his room had gone and that he was locked in, he was certain he was right.
He re-fixed the gun under his arm and slipped on his jacket, prepared for action as and when it arose. He sat on the bed, wondering whether he should notify Major Klima at Czech State Security Headquarters about his predicament and enlist his help, but dismissed this thought.
"If knocking me unconscious was only a beginning," he thought "some thugs will come soon to drag me to THRUSH Headquarters. When they do, they're bound to rush to the bed, because they must have been told where to find me and they'll expect me to be still flat on my back, not reckoning on my thick head helping me recover so quickly."
Hurriedly he took some cushions from the armchairs and pushed them under the bedspread to form the outline of a body. Then he shaped a towel to resemble a head. Under the bedspread his creation looked as if someone was lying there covered up. When he switched off the bedside lamp and studied the bed again, he was pleased with his efforts. The street lamp below only let a tiny speck of light into the room and anyone entering it and rushing to the bed was certain to be deceived.
As he stood there like a Frankenstein admiring his monster, his sharp ears heard a key being quietly inserted into the door lock. He stepped behind the door to be concealed when it was opened.
Two sturdy thugs entered the room and crossed to the bed. When Napoleon was certain no others were with them, he leaped forward like a wildcat and slugged one of the intruders with a short sharp blow on the neck. He then dealt with his surprised companion almost as swiftly. They had not even had the chance to discover they had been about to snatch a dummy under the bedspread.
He locked the room from the inside to safeguard himself against other possible intruders, tied his prisoners by their hands and feet, then lifted the telephone receiver and connected with Major Klima.
"Expect me within ten minutes," the Major said when Napoleon reported the intruders.
Major Klima and several uniformed State Security officers arrived before the thugs regained consciousness. Solo had hit them good and hard because they did not recover even when cold water was poured over their heads, and eventually had to be carried away like a couple of sacks of potatoes.
"Where is the woman who was with you?" Major Klima asked when he was alone with Solo.
"Why do you think there was a woman here?" Napoleon said, trying to evade the question.
"Your room smells like a perfume shop and there's lipstick on your pillow," the Czech said. "There are also lipstick traces on your shirt collar, Mr. Solo, and they look to me very much the same color as the ones on your pillow." He spotted the look on Napoleon's face, and added: "We all make mistakes."
"It's not that, Major; it's that I behaved like a stupid clown chasing a pretty skirt." He felt very small.
"These things happen. Tell me the whole story. It might help us both."
Like a schoolboy caught by his headmaster, Napoleon told Major Klima of the encounter with the woman in the restaurant.
"I wouldn't let it worry you, Mr. Solo. And with such a valuable description of the lady, I think I know her identity; but I'll send our fingerprint people along to confirm or discount my suspicion."
"I am glad my encounter has had some purpose other than teaching me a lesson," Napoleon said.
A quarter-of-an-hour later Napoleon watched the two fingerprint men working their way systematically around the room.
"I suggest you contact me in the morning," Major Klima said at last. "By then I hope to tell you whether or not we have established the identity of the lady and then we can discuss the next steps to take."
Napoleon felt suddenly tired. He'd had enough for t one night. He was even too tired to undress. He flopped onto the bed and was out to the world, to U.N.C.L.E., and to anyone else, within seconds.