"Candy, how would you like to work the lions tonight—for this evening's performance?"
"But what about Dad?"
"It was his idea," said Parley smoothly. "I've just come from there. He wanted the evening off to go out with his new friend, Evan Fairchild. Of course I agreed."
Candy looked toward the phone. "May I call him?"
"Certainly, dear. But they've already gone out."
"May I try?"
"Please do." He knew there would be no answer. The tranquilizer darts put animals to sleep for three hours. They had once run a test on humans. Unless chemically revived, the humans remained unconscious for twelve hours. Tying them up had been no more than a reflex action. It had not been necessary.
Candy called home. There was no answer.
"I am the messenger boy," laughed Parley. "Your dad gave me a message for you. You are to rest here on the grounds and change here on the grounds. He told me to remind you that you have no keys. He was going to lock the apartment when he went out with Mr. Fairchild." Parley him self had the keys in his own pocket. "They'll be home, waiting for you, after the evening performance!"
"Gosh!" Candy was thrilled. "An evening performance!"
"Your dad has complete confidence in you, and so have I." He smiled, pleased with himself.
"Thank you, Mr. Parley."
He was keeping her available. He needed her to handle the lions in the outdoor cage while the "inspectors" in the huge yellow wagon, having entered through the rear, transferred the gold ingots to the feeding troughs.
There would not be an evening performance. That, now, was essential. Even as the troughs were being loaded, he would be giving orders for the circus to dismantle and pack. Their traveling plans would have to be further pushed forward. The circus would take off for Switzerland—not tomorrow morning—but tonight. It would have to be tonight! He would so inform his masters.
John Parley did not know it, but that was precisely what his masters were going to inform him.
23. Change in Course
WITH TITO driving, the truck rolled along the highway, but well within the speed limit. Tito was aware of the enormous value of the cargo he was carrying, and he was far too wise to risk a brush with the law. How would it look to have a cop order the truck to the roadside and take a peek into its interior? It made Tito laugh and he felt silly laughing alone. A cop might not recognize the ingots for what they were, but a cop might become curious––very curious––about an ordinary delivery truck that contained, inside, two well-dressed, executive-type businessmen. Laughing, Tito leaned back and cocked an ear, but could not hear them talking.
They were seated on the cool metal, Raymond smoking a fragrant cigar.
"Otis, you must not worry," he said to the sallow, pinch-faced Langston.
"But in truth, I am; yes, I am worried."
Raymond laughed. "It's sticking out all over you." He drew on his cigar and let the smoke dribble slowly from his mouth. "Otis, that man in the vault can't do us any harm. He had his chance, but that's over. Now he's finished."
Langston nodded lugubriously. "That's what I'm worried about."
"My dear friend," said Raymond, "dead men tell no tales. And by the time he's found we'll be far away and safe."
"Felix, it was out-and-out murder."
"You've been involved in murder before."
"But murder skillfully planned. This job was forced on us––and we botched it."
"Botched!" Raymond grimaced. "How?"
"We left his things strewn about on the floor of the vault room."
"So what? Harry Owens' personal belongings. So what?"
Langston shook his head. "We won't be in the office tomorrow."
"Of course not, and everybody there knows it. Miss Dunhill knows we've left for Europe. She doesn't know how, when, or where—none of them do—and that's just the way we want it."
"But she does know about Harry Owens."
Raymond scowled. "Otis, you're talking in circles."
"No, I'm not. She knows Owens was staying as our guest. Suddenly—no Owens."
"So she'll think he went with us."
"But suppose somebody goes down to the vault room tomorrow morning. There's Owens' stuff all over the floor, but no Owens. Suppose somebody gets suspicious. Suppose the police are called and the vault is opened."
"So what? Nobody can tie that murder to us."
"But they'd be looking for us, if only for routine questioning, and that's what worries me. If by morning we were already out of the country, I wouldn't mind. The higher-ups in T.H.R.U.S.H. will know how to hide us, how to cover up for us. They'll know how to level it out, smooth things over. In a short time we'd be perfectly in the clear. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Felix, we've always been flexible, you and I—which is one of the reasons we've lasted this long. When the seas are stormy, we know when to change course."
Raymond's eyes narrowed shrewdly. He puffed the cigar and nodded behind the smoke. "What change in course do you propose?"
"That the circus moves tonight. Any objection?"
"None whatever. Every word you said made sense." He grinned. "That's a fine brain ticking away in that bald head. Thank you for some excellent thinking, Mr. Langston."
Langston smiled crookedly, appreciatively. Felix did not throw his compliments around lightly. "How quickly can they wrap it up out there in Westbury?"
"It's a fine circus, but it's actually fairly small. If Parley cracks the whip on them—and he will— then with all hands participating, the whole deal can be packed into the vans in an hour."
"That's the way it must be, Felix."
"That's the way it will be."
Nervously Langston looked at his watch. "It's six-fifteen."
"The traffic's been good. No delays. The way it's going, we'll be there a bit before seven." He tilted the cigar in his teeth and puffed, savoring the fragrant odor. "Still worried, my friend?"
"A little," said Langston, "but not as much as before. I feel better now."
24. Ten Long Minutes
TIME AND AGAIN Waverly's eyes shifted to the silent electric clock on the wall. Somehow as the minutes went by the sweep hand seemed to be moving more slowly, ever more slowly. Six o'clock. Five after six. Ten after.
Waverly was not anxious about the situation in Westbury. Solo's quick report had been complete and definite. Waverly knew the gold was being moved, who was moving it, how and where. The circus would not be traveling until tomorrow morning. U.N.C.L.E. agents had all night to swoop down on the Parley Circus. But there would be no move made until he had word from Kuryakin on Kenneth Craig, nor would he even begin to make plans until he got the all clear from Solo.
Jack O'Keefe and Aaron Johnson, fretting for action, were compelled to restraint by the circumstances. They were fully briefed and waited impatiently.
The Old Man filled his pipe and lit it.
O'Keefe glanced at the clock. "Chief, it's six- fifteen."
"I know what time it is," Waverly growled un happily.
"He said between six and six-fifteen. Six-fifteen at the outside."
"We'll give him five more minutes."