He saw the men gathered about him and focused on Alexander Waverly.
"Something—something happened to Illya."
He tried to get up. The doctor kept him sitting.
"Easy, Mr. Solo."
"I—I'm all right."
"How do you feel?"
"Thirsty."
"And a little bit weak? A little shaky?"
"No. Just thirsty."
"Somebody get him a glass of water." Somebody went out and returned with a glass of water, which Solo drank thirstily. Then he stood up. O'Keefe made an effort to support him, but Solo shook him off. "I'm okay."
"Kuryakin?" the Old Man asked.
"They shoved me into the vault. They had guns on me, three of them. They locked me in." He shuddered. "Murder in there. I couldn't get back to you, Chief—they stripped me of all my stuff, including the Communicator. But then I remembered my mouthpiece––the crazy walkie-talkie that connected me to Illya. I put it into operation and I did get through to him."
"Then why didn't he instantly report to me? I've had no word from him!"
"Please, sir."
"Yes. Forgive me," said the Old Man, silently rebuking himself for the impatient interruption.
"I got through to him," said Solo, "and he got back to me. He told me he was alone with Kenneth Craig."
"Where?"
"He didn't say where. He said that before reporting to you he had some preliminary remarks to make to Craig. It was an emergency, and he had to test him right then and there. Illya admitted to Craig that he was an U.N.C.L.E. man and that it was imperative that he, Illya, communicate with Headquarters. And right there he challenged Craig. If Craig was a double agent, then Craig could try to stop him. Naturally with this independent walkie-talkie system, I couldn't hear Craig, but I sure could hear Illya and he was thoroughly satisfied. I can tell you now that Kenneth Craig is no traitor, no double agent. He is one of us. He simply had no idea of the plotting going on around him."
"Wonderful," murmured Waverly. "Yes; then what happened?"
"Suddenly—silence. Something happened to them! I think somebody must have attacked them, overpowered them. I kept trying to get back to Illya. I got no answer. Just a sound—a sound of breathing. Then I passed out."
"A sound of breathing," the Old Man repeated thoughtfully. Then alertly he asked, "You're still wearing that earpiece, Mr. Solo?"
Solo grinned. "I couldn't take it out if I wanted to."
There was an excited murmur from the circle of U.N.C.L.E. men crowded about them.
"Do you hear anything now, Mr. Solo?" Solo held up his hand. A hush fell. He listened intently.
"A sound of breathing," he announced. "That means he still has his mouthpiece in operation," declared the Old Man. "It also means that he can't answer for one of two reasons. He's either bound and gagged or he's unconscious."
"Yes," said Solo.
Quickly the Old Man pulled his Communicator from a pocket and clicked it on.
"Waverly here. Brad? Over."
"Yes, Chief. Over." Randall's calm voice came through clearly.
"I'm at the Raymond and Langston Building. I want the scanning truck down here right away! And I want Phil Bankhead inside that truck!"
"Bankhead?" It came through like a shot—explosively. Brad Randall was finally excited. Phillip Bankhead was a major scientist, a professor—the man in charge of the Science Section of U.N.C.L.E. Professor Bankhead was not one to be traveling about in trucks. He had assistants for that purpose. "Did you say Bankhead? Over."
"That's what I said. Bankhead! In the scanning truck! Now get to it! Over."
"Right, Chief."
"Immediately."
"Right, Chief."
"Over and out."
The Old Man put away the Communicator. His eyes were bright and shining. He felt young. For a change he was out of the office and once again, as in his youth, out in the field of operation.
"Dr. Blaine," he snapped.
"Chief?"
"Get that thing out of Mr. Solo's ear."
"Yes, Chief."
Using long pincers, the doctor extracted the object from Solo's ear canal. Solo smiled in relief.
"Mr. Solo."
"Chief?" Solo's smile ended.
"How long will it take us to get to Westbury
"Less than an hour."
"I—I hope we'll be in time."
There could be no reply to that. Only silence—a deep, serious silence—finally broken by Dr. Blaine.
"Chief," he said, holding the earpiece in the pincers, "what do you want me to do with this miniature listening device?"
"Guard it carefully," said the Old Man. "It's going to lead us directly where we want to go."
26. Candy Lulls the Lions
THE DOOR OF Parley's cabin swung open without a knock.
Felix Raymond peered in. Parley was alone.
"All right for us to come in?"
Parley nodded. Raymond entered, followed by Langston and Tito.
Parley, who had been cleaning out his desk, slammed shut an open drawer and came out from behind the desk. Raymond noticed how pale he was, forehead furrowed, mouth grim.
"What's the matter, John?"
"Mr. Raymond, we've got to move the circus as quickly as possible! We've got to get out—tonight!"
In astonishment Raymond looked at his two companions, and then back to Parley.
"That's just what I was going to tell you, John."
"I don't know about your reasons, Mr. Raymond, but mine are most important—absolutely urgent!"
"All right. Let's hear them," growled Raymond.
Parley rapidly recited what he had overheard at Craig's door and what had ensued thereafter.
"They're both back there, unconscious, in Craig's apartment. I've already given orders for the dismantling of the circus."
"Good."
"Can you imagine—Kenneth Craig, a man from U.N.C.L.E.? And this reporter from Scope magazine—a man from U.N.C.L.E.?"
"And the guy in the vault," piped Langston. "No question in my mind now. Also from U.N.C.L.E."
"What guy in what vault?" demanded Parley.
Raymond quickly filled him in. "That's why I was going to tell you that the circus would have to move out tonight."
Parley's frown showed his fright. "You sure that man back there––supposedly Harry Owens––you sure he didn't make contact with U.N.C.L.E. people?"
Raymond sniffed. "You and my partner––a couple of pessimists. Of course I'm sure. Just because he works for U.N.C.L.E. doesn't mean he's a genius. Bad judgment. He held off too long."
"But how can you be so certain?"
"John, I've been in tight spots before; I've had long experience. U.N.C.L.E. isn't crazy. If contact had been made, they'd have stopped us. They'd have had people all around us. They wouldn't give us a gift of six million dollars, would they? Quite simple, my dear man, they wouldn't let us pick up our gold and go away with it. You can bet they wouldn't!"
Langston spoke up. "But they're on to something!"
"Oh, I quite agree," boomed Raymond. "From somewhere they learned something, but not too much. They got a little angle on something, and were trying to learn more."
"Angle?" queried Parley, arching one eyebrow. "From where? From whom?"
"An information leak from one of the idiots in South America."