The Mind-­Twisters Affair - Stratton Thomas (книга читать онлайн бесплатно без регистрации TXT) 📗

"Miss Berman," he said, bowing slightly. "How pleasant to see you." The voice was deep, with careful enunciation and a tone that bad a sepulchral quality. It was, Napoleon decided, an ominous voice; one which did not match the innocuous topics of conversation. Whateley answered questions about his daughter and mentioned that parts of the forthcoming Halloween pageant would be shown on his television station.

"What better way to enhance the Whateley reputation?" he said with a sinister chuckle.

Rita almost forgot to introduce the two agents. Whateley bowed formally to the men.

"I've heard of your organization," he said quietly. "A veritable bulwark against the forces of evil." The sinister chuckle came again. "Or at least, against the forces of earthly evil."

Napoleon glanced at Rita, who was busily suppressing a giggle. "I'm afraid earthly evil keeps us busy enough at present," he replied. "One thing at a time, and all that."

"I doubt that Mr. Waverly would approve any budgetary items for the suppression of supernatural evil," Illya commented. "Though considering his penchant for insisting that all flights be made by coach, I suppose he might be willing to look into the matter of broomsticks."

"Of course, gentlemen," Whateley said. "No one believes in evil that they can't see. If it doesn't come neatly packaged and labeled, as in the case of your rival, Thrush, everyone tends to ignore it. It's very difficult to combat something that one is ignoring." He chuckled again.

Napoleon watched Whateley closely while keeping a pleasant smile on his face. "I understand your father had just the opposite problem. People believed in an evil that didn't exist, and were willing to lynch him for it."

Whateley shrugged skeletally. "People were more ready to believe in things of the spirit fifty years ago," he said. "Not to mention that father contributed heavily to his own legend; he was positively delighted at the opportunity to appear exotically evil. I'm afraid that I seem to have inherited the tendency." He swirled his cape dramatically.

Napoleon smiled understandingly.

"Of course," Whateley continued, eyeing the U.N.C.L.E. agents speculatively, "there is always the possibility that the local residents were right. The old gods were not a benevolent sort. A man who could invoke their aid would be a powerful figure of evil indeed."

"Old gods?" Napoleon inquired.

"Yes, Mr. Solo. There were gods before Jehovah, and humanity did not always give even lip-service to the current ideals of brotherhood and tolerance. What does a god who has lost his worshippers do, Mr. Solo? He can no longer act, but, being immortal, he cannot die, either. He exists in a formless limbo. There are gods waiting there, Mr. Solo; beings so powerful, and so evil, that all mankind might not withstand them if they returned."

Napoleon nodded noncommittally. "I have a feeling," he said, "that the people of Midford would be willing to believe in the old gods. They are certainly willing enough to believe that U.N.C.L.E. is in league with the devil."

Whateley looked interested. "That seems unusual. You're generally regarded as being on the, ah, other side, aren't you? Certainly you don't appear very diabolical. Why would anyone consider you evil?"

"We haven't found a reason," Napoleon said. "That's why I wanted to talk to you. As the object of a hate campaign of your own, I thought you might be able to shed some light on the subject."

Whateley shook his head. "I'm afraid not; the reason for the dislike of the Whateleys is all too plain. Is this U.N.C.L.E. phobia a recent phenomenon?"

"Apparently. In fact, we're beginning to suspect that it's not natural; that a drug of some kind may be involved."

Whateley chuckled again, and Illya involuntarily shivered. "Or perhaps an evil spell, Mr. Solo? An enchantment? I didn't realize that secret agents were so sensitive about their images."

Napoleon looked hurt. "Unlike some organizations," he explained, "we occasionally must depend on public good will. But whatever the problem is, we'll manage to get it solved." He attempted to look confident and succeeded in appearing slightly fatuous.

"You mean that both of you are in Midford simply to find out why people don't like U.N.C.L.E.? I should think there would be more serious calls on your time. I suppose I could sell you some advertising time on my TV station and you could get a good public relations firm to handle the case. That sort of thing does wonders for General Motors, I understand."

"I'm afraid our budget would never stand for it." Napoleon sighed dramatically. "We sometimes have trouble when our hotel bill lists an extra for a TV set in the room; if we can't afford to watch it, I'm sure we could never afford to buy time on it."

"That shouldn't bother you in Midford," Whateley suggested. "The facilities of the local hotel are not the most up-to-date."

"We aren't staying at the hotel, though," Napoleon said.

"The manager is one of the townspeople who dislikes U.N.C.L.E. Currently we're staying with Rita's cousin, but..." He let his voice trail off.

"That's an inconvenient base of operations," Whateley said. "It's really quite distant from Midford." He paused thoughtfully. "Why don't you accept my hospitality? I have a fine house not too far from town; there's just Flavia and myself and a small domestic staff. With a few lovely exceptions," he bowed toward Rita, "we don't have visitors. I'm afraid the Whateleys are still not considered a part of the community."

Napoleon studied the offer. "It might be best, if we wouldn't disturb you."

"Not at all, not at all." Whateley smiled, and Napoleon discovered that his smile could be as sinister as his chuckle. 'I'm sure Miss Berman can vouch for my character, if you have any lingering doubts."

Rita nodded agreeably. "You'll like it there. If you want to look up any more local history, I'm sure the Whateley library contains at least as many volumes as the university library; perhaps more."

Whateley smiled in what might be construed as delight. "Are you fellow bibliophiles? Delightful. I do have a quite extensive and, er, unusual library. You must avail yourselves of it."

"Very well," Napoleon agreed. "What time tomorrow should we arrive?"

"It's still early," Whateley responded, pulling a huge gold watch from a vest pocket and glancing at it. "You could easily come back with me as soon as we've finished the meal."

Napoleon shook his head. "I don't think we should. I'm afraid Mr. Thompson might be somewhat annoyed by all the packing and moving at this late hour. He's been very considerate, and I wouldn't want to disturb him."

"I see," said Whateley. "Having met Lem Thompson, I can well understand. Tomorrow, then; any time that suits your convenience. You come, too," he said, turning to Rita. "Flavia wanted to ask you something about costumes for the pageant."

Rita nodded, and Whateley stalked away from the table, paused momentarily at the door to whirl his cape about his shoulders in a theatrical gesture, and departed into the night.

"He forgot to get anything to eat," Illya commented.

"True," Napoleon agreed. "I think he was too interested in maneuvering us into accepting his invitation to stay with him."