The Corfu Affair - Phillifent John T. (хороший книги онлайн бесплатно .TXT) 📗

For a long breathless moment the lead-lined office crackled with an utter silence. Then Waverly sighed and sat back.

"Have they, indeed? Sit down, Mr. Kuryakin, you look weary." He took up his desk telephone, pressed a button on it, and spoke. "Miss—close all forms of communication to and from this office except this telephone line to you that I am now using. Then issue firm instructions to cease all outgoing messages of any kind until I personally countermand that order. Is it understood? Good. Now, Mr. Kuryakin, I fancy I can guess what you mean by saying Thrush have got Mr. Solo, but I would prefer that you told me. In full detail, please."

The old man was a good listener. Apart from one early move, to reach out for a pipe to fondle in his sensitive old hands, he kept quite still. His leathery face remained impassive, his eyes down turned and half-closed, and he asked no questions until the account was complete. Then,

"There can be no doubt it was Mr. Solo?"

"None at all. I had some doubts, myself, at first. It is possible to fake likenesses, to impersonate with care, but you can't fake the way a man moves, or handles himself in a fight. That was Napoleon, all right."

"Hmm!" Waverly sighed again. "May I see the exhibits you've brought?" Kuryakin dipped into his pockets while the old man took up his telephone. "Send Mr. Cronshaw along to this office at once, please!" At the reply, he added:

"Advise him that it is to do with his new pencil-camera device, and to bring appropriate equipment."

He took up the pencil, put it down again, brushed his finger over the paper diagram, was about to ask a question when he saw the three extra objects lying to one side.

"Bullets?"

"Yes, sir. I thought it worthwhile to extract those that were fired in the room. We can compare them with the rifling-pattern of Napoleon's gun, which ought to be on file. I'm sure it was him and his, but it can't do any harm to confirm."

"Agreed. But these would at once confirm one thing, at least—that his intentions were lethal."

"That's what puzzles me, sir. I've tried to believe that he was playing some kind of trick, but hardly with real bullets. I'm afraid there is no doubt about it. He was out to kill me."

The words were not easy to say. Waverly nodded in sympathy. He knew better than anyone just how close these two men had been. Kuryakin was something of an enigma to everyone, and Solo had managed to get closer to him than anyone else. Now he had turned renegade, Kuryakin was, in a real sense, utterly alone.

Jeremy Cronshaw came briskly in, carrying a developer-projector outfit, and took up the camera-pencil without further word.

"This won't take more than a minute or two," he announced. "This is a fast developer film, in here. I'll be able to project it for you right away, soon as it's dry." His busy fingers made skilful movements under a black velvet shroud, then there was a hum as he switched something on. His sharp eyes wandered to the much creased paper.

"What's the diagram, Illya?"

"I'm not sure. I studied it a long time, on the flight. It seems to be some kind of communication wiring, but badly drawn."

"It's a mess." Cronshaw sniffed and studied it. "Doesn't mean a thing unless you know what values to insert here and here. Could be a kind of transceiver, though. Without the power source. Excuse me." He straightened as the humming stopped in his machine. After a few more dexterous moves, he requested the lights to be dimmed and switched on his projector, aiming the picture at a small screen on the wall. It took a moment to get the focus, then they all saw a foreshortened picture of a head, seen from a point about three feet above the forehead. By the hair, it was the head of a woman, but there was one small patch where the head had been shaven clean.

The next picture showed the same head, but where there had been a patch of bare skin, there was now a dark orifice.

"A cranial operation!" Waverly murmured. "At a guess this must be some work done by Countess Louise. The next picture, Mr. Cronshaw!"

This time the screen showed a chart similar to those hung up for the benefit of anatomy students. It was of the human head in outline and profile. An arrow pointed to a specific area of the skull, on the top of the head. The next picture was once more a head, but this time in full-face, and again the arrow pointed down at the top of the skull. One more picture, and this time both Kuryakin and Cronshaw leaned forward excitedly.

"That's the diagram again!" Kuryakin declared.

"Right!" said Cronshaw; "but this time the values are properly put in. And you know what?"

"I know." Kuryakin sighed. "It's that damned radio-module thing. Any more pictures, Jerry?"

"Soon find out." Cronshaw moved switches, but the rest of the film was blank. He switched off, restored the lights. Waverly blinked, then his face contorted into a frown.

"Have you two seen something I've missed?"

"I've seen it," Kuryakin said, very quietly, "but I don't know that I can believe it, entirely. Except that I recall, now, while I was fighting with Napoleon, I had his head and was banging it against the leg of the bed. And he had a small, round bald patch, just where it would show in that film. Jerry, that module doesn't need a conventional power source, does it?"

"No. It's designed to function from body heat. I know what you're thinking, Illya, but it's fantastic. You can't just stuff a thing like that into a man's brain!"

"Perhaps you can, at that. Could we have Dr. Harvey in here, sir? This is something she could pass an opinion on."

"Of course." Waverly took up his telephone again and gave the order. Then he gripped his pipe for a moment in bleak thought. "I believe," he said, "that I am guessing what you two are thinking. That somehow that woman has discovered a way of inserting one of those modules into a human brain in such a way that she can exercise remote control by virtue of the matching other. And you," he looked at the Russian, "believe that Solo has one in his brain at this moment?"

"It would explain a lot, sir. If it's possible."

Susan Harvey came in with brisk professional step, took one keen look at Kuryakin and made instant and appropriate movements with her black bag.

"Hold it, Dr. Harvey." The Russian halted her. "You can look me over later. Right now we'd like you to see some pictures. Jerry?"

They waited until she had seen all the film and the lights were on again, then Waverly took up the thread.

"The suggestion is, Miss Harvey, that something could be, and has been, inserted into the skull of a living person in the manner shown. Would that be possible?"

She took her time before answering. "I would prefer time to look this up before being dogmatic about it, of course, but offhand I would say yes, it is possible. So far as surgery is concerned, the brain is a special case. It is not sensitive to pain, and large areas of it are apparently without function. Patients have survived extensive brain surgery, have had large areas of the brain removed, in fact, and been no different. In the case shown, the arrow appears to be indicating the pineal area. Virtually nothing is known about the function of the pineal organ. If it has a function at all, which is doubtful. In structure it resembles an eye. There is a persistent but quite unfounded superstition that it is a kind of 'third' eye. It has been believed, at various times, that it is through the pineal eye that the soul and body are joined. It's safer to say that we know very little about it, or what purpose it serves. As for inserting something in the skull just there, that would be simple enough. It would depend on the size and nature of the insertion, of course."