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

"How about the kitchen?" Napoleon inquired.

"None there. Grandfather said he had a hard enough a time keeping cooks, without providing secret exits for them. But the rest of the house is pretty well covered."

She stepped back from the opening and it slid smoothly closed. As they returned to the center of the room, she asked, unexpectedly. "I don't suppose you have any photos of Illya? I really would like to get him into metal. And besides," she smiled, "I have a feeling it would be terribly commercial."

Napoleon shook his head. "I'm afraid secret agents don't carry photos of one another in their wallets; risky, you know. But I'm sure Illya would send you one if you really want it."

"He has a face that would sell," Flavia said. "I'm sure my agent could get a few hundred for it, at least."

"It's a good hobby that makes money," Napoleon observed. "I didn't realize there was that much of a market for metal sculpture."

"That's why I need an agent; he has contacts with art dealers all over the country. Actually, of course, I don't make a lot of money; there are shipping charges to pay, for one thing." She swung her arm around to encompass a half dozen projects, none of which could have weighed less than a hundred pounds and most of which weighed more. "If I could make a living at it, I'd be in New York. I'll make it, one of these days."

Napoleon stifled a yawn and looked at his watch. "You seem to have the true artistic temperament as regards night-time work," he observed. "I'm going to have a busy day tomorrow with Illya gone. I think I'll turn in."

Flavia nodded understandingly. "I think I'll get started on a bust of Illya from memory, just in case I don't get a photo." She paused thoughtfully. "In fact, it may be better this way. You know how reality never lives up to memories."

Napoleon looked somewhat blank, and departed. Back in his room, he began examining the walls, tilting pictures, and moving the furniture. It took him only a short time to discover that either the bed was more massive than it looked or it was fastened to the floor. After that, it took somewhat longer to locate the two patterns in the scrollwork of the bedpost that concealed tiny switches. A minute later he was standing in an opening that had appeared in one wall when both switches were pressed simultaneously.

The passage was relatively wide and evidently cleaned often enough to keep dust and cobwebs from piling up. It led to a stairway that descended all the way to the basement. At the ground floor level, a passageway similar to the one on the second floor opened off the stairway. There were two connecting passages at the basement level.

Napoleon laboriously followed each passage in turn. At the end of an hour he had discovered absolutely nothing except for some hot air ducts and several miles of electrical wiring and water pipes. Having secret passages running though most of the house, he decided, could be very useful in such everyday matters as electricity and plumbing. And that, apparently, was all this entire rabbit warren of passages was used for. It seemed unimaginative for someone of Whateley's inclinations.

Napoleon was standing quietly in one of the passages, trying to think of a positive course of action, when a sudden noise just behind him jarred him from his reverie. Automatically he turned his flashlight toward the sound and whipped out his U.N.C.L.E. Special pistol. Slightly chagrined to find himself facing a blank wall, he put away the pistol and listened more closely. Obviously, someone was in the room beyond.

Cautiously, Napoleon examined the wall in front of him. The passageways had been designed to allow observation of the rooms. With characteristic conservatism, Whateley had used the old peephole in the picture trick in most rooms - although, Napoleon had to admit, it might have not been such an old trick when the house was built. There were none into this room, however, though there was the usual hidden door.

For several minutes there were no further sounds from the other side of the wall, but Napoleon waited. The only logical room from which to omit peepholes would be the one used exclusively by the master of the house. Coupled with Napoleon's vague idea of his position in the house, this made it seem likely that he was standing just outside Jabez Whateley's study; which in turn meant that the individual who had made the noise a few minutes earlier was probably Jabez Whateley himself.

There was a squeaking noise, like that of an unoiled swivel chair, then silence again. Napoleon had almost decided to give up his vigil and get some sleep when there was a faint buzzing sound. It was a sound he had heard often enough before: the signal tone of a Thrush communicator.

Section IV: "Likewise, Give The Victor A Cheer"

Chapter 12

"I Don't Care If They Flapped Their Wings And Flew"

NAPOLEON PRESSED HIS EAR tightly against the concealed door and tried to breathe quietly.

"Whateley here," a voice from the other end of the wall said. "Report."

The reply over the communicator was too low for Napoleon to bear, but it was evidently unsatisfactory. Whateley's voice came again, sharply.

"You aren't being paid to make excuses. You're being paid, and paid well, I might add, to produce results." Listening to the sepulchral overtones, Napoleon found himself beginning to sympathize with the Thrush underling. There was more muttering from the communicator, but Whateley cut it short.

"I don't care if they flapped their wings and flew away. You were told they were dangerous and inventive, and you were instructed to be prepared for anything. So far, all you've accomplished is to lose two cars and get one driver in jail for attempting to bribe an officer."

The muttering began to take on an indignant tone. Whateley broke in again. "It's nice to know you can do one thing right, at least. Transfer some of those men to - what?" There was some apologetic muttering, and Whateley let out a strangled noise. "On a simple job like that! Do you think I get replacements by magic? Get back to base and stay there; we don't have enough ears left to allow you to be roaming the highways in them. I'll have further orders later."

There was a click as the communicator cover was flipped shut, followed by another squeak of the chair and the sound of footsteps pacing about the room. Napoleon hastily retreated down the passage and up two steps. Whateley was apparently planning his next move; it would be inconvenient if the next move turned out to be opening the secret door of his study and coming face to face with Napoleon Solo. Before there were any such encounters, Napoleon wanted to find the source of the lavender drug. Keeping one ear open for the sound of Whateley's door, Napoleon took out his communicator and softly called Illya.

Illya's response was instant and acid. "Don't you ever go to bed?"

"I'm doing my share of the skulking." Napoleon repeated his discoveries, including the operation of the hidden doors in his room and Flavia's studio. "I'm going to do some further exploring. I'll keep in touch; if you haven't heard from me again by morning, you're on your own. But these passages must lead somewhere." Illya agreed to pass the information along to Waverly.

After concluding the conversation, Napoleon sat down on the steps to think. He was almost certain that these passageways were somehow connected with a Thrush stronghold. It would seem a remarkable waste of available facilities by Whateley if they were not. But where was the connection? He had been over every passage and had found nothing, not even a dirt smudge on a wall that might mark a concealed lever. Of course, any extension of the passageways into a Thrush base would be well hidden, since Flavia said that the existence of the passages he was in was not much of a secret. There was a chance that shadowing Whateley would lead him to something. Unfortunately, shadowing a man in his own house - particularly a house like this - was an extremely risky procedure.