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

Self-control withered in her mind. She took a deep breath. "Now look!" she declared, laying her hands flat on the bench. "Kindly stop apologizing. Stop thinking you are wasting my time. Section One asked me to take you on a quick tour of biochemistry, and I am trying to do that. Glad to do it. And you are a good pupil, too. But…"

"But what?"

"But we have been at this now for almost three days and you are still calling me Dr. Harvey, for Heaven's sake! Your name's Illya and mine's Susan. Will it hurt if we are friends?"

His eyes were still cool and impersonal as he looked at her. "You've never dealt directly with a field agent before, have you, Doc—I mean—Susan?"

"No," she said, and then repeated it: "No."

"Just for the record," he smiled faintly, "I am human. And it can be a nuisance, sometimes. Like now. At the outside I have two more days to spare, a lot to learn, and no leeway for making mistakes."

"I appreciate that, of course. I would hate to have anything put me off my work. But I'm human too. One doesn't have to be so dedicated all the time, surely. It can't hurt to take just five minutes off for the social amenities?"

"Five seconds can be fatal, at the wrong time. In this job you're either dedicated, or dead. You have just one idea in mind, and no time for anything else. That can be difficult, too. Right now I have the feeling there's an idea trying to push into my mind and upset things."

"You've made your point!" she snapped. "There's no need to labor it."

"I didn't mean you. Something to do with this." He took up the book again, still open at the page he had been studying. "Something about the autoimmune reaction in the brain area and metal tolerance…"

"The brain chemistry differs. Its whole circulation is different. That's what we call the blood-brain barrier. Just as well. The body can be poisoned and the brain remain normal in many cases, and there are only a few chemicals which effect the brain directly…"

She was interrupted by the telephone. Taking it up she listened, then offered it to him. "For you. From the radio research room."

"Thank you." Kuryakin took it. "Mike?"

"Right. I think we have something, Illya. Those modules are silver-plated. Makes for better skin contact, I suppose, and they need body heat to operate. Anyway, that silver sheath causes a resonance field that we can detect. I can fix you a little monitor that will tell you whenever you're within—say—fifty feet of one of them in action. Handy?"

"Very much so. Nice work. Let me know when you have it going." Kuryakin put down the receiver and sat quite still, so much so that Susan Harvey frowned at him.

"Now what?"

"Probably nothing." He shivered and then smiled. "Just a word. Silver wires into the brain. Silver-plating on those modules. Forget it. Now, about the breakdown products of adrenalin..."

Napoleon Solo dressed himself slowly and with care, including about his person every weapon of offense and defense he could contrive without being too spectacular. Although he would never have admitted as much to Waverly or anyone else, he had a rooted dislike for entering a trap without due care, and was under no illusion at all as to how dangerous the Argyr Palace could be. His only card, that the Countess could have no idea of his real identity, was a slender one, but he had no intention of backing out and thus discarding his whole hand. In good time he wandered down to the bar for a quick bracer, but never got that far. As he crossed the bright-lit foyer a vision in blue satin appeared, making him halt and breathe deeply in appreciation.

"For me?" he enquired, going over to her. "I'm honored that the Countess should have sent you in person. But who's cooking dinner?"

"I have it in hand," she told him tartly. "If you're quick, we can get back before it's cooked to death. She won't allow anybody but herself, or me, to touch her shiny new Mercedes."

"I wouldn't expect her to come herself, naturally. All right."

"You have about five minutes to pack."

"Pack?"

"That's right, pack. You're to stay at the Palace. Well?" Her tone had edges now. "What are you waiting for? Don't you want to come and stay?"

The negative trembled on his tongue but he swallowed it simply because he couldn't think of a plausible reason to refuse. Five minutes later, with his bag tossed in the back and himself seated beside her as she drove, he still couldn't think of anything except the obvious question.

"Why this sudden effusion of hospitality on the part of the Countess? What did I do?"

"As if you didn't know!" she retorted. "You're the Casanova type. For those who like that kind of thing, that is."

"But not you," he said, grinning. "I think you flatter me just a bit. I can't see somebody like the Countess losing any sleep over me. I'd guess it's much more likely that she expects to have a bit of sport at my expense."

"And you don't mind?"

"Not a bit. I can take a joke. You could help if you can tell me whether she has arranged anything special for my—er—entertainment?"

He kept his tone light, but there was a serious purpose under his words and he listened carefully for her reaction. It was slow to come. A side glance showed him that she was scowling ahead at the road as if in thought.

"You know," she murmured, "you could be right. Just after lunch she told me there was to be company tonight. Four distinguished guests. Of course I asked if there was any special kind of dish she had in mind, and I mentioned you by name, saying that you were American and would be no trouble. Her guests, as a rule, are foreign, you see. But when I mentioned you, she laughed. 'Mr. Summers,' she said, 'is hardly a guest. I doubt if I could sell him anything. But we must feed him, of course. So you must count five, not four.' And then, later, when I asked if she wanted me to take the car and pick you up, she added the bit about packing your bag. You can make what you like out of that."

He made quite a lot of it and liked none of it, but knew that it was much too late to turn back now. As his mind raced to compute the possible permutations of peril he asked:

"Sell? What would she be trying to sell me?"

"Oh!" Miss Winter laughed cynically. "You'll see. I've heard her a few times, She has a thing about being beautiful. Thinks it's everyone's duty to be as attractive as possible. It can get quite embarrassing at times, the way she will pick out somebody's faults and analyze them, and then go on to explain how easy it would be to correct them. Surgery, of course."

"Not there and then, in the palace, surely?"

"I don't think so. I believe she could, though. She has some very elaborate equipment on the spot. I haven't seen it, mind you. But I do know she gets things, chemicals and stuff, and gadgetry. I'm always picking up packages for her, whenever I come into town for groceries."

"She keeps you pretty busy," he said, speaking automatically while he stared at the horrid fact that he was being transported straight into a Thrush gathering. 'Four distinguished guests' could hardly be anything else; and if any one of them recognized him, his fat was in for a burning time. "Cook, housekeeper, chauffeur, and you do your own grocery shopping. Doesn't she have any other staff?"

"Oh yes." Miss Winter's tone was definitely cool now. "She has a local man in from time to time to do the grounds and so on. And there's Adam, of course."