indicates the misfortune, but the fact that it is only stitched up, not fully repaired, also indicates that it was quite recent. Presumably you would have had the damage taken care of on your return to London unless you only had a day - enough time for a dry-cleaning but not enough for invisible reweaving."
"Oh," said Napoleon inadequately. "How did you decide it was in Devonshire?"
"Come now. If I gave away everything I should soon lose my value. But you still have not stated your business with me. You are not reporters come for an interview on the latest large robbery. You are not from the Yard; neither of you is English." He was mumbling to himself now, having apparently lost the thread of the conversation. "Besides, the Yard scorns my advice as they have always done. Yet you are connected in some way with law enforcement. These robberies are of no interest to Interpol. The only other organization that would mix nationalities in a team would be the U.N.C.L.E..."
His voice rose again, leaving him apparently unaware of having spoken his thoughts. "You are from the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. This means that my theory as to the disposal of the loot was essentially correct - it was sent abroad by diplomatic carrier."
Illya's mouth was slightly open in amazement, but only for a few seconds. Napoleon stepped into the moment's silence. "Mr. Escott, my name is Napoleon Solo, and this is my partner, Illya Kuryakin. As you have surmised, we are indeed from the U.N.C.L.E., and we are here in regard to the Royal Mail robbery and the recent Rothschild gold robbery."
"In other words, the Rainbow Gang." The old man leaned forward and plucked a pipe from the table. While the effects of his words filtered through the room, he filled, packed and ignited it.
This time Illya recovered first. "You were recommended to us by a friend of Mr. Solo's who held a very high opinion of your abilities. Your parlor tricks are most impressive, but I frankly doubt…"
"You are grasping at straws, in other words." The late afternoon sunlight came straight in through a dusty window and spotlighted his face against the dimness of the room as he leaned forward. "Pray continue. I am so seldom consulted these days that I welcome recognition even in desperation. Tell me the exact nature of your interests - spare no detail. I am no longer able to conduct my investigations in person, but my mind remains keen."
Napoleon and Illya looked at each other, and the latter shrugged slightly and the former nodded, and together they began with the data they had collected in the last few days. Escott listened attentively, nodding occasionally, through the entire recital, then asked a few questions, touching on points he felt had been inadequately covered. During this cross-examination the sun had set, and oil lamps were lit when Napoleon's pocket transceiver twittered, and he excused himself to answer it.
"Solo here."
"Section Two, London. There's to be an airdrop of assorted hardware from Thrush to Rainbow tomorrow night. Sources are unable to establish location. We'll keep you informed. London out."
Napoleon folded his transceiver and replaced it in his pocket with a thoughtful expression. Illya finished clearing up a detail about the house - or more specifically the room - in which he bad met Johnnie Rainbow, and looked up.
"Bad news from home?" Lie asked.
"Not good. The London office got word of a delivery of devilish devices to Johnnie sometime tomorrow night - they don't know when and they don't know where. All they know is it's to be an airdrop."
"Time will be between one and three A.M., the morning of the 19th. The location will probably be in the southern part of England - the terrain is better. The target will probably be near something easily identifiable on radar, but far from major habitation." The old man's voice was calm.
There was silence for several seconds. Illya cut it short with one word: "Stonehenge."
"Quite likely,"
"Oh," said Napoleon inadequately. "How did you decide it was in Devonshire?"
"Come now. If I gave away everything I should soon lose my value. But you still have not stated your business with me. You are not reporters come for an interview on the latest large robbery. You are not from the Yard; neither of you is English." He was mumbling to himself now, having apparently lost the thread of the conversation. "Besides, the Yard scorns my advice as they have always done. Yet you are connected in some way with law enforcement. These robberies are of no interest to Interpol. The only other organization that would mix nationalities in a team would be the U.N.C.L.E..."
His voice rose again, leaving him apparently unaware of having spoken his thoughts. "You are from the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. This means that my theory as to the disposal of the loot was essentially correct - it was sent abroad by diplomatic carrier."
Illya's mouth was slightly open in amazement, but only for a few seconds. Napoleon stepped into the moment's silence. "Mr. Escott, my name is Napoleon Solo, and this is my partner, Illya Kuryakin. As you have surmised, we are indeed from the U.N.C.L.E., and we are here in regard to the Royal Mail robbery and the recent Rothschild gold robbery."
"In other words, the Rainbow Gang." The old man leaned forward and plucked a pipe from the table. While the effects of his words filtered through the room, he filled, packed and ignited it.
This time Illya recovered first. "You were recommended to us by a friend of Mr. Solo's who held a very high opinion of your abilities. Your parlor tricks are most impressive, but I frankly doubt…"
"You are grasping at straws, in other words." The late afternoon sunlight came straight in through a dusty window and spotlighted his face against the dimness of the room as he leaned forward. "Pray continue. I am so seldom consulted these days that I welcome recognition even in desperation. Tell me the exact nature of your interests - spare no detail. I am no longer able to conduct my investigations in person, but my mind remains keen."
Napoleon and Illya looked at each other, and the latter shrugged slightly and the former nodded, and together they began with the data they had collected in the last few days. Escott listened attentively, nodding occasionally, through the entire recital, then asked a few questions, touching on points he felt had been inadequately covered. During this cross-examination the sun had set, and oil lamps were lit when Napoleon's pocket transceiver twittered, and he excused himself to answer it.
"Solo here."
"Section Two, London. There's to be an airdrop of assorted hardware from Thrush to Rainbow tomorrow night. Sources are unable to establish location. We'll keep you informed. London out."
Napoleon folded his transceiver and replaced it in his pocket with a thoughtful expression. Illya finished clearing up a detail about the house - or more specifically the room - in which he bad met Johnnie Rainbow, and looked up.
"Bad news from home?" Lie asked.
"Not good. The London office got word of a delivery of devilish devices to Johnnie sometime tomorrow night - they don't know when and they don't know where. All they know is it's to be an airdrop."
"Time will be between one and three A.M., the morning of the 19th. The location will probably be in the southern part of England - the terrain is better. The target will probably be near something easily identifiable on radar, but far from major habitation." The old man's voice was calm.
There was silence for several seconds. Illya cut it short with one word: "Stonehenge."
"Quite likely,"
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