The medico's eyes almost popped with rage. "You are faking, damn you! Tell me where your confederates are, or I will kill you."
"Confederates," repeated the hoarse voice. "I do not understand."
The burlier of the two guards cleared his throat. "Forgive me, Herr Doktor, but do you think it is possible that he does not understand? I, myself, do not know the meaning of the word 'confederate.' Perhaps it would be better to ask him a more simple question."
Dr. Conrad flushed angrily, then burst into laughter. "You may be right, at that."
He seized a handful of Slate's hair and pulled his head back violently. "Are you a spy in the employ of an international organization called U.N.C.L.E.? What is your name and occupation?"
The hoarse voice answered, "I am not a spy in the employ of an international organization called Uncle. My name is Mark Slate. My occupation is butler to Mrs. Pine."
"What did you do before you became a butler for Mrs. Pine?"
"I was the butler in Mrs. Treadwell Caruthers' Boston residence."
"And before that, what did you do?"
"I supervised the household of the Duchess of Blatsford."
Dr. Conrad swore loudly, profanely and with eloquence. Turning to the guards, he said, "This man has been injected with some substance that makes him immune to my serum. He is not reacting normally to my questions. I am all the more convinced that he is an U.N.C.L.E. agent. Let us take him to the snake-pit. "
As the guards hustled him down a corridor, Slate pulled away for a moment and made rubbing motions on his arms and legs.
"Let me get my blood circulating," he said, as he reached from ankle to arms, again.
The guards pushed him forward roughly until he stood at the edge of a deep pit He heard the door slam behind them. As his eyes became accustomed to the dim light, Mark saw that the bottom of the pit was alive with snakes. His eyes traveled over the writhing floor. There must be at least a hundred of the repulsive creatures. He recognized a dozen poisonous species in the wriggling mass.
Dr. Conrad's grim voice caused him to tear his eyes away from the nightmare scene.
"I'm going to give you one more chance to speak the truth, Slate. Either you tell me how much you know about our operations and where your confederates are, or we will throw you into that mass of poisonous snakes. Believe me, I am not bluffing."
Mark Slate said, "I could speak a lot better, if we stepped back a few paces. One false move here and we might all be catapulted into that pit. I feel a little faint. If I fall, I might drag someone with me."
He smiled inwardly as the guards hastily dragged him back from the brink.
"That's better. Now, Dr. Conrad, let us speak plainly. If I had the slightest idea of what you are accusing me of, I would plead guilty at once. I am not a hero. As a matter of fact, I probably am the worst coward you will ever encounter.
"You keep telling me that I am an agent of somebody called Uncle. All right. I am an agent of this man. Does that satisfy you? Take me back to your office and I will dream up a very convincing story of my connections with Uncle."
"Very amusing," Conrad said. "But, I'm afraid my sense of humor is worn thin, at this point. Once more. How much does U.N.C.L.E. know about our operations? Where are your accomplices?"
Slate sighed. "Wouldn't it be much simpler to wait until Krishna arrives? He will verify my story. I'll admit that I'm scared sick of those snakes, but I'm neither smart enough nor experienced enough to think up answers that will satisfy you.
"This whole thing doesn't make sense. You can't frighten me into admitting something that isn't true. I wouldn't even know how to go about pretending that I was a spy."
Dr. Conrad said, "Release him, men."
A second later, something hit Slate in the small of the back. He found himself plunging head-first into the pit. The reflexes of a superbly conditioned athlete helped him somersault into a standing position before he landed. He shuddered as his feet struck the writhing mass. The shock of striking fangs caused him to jerk convulsively.
As Mark Slate was sinking into a coma, he heard Dr. Conrad say, "Remember, men. His death was an accident. He broke away from us, ran down the corridor and into this room. He fell into the pit before he could check his forward impetus."
The last words Slate heard were, "Believe me, it is better this way. It is this man's life or ours."
FIFTEEN
NEW SISTER-ACT
GANDURA & DANCER
Mr. Waverly’s dry, impersonal voice came through the transmitter with its customary brittle impact.
"That is an excellent report, Miss Dancer. Since transmission to and reception from Mrs. Pine's plateau continues to be impossible, I have dispatched a relay-team. They will be on duty around the clock, at the base of the cliff, where you discovered the sole break in THRUSH’s scrambling apparatus. From today on, you can count on direct contact with U.N.C.L.E. at all times. We have arrived at the stage where instant communication is a must."
"That's comforting news for a number of reasons," April said. "Communication is the most important, of course, but there also is the little matter of emergency escape. We've had a stroke of luck; I stumbled onto a cache of brand new parachutes in a storeroom of the mansion, this morning, before I left the plateau with Gandura and Bob Walton.
"When I told Mark, he said there is one spot on the cliff-trail, where the precipice dips in sharply. We can count on a clear fall, with plenty of room for the parachutes to open. It's nice to know that our team will have a better chance of picking us up than THRUSH’s power-sled, which is stationed on the other side of the island."
"Good thinking!" Mr. Waverly said. "I advise you to use the parachutes as a last resort. If there is any other possible means of escape, in an emergency, take it. A surprise gust of wind from the wrong direction might blow you against the cliff and collapse your chutes, no matter how sharply the precipice curves in at that point."
April shuddered. "You are so right! Mark told me I should wait until the last possible minute before opening the chute, for just that reason. What are your instructions, Mr. Waverly? As you know, I have Bob Walton with me in the village. Perhaps I should say, Gandura and I have him. She and Bob are doing some shopping, right now.
"We took a couple of rooms at this hotel, so we could freshen up during the day. I'm to join them at two o'clock for the matinee performance at the local movie theatre. We should get out around four-thirty or so. Gandura promised Bob we would go to a dance at the town hall, this evening. The power-sled will be waiting to take us back to the island around midnight."
Mr. Waverly said, "At the moment I have no definite instructions for you. Try to contact headquarters before you return to the island, but don't worry if you can't make it until you are back on the plateau. Incidentally, what equipment do you have with you, on this trip?"
"I have my audio-device, teargas compact, sleep-inducing dart-gun and chewing-gum explosive."
A dry chuckle came through. "Quite a formidable array. I hope you won't need them while you are in the village. It sounds as though you are capable of wiping out the entire population."
"I promise you. I'll spare the women and children," April said. "Seriously, though, I know I don't have to tell you that I wouldn't dream of using the explosives in a populated area, but it's nice to know I have them.
"That's a long, dark ride back to the island, at night. I like to be ready for any emergency. Yesterday's local paper carried a story of a prison break not too far from here. THRUSH’s mercenaries are not the only hard characters in the vicinity."
"You are quite right to be prepared for any contingency. Now, Miss Dancer, I must terminate our conversation. A word of advice. Be ready at all times for a possible message from U.N.C.L.E. headquarters, either directly or through our men at the base of the cliffs. Keep your fountain-pen transmitter on your person, somewhere, so the vibrations can alert you!. Signing off. Good luck. Be careful."
The girl from U.N.C.L.E. waited fo
r the click that signaled a cutoff, before lowering the antenna and placing the fountain-pen in a tiny pocket of her skirt. She reached into her handbag. It was a good idea to check equipment often and thoroughly. Everything in order. She rang for room-service. A short time later, she was showing the waiter where to place the tray.
As she lifted the silver cover from the main course and settled back with a gratified sigh, she thought, "I never realized what an exasperating and frustrating life servants lead, until I became a personal maid."
She smiled at the memory of the service-waiter's fulsome thanks. She knew she had over-tipped him outrageously.
"This has been so much fun," Gandura said, as the trio were leaving the village auditorium. "I don't think I have ever enjoyed dancing as much as tonight."
Bob Walton smiled boyishly. "That's because you and Miss Dancer had the best partner in the auditorium," he said.
"I'll buy that," April said. "You're a terrific dancer, Mr. Walton, I'll be honest with you. I hated it when the village boys cut in on---" She broke off abruptly, as a crowd of people milled around them.
The man who had taken their tickets in the auditorium rushed up breathlessly. "Isn't it exciting?" he burbled "They're making motion pictures for a television news show. They're up here because of the prison break. The director told me they've been taking shots of the prison all day and now he wants some local color."
A man with a megaphone shouted, "Hey, beautiful! I mean you, honey," he said, pointing to April. "Walk this way, please. I want a shot of you three leaving the local dance."
He nudged an assistant. "Get in there with your strong-arm men and separate the wheat from the chaff, boy. What do I pay you for?"
April stood, tense and irritable. She didn't like this. Crowds were dangerous and the last thing she wanted was to be photographed for a national audience. She tugged at Gandura's arm.
"Let's get Mr. Walton out of this crowd, quickly. This sort of confusion could be disastrous for anyone in his condition."
The little Indian nodded agreement and linked her arm in that of their towering escort, but, before they could work their way out of the crowd, one of the men who had been standing beside the camera, reached Bob's side, grabbed him by the coat-sleeve and shouted above the noise of the crowd.
"Come on, big-boy. Bring your beautiful girl-friends with you. I promise you it will be painless. We haven't shot anybody lethally for weeks."
To April's horror, Bob Walton slumped to the sidewalk, dragging Gandura with him. Before she could reach them, rough hands were dragging her toward a vehicle that looked like a sound-truck. She felt her pocketbook being yanked from her hands at the same time she felt the needle in her arm.
The girl from U.N.C.L.E. fought her way up from a welter of nightmarish dreams. As her eyes began to focus, she saw the apparently unconscious form of the tiny Indian girl, on the floor beside her. Her eyes swept over the room. It was bare of furniture. The plaster on the walls was cracked. Obviously a room in a deserted house.
Her heart gave a convulsive leap as she finished her optical survey. She and Gandura were the only ones in the room.
"Oh no! April moaned. Her bleary eyes surveyed the room again. The flickering light of an oil lamp showed nothing but the bare walls-and the prone figure of the Indian girl. There was no sign of Bob Walton.
April staggered to her feet. While one part of her mind was agonizing over Walton's possible fate, the other was puzzling over the fact that neither she nor Gandura had been tied up. She hesitated when she came to the Indian girl's prone figure and heard herself say in a thick, strangled voice, "I'll get back to you later, honey. I've got to locate our boy-friend, first."
She was halfway through the door before she realized she would need the lamp. As she headed back into the room, she heard Gandura groan. The Indian was struggling to her feet by the time April had reached the lamp.
The girl from U.N.C.L.E. bent over and helped her to stand erect. "Don't try to talk," she said hoarsely. "Hang on to me. We've got to find Mr. Walton."
By the time they finished a shaky tour of the house, they had learned that it was a one-story, five-room edifice, completely barren of furniture. They also had learned that Bob Walton was not on the premises.
April, who was still supporting Gandura with a trembling arm, led the way to the front door. The door opened with a creak of protest. They stood at the threshold and peered into the black night with sick eyes.
"This has got to be a nightmare," April muttered. She turned to Gandura, who was swaying unsteadily. "Honey, this can't be for real. You're just a fig---fig---figment of my imagination. None of this makes sense."
The Indian girl drew a deep breath. Her voice quavered. "I'm afraid it makes sense to me."
She handed April the piece of paper she had been clutching. "I didn't know I had it in my hand until right now," she said, with a catch in her voice. "I don't have to read it to know that it is a ransom note. Robert has been kidnapped. I am sure of it."
The words hit April like a splash of ice-water. She was suddenly and completely awake. Steadying the lamp, she held the crumpled paper within its rays. The blocked-out message was terse and to the point. She read it aloud:
If Mrs. Twombley wants to see her grandson alive, it will cost her a million dollars. We know she has that much money on deposit in the Bank of Milburn Village. She will be instructed on how and when to make the payment, through the mail. If anyone notifies the police, we will know immediately, Five minutes after the police are notified, Mr. Walton will be dead.
Gandura's voice revealed her panic.
"What are we to do? I simply can't face Mrs. Twombley and the other disciples."
She moaned like a wounded animal. "Everything will be ruined. So much is at stake. I can't begin to tell you what this means to our plans."
She made an obvious effort to regain her composure. "You mustn't think I am heartless, Miss Dancer, but even Robert's fate is secondary to the havoc this will wreak, once I tell his grandmother and the others what has happened."
April's head had cleared and she had arrived at a course of action. "Don't panic, Gandura," she said soothingly. "There's no reason why you should tell Mrs. Twombley or the others. The note says the kidnapers will notify Mr. Walton's grandmother through the mail. The letter can't possibly arrive at the island before day after tomorrow, through the regular mail.
"When it does, it shouldn't be any trouble for you to intercept it. You will have plenty of time to figure out what to say and do. Cheer up, honey. Things aren't as black as they seem."
Gandura's voice revealed her relief. "You are right, of course. There is nothing to be gained by telling the disciples what has happened. I often keep Robert in his room for days, when he is showing signs of mental unrest. His absence won't be noted."
Her sigh was deep and tremulous. "I owe you a lasting debt of gratitude, my dear. May I call you April?"
The girl from U.N.C.L.E. patted the hand of the girl from THRUSH before crossing her fingers behind her back.
"Please do, Gandura. I have a feeling that ours will be a memorable friendship."
April took a quick look at her watch before pointing toward distant lights. "We probably are on the outskirts of the village," she said. "This dreadful nightmare seems to have lasted for hours, but it is still early enough for us to tidy up at the hotel and then keep our appointment with the man in the power-sled." .
Gandura gave an alarmed squeak. "Heavens! I had forgotten about him. How can we explain Robert's absence? The sled-pilot is not one of us, you know. He is a local resident. The man is a typical, shrewd New Englander. He won't be easy to fool. He has worked for Mrs. Pine for many years. He will be sure to tell her that Robert did not return with us."
April patted her hand again. "Leave it to me, honey. I know what to say. I'll tell him that Mr. Walton wants to play hooky from his grandmother for a few days and is staying in town to have fun with a village belle. Then, I'll ask him to be a good s
port and not mention it to anyone, including Mrs. Pine and the boy's grandmother. The guy may be a weirdo in some ways, but he's human. All the world loves a lover."
She placed an arm around Gandura's shoulder. "Believe me, Gandura, I know the type. Those shrewd, down-East eyes shine with lechery. He will know exactly what I mean when I tell him that Mr. Walton is playing hooky with a local babe. And, more important, the old goat will get a big bang out of sharing that kind of a secret with two girls."
As they walked toward the village, April reviewed the night's hectic events. The startling speed of the action and the stupor induced by the injected drug had thrown her off-balance, but, now that her mind was clear, the puzzle was no longer a puzzle.
Her first emotion was one of annoyance. "Why didn't he tip me off? I might have hurt one of our own men."
The more she analyzed the fake snatch, the more she realized that it might have been fatal for her to know, in advance. She was a good actress, but she was sure she could not have put on a performance as convincing as the one she had for Gandura, if she had known the score.
She smiled a secret smile. The coup had been sheer genius. What better way to get Walton out of THRUSH’s clutches? Now that she could look at it objectively, she recognized U.N.C.L.E.’s technique. Once again she marveled at Mr. Waverly's resourcefulness and quick thinking. She slipped her hand into the pocket of her skirt.
"The sly devil! He even made sure that I wouldn't have my fountain-pen transmitter in the handbag they took away from me."
As they reached the paved street that heralded their arrival in the village, April stole a glance at the silent girl by her side.
"What would Mr. Waverly think if he knew that the girl from U.N.C.L.E. had formed an alliance with the girl from THRUSH?" She stifled a giggle. "Sounds like a sister-act in vaudeville. Gandura and Dancer ---Songs, Hoofing and Novelty Acts,"
SIXTEEN
HOW BLAND CAN A BRITISHER BE
The watcher’s finely chiseled features were a sphinx-like mask as Dr. Conrad and two assistants labored frantically over the recumbent body of Mark Slate. The eyes were the only live things in General von Krause's face. The sweating medico turned away from their almost maniacal glare and continued his administrations.
The Mesmerizing Mist Affair Page 9
