“He’s right,” Max said to the steward. “When J. Edgar Hoover hears about this, you are in hot water!”
The steward rolled his eyes heavenward, then walked off.
“Max, we’re not accomplishing anything here,” 99 said. “Let’s see if the party has started yet.”
“Just what I was going to suggest,” Max replied.
They returned to the lounge. Approaching it, they heard sounds of laughter and happy-talk.
“The party has started, all right,” Max said. “It sounds as if we’re just in time—the last ones to arrive.”
“Max, since we don’t know what Dr. X looks like, what shall we look for?” 99 said.
“Well . . . we know that he has disguised himself. And, what is the first thing a man does when he wants to hide his true identity? He puts on a false beard.”
“I see. So we look for a scientist with a false beard.”
“You phrase that very well, 99.”
They reached the entrance to the lounge—and halted. The room was chock-a-block with happy, smiling scientists. They were toasting each other, babbling away in scientific jargon, laughing and joking—all in all, having a thoroughly enjoyable time of it.
“Max . . .” 99 said thinly.
“Yes?”
“Do you notice something?”
“Yes. It’s very odd, isn’t it?”
“It certainly is,” 99 agreed.
“This is undoubtedly the first time I’ve ever seen a man drinking a milk shake with an olive in it,” Max said.
“An olive? Where?”
“Over there—the fellow with the beard.”
“Oh . . . yes. But, Max, that wasn’t what I meant. What I meant was—they’re all wearing beards!”
Max glanced around. “99, I think you’re right.”
“What do you mean, you think I’m right. They’re all wearing beards!”
“Let me put that another way: 99, you’re right.”
99 sighed. “It isn’t much help, is it?”
“Well, it does make our project a little more difficult,” Max replied. “But not impossible. One of those beards is a false beard. What we have to do is find it.”
“How? Pull every beard in the room? And suppose the diabolical Dr. X isn’t wearing a false beard? If all these other scientists are wearing real beards, maybe he is, too.”
Max scowled. “99, I think this calls for a change in tactics. Let’s assume that the real Dr. X, being a scientist, does wear a beard. Now, if you were in his shoes, and wanted to disguise yourself, what would you do?”
“Go barefoot?”
“Let’s stick to beards. If you had a beard and wanted to disguise yourself, what would you do?”
“Oh, I see. I’d shave it off.”
“Exactly. So what we’re looking for is a clean-shaven scientist.”
99 looked around again. “I don’t see any clean-shaven scientists.”
“Mark my word, 99. The diabolical Dr. X is here, and he is clean-shaven. Now, all we have to do is find him. And, to do that, all we have to do is mingle. Sooner or later, we’ll come across a clean-shaven scientist.” He motioned to 99 and Fang. “Let’s mingle.”
“Rorff!” Fang barked.
“I know, I know,” Max said. “I’m as bored by these parties as you are. Just don’t join in the conversation if it pains you so much. No one will expect you to have opinions, anyway.”
Max, followed by 99 and Fang, sidled up to two scientists who were in jolly conversation.
“Which reminds me of a funny story,” he said, breaking in. “A bunch of the other space scientists and I were sitting around the launch pad one day, discussing the moon and what sort of animal we ought to send on the first trip to that planet—It is a planet, isn’t it? Or is it an asteroid or something? Well, no matter. The point is, we were discussing the moon and animals. Well, one of the space scientists said, ‘You know, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that the moon is really made of green cheese.’ That got quite a chuckle, of course. But then I topped it. I said, ‘Well, if it is, then there’s no question about what animal we should send to the moon. We ought to send a duck.’ ‘A duck?’ the other space scientists queried. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘a duck. That way, when the first man gets to the moon, he’ll have a quacker to go along with the green cheese.’ Well, you should have heard the howls!”
The two scientists stared at Max dumbly.
“Quackers and cheese,” Max said.
The two scientists looked at each other.
“A duck makes a quacking sound, you see,” Max explained. “Consequently, I referred to the duck as a ‘quacker’. If you think about it, it’s quite funny.”
One of the scientists groaned softly. The other one closed his eyes, as if wanting to be alone.
“The boys on the launching pad liked it,” Max muttered.
“I think we better mingle some more, Max,” 99 said.
“Yes . . .”
They moved on.
“We were wasting our time there, anyway,” Max said. “Both of those scientists were wearing beards.”
“Max . . . 99 said sympathetically, “. . . I thought that was a very funny story.”
“Thank you, 99.”
“There was just one thing, though. The part I didn’t understand was, why would anybody want to send a duck to the moon?”
“Well, you see—” He stopped and glared at her.
99 lowered her eyes. “Sorry about that, Max.”
Max cocked an ear toward a nearby conversation. “Ah . . . serious stuff, scientific talk,” he said. “This, we can get in on without fear of being rebuffed. Where we made our mistake before was in not remembering that, as a group, scientists have no sense of humor.”
Max ambled up to the trio of scientists on whom he had been eavesdropping.
“. . . centrifugal flow of ions,” the scientist on the left was saying.
“Exactly what I was saying the other day to the boys on the launching pad,” Max interjected.
The three turned to him.
“Oh, excuse me,” Max said. “I’m Max Smart, Space Scientist. And this is my assistant, 99. And my current experiment, Fang. I expect to send him to the moon any day now.”
“Rorff!” Fang barked.
“You’ll eat cheese and quackers and like it!” Max snapped.
“Ah . . . space science,” the scientist on the right said, “a fascinating subject.”
“Yes,” Max agreed. “And the most interesting thing is, there’s so much of it. Space, that is. It’s probably never occurred to you, but space, you know, is all around us. Most people don’t think much about that. They take it for granted. Space, that is. As a scientist, however, I appreciate that. Whenever I want to study a little space, all I have to do is open a window, and there it is. Space. That makes it quite convenient for me. I don’t have to send out for it, and wait for the delivery truck to arrive.”
“Yes, that’s an advantage we pathologists don’t have,” the scientist in the middle said.
Max nodded. “I have noticed an acute shortage of paths,” he said.
“No, no,” the scientist smiled. “A pathologist is a medical doctor who makes a study of cadavers.”
Max squinted at him. “Mushrooms?”
“Cadavers are dead bodies.”
“Oh. Yes, now that you mention it, I have noticed an acute shortage of dead bodies. But . . . things will pick up, I’m sure. One little epidemic, and your problem will be solved.”
The pathologist sighed. “It’s too much to hope for,” he said. “Doctors today have no regard for science. An epidemic starts, and, right away, they rush in and stop it.” He sighed again, more deeply. “It’s not like the old days.”
“For that matter, what is?” Max sympathized. “There’s the story of Wilbur and Orville Wright, you know, when they still had that bicycle shop, before they even thought about inventing the airplane. One day, one of their customers said to Orville, ‘
Wilbur,’ he said, ‘one of these days, man is going to fly to the moon—what do you think of that?’ Well, Orville—or Wilbur, as the case may be—looked at the customer for a moment, then, very dramatically, he said, ‘Hand me that socket wrench, will you?’ ”
The scientists stared at Max dumbly.
“He was putting a wheel on a bicycle,” Max explained.
One of the scientists groaned softly. Another closed his eyes, as if he wanted to be alone. The third scientist left to freshen up his milk shake.
“After he put the wheel on, he attached a basket to the handlebars,” Max said. “Bicycles were used as beasts of burden in those days.”
“I think we better mingle some more, Max,” 99 said.
“Yes . . .”
3.
AS THEY moved away from the two scientists, 99 suddenly clutched Max’s arm. “Max! Look! Over there! Across the room! A clean-shaven scientist!”
But Max refused to look. “I’ve been rebuffed enough for one day,” he pouted. “No more scientists.”
“But, Max! Clean-shaven!”
Max ventured a peek. “Hmmmmm. You’re right, 99. And, he looks like a good-natured sort, too. Well, all right, we’ll approach him. But he better be in better humor than the other scientists we’ve tackled today. One more icy stare, and I’m going to my stateroom and hide my head and not come out until I get a written apology—in triplicate!”
“Max, don’t be so sensitive.”
“A secret agent has feelings, too, you know.”
“But you’re supposed to hide them, Max.”
“That’s what I intended to do—under a pillow, and not come out until I got a written apology—in triplicate.”
“Look, Max! The clean-shaven scientist! He’s laughing! You’ll like him!”
Max stared at her icily. “99, a secret agent can’t pick and choose. A secret agent has to go anywhere, and meet anybody, and like it. A secret agent can’t afford to have feelings.”
“All right, Max.”
Slowly, inconspicuously, Max, 99 and Fang made their way toward the clean-shaven scientist, who was in conversation with another of the bearded scientists.
When they neared them, the clean-shaven scientist extended a hand to Max, smiling jovially. “Hello there,” he said. “I saw you slowly making your way in this direction. I’m Herbert Wai—pronounced ‘Y’.”
“Mr. ‘Y’?” Max said, taken aback for a moment.
“Yes, ‘Y’—as in ‘Yellow young yoga in Yankeeland’.”
Max’s eyes narrowed. “Or as in ‘X’?”
“I don’t follow you,” Mr. Wai replied.
“No, but ‘Y’ does follow ‘X’—which strikes me as being somewhat suspicious.”
“On the other hand,” Mr. Wai smiled, “ ‘X’ is also followed by ‘Z’.”
Max’s jaw fell. “Yes, I guess that clears you, all right,” he said. “Apparently, it’s all in the way you look at it. I’m sorry I jumped to the wrong conclusion.”
“It could happen to anybody,” Mr. Wai assured Max. The smile spread out over his face again. “I don’t believe I caught your name,” he said.
Max introduced himself and 99 and Fang. “Are you a scientist, too?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” Mr. Wai replied. “Didn’t you notice—I’m clean-shaven. Scientists have beards. No, I’m the tour director. I’m escorting all you scientists to Europe to see the laboratories.” He suddenly frowned. “If you’re one of our scientists,” he said, “how is it that you’re clean-shaven, too?”
“Oh . . . yes. Well, there’s an explanation for that,” Max replied. “You see, I’m . . . ah . . . ah . . .”
“Rorff!”
“Yes, that’s it!” Max brightened. “I’m traveling incognito.”
Mr. Wai peered at him puzzledly. “You’re traveling as a mushroom?”
“Fang!” Max snapped at K-13.
“Rorff!”
“Oh, that’s what it means!” Max said, relieved. He turned back to Mr. Wai. “No, you see, incognito means that I’m concealing my true identity.”
“Well, maybe so,” Mr. Wai said doubtfully. “But I don’t think it’s working. I’d never take you for a mushroom.”
“Would you take me for a space scientist?” Max suggested.
“Yes.”
“Then let’s settle for that,” Max said.
“Fine, fine,” Mr. Wai nodded. “And, how are you enjoying the tour—so far?”
“Well, frankly, I’ve had better times at automobile accidents,” Max said. “I find that my colleagues are severely lacking in an appreciation of the finer degrees of humor.”
“I agree,” Mr. Wai said. “A bunch of point-killers if I ever saw a bunch of point-killers.” He suddenly grinned. “But, say, I did hear a good one today. As a space scientist, you might enjoy it. It seems that a bunch of these space scientists were sitting around the launching pad, discussing what animal they ought to send to the moon, and one of these space scientists said—”
“Cheese and quackers,” Max broke in.
“Oh. You’ve heard it.”
“Yes, I’ve heard it,” Max said. “But, have you heard the one about Orville and Wilbur Wright?”
“Hand me that socket wrench?” Mr. Wai replied.
“That’s it,” Max nodded.
Mr. Wai extended a hand again. “Well, I have to mingle with the other scientists,” he said. “But it’s been fun.”
“Yes, we’ll have to get together and trade punchlines again,” Max said.
Mr. Wai ambled off.
“Max,” 99 said, “I’m not so sure about him.”
“Innocent as a new-born-babe,” Max said.
“I don’t know—his name, Mr. ‘Y’. That’s awfully close to Dr. X.”
“Mr. Wai couldn’t possibly be a scientist,” Max said. “With a highly developed sense of humor like that? Impossible.”
“All right, Max. If you say so. Shall we mingle some more?”
Max shook his head. “No. We’re getting nowhere here. We’ve checked out the only clean-shaven man at the party, and found that, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he isn’t Dr. X. So, the only conclusion I can reach is that Dr. X is not present. I think it’s time to change tactics again, 99.”
“What now, Max?”
“Let’s step outside where we can have some privacy,” Max said. “We don’t want to be overheard.”
“Max, no one is paying any attention to us.”
“That’s another reason for getting out of here,” Max said, leading the way toward the exit.
Max, 99 and Fang went out on deck and stood by the rail.
“I think we’re safe here,” Max said. A sea gull swooped by. “Unless that sea gull is bugged,” he added. “But we’ll just have to take that chance.”
“What do you have in mind, Max?” 99 said.
“In a nutshell, this,” Max said. “Now, we know that the diabolical Dr. X is traveling with a suitcase of six invisible guinea pigs—right? Right. And, it stands to reason that the suitcase is in Dr. X’s stateroom—right? Right. So, the next logical step, it seems to me, would be to search the staterooms of each and every one of the scientists on board until we find the suitcase full of invisible guinea pigs.”
“Max—that’s brilliant!”
“Simple logic,” Max said modestly.
“That means that we’ll need a list of the staterooms that have been assigned to scientists,” 99 said.
“Right. Now, armed with this list—”
“Where will we get the list, Max?”
“From the officer in charge of lists, of course. Where else?”
“I’d like to see that. Max.”
“You will, 99. Because that is your assignment.”
“Why me, Max?”
“Because, in this instance, I think your femininity will be more effective than my intellectuality. You know how sailors are. There’s something about being at sea that makes them especially susceptible to the
lures of romance. Though, for the life of me, I can’t fathom what it could be.”
“Salt air, maybe,” 99 suggested.
“Rorff!” Fang barked.
Max glared at him. “It couldn’t be that,” he said. “And I think it’s ungentlemanly of you even to suggest it.”
“All right, Max,” 99 said, “what do I do after I get the list?”
“Try to shake the sailor,” Max said. “Then come to my stateroom. Fang and I will be there. I want to inspect that attache case of gadgets that the Chief gave us. There might be a gadget in there that we can use to help us search the scientists’ staterooms.”
99 saluted. “See you later, Max.”
“Don’t make it too much later,” Max said. “Fang may be right about what makes sailors that way.”
When 99 had gone, Max turned to Fang. “Time to hit that long, long trail—back to C Deck, boy,” he said. “Are you up to it?”
“Rorff!”
“Yes, I guess ‘down to it’ is closer to the mark.”
“Rorff!”
“No, Fang, I will not go down and get the attache case and bring it up here.”
“Rorff!”
“Go on. See what good it does you. J. Edgar Hoover is just as good a friend of mine as he is of yours.”
Fang capitulated. And they began the long trek downward to C Deck.
When they reached the stateroom, they both squeezed in.
“Just watch your elbows,” Max said gruffly.
“Rorff!”
“All right, then, whatever it is that you have that passes for elbows.”
Max opened the attache case on the lower bunk and peered thoughtfully at the contents. “Let’s see, we’ll do our searching at night, when it’s dark,” he said, “so this ultra-violet flashlight, which throws a beam that can’t be seen by the naked eye, will come in handy. We can search the staterooms without having to worry about our beam being seen from outside. Clever of Research and Development to come up with that.”
“Rorff!”
Max picked up another of the gadgets. “Oh, this? Well, let’s see. I’ll read what it says here on the tag. ‘Full Field Pack, Including Food Rations to Sustain a Party of Six Over a Period of Two Weeks (if lunches are skipped). Also Including Battery-Operated Electric Stove and Oven, Three Sauce Pans, One Roaster Pan, Two Skillets and a Meat Thermometer.’ ”
Get Smart 2 - Sorry, Chief . . . Page 3
