The Power Cube Affair - Phillifent John T. (версия книг .txt) 📗

The luscious red head opened her emerald green eyes wide on the two men, her boredom fading away as she took them in. "Very healthy," she murmured, to no one in particular. "Very nice." She drifted close, gazing up. Lady Herriott ran around in a small circle and came back to her starting spot, sighed and complained.

"Isn't it hot? Hot everywhere. You know, we decided to have three days on the Isle of Levant. You know, where everyone goes nude. But it was just as hot there." She shook her head as if puzzled by that, then beamed at Miss Perrell. "You're looking as delicious as ever, Nan. I don't know how you do it.?' Turning aimlessly she brushed her daughter gently aside and took Solo's hand as if seeking stability in an uncertain world. "There—I've forgotten your name already!"

"You try to do too much," Miss Perrell put in. "You really ought to take life a little easier, you know."

"Oh, but I like to do whatever I can while I can. So long as it's legal, of course."

"That's very commendable," Solo murmured. "Rather unfashionable, too, these days."

"Isn't it dreadful?" she agreed. "I mean, once the law goes where are you? What I say is, keep to the law and you need never worry about being virtuous. That will take care of itself." She patted his hand approvingly and trotted away to supervise baggage loading operations. Evadne surged in close again, seemed to trip and would have fallen had it not been for Kuryakin's quick and strong arm.

"My!" she breathed, leaning on him and almost purring. "You're very strong, aren't you?"

"Strong enough. You didn't like Levant then?"

"Dull! Unutterably tedious. I mean, everybody looks the same in the raw, don't they? There's no scope left. I'd rather have a good old orgy any time."

"An orgy?" Kuryakin repeated, raising his brows at Solo. Lady Herriott came trotting back in time to hear his words and smiled.

"We have marvelous orgies regularly. Only for the right people, of course." Her smile gave way to a calculating stare as she eyed Solo and then Kuryakin. "Of course, if you're friends of Nan, you're bound to be all right. Are they, Nan?"

"I really don't know." Miss Perrell seemed to be struggling with inner amusement, probably at the expression on Kuryakin's face. "I can find out and let you know. Will that do?"

"Splendid! Tomorrow night, then? And why don't you come along too, just for once?"

"You'll never persuade Nan," Evadne exclaimed, with edges on her voice. "She has her own diversions. But you'll come, won't you, both of you? Please?"

Solo shrugged, not knowing what it was all about, and looked to Miss Perrell for a lead. She had a gleam in her eye.

"I'll see about it. I may bring them myself, yet. I'll let you know what I decide."

As the gleaming Rolls crackled away over gravel and then into the road, Solo turned to her. "What was all that about an orgy?"

"I'll tell you in a minute, soon's I see what kind of fish I've caught. Get in the car, I'll be back in a minute." She went away swiftly.

"What d'you think, Illya?"

"I think it's time we got out from under, Napoleon. We have things to do more important than attending society gambols."

Miss Perrell returned to the ear, slid in behind the wheel, and started up the engine, but there was a faraway look in her eyes as she said:

"Guard's place is along the coast road on the way to Hythe, isn't it?"

"Right," Solo told her. Then, after they had been rolling awhile, "What's on your mind?"

"Am I that obvious?" She laughed harshly and flicked a glance at the two men by her side. "All right, try this on your experienced minds. I have just caught two hundred thousand pounds' worth of heroin and assorted hard drugs, on a tipoff. Good, yes? But wait a bit. That's the eleventh tipoff in two years. Always accurate, always the same type of people, and always the same story. That couple will go through the mill, and the answer will be—nil! No leads, commercial connections, contacts, distribution network, nothing! It's crazy. They will swear they don't know a thing."

"Maybe the stuff has been planted on them for some body else to grab?"

"We've thought of that. We've had other people shadowed, followed. Same answer. Nothing. Somebody has just lost two hundred thousand pounds' worth of dope, and we have no idea who, nor where it was going. Mad!"

"Always on that same boat?" Kuryakin demanded, and she frowned.

"Now you come to mention it, yes. But that's just a coincidence, I'm sure. Maggie travels on the Continent regularly, for her charity work."

"Charity?" Solo demanded. "Pardon me, but the countess struck me as being far removed from anything as real as that."

"She's real enough." Miss Perrell began to grin. "I've known her for years, and she is absolutely genuine. Charity!" She laughed softly to herself, and Solo realized all over again just how attractive she could be.

"Let us in on the joke," he said.

"All right, Maggie––she used to be Margaret Wallace, daughter of a fairly well off family, bitten with the stage bug very early, had something of a career, then married Danby—all strictly story book stuff up to that point. But she was also bitten by the goodwill bug after seeing the seamier side of life. And she is, as she said, completely without any sense of propriety. For Maggie, so long as there's no law against it, it goes. She hit on her orgy notion, oh, a long time ago now. And they are orgies, literally. Bacchanalia in the Nero Roman style. Once a month at Danby Hall, and no holds barred. Everything goes. Everything!"

"But isn't that breaking half a dozen laws?"

"No, Illya, not at all. Maggie is very careful who she picks. Only the best people. Rich people. People with status, reputation, fame and renown. Quite clever people, too, mostly."

"How does that make it legal?"

"It doesn't, in itself, but so long as the affair takes place on private property, and the people are there by invitation only, and no one complains, the law cannot intervene. The only other way anyone can interfere is by moral protest, and there would be plenty to do that, but their guns are very neatly spiked. Because, you see, she really is operating a charity. Every guest is expected to contribute a substantial sum—and they all do—which then goes to famine relief. And it does, every last penny. That has been checked a score of times, and it is quite genuine."

"Very neat," Solo approved.

"It is. You see, the 'holier than thou' brigade can't say a word. And, so I'm told, everybody has enormous fun. Including Maggie herself. When you come to think of it, the kind of people she invites seldom have such an opportunity to let their hair down and relax."

"You're speaking from hearsay," Kuryakin pointed out. "You've never been to one of these Roman scandals?"

"I have other things to do." She snapped the words off sharp, then. "What did you think of her rubies?"

"Those hideous red beads were rubies?"

"They were," Miss Perrell said carefully, "either the genuine Danby rubies, which are something like five hundred years old and famous, even if they are hideous—or a replica—or a replica."

"Why the echo?" Kuryakin wondered, and she laughed again.

"Because, as you saw, Maggie has no taste at all, no color sense, but she adores those rubies. And they are immensely valuable, as antiques. And she likes to wear them whenever possible. So a long time ago now, she had them copied, twice, so perfectly that even she can't tell the real from the copy. At least, that's the story. And she switches them at random. So, if you were a jewel thief, would you care to try to snatch them, in those circumstances?"