The Hollow Crown Affair - McDaniel David (читать книги онлайн без .txt) 📗

Taking the bird gently between his hands he brought it out and held its plump underside to the light. There, fastened high up her leg, close under the body and safe from the airstream, was a small aluminum capsule. Carefully he unclipped it, cooing soothingly to the bird, and palmed it as he replaced the winged messenger in her cage.

Under better illumination in the next room he opened the capsule, and placed it in a tiny rack with four others after picking out the scrap of folded tissue paper it contained. Spread carefully on a worktable the neatly printed message was clearly legible. MEET ME BOZO BILL 2PM SAT. There was no signature and no need for one. Pigeon Post was still one of the most secure systems of communication in the world—all the more so for being out of style.

* * *

Illya met him at the door at precisely ten forty-five and accompanied him on his walk across campus. On the way they conversed casually on unimportant things, and at one point Baldwin asked the Russian agent if he were at all familiar with New England.

"Only Boston and points south. I've never had occasion to spend much time up here."

"It's lovely country," said the Thrush idly, and shifted into a local anecdote dating from the Revolutionary War. It lasted until they arrived at the office.

Lyn was just turning on the radiator when they came in. Baldwin greeted her cheerfully and said, "Could you find those notes I made last fortnight for tomorrow's address?"

"The seminar on Urban Pollution? Yes sir, I brought them out last week so they'd be ready when you wanted them. They're here someplace..." She sorted through piles of papers.

"Mr. Kuryakin," said Baldwin offhandedly, "would you be so good as to run down to the fountain and fill the teakettle? Thank you."

As Illya picked up the kettle and swung out the door, Baldwin turned to his desk. And as the door closed, he picked up the telephone.

* * *

It lacked five minutes of twelve when there was a light tap at the door and Chandra Reynolds, stylishly clad, walked in. Baldwin was disposing of correspondence, Lyn was typing his notes, and Illya was shamelessly reading Spiderman. He looked up and tucked it away as she came in.

"Hi, Ward!" she caroled. "Hi, Illya darling! It's lunchtime, and I hate to eat alone."

"Good morning, Chandra," said Baldwin. "It's not noon until the chimes ring. And I'm afraid I must have lunch sent in today and all distractions sent out. Some research has just been reported which will require a complete revision of my address for tomorrow."

"Oh dear—chained to your desk again. Illya, will you and Lyn come with me?"

"Golly, Mrs. Reynolds, I ordered a lunch along with Dr. Fraser."

Chandra looked appalled. "Well! Illya—don't tell me you're bound to be here all day too!"

"Good heavens, no," Baldwin growled. "Mr. Kuryakin, I have quite enough work to do that I am unlikely to leave my desk, let alone my office. I assure you that I am quite safe here, and your presence—if you will forgive me—is a distraction. Allow me an hour to organize my thoughts on the problem and then return if you must."

"Well..."

"Oh, do come with me, Illya! I'll show you the old part of town."

"I'd better not be gone more than an hour. After all, I am responsible..."

The twelve o'clock bell sounded, and Baldwin said "Lunchtime. Why not take the opportunity to get out of the office, Mr. Kuryakin? You probably feel cooped up in here."

"By the way," said Chandra. "Where's Napoleon?"

"He took the weekend off," said Illya.

"And left you here? Where did he go? You must tell me all about it over lunch," she said as Illya accepted his coat from Lyn and opened the door for Chandra. Her cheery " 'Bye Ward," followed them out.

When they were gone, Baldwin turned to Lyn. "Miss Stier, you've lived in this area all your life. What is a 'Bozo Bill'?"

"Bozo Bill? That's a statue in the town square over in Barre. My last boyfriend was from there. It's got a kind of bench around it that makes a whispering gallery so the people that sit at opposite ends can hear each other. We tried it one day. It was spooky."

Baldwin nodded. "It seems a peculiar name for a statue."

"Well, its real name is Youth Triumphant, or something like that. But it was put up during a big strike at the granite works and it was done by scab labor—they were called 'bozos'. And the workers called it Bozo Bill and the name stuck."

"I see," said Baldwin, and added another anecdote to his mental file. "And you said it was in Bury?"

"No, Barre. Like Goldwater. It's about forty miles east on Route Two, turn south just past Montpelier."

"Thank you, Miss Stier." Baldwin made a brief notation on a card, then stood. "If I'm not back by the time you have finished, you may close the office and go home. I believe everything is taken care of here."

"Close the office? But what about Illya?"

"Mr. Kuryakin will not be back this afternoon at all, my dear." He rose, took his stick, his hat, his gloves, his coat, his scarf, and his leave.

* * *

At approximately the same time, Napoleon Solo, sitting nervous and hungry in a comfortable room some fifty linear miles north-northeast, heard a metallic chirp and picked up his transceiver. "Solo here."

"We've checked out the Redwing Lodge, Mr. Solo—they're registered with the Hotel Association and the Diners Club. They just got started this year, with the backing of the Old Man of one of Boston's best families. As far as anyone can tell they have no connection with Thrush at all."

"Sure," said Napoleon. "They just happened to make up a Thrush insignia."

"Not necessarily. They could have seen it on that silly television show."

"Yeah, but..."

"Mr. Solo, all we can do is supply you with data. You're on the spot. We can't evaluate for you."

"That's not what I mean. Okay, just tell Mr. Waverly where I am. It may look all right from a distance, but it bothers me here."

"Very good, Mr. Solo." Section Four cut off.

So here he was. He had a free weekend coming, since no one had challenged him as Dr. Fraser, and it was forty miles of bad roads back to civilization...He wondered momentarily about selling the car and buying a cottage rather than facing the long drive out.

Still, he could just as well be on his guard for a while. It seemed an open-and-aboveboard sort of place, and if it was this new they wouldn't even have hidden TV cameras and booby traps wired in yet—considering it to be Thrush, and the more he thought about it the less likely it seemed. Besides, he was hungry, and he couldn't start back without breakfast or lunch. They'd be awfully unlikely to poison him in the dining room—at least intentionally. He folded his transceiver, gritted his teeth, girded his loins, and went out for breakfast.

Chapter 10: "Watch Out For That Tree!"

The clerk handed him a fluorescent orange windbreaker when he went to check out a horse, saying, "All the guests wear them, sir. You'll take a 44, I think."

Outside, he observed indeed many light nylon windbreakers of identical design in yellow, blue, green and even pink, all with the little black bird patch that apparently was the symbol of the lodge. Napoleon looked at his where it lay over his arm, and considered the moral and aesthetic implications for several seconds before reluctantly slipping it on. If the boys at the office could see me now, he thought, and double-timed out to the stables.