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

"Putting it very mildly. Nor can we call up friend Charles, either, seeing that we never bothered to let Miss Perrell know what we were up to."

"True. And I am quite certain the police would take a very poor view indeed of a couple of—well, there are three dead bodies to account for!"

"Right!" Kuryakin murmured, gently stroking the soft shoulder that lay in his palm. "So there's only one thing left."

"That is?" Solo raised a brow. "Excuse me, I must have missed it. What?"

"We use Green's story. Plus a few twists of our own. That is, if we can persuade Louise here into a bit of cooperation."

Solo frowned, sniffed strongly, and rose to his feet. "Before anything else," he declared, "I'm going to stick my head under the tap and get rid of the perfume of hooch."

On the way back from the kitchen he located a bundled pile of clothing and grabbed it under his arm. Kuryakin was still sitting just as he had been before, but Miss Thompson had lifted her head and was staring at him.

"You say they are all dead?" she demanded, in a little girl voice quite different from her affected flute like tones. "Those three horrible men? Dead?"

"Right. We had no choice, Louise. It was them or us. You understand that, don't you?"

"That's absolutely true." Solo came to stand by the bed. "That was the whole plan, start to finish." Her eyes were enormous as she peered up at him. He sat gently. Kuryakin released her, patted her shoulder.

"Napoleon will look after you while I go and get this stuff washed off. And then we must work out what to do."

She watched him go out, then swept the room with a stare as if she had never seen it before. The missing door puzzled her.

"It got broken in the struggle," Solo explained. "I'm afraid your nice home is pretty well wrecked, Louise. Green succeeded in that much, at any rate."

"He meant you to be killed," she whispered. "He used me to get you here, so that he could kill you. He used me!"

"Shouldn't let it bother you. He's a very smart man. You wouldn't be the first one he's used. And you're luckier than most. You're still alive. There was another girl—" He saw the glistening tears start into her eyes and put out a helpless band to pat her. Once more she gave way to her feelings, but this time she was sobbing, harsh and wrenching sobs. There was nothing for him to do but wait for the storm to subside. And try to figure out what Illya had in mind. After a while coherent words began to come through her sobbing.

"I'm glad they are dead," she said. "If it's wicked of me, I don't care, I'm glad!" Kuryakin came back, shaking his wet hair. Solo looked at him resignedly, then asked:

"About this plan, Illya?"

"Yes. Louise, do you think you could help us now?"

"You want me to help you?" The enormity of the idea shocked her into forgetting her tears. "Me? But you must hate and despise me, after what I've done!"

"Don't be silly," Kuryakin told her kindly. "Green is a killer, and so is his chief. They are the ones we're after, not you. You believed you were doing something right and good. You didn't mean any harm!"

"Oh!" she wailed. "I've been such a fool! I thought we were going to have such a nice time together. I was so looking forward to it, and now—"

"Steady!" Solo checked an incipient outburst of further tears. "It's all right now, all over and done with. The thing now is to figure out some way to square everything up. You want to help, don't you?"

"I'll do anything!" she said fiercely. "Anything!"

"You won't have to do very much," Kuryakin assured her. "Green isn't the only one who can contrive things. Look, I'll draw the picture for you. Let's assume that you were here all alone. A quiet evening watching TV or listening to records, or just reading, whatever you prefer. Then, all at once, you hear a clatter as if someone is breaking in by the back door. So what do you do?"

"Eh?" She seemed baffled for a moment, then, "Oh! You mean—? I would be scared stiff. But then—I might just go as far as the kitchen door to look."

"Good! You do that. You open the door. You see two maybe three, big, rough men, breaking in. What do you do?"

"Scream like mad and run!"

"Good again. You run into here, this bedroom. You bolt the door. You're scared stiff. You hear somebody try the door, and you scream some more, but no one hears. Right? So the men abandon the door for the moment and start upsetting the place. They find the drink and start on it. They get rowdy and bust the place up. Then they remember you again and come for the door in earnest this time. They break it down, halfway. You scream as hard as you can. Then something puts them off. A noise, something. You don't know what. But they go away. All of them pile out by the back door, get into their car and drive off. You wait long enough to be sure they've gone; then you telephone the police. Now, do you understand all that?"

"Why, yes!" she said. "Of course. That's exactly what I would do."

"Fine. And that's the story you'll tell the police when they come. Just that. You didn't see the car, so you can't describe it, but you heard it. You can, and will, describe the men. Not Green, just the three seamen."

"You are indeed a very crafty Russian, Illya," put in Solo. "Green won't know a thing. He said himself he would be out of touch. One will get you ten he'll be aboard that yacht of his. It's the best alibi he could possibly have."

"And it gives us a week to catch up with him, Napoleon. If we can't nail him by then we don't deserve our reputations."

"What are you two?" she asked, swiveling her eyes from one to the other in wide interest. "Secret agents or something?"

"Certainly not!" Kuryakin contradicted. "We're foreign spies!" He grinned at her. For a moment her mouth gaped; then she caught it and laughed. It was a beautiful sound, but it went on a little bit too long. Solo lifted a palm warningly.

"No hysterics now, Louise. You've done very well so far."

She made an effort, calmed herself. "You're very clever, anyway," she decided, "and I want to do something to help. Anything!"

"Let's all start by getting some clothes on," Solo suggested, and she shrieked as she realized she was completely nude. She flushed rosy pink all over. The two men turned tactfully away and hurriedly sorted out their clothes, pointedly taking care not to turn again until they were dressed. But she was still naked.

"I don't care!" she said defiantly. "After what I did, luring you two here to your deaths—and then you saved my life— it doesn't seem to matter very much, does it? I mean—" and she went pink again. "I've always been a bit vain about my shape."

"Here in your own home," said Kuryakin, "it is entirely your own business whether you wear anything or not. But you'd better put something on your feet. There's a lot of broken glass about. Napoleon, you'd better take your handkerchief and wipe anywhere we might have left fingerprints. I'm going to break in the back door, from the outside."

She followed them around, watching and listening as they cleared up the odds and ends. She carefully refrained from looking at the bodies as they were hauled out the back way into the car. The two men came together amid the wreckage for a final check, and then something went click in Solo's mind as he turned to Louise for one last assurance that she knew her part.