The Power Cube Affair - Phillifent John T. (версия книг .txt) 📗
"Right," Solo endorsed, wondering what Illya was trying to lead up to. "Of course, once we had found out—what we wanted to know—there was no point in staying. And it was no fun for you, either."
"It certainly wasn't. I think it's rather pathetic, all those nice people trying so hard to be wicked, just for the thrill of it. You're very deep, the pair of you."
"We are?" Solo kept his eyes on the road and began to feel uneasy. "What makes you say that?"
"You don't have to be gentle with me any longer, Napoleon. It may be simple for you, but it had never occurred to me before that I was just like all the rest. Pretending. Afraid of reality. You've really shown me, haven't you? And you"—she put her hand on Kuryakin's knee and smiled at him—"were really wonderful, too. You let me off lightly. Oh yes, it hurt like the devil, but that was my own fault. And it hurt more, afterwards, when you didn't bother to collect—what you'd won! I didn't understand that until Napoleon explained it, tonight. That people have a lot of false values on themselves. That they ought to be able to be honest, to let themselves go and be real."
Solo risked his eyes away from the road for a flash of utter bewilderment to his companion and met the same expression there. Then, all at once, it dawned on him that she was talking about something totally other than what they had in mind, and he almost drove the powerful car off the road as he realized what.
"Look," he muttered, "Nan—I think we need to clear up a point or two. We're not trying to rush you into anything. At all!"
"You're being kind again. Telling me that it can't last. I have realized that from the first moment I started on this kind of work. I had to learn to live just one day at a time, with no tomorrow."
"Almost home," Solo muttered thankfully, and lifted his foot as the gates drew near. He settled her car close to the steps. Then he steeled himself for a bad moment. Illya got out hastily and made for the Mini. She saw him go, frowned, turned to Solo, and he said:
"That's it, Nan. Much obliged for the lift home. Now we have to rush. Very urgent. See you sometime!" and before she could catch her breath he was out from under the wheel and hurrying to join his companion.
"Get going, fast!" he muttered as he scrambled in.
He strained against the cushions as Kuryakin gave the little car lots of fuel, sending it roaring forward. His last glimpse of Nan was a tall, white, somehow tragic figured staring blankly after them.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, Napoleon, but I got the idea, right at the last, that she was contemplating a menage a trois with us?"
"That's the trouble with idealistic females, Illya. They don't just bend a little, they break in pieces. Like Carpenter said, remember? Forget it. Keep an eye out for that sign."
They found it some fifteen minutes later and swung off to follow the indication, finding themselves in a quiet, almost deserted road that ran on a gentle downward gradient for a mile, then swung into a tremendous right hand curve. Kuryakin killed the engine and they climbed out.
"That's it, Napoleon. That's why it's called Piedmont. Foot of the mountain. It isn't exactly a mountain, but that house is certainly right at the foot of it. And there isn't another for miles."
The road curved widely away to the right, then reversed and swooped down and back to pass the front of the house. While they were standing, a distant bobbing light became a motorcyclist, tracing out the road for them and eventually roaring past and away the way they bad come.
"Beeman's the name," Kuryakin murmured, "Henry Beeman, and filthy rich. So it's reasonably certain that his approaches will be guarded.
Solo stared down the almost vertical slope, studying the bushes and grass clumps. "That way." He pointed. "Over the brick wall. We'll stash the Mini among those bushes back there, get these glad rags off, and then we'll see what sort of a home life Mr. Beeman has."
"Yes." Kuryakin sounded thoughtful. "Napoleon, do you ever stop to wonder why we do these things? I mean, we were all set for what looked like a very entertaining evening. We rushed away from it, and Miss Perrell tried her best to hand us another version of the same thing. And yet, here we are. Don't you ever wonder?"
"If I ever stopped to think about things like that I'd never draw my wages, Illya. Come on, let's not waste time."
ELEVEN
THE FOOT of the slope brought them to a small stream and then an eight foot stone wall with a top fringe of broken glass.
"Cautious man," Solo murmured, stripping off the dark sweater he had just put on a few minutes before and stretching up to toss it carefully across the hazard. Kuryakin made a step with his back, and Solo went up. A moment later the pair of them were perched and studying the gloom below. Bushes bulked in the dark, and there were no lights from the dark mass of the house in the distance.
"We take no chances, Napoleon. At the first sign of any alarm we rum for it. This is just an investigation, right?"
"Right. Down we go." They struck and rolled on grass side by side. Solo had brought the sweater down with him. He squirmed into it now, then froze as he heard a faint rustle, the pad of footsteps of some kind and then a deep throaty growl. It sounded like a dog, a big dog, and they both knew the drill for such an event. Separate. Let the dog choose one and get occupied; then the other would close in. He sank to a crouch and held still.
"Get a mouthful of that, sonny!" whispered Solo, thrusting the arm so that the questing fangs had a target, and gritting his teeth as the bite struck through the heavy knit. The dog's only weapon thus taken care of, he reached out with his other hand and grabbed an ear, grabbed it viciously, and heaved, even as he went over and down under the charge. The dog whined, he heaved harder, twisting, and the savage fangs let go just for a moment. It was all he could hope for. Out went his other hand, groping and seeking, avoiding the teeth, finding the other ear and clamping on. He hung on, wondering where Illya was. He got to his knees, stole time to stare aside into the gloom, and saw his companion rolling on the grass with the mate to the dog he was fighting.
"Oh well!" he muttered. "One each! It's fair. Come up, you!" and he struggled to his feet, still grimly hanging on to the ears. Now in the gloom he could see the savage muzzle close to him and knew that he had to win this decisively, that it was no time for half measures. Clenching his teeth, Solo braced himself, then fell, using all his weight, flat onto the squirming beast. Using both hands like hatchets he chopped again and again, hitting as hard as he could The dog heaved frantically in wild desire to get its fangs into him. He laid hold of a front leg, then the other, wrenched on them, struggling to his feet. For a moment the pair of them swayed in a mad ballet, then out of the gloom came Kuryakin, to sway and then land a blow like a hammer. The dog made a strained squeal and fell limply to the ground. Solo flexed his hands. It had taken only a. few seconds, but he was soaked with sweat and felt limp.
"Thanks, Illya. Call it a day," he muttered. "We'd better get while we can."
"I'll second that. Friend Beeman trains his dogs too well." They stood a moment to catch breath. Then, before they could turn back to the wall, a blinding white light struck out of the gloom, catching both of them full face, and a harsh, chesty voice ordered:
"Don't nobody move. There's two barrels of sudden death looking right at you. Just hold still now!"
