"Interesting," she said. "And not for sale... And Karadin too."

"Carl Karadin? Your doctor chum from Paris? Here?"

"My ex-professor," she corrected him. "The chicks come out. He goes in."

"It's all in your mind," said Mark, taking her arm as they walked through the crowded street. The rain had stopped. The throngs were again on the move. "You're trained to link—to associate. Why shouldn't he be here? This is a two-day break. Why pause for thought?"

She smiled. "Perhaps you're right. I'm hungry."

Mark was silent for a moment. "My traveler's checks are back at the hotel."

"So?"

"So for an hour or two—loan me enough to treat you right. I spent out in the store back there."

"And relied on clipping me?"

"Well, no—not exactly." He took something from his pocket, a colored pappy swodge. "I'd stashed these notes in another pocket. Got caught in a shower on the way here. They must have got wet. Don't see how, but there they are."

She fingered them. "They feel damp, but they'll be legal tender."

"Perhaps so, but you'd make it easier if you lent me a couple of flyers."

"Oh! All right!" She wasn't pleased. She opened her purse, probed, then stopped dead, pulled out a note clip. In it was a slim pappy wad of color. She glanced at him. "Okay—joke over. I don't know how you did it, but I am not amused."

Mark stared at her hands. "I'll be dammed..."

"You will be if you think I'm going to stand for your schoolboy tricks."

He raised a protesting hand. "So help me, April."

"Then how?" She swung around, gazing back down the street.

"The revolving restaurant on top of the Tower," she said suddenly; "do you mind going on? I'll meet you there."

"Well, there were some chaps—" he began hesitantly. "Old chums, y'know. Just a chance to swill the old noggin with them."

She glared. "Some chaps? You and half a regiment of your old R.A.F. chum-buddies! Okay—be in the bar."

"Now listen, mate." His voice lost its old-boy lilt. "This is a two-day leave. I'll be where I damn well please."

"Go!" she said urgently.

He glanced into her eyes, smiled softly.

"Gone," he said—and went swiftly into the press of traffic and disappeared.

April Dancer walked back the street, crossed over, sauntering, window-gazing. In a while the well-dressed figure came closer. She turned quickly, stumbled.

"Oh! I'm so sorry. Pardon—" She looked up, smiled gushingly. "Why—Dr. Karadin, of all people!"

He frowned slightly, anger flashing across his face; then a mask of smiling pleasure replaced it, though the eyes remained cold. He appeared to be searching his memory.

"Ah, yes! Yes, of course. Dancer, isn't it? Miss April Dancer."

She fluttered eyelashes at him. "Was I so hard to remember?"

They shook hands.

"A surprise," he said. "Such a surprise! Would I ever forget such a brilliant pupil?"

"Nor I such a brilliant master."

He bowed, smiling. "You are lovelier than ever."

"And you are more suavely elegant."

"We are a beautiful pair, are we not?" he agreed. "And you have the courage, mon amie, to wear a Paris dress in London's own Carnaby Street."

She laughed. "A discerning man! Does the professor need some swinging gear to replace his Savile Row custom-made elegance?"

He ignored the question. "I trust your career is fulfilling its early promise?"

She sighed a little-girl-puzzled sigh. "I sometimes wonder. I thought life was a challenge, but it's really a battle, isn't it, Dr. Karadin?"

"A succession of battles. One cannot win them all, but it is the salt and savor of life to keep trying. You are still doing research?"

"Yes—research." Well, what else would you call it right now? she thought. "And you, my friend?"

He shrugged. "I research also—it is an endless task. A success here, two failures there—so it goes." He glanced at his watch. "I am annoyed. My daughter wished me to meet her here. She is late and I am hungry. You remember my daughter, Suzanne?"

"Why, yes, of course. A lovely little girl."

"The little ones grow up. She is now very much the lady."

April laughed softly. "A swinging lady, no doubt! I too made the mistake of agreeing to meet my friend here. He has a passion for fancy vests—oh, pardon me, weskits, he calls them. And as a bribe he was taking me to lunch in that marvelous Tower."

Dr. Carl Karadin spread his hands as he exclaimed: "Let us leave them to find their own way. Be my guest, Miss Dancer. My car is at the end of the street. A table is reserved. Let us make the most of our meeting."

"How nice! Thank you, Dr. Karadin. Might I be driven around to my hotel on the way? I have to check on a call I'm expecting."

"Certainly—certainly. Direct the driver. We will wait for you."

In the New York Headquarters of U.N.C.L.E., Mr. Waverly sat puffing at his pipe and tapping one finger on the console edge.

"Foolish," he said. "So foolish." He looked up as Randy Kovac entered. "Did you raise our London contact?"

"No, sir."

"Or Mark Slate?"

"No, sir."

"Sama Paru in Paris?"

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Waverly put down his pipe slowly and deliberately, gazed at the ceiling and spoke softly.

"Mr. Kovac, you are an intelligent and at times overenthusiastic student. You are aware that Miss April Dancer recently came through from London requesting certain information concerning one Dr. Carl Karadin. Also, she requested knowledge of my reports from this country concerning mysterious melting of money. We were able to inform her that Karadin was believed to be in London—which she knew—and that we have two reports of such mysterious melting of money—which has nothing to do with high prices. Am I right?"

"Yes, sir."

"And did I not ask you to endeavor to raise our London agent, failing Mr. Slate or Mr. Paru, and report to me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yet I had to ask three questions before obtaining the only information you were able to give me. Remember not to be so concerned with appearing to be efficient, Mr. Kovac, and concentrate on being so in fact. Now—let us begin again. Did you raise our London contact?"

Randy Kovac flushed.

"No, sir, nor Mr. Slate, but I made contact with Sama Paru in Paris. Mr. Paru reports that Dr. Karadin has not been seen in Paris for several months. He is believed to have inherited a large amount of money, or is engaged upon a lucrative research project—possibly with American backing. He is known to have visited this country during the past year, but he has spent more time in England."

"Ah! Thank you, Mr. Kovac. You see how easy it is when you try? I shall now require the exact dates of Karadin's visits to this country, the contacts he made whilst here, and a dossier on those contacts. We shall also send out a general observance alarm, and I think a brief word with the Treasury people will be in order. But I will attend to the last two details, thank you, Mr. Kovac."

Randy Kovac hurried from "the presence". He didn't find Mr. Waverly merely awe-inspiring; he just scared the hell out of Randy, whose sole ambition was to become a skilled field agent for U.N.C.L.E. At present a high-school senior, he worked at U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters for two afternoons a week, was planning to go to college and felt keenly that if only Mr. Waverly would understand that he had the makings of a brilliant agent, the future of U.N.C.L.E. would be assured.