As they unpacked their clothes and tucked them away in the oak bureau that was big enough to hold a man, Illya voiced the obvious question. "What's the first order of action?"

"Who knows? We've seen the fields already. I think our best bet is to find some access to them. We can't just go out and trespass. I understand that farmers are opposed to that sort of thing. Shotguns, you know."

"And how do we get this access?"

Solo shrugged. He didn't really know. "Poke around - meet somebody who lives on a farm - get invited to a homecooked meal."

"I see." Illya sighed in resignation. "That all adds up to a girl."

Solo brightened. "It could well add up to a girl. And quit making faces. You follow your own prowling way and I'll follow mine. Right now, I have first claim on the shower." He made a quick maneuver for the bathroom, grabbing his robe, and beating Illya. He locked the door behind him on Illya's sour call of:

"Be sure to use plenty of aftershave. It will charm the milkmaids right off their milking stools."

Solo accomplished his routine of showering, shaving, and dressing in ten minutes. The cold water perked him up, brightened the sunny day, and the fresh clothes made him feel himself again. As he pulled on his shirt and trousers and watched them cover the barely healed scars of his night in that other farmhouse, his mind took a more sober bent. Even so, the best he could think to do was go out on the street and get his bearings, see what was happening in the town, where it was happening, and try to pick up a lead.

When he broached this to Illya seriously, Illya agreed. They couldn't call down to the desk and ask for Thrush Headquarters. They had to dig it out for themselves.

"I'll take the car," Illya said, "and drive around to the grain elevators and feed stores to pick up the farmer's gossip if you want to stay in town."

"I'll do better in town," Solo said. "I wouldn't know what I was hearing when it comes to feed and fertilizers."

"Right. But you're going to stick out like crazy in this town; you know that, don't you?"

"You want me to wear overalls? Your idea of American farmers is pretty strange, Illya. I'll manage."

Illya went into the bathroom and closed the door be hind him. Solo called, "It's one o'clock. I'll meet you back here at three." Illya's answering "okay" came through a sudden gush of water from the shower.

Solo checked in the mirror to be sure his pistol was safely tucked away without trace under his arm, straightened his tie for the tenth time, and left the room.

The sun was bright on the street, a presence in itself, and he discovered that July was hot in Michigan. He walked along the sidewalk easily, peering into the display windows, and no one paid him any attention. Other men clad in business suits were on the street, along with housewives dragging their children by the hand. But the sidewalk wasn't crowded. The shops had eaten up the people from the cars parked along the curb. The parallel parking made the street even wider than it needed to be and he liked the sense of space and old ness it implied.

He wandered one side of the street for fifteen minutes, going into a store here and there to pick up pieces of conversation. It got him nowhere. The talk was about buying and selling, and only occasionally about the crop disaster. Even then it was only talk of confusion and fear. When he tried twice to approach some conversing ladies, he was rudely stared at and ignored. The old charm wasn't going to make way for him here.

He strode out of the dime store and back onto the sidewalk. He was awfully alone. Not another pedestrian walked this block with him. The only other living being he saw was a woman steering her little boy into the soda parlor. Then she was gone and he stood still in the sun, rocking on the balls of his feet. A sense of over powering aloneness crept up on him and he pushed it angrily down. This was no dark room; he had both of his eyes, the sun was shining - He damned the unwanted emotion and stepped away from the storefront.

A horn sounded loudly from the street and a girl's voice yelled, "Mister! Sir - Mister!"

Solo turned to meet the half-running figure of a girl. She came onto the sidewalk smiling, dropping a coin in a parking meter where there was no car as she passed it. She was tall and blond with a figure that was astounding under the tight slacks and brightly printed shirt. She trotted along with firm steps. Wholesome was the word for her, he decided. Her body was young, ample, and gently muscled.

"Were you calling me?" he smiled.

"Yes, if you don't mind. I have this terrible problem and I wondered if you'd help me."

"Anything. Just ask."

She held out a set of keys that dangled on a leather strap. "Would you park my car for me? Right there in that empty space? I know it's crazy, but since they put in parallel parking, I simply can't handle it by myself. I always have to ask."

"And who would refuse?" Solo took the keys gallantly.

"It's gotten to be a town joke." She smiled at him. "All the boys know that if they want to talk to Gloryanna Piper, they only have to wait by an empty parking space. It causes me more trouble than good. You're the only man on the block today."

"And very obliging. I'll park it and be right back." Solo got into her car, swung it forward and then back into the cramped space. When he returned, she was standing hands on hips.

"Good job," she said.

"Now, is there anything else I can help you with? You look a little warm, so how about a soda, Miss Piper?"

She flushed. "Oh - I don't know -"

"My name is Napoleon Solo and I suggested a simple soda, not a drink. Chocolate, strawberry, pineapple...?"

She hesitated, then surrendered. "I suppose it would be all right." She linked her arm through his. "Make mine chocolate."

He led her along the street, liking the feel of her arm, strong and yet pliant. She seemed to be that way from head to foot. They entered the soda parlor and he was pleased to find it decorated in the old-fashioned tradition with wire-backed chairs and marble-topped tables. Pink and white walls sported pictures of confections. There was the traditional soda jerk, too, but his gaze wasn't friendly as he took their order.

Gloryanna looked down her pretty nose at him and concentrated on Solo. "You're with the Department of Agriculture?"

"No." He made up his mind quickly. It wouldn't do to identify himself with the government since they were here in such force. "I'm just passing through town. A friend and me."

"I'm glad. I don't think much of the Agriculture men, to tell the truth. They're very rude and I don't like their looks."

"Rude?"

"They swarm all over our farm, taking soil samples and checking about, but when Dad goes out to talk to them they treat him like the dirt they're walking on. We get the impression they wish we'd all move away and let them have the land."

"You've seen their credentials?"

"Of course. We wouldn't let them come around with out that. And there are so many of them."

"That's funny," Solo said. "I didn't see many names on the hotel register."

The sodas arrived, but Gloryanna went on talking. "They don't stay at the hotel. They have a better place, people say - fancier. It's a big estate about a mile from our farm."

Solo opened her straw for her and plunked it into her soda. "They like luxury, huh?"