"Just what do you know about silencers?" Solo's neck tingled with suspicion. He kept to the door, easing his gun into his pocket, but keeping a hand on it. The girl seemed unarmed, but today – tonight - there was no telling.

"Only what I've seen in the movies," she answered. "But I knew the sound when I heard it on the terrace. I saw those two men run away, and you were out there." She faced him, her hands making odd little movements, reaching for him, wanting to touch him, yet holding back from contact. At last her right hand managed to pat him. "Those men went right by my terrace doors!"

"Low gear, please." Solo closed the hail door, deciding to play this her way since there seemed to be no other. "I have some questions."

"Oh, really, Mr. Solo - I'm just telling you."

He took hold of her shoulders to slow her down to something more nearly human and logical. "Now" - he made his voice stern - "you're Lainy Michaels. All right. So far. Do you live in this building?" He had mentally gone down the list of tenants, something he normally had to do for security reasons, and he could recall no Lainy Michaels.

"Yes and no," she said. "Two apartments down."

"Yes and no?"

'Well, I've been living here for a whole month, but I don't actually live here, if you see what I mean. I came to visit a friend, Betty Carter, and she was called away and I've been alone for two whole weeks."

Betty Carter. Solo checked his memory of the tenants again. That name was real. But it was printed all over the mailboxes so it would have been simple for this girl to pick it out and use it as a cover. But a cover for what?

He had no time to guess because she started on again, picking up speed. "When I got up enough nerve, I just had to come and see if you were safe."

Solo sighed and let go of her shoulders. "As you see, I'm fine," he said impatiently, holding out his arms to prove that he was all in one piece.

"No, you aren't. There's blood on your temple."

Solo's hand streaked up and felt the stickiness of his own blood. It wasn't much. Not even enough to really concern this strange girl. "Forget that. It's nothing a washcloth won't fix."

"Have you called the police?" She walked about, examining the room, the mess of the floor, clucking her tongue as she went.

"Everything is taken care of, Lainy. Except one loose end. You."

"For heaven's sake, why me?"

"That what I'm asking. Now stand still and tell me how you happen to know me!"

A blush spread up from her neck to cover her cheeks with pink. "I suppose I have to admit it. I've been watching you, your comings and goings. I must say, you do more going than coming."

Solo cocked his head, the usual twinkle of his eyes replaced by doubt at her answer.

"Well, after all," she hurried to explain, "I live alone and I haven't any friends here - only my cat - and you're such an attractive man. I've been at it for two weeks. You never saw me."

"I must be off my form not to notice I was being watched" - he smiled at her - "and by a girl who looks the way you look."

"I thought maybe one day I could catch your attention, fall down or something so you'd have to notice me, and then we'd be off to a good start." She obviously took his grin to mean he trusted her, for she came close and whispered, "Have you called the police? You have to report burglars, you know. It's your duty."

"And your duty is to stay out of things like this, Lainy."

"Not at all." She was certain.

He had expected that. Girls with big blue eyes and innocent faces, girls this young, were always certain of everything. He was quite sure, himself, that she was nothing more than she pretended to be, but he had to find a way to ease her out. He said menacingly, "How do you know I'm not a gangster and what you saw wasn't an underworld vendetta of some kind?"

She laughed. "You? Mr. Solo, you're no gangster. You don't have the eyes for it. Even I know that much. You do have a gun, though. I saw you put it in your pocket."

Solo shook his head. "You are observant. A practiced watcher."

"I thought I might find you bleeding on the floor, and I wouldn't have known what to do."

"There's only one thing for you to do, Lainy. Go back to your own apartment. And the next time you hear gunshots - especially with silencers - stay home! You could get into trouble. And don't spy on strange men. Didn't your mother ever tell you?"

"I'm not a backward child, Mr. Solo," she said defiantly.

He let his eyes roam over her. "I can see that."

Lainy shivered. He had expected her to shrink from the appraisal, but instead she cried, "Oh!" and came to him, chin out and stubborn. "You won't frighten me off that way."

"Nevertheless, little girl" - he took her by the elbow, steering her to the door – "I want you out of here." He yanked open the door and strong-armed her gently into the hall, where she stood staring at him.

"Okay," she said. "This time. But if you ever need me... and maybe once in a while you could knock on my door on your way by? Just to say hello? Surely you've heard of Love Thy Neighbor?"

"I've heard. Now, will you go? I have things to do. Things that don't include young ladies with pet cats."

She edged away. "Good night, Mr. Solo. It was nice meeting you - just as I thought it would be."

Solo closed the door and leaned upon it for a moment, chuckling to himself. She was quite a girl. If she possessed any of the ordinary feminine wiles of feigning shyness or playing coy, she had simply thrown them aside for the time being.

The gun in his pocket clanged against the wood of the door and brought him sharply back to the muddled room, the attack, and the report he was bound to make. He glanced warily at the terrace doors and went back to the sofa. He pulled out his transceiver and this time, before he had a chance to call, it started its own bleeping signal.

"Solo here."

"Yes, Mr. Solo!" It was Waverly, himself, and his voice sounded oddly high and vital, maybe relieved. "So good of you to answer. I wasn't certain that you would - or could."

Solo digested that one quickly and felt his anger at the two surprise attacks in one day returning. "Is some thing going on that I don't know about, Mr. Waverly?" he demanded.

"It would seem so. I want you down here right away. And be careful about it. I'm not sure what is happening, hut I do know there's a coffin waiting for you. Fifteen minutes, Mr. Solo. Come directly to me."

The transceiver clicked dead in Solo's suddenly chilled hand. A coffin? He shuddered, focused his mind on the order to make the drive in fifteen minutes, and took to his feet.

Chapter 2

"A Spy in the Ointment"

SOLO MADE the drive quickly, keeping to the law and the traffic signals, but eager to get to Waverly and chase the shudder out of his system. He hadn't gone two blocks before he knew he was being followed. It was a black Cadillac, and the license numbers were invisible. He wished fervently for a police car to notice the absence of the numbers and pull the Cadillac over, but it didn't happen.

Evasive action was unnecessary, he decided. Whoever was after him already knew everything about him - his apartment, his whereabouts during the day - so they knew U.N.C.L.E., too. It would do no harm to lead them to Del Floria's and if he tried to lose them, he'd also lose time. The Cadillac hung back a full two blocks, so he simply increased his speed to gain more distance and headed on.