"That's Hunter," Brattner and Kerry exclaimed simultaneously.

"Then I saw Brattner had broken in," Illya continued, "so I went up the ladder and collected Kerry."

Napoleon peered through the open door into the apartment. "The gas seems to be thinning out," he announced. "Don, why don't you see to your man who got knocked out, and Illya and I will see what we can find in the apartment."

By now a small crowd had gathered in the hallway, staring at the tendrils of white haze that oozed through the broken doors.

"What does it all mean?" Mrs. Beck inquired of the world at large.

Mrs. Clark detached herself from the group. Still clutching the boy by one hand, she stepped toward Illya. "I suppose you think you're smart, chasing poor Mr. Forbes out like that! Well, I'll have you know it won't do you any good!" She shook her finger under his nose. "We tenants have a say as to who moves in, and if you think I'm going to put in a good word for you after this, you're crazy!"

Before Illya could reply, she stalked away, dragging the child with her. As they reached the stairs, the boy turned, produced a remarkably loud razzberry, and announced at the top of his voice, "That for your old wristwatch!"

Napoleon tugged at Illya's arm. "You must have a remarkable interviewing technique. However, I think the gas has pretty well dissipated by now."

Together they walked into the apartment. The room they entered had obviously been used as an office and communications center. An adjoining similar room had been Forbes' living room.

Napoleon nodded. "Forbes took two apartments and put in connecting doors. He used one as living quarters and the other for business; changed the living room to an office, the bedroom to a stronghold for prisoners and the kitchen for...hmm." He pushed open the door and confronted and untidy heap of empty boxes, cans, and old newspapers. "Not very good housekeepers, are they? Still, I don't see any escape routes here. We had men on every door, and the windows haven't been opened..." He walked over to a window and tried to raise it. "I suspect it would take a small bomb to open them. They seem to be designed to contain everything except light waves."

Illya had been standing in the doorway between the two apartments, staring first at the living room and then at the office. Finally, he deliberately paced off the distance from the door to the wall in each room and looked thoughtful. "Now why," he mused, "should the apartment used as an office be two feet wider than the one used as living quarters?"

"Oh?" Napoleon came over and they began inspecting the walls. It was Napoleon who noted that the artificial fireplace in the living room didn't fit quite snugly to the wall. After some experimental pulling and tugging, the fireplace swung out into the room, revealing a narrow passageway between the wall of the building and the interior walls of the living room and kitchen. At the end was a door. Napoleon opened it and looked out into the startled face of Brattner.

"So, that's how they did it," the Milwaukee agent said. "It's good camouflage; from the outside that door looks like part of the wall."

Napoleon and Illya emerged. "I still don't see how Andy got through there," Napoleon said. "That place is narrow. How's George?"

Brattner glanced at his agent, who was being steadied by another man and rubbing his head. "He'll be all right. A sore head is nothing to get excited about in this business. They surprised him; he was watching the windows and didn't expect them to come out of the wall on top of him. He'll know better next time."

Napoleon nodded. "We have to talk to Miss Griffin, and I'd prefer to do it away from here. If we could use your car, while you go through the apartment and reassure the tenants that the excitement is over...? You probably won't find much in the apartment, but they did leave a small computer behind."

Brattner grinned gleefully. "That'll cost them to replace. Come on, George, let's go check the apartment. If there's any of that gas left, it'll clear your head." He handed his car keys to Napoleon. "I'll ride back with one of the boys when we're done."

Napoleon and Illya walked around the corner of the building and in the back door. Kerry was standing in the hall, near one of the battered doors. "I'm very sorry, Kerry," Napoleon apologized as they reached her side. "I'm afraid it didn't work out quite as well as we had planned."

"The fact that you were capable of accomplishing your mission insofar as it related to myself is as matter which elicits my extreme gratitude," she replied.

"Now, now," Napoleon said, "calm down. You're all right now, and we still have a good chance of getting your uncle back."

She let out a deep breath and stepped back a pace. "Yes, I'm all right now. Actually it wasn't so bad. They were very polite all the time; they were just so quietly fanatical about things. They hadn't harmed Uncle Willard, either; he'd been pretending to work with them, but they suspected that he was stalling. That's why they wanted me."

The three of them walked outside to the car. "Did you find out where they were keeping the OTSMID?" Illya asked. "They obviously didn't have room for it here."

Kerry related her uncle's information that the OTSMID had been in storage. "But they were planning to move it today," she added. "They were going to put it on a dirigible—or a Zeppelin, McNulty called it."

"A dirigible? You mean one of those things like a balloon only different? With gas bags and all?" Napoleon said vaguely.

Kerry nodded and went on to explain the unlikely sequence of events that had led to a concealed dirigible in the state of Wisconsin. "Why did McNulty call it a Zeppelin?" she asked.

"That's the German term for a dirigible," Illya said. "An invisible dirigible; it has a certain charm."

"We surprised them before they could move," Napoleon said thoughtfully. "So the OTSMID is still stored. If we act quickly, we just might be able to surprise them again." He turned back to the building. "I'm going to get Brattner started on this; cleaning out the apartment can wait."

A few minutes later Napoleon, Brattner, and three agents emerged from the building and separated to walk to their respective cars. Brattner and Napoleon joined Illya and Kerry.

"I think we have something," Brattner said. "There was some Thrush activity not far from our headquarters a month ago, down on Commerce Street. We were looking for a satrapy headquarters, so when they didn't follow up, we let it go. But it could just have been them putting their equipment in storage. We'll cover the area now. George is staying behind to finish checking out the apartment; he is quite up to strenuous activity yet. So far we haven't found anything useful, but"—he smiled happily—"they lost some expensive equipment in there. The place was well designed, too, for a rush job. I wonder who their architect is?"

* * *

Commerce Street barely deserved to be called a street. It came into being only a few blocks northeast of the U.N.C.L.E. headquarters, and it seemed to be fighting for its life with a series of railroad tracks that ran alongside it and occasionally down its middle.

Napoleon and Illya stood by their car across from one of the many warehouses in the area, one with a large parking lot alongside the loading docks. Brattner and the other agents were checking other buildings along the street. Pocketing the keys to the car, Napoleon started across the street toward the warehouse.