"Now then, Ezra, we'd like you to answer a few of our questions. Where are Forbes and McNulty and the dirigible?"

The old man wiped his eyes and glared. "You're U.N.C.L.E. agents, you are! Think I'll tell you anything? Why, back in the Great War, I..."

"You mean World War I?"

"Nah, I mean the real war—the War with Spain!"

"You fought in the Spanish-American War?"

"I lied about my age. Anyways, I was a prisoner for two years, and nothing they did could make me talk."

"The Spanish-American War only lasted four months," Illya said.

"Who's tellin' this, you or me? Anyways, if the Spaniards couldn't make me talk, you two fancy-dressed punks can't."

"Are you sure?" Napoleon asked blandly.

"Sure I'm sure. You ain't got any truth serum or you'd have had a hypodermic in me by now; you U.N.C.L.E. boys are too lily-livered to use torture, and even if you did you wouldn't find out anything because I don't know anything. Forbes and McNulty and Hunter don't tell me all their little plans. You two might as well pack up and go home."

"You know, I hate to say it," said Napoleon, "but I think he's right. We could wait here for the dirigible on the chance that he's lying, but if he's telling the truth we'd be wasting valuable time. Brattner can get some men over here to clean the place and post a guard on it in case anyone shows up."

Reluctantly, Napoleon and Illya climbed aboard the elevator. The controls were plainly marked at this end. At the top they needed Illya's powerful flashlight; the moon seemed to have gone under a cloud for good. Wearily the agents tramped back to the gate. Halfway back, Napoleon flung the Ithaca into the woods beside the trail. "If he wants to hunt for it, let him have it," he said. "I'm tired of carrying it." He gained a little satisfaction by blowing the gate off its hinges with plastic explosive. It was a long walk back to the car.

As they reached the county road, Illya spoke. "How many bugs did you plant down there?"

"One in the shed, one in the elevator itself, one in the hangar and a tracer in the caretaker's pants cuff when we jumped him."

"Not bad. I put a couple of microphones in the hangar and one in his shirt pocket. We should be able to hear his inmost thoughts, at least until he changes clothes."

"He doesn't look like the type who changes clothes often," Napoleon said. "I only hope he was lying about the rest of Thrush having left the place for good."

"We'll soon know." They climbed into the car and headed for Richland Center.

Chapter 10

"Only Your U.N.C.L.E. Agent Knows for Sure"

Illya had just turned the care onto a state highway and headed north for Richland Center when Napoleon checked their direction finder and noticed that the tracer he'd planted on the caretaker had moved. He checked more closely. As near as he could tell, the caretaker was traveling behind them, heading east. He checked the instrument at short intervals and after some time decided that the man was not going to turn north but continue east.

"It would seem," he remarked, "that the bird is on the wing."

Illya nodded without taking his eyes from the road. "Whither, midst falling dew, while glow the heavens with the last steps of day, far through their rosy depths pursue thy solitary way?"

"William Cullen Bryant," said Napoleon, "and since when did Thrushes become waterfowl?"

Illya shrugged. "Very few poets have written about Thrushes. Are the mikes picking up anything?"

"Not a sound; not even a hum to show they're operating."

"That one in his shirt should at least pick up his heartbeat. He's found them; that old man is pretty sharp."

Napoleon agreed. "We're lucky he hasn't located the tracer in his cuff, and we'd better get after him if we want to stay lucky."

"What about the girls?"

"We'd better get Kerry, at least, since we're driving her car. But I don't think we should get Lee involved any further."

Illya nodded agreement. "So far, Thrush doesn't know about her, and she'll be a lot safer if they never find out. They've probably left the area, but we only have Sanders' word for that."

"And his other statements aren't proving very reliable," Napoleon said, watching the direction finder. After a second, he switched on the communicator and told Kerry to be ready to move as soon as they arrived. "And ask Lee if she can put together something for us to eat on the road."

Illya raised his voice enough to be picked up by the communicator. "Something other than peanut butter, if you have it," he said.

The sound of a bell came faintly through the communicator. "What was that?" Napoleon asked sharply.

"Just the phone," Kerry replied. "Lee's getting it." There was a minute's silence, punctuated by occasional fain background outbursts from Lee; then Kerry continued. "It was Edwin Mallard, the naturalist. He's read Lee's last book and is going to stop and see her on his way through town tomorrow, and—"

Napoleon interrupted. "Is she sure it really is Edwin Mallard, and not a Thrush agent? This strikes me as a pretty large coincidence."

"It must be him!" Lee's voice suddenly burst through the communicator. "Why should Thrush...I mean, they don't even know I exist, do they? Didn't you say...And this is the only chance I'll ever have to meet...He doesn't often..."

"Hold it a minute!" Napoleon broke in. "I think we can check this out for you. You just start packing something for us to eat. We should have an answer for you by the time we get there."" Before Lee had a chance to get started again, he signed off and contacted Waverly, who listened politely to Napoleon's request.

"Very well, Mr. Solo. I really can't see how a naturalist could be connected with our type of Thrush, but I'll have the information for you in a few minutes." They were pulling up in front of Lee's house when he called them back. "Mr. Solo? Edwin Mallard is on a speaking tour. Tonight he is at the University of Wisconsin at Madison; day after tomorrow he is to be at the University of Minnesota at Minneapolis. Is this sufficient?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you very much. Solo out." He smiled at Illya. "That's a relief. I didn't want to bring Lee along, and I wasn't too sure how we were going to keep her from coming."

Kerry let them in the door and Lee bounded from the kitchen, a half-assembled peanut butter sandwich in one hand. Illya grimaced; Lee didn't notice as she advanced directly on Napoleon.

"Is it all right?" she asked excitedly.

"It seems to be," Napoleon replied, deftly avoiding the sandwich. "Edwin Mallard is in the area. Even so, it wouldn't hurt to have your friend Lavell present when you meet him."

"Wonderful!" Lee exclaimed, then looked worried. "You won't need me, will you? I mean, I'm positively thrilled at helping out secret agents and all, and I don't want to back out if you need me, but, well, Edwin Mallard..."

"Perfectly all right," Illya reassured her. "I suggest we get started, however. Sanders isn't wasting any time, and that tracer does have a distance limitation."

When Kerry had collected a large paper bag full of sandwiches from the kitchen, the three of them walked to the car. Lee waved briefly from the door, then ducked back inside to begin preparations for greeting Edwin Mallard.