He found out a moment later, as a rough and heavily accented voice called, "Hey, Mister! We got the girl, and she's coming out with us. You hear?"

Napoleon hoped the girl was small—it's hard to hide behind someone much smaller than you, and he could get in one shot that would count if he had half a chance and just a piece of target.

"Keep your gun down, and stand away from the door, hear me?"

Solo gave back a reluctant monosyllabic acknowledgment, and let his pistol hang at the end of his arm as he stepped back a couple of paces.

A moment later an angry little figure, unmistakably feminine, was rudely propelled into the corridor at the end of an anonymous arm which gripped her wrist firmly. She looked both ways, and saw Napoleon. Before either of them could say hello, she was joined by her chaperone, dark-visaged, moustached, and armed. He pulled her tightly to him as a shield, and directed the snout of a still-smoking automatic over her right shoulder. Napoleon suppressed a slight smile as he saw she only came up to the man's chin, and his wrist muscles tensed slightly as he estimated the placement of the single shot he would have time for.

The next moment a second man, almost a twin of the first but thinner, stepped out of the door. He too held an automatic, its muzzle directed steadily towards Napoleon's center of gravity. Solo cursed his hesitation—he should have dropped the first one before the second came out. But then the girl might have been shot from cover. Valuable to U.N.C.L.E. she might be, but at the moment she was a definite liability to one particular agent. Helpless females were fun in their place, but encountering one on the job was certainly not....

Suddenly the helpless female under consideration became a brief blur of action. She brought her heel down violently on her captor's instep and jabbed her free elbow halfway to the wrist in his stomach. As his face contorted and he doubled over, his automatic exploded beside her ear and the slug tore a gouge in the wall inches from Napoleon's gun hand—or where his hand would have been if his reactions had been a little slower.

He snapped into action the moment he saw the girl begin to move, and had evaluated the situation in the fraction of a second it took him to bring his pistol level and squeeze the trigger. The big one was doubling over, his mouth open like a beached fish. The second one had turned his head and started to swing his gun towards his companion. It was perfectly simple, and Solo took advantage of it.

The second assassin probably never knew what hit him. Under the circumstances Napoleon knew better than to try circus stunts like shooting him in the hand. He drilled him once through the chest, and without a twinge watched his body leap back under the impact and flop against the wall before sliding to the floor. Before he hit, the U.N.C.L.E. Special was centered on the last of the invaders, who was doubled over against the other wall, his face an interesting shade of purple behind the moustache.

The girl was getting slowly up from the floor, shaking her head weakly and rubbing at her right ear. Napoleon knelt beside her and slipped a supporting hand under her arm.

"You all right?" he asked.

"I think so," she said hesitantly, "except it'll be a while before I'll be able to hear clearly again. Golly, that thing makes a racket!"

"Before we get any more involved in mayhem, allow me to introduce myself. I'm Napoleon Solo, from New York. Do you happen to know...Excuse me a moment."

The lone survivor of the attack group was moving feebly across the floor towards an automatic. Napoleon slipped the magazine out of his own pistol, fumbled in an inner pocket, and popped something into the open chamber. He pointed the weapon at the man as the girl screwed her face up and turned her head away.

There was a chuff, and the man stopped moving. A moment later the girl looked around hesitantly.

"Oh, he's not dead," said Solo. "But he'll sleep peacefully until we decide what to do with him. It may be a problem—his type does not usually respond well to rehabilitation and retraining. But as I was saying," he continued as he replaced the magazine in his U.N.C.L.E. Special and worked the slide to bring a cartridge into the chamber, "do you know a gentleman named MacKendricks? I came here to meet him."

Her face changed suddenly. "Oh dear heavens! Mac!" she gasped, and jumped for the door of the room.

Napoleon looked up and down the hall, and shook his head slowly. He would never cease to be amazed at the things one could get away with in public places without attracting attention. Well, it was all right with him if people didn't want to get involved. He wedged his automatic back into its cozy holster and set to work clearing the corridor of corpses.

The sleeping one he dragged by the legs into the room, and looked around for the girl. Then he dropped him and stepped quickly to where she knelt by a gray-haired man who lay on the floor, a great dark stain oozing slowly through the rug around him.

Napoleon knelt beside her as the old man opened his eyes. "Mr. MacKendricks—my name is Solo. From U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters."

The eyes turned to focus on him. "Have y' seen th' pictures?"

"No—I started as soon as your cable arrived. The film hadn't come in yet."

"Somebody's got a rocket base in the Indian Ocean—a big one. I thought you'd better know. Somebody else thought you'd better not, I guess." He chuckled a little, and coughed. Flecks of red appeared around his lips.

"Oh, Mac, don't talk!" said the girl desperately. "We've got to get you to a doctor!"

"Hush now, Suzie girl. I haven't got more than a bit of time, and I've got to think. I knew the location of the island—I can't think. You, Mr. —"

"Solo."

"Of course. You, find Kurt. He was navigator. He was with us. He and I—we knew the coördinates. We were a long way short of Madagascar—twenty-something-something south.... Can't think."

Suzie stifled a sob, and Mac lifted a hand to touch her shoulder. "Now stop that, girl. It doesn't hurt at all, now. And I've done just about everything else in this world. But I've got to tell you—stay with Mr. Solo. He's one of the best men in the world, and he's got a gold card to prove it. Ask him what U.N.C.L.E. means. You'll be safer with him than anywhere else. As for you, Mr. Solo—find Kurt Schneider. He was going to hide someplace, but you can find him before those others. And just one last thing—a favor I ask of you."

Napoleon nodded.

"Have me buried at sea. I've spent my whole life cheatin' the ocean, and it wouldn't be fair to let the land take me away from her forever."

"I promise."

"And take care of Suzie—she's as dear to me as a daughter. She can tell you everything but the location of that damned island." His face drew up into a vague frown. "One of us knew besides me—who was it?"

"Kurt," said Suzie gently. "Kurt Schneider."

"That's right. Kurt. A brave man, staying on the ship like that until the Captain took over. I remember that. The ship blew up just after his boat got off. We thought he was killed. A brave man he was. Find him, Suzie, and find that island." His eyes closed, and his breath rasped in his throat as his hand gripped weakly at her shoulder. Her lips paled, but she held her emotion in.

Napoleon saw her eyes shine with tears a moment, just before the hand slipped from her shoulder and fell across the old man's chest. Her whole body was quivering as Napoleon slipped a comforting arm around her.

Then she turned suddenly to him, tears streaming down her cheeks, and released her anguish. Her hands on his shoulders, her face pressed against his chest, she sobbed convulsively for some time.