Rainbow removed his cigar and looked at Illya. "Perhaps it is not so in Russia or the United States, but here there are still remnants of what used to be referred to as 'honor.' I will not betray the trust even of those whom I personally dislike."

"Trust needs to be mutual. Do you think you can rust Thrush not to destroy you if you continue to refuse them?"

"I have seen nothing to indicate they are less than honorable. And allow me to say immodestly that I may take a great deal of destroying."

"Thrush is capable of directing more effort than you might believe possible towards the destruction of an individual."

"Perhaps. How is it that Mr. Solo and yourself have escaped their attentions all this time? Luck?"

A bit of a smile creased the Russian's dour face. "It helps. But there are many factors which contribute to our continued survival. You will understand if I don't explain them."

"Of course, of course. The information would do me no good, and could conceivably lessen your chances. But to return to my point - you have before you on the desk your partner's hardware. He himself will be returning to you tomorrow around noon, unharmed, as he would have been even had he not escaped when he did. Please convey to him my apologies for the rough treatment which he received, and add that I hope our next meeting will be under more amicable conditions." Rainbow leaned forward again and touched a button on the desk.

A moment later, Illya felt rather than heard the door open behind him, and his host said, "Return Mr. Kuryakin to his hotel, please, and give him back his gun and radio along with those on my desk when you arrive." His eyes focused back on Illya's face, and he said, "You will have to be blindfolded again, Mr. Kuryakin. I hope you won't mind, but it is quite unavoidable under the circumstances."

And the interview was at an end.

Section III: "Add Another Hue Unto The Rainbow"

Chapter 9

How Napoleon and Illya Met an Old Old Gentleman, and Had Several Obvious Things Pointed Out to Them.

THE NEXT DAY WAS Tuesday, and Napoleon sat across a restaurant table from Illya exchanging stories.

"There's no possibility of finding the place again?"

The Russian shook his head. "They drove a different route on the return trip. Each way took about thirty minutes, but I know they spent some of that time doubling back. It was quite a professional job."

"What about the cab number?"

"I checked it out as soon as I returned. There is such a company, and they have a cab with that number - but it was working steadily all evening. I was riding in a clever forgery."

Solo nodded. "What was your impression of Rainbow? Did I miss much by declining his invitation?"

"Not that much. He's an interesting individual. I would say he is probably quite serious about not wanting any part of Thrush; he has found a place in the world and is quite satisfied with it."

"Would he be likely to help us against Thrush?

Illya sipped at his cup of strong black tea before answering. "Not unless something very large happened to change his mind. He can be just as stubborn to us as he's being to them. If they were to set out actively, specifically and obviously to destroy him, then he might be persuaded to give evidence against them. If he lived long enough after the evil bird fixed its sights on him. On the other hand, I can think of few people I would give better odds for surviving under such circumstances.

"And what did you learn from your peaceful sojourn in the country?"

Napoleon smiled. "I learned that a hundred-pound girl can handle a five-hundred-pound motorcycle as well as I can handle a skiff. I learned never to underestimate the abilities of little old ladies or plump priests. And I learned that Johnnie Rainbow's center of operations stands a fairly good chance of being inside a lighthouse on a little lump of rock called Donzerly."

"Not an unprofitable weekend. How much more were you able to find out about this Donzerly?"

"Not an awful lot. According to the files at the Admiralty, the light was decommissioned about six years ago. This retired Naval officer picked it up at an auction of Crown property for a song, plus tax, and has decided to maintain and modernize it. Apparently there has been quite a bit of action around the light for the past five years, but no one seems to know exactly what's going on there. No one in any official capacity has set foot on Donzerly since the deed was signed over."

"And the mysterious retired Naval officer?"

"Not mysterious at all. Commander Horatio Dascoyn. Not a brilliant career, but an unblemished one. Every day of his life is on record, and there isn't a hint anywhere to connect him with anything more criminal than a few dust-ups in foreign ports when he was young. Absolutely unimpeachable, and totally above suspicion."

"Which in itself is highly suspicious," said Illya, and Napoleon nodded.

"My thought precisely. I put the local Section Three on it. They haven't found anything yet, but if there's anything there, they will."

"Even if it takes them six months. Did you get anything we can use right now?"

This time Napoleon used his drink to fill a few seconds of silence while he thought. "Well, not exactly. All I got was a sort of suggestion. It's not a lead, and it's not a clue, and it has no direct bearing on our assignment - but right now it's the only thing we've got until some thing turns up on Dascoyn."

"If you wanted to capture my interest, you have succeeded. What is this thing - the product of a Ouija board? Or a cryptic message you found in a bottle?"

"Neither. I mentioned already that both Aunt Jane and Father John claimed the hobby of criminology. They gave me the name and address of a man whom they seem to consider the leader of their little clique, and suggested we talk to him."

Illya gave Napoleon a look that implied a straitjacket and probably a padded cell. "A hobbyist?" he said unbelievingly. "An amateur detective of some kind? What on earth could you hope to find out from an armchair expert? He probably follows all the crime stories in the newspapers and pastes them in scrapbooks, with little notations on theories and resolutions. With the resources of Scotland Yard, part of MI-5, and all of U.N.C.L.E., you want to seek the advice of some utterly incompetent little man who has probably never seen an actual crime outside a newspaper photograph?"

Napoleon raised a hand to shorten his partner's out burst. "He may be, or he may not," he said. "Talking with a little old lady and an equally unprepossessing priest, I gained quite a respect for their minds and abilities, as I believe I said only recently. They seemed to admire this man tremendously, and because of this I am willing at least to talk to him. You may either come along or pursue your interests here in the city while I go alone."

"Where? And what do you know about him? What does he do for a living? What's his name, and what are his qualifications?"

"Actually I know very little. He's very old, apparently - somewhere around a hundred years old, according to Father John. Aunt Jane said he was once a detective, though I imagine most of our modem techniques would be beyond him by this point. Outside of that, all I know is that he is long retired, and keeps bees on his little Sussex farm. And his name is William Escott. I'll be going down to see him tomorrow afternoon."

Illya sighed. "I may as well come along. It might be interesting, if not educational."