If Mathieu has in fact gone to ground in Corsica, informed opinion is that he will never be found by the mainland police. Born forty-eight years ago in Bastia, he is known—despite his record—to have become something of a hero to the people of the island.

Solo handed the clipping back without comment. He looked at his chief with raised brows.

Waverly was smiling, a benevolent owl behind his glasses. "Four movements," he said. "One south and east—from Denmark through Holland to Germany. One eastward, conveying someone behind the so-called Iron Curtain. Another west and then southeast, bringing someone from behind the Curtain. And finally one supposedly south, from Paris to Corsica. A swindler, a deserter, a bankrobber, and a gang boss. What have they all in common, Mr. Solo?"

"That they're all on the run, I suppose—three of them from the law and the defector from the U. S. army authorities."

"Nothing more?"

Solo thought for a moment. "I guess not," he said at last.

"Mr. Solo, you disappoint me. This suggests to me—taken in conjunction with my own experience—that there exists a highly organized and efficient escape network spreading all over Europe, that it is nonpolitical in conception (witness the two-way traffic vis-à-vis the Eastern bloc), and that persons availing themselves of the service can be transported in speed and apparent comfort from any European country to any other."

Solo looked dubious. Beneath brown eyes, the set of his cleft chin was stubborn. "If you don't mind my saying so, sir, I think you're deducing a lot from a very few facts," he said. "And even assuming you're correct, I still don't see…"

"That we have any right to investigate such a network?"

"Yes, sir."

Waverly joined together the tips of his fingers and sup ported the soft underside of his jaw on the steeple so formed. "By the book, of course, you are right," he said. "But I have a hunch; I'm certain I'm right—facts or no facts. And that being so—"

"Oh, look, Mr. Waverly," Solo broke in agitatedly, "we can't... we simply cannot go in there and stir things up! It's none of our business."

"Agreed, agreed. But consider one thing, Mr. Solo. Suppose for the sake of argument that such a network does exist and suppose, further, that its organization is highly efficient—would not such an apparatus be a natural target for a takeover bid, as it were, from THRUSH?"

"You mean THRUSH could infiltrate it, make a satrap of it?"

"Exactly. And if THRUSH did find such a ready-made form of assistance at hand and did take it over, would that not be our business?"

Solo sighed. "I guess it would," he said reluctantly. "But..."

"Yes, Mr. Solo?" Waverly was grinning impishly.

"But we'd have to be very sure before we took any action."

"And that," Waverly cried triumphantly, "is all I'm asking you to do—go to Europe to make sure!"

His Chief Enforcement Officer sighed again. "Yes, but it isn't as simple as that, is it, sir?"

"What do you mean? Surely it's better to prevent something bad happening than to wait for it to happen and then act afterward? And don't forget THRUSH could not only take the network over: they could also use it as a kind of recruiting channel––diverting the more clever and less scrupulous of the crooks using it toward their own ranks!"

"Look," Solo said quietly, "it's all very well for us to talk of prevention—but how? What machinery are we going to use? There's a certain protocol in these matters. Since I'm going to have to work undercover, without the knowledge of the authorities, how do I tell them about the organization, if I find it does exist, without revealing that U.N.C.L.E. has been poaching on their private property?"

Waverly blew bubbles through the damp tobacco in his pipe. "I admit that if I'm proved right, it will lead to certain––ah—problems of etiquette," he said carefully. "We should have to evolve some formula whereby we appear to have— er—come by the information honestly. And then give them the chance of clearing it up themselves, handing it over to Interpol, or asking us to do it for them. Obviously, as you say, we couldn't just barge in and mop it up. But let's leave that until later; we can deal with it if and when the problem arises.

For the moment, the important thing is to find out if there is such an organization, how it works, and whether any approach, overt or covert, has been made to it by THRUSH."

"All the same," Napoleon Solo began, shaking his head, I'm not at all happy about our position with regard to—"

Waverly held up his hand. "My suggestion has now become an order, Mr. Solo," he said firmly.

Chapter 4

"Don't Call Us...!"

YELLOW LEAVES veneered the sidewalk and lay thickly on the surface of the canal running beside it. From a second floor window of the red brick police headquarters on the other side of the road, Napoleon Solo stared through the bare branches of the trees at a row of old houses across the water. Farther along, by a bridge carrying a main road over the canal, the trees had been cut down and there was a line of cars parked with their fenders projecting over the unprotected bank. The sky was gray and a thin, persistent rain was falling.

Behind the agent, a paneled door opened, and a thickset man in a brown suit bustled into the room. "Very sorry to have you wait, Mynheer Solo," he said, laying down a pile of folders on the carved desk, "but it is well to have all the facts checked, and so I thought it best to verify that my colleagues in other departments have no more information than we have here."

"That's quite all right," Solo smiled. "It's very good of you to go to all this trouble on our account anyway."

Before coming to Amsterdam, he had won his chief's reluctant permission to seek the help of the authorities. If they ignored Waverly's own personal experience and concentrated on the international aspect of the supposed escape network, Solo had argued, they could legitimately ask police in the various countries if they had heard of such an organization and, if so, what evidence there was for presuming it did exist. Then, if the consensus was positive—but not unless— they could consider the second stage of Waverly's plan: finding out secretly how it ticked. He had come to Holland first simply because that was where the trail had started. But the results so far were neutral to negative.

In the somber room papers rustled. Outside, waves from an empty sightseeing launch agitated the leaves floating on the canal. There was a stream of cyclists pouring across the bridge now. It must be nearly lunchtime.

The Dutchman cleared his throat. "Yes," he said, "well it seems to be that we have very little here what you call the hard facts. Certain informers have reported to us that there does exist such an organization. But we have not in this country suffered any escapes recently of a nature that could have used it. Moreover, when our officers pressed the informers to give details, none could supply any. It does appear that the organization is either very secret indeed... or that it is an imagination altogether."

Solo had turned his back to the window and was sitting on the broad radiator below the sill. "Nothing came to light— nothing of a positive nature, that is—after the—er—contretemps that befell my colleague, Mr. Waverly?" he asked. They had agreed to suppress the fact that this had been their point of departure, although obviously they could not play it down too much, since Waverly himself had put the Dutch police and Interpol on the trail the day after it had happened.