purchase price comes high."
"That's right. You'll be surprised just how high. In other words I don't mind you looking. I like it. As they say in the shops, what you don't see in the window please ask for. We'll be happy to exhibit our wares. But I keep my soul to myself."
"And I was just about to ask," Kuryakin murmured, "what's a nice girl like you doing in a bloodthirsty racket like this?"
"No comment," she said flatly. "But I can tell you what we're going to do when we get to Folkestone. It is, as I said, a routine chore. Every so often we get inside tips. Charles does, I mean. And this is one, to say that a consignment of filth is coming in on the boat we'll be meeting, from France. Dirty stuff, the addictives. That's what Mary was watching out for. I have a detailed description of the people carrying the load. My job will be to pass it on to the customs men and observe while they collect. The rest will go through regular channels and won't concern us, so we'll have plenty of time to go visiting."
She took the wheel again for the delicate business of threading a way through the seaside town's busy streets, rolled to a halt in a parking area alongside the customs shed, and asked the two men to wait a moment while she made herself known to the authorities.
"Can't make her out," Solo confessed, scratching his head in the sunshine. "I've run into some fancy lines in my time, but hers has me beat. In any case, a dame with her assets doesn't need a come on line, doesn't need to do this kind of job at all."
"Hmm?" Kuryakin was only half-listening; his attention was caught by a magnificent black Rolls that was parked not far from them. "Why is she involved? Ask yourself, Napoleon, with her looks and talents and money—kicks must be pretty hard to come by."
"Talent?"
"She dances like a professional, as you know. She is a highly competent nurse. She drives extremely well. She is very handy with those pop guns of hers. And she puts up a firstclass impersonation of being one of the idle rich. I would call those talents. There is much more to Miss Perrell than meets the eye."
"You had me worried for a moment there, Illya. You do notice the 'meets the eye' parts, then?"
"Strategic arrangement of adipose tissue can create quite an effective diversion, and she knows it. There she is now!"
Miss Perrell came to stand in the doorway where she had disappeared and waved them to join her. She led them away and into another door, the customs shed.
"They say," Kuryakin murmured, as they took up a position to one side and away from the check point, "that customs men develop an instinct, which is just another way of saying they are good guessers. But you have a detailed description of the smugglers, Miss Perrell?"
"That's right. Want to match your intuition against the facts?"
"All right," Solo agreed readily. "See if we can spot 'em." He bent his gaze on the thin straggle of people now coming up the ramp into the shed. Which? That stout and harassed man with the small boy? The elderly dragon with her subdued companion? This newly rich couple with two doll-like little girls? Or that brisk and black suited businessman with his briefcase? Surely not that sloppy young couple so badly in need of discipline about their actions, faces and grooming? Which?
Then came a group to delight his eye. First a small, bustling, pattering woman, as lively as a hummingbird and almost as gaudy. She was twenty years older than beauty but could have been attractive if someone had persuaded her out of the shrieking green of her shapeless dress and a staring orange hair rinse. Piling poor taste on criminal error, she wore a string of enormous red stones about her neck. Genuine rubies that size, he mused, would be worth quite a packet. Striding at her heels came an obvious chauffeur. In his wake came a neutral martyr of a woman all in black, a "companion," with all the grace and dignity her mistress lacked, and devoting immense care to a double armful of
"That's right. You'll be surprised just how high. In other words I don't mind you looking. I like it. As they say in the shops, what you don't see in the window please ask for. We'll be happy to exhibit our wares. But I keep my soul to myself."
"And I was just about to ask," Kuryakin murmured, "what's a nice girl like you doing in a bloodthirsty racket like this?"
"No comment," she said flatly. "But I can tell you what we're going to do when we get to Folkestone. It is, as I said, a routine chore. Every so often we get inside tips. Charles does, I mean. And this is one, to say that a consignment of filth is coming in on the boat we'll be meeting, from France. Dirty stuff, the addictives. That's what Mary was watching out for. I have a detailed description of the people carrying the load. My job will be to pass it on to the customs men and observe while they collect. The rest will go through regular channels and won't concern us, so we'll have plenty of time to go visiting."
She took the wheel again for the delicate business of threading a way through the seaside town's busy streets, rolled to a halt in a parking area alongside the customs shed, and asked the two men to wait a moment while she made herself known to the authorities.
"Can't make her out," Solo confessed, scratching his head in the sunshine. "I've run into some fancy lines in my time, but hers has me beat. In any case, a dame with her assets doesn't need a come on line, doesn't need to do this kind of job at all."
"Hmm?" Kuryakin was only half-listening; his attention was caught by a magnificent black Rolls that was parked not far from them. "Why is she involved? Ask yourself, Napoleon, with her looks and talents and money—kicks must be pretty hard to come by."
"Talent?"
"She dances like a professional, as you know. She is a highly competent nurse. She drives extremely well. She is very handy with those pop guns of hers. And she puts up a firstclass impersonation of being one of the idle rich. I would call those talents. There is much more to Miss Perrell than meets the eye."
"You had me worried for a moment there, Illya. You do notice the 'meets the eye' parts, then?"
"Strategic arrangement of adipose tissue can create quite an effective diversion, and she knows it. There she is now!"
Miss Perrell came to stand in the doorway where she had disappeared and waved them to join her. She led them away and into another door, the customs shed.
"They say," Kuryakin murmured, as they took up a position to one side and away from the check point, "that customs men develop an instinct, which is just another way of saying they are good guessers. But you have a detailed description of the smugglers, Miss Perrell?"
"That's right. Want to match your intuition against the facts?"
"All right," Solo agreed readily. "See if we can spot 'em." He bent his gaze on the thin straggle of people now coming up the ramp into the shed. Which? That stout and harassed man with the small boy? The elderly dragon with her subdued companion? This newly rich couple with two doll-like little girls? Or that brisk and black suited businessman with his briefcase? Surely not that sloppy young couple so badly in need of discipline about their actions, faces and grooming? Which?
Then came a group to delight his eye. First a small, bustling, pattering woman, as lively as a hummingbird and almost as gaudy. She was twenty years older than beauty but could have been attractive if someone had persuaded her out of the shrieking green of her shapeless dress and a staring orange hair rinse. Piling poor taste on criminal error, she wore a string of enormous red stones about her neck. Genuine rubies that size, he mused, would be worth quite a packet. Striding at her heels came an obvious chauffeur. In his wake came a neutral martyr of a woman all in black, a "companion," with all the grace and dignity her mistress lacked, and devoting immense care to a double armful of
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