June, is something in the way of a tree house for you and me. As a matter of fact, I was optimistic enough to have them go ahead and build one. Had the devil's own time furnishing it. We got the bathtub aloft into the trees with relative ease, but darned if the grand piano didn't snag on—"
"Can we," requested June, turning toward him, "be serious for a brief spell?"
"Ah, how ironic life is," said Prof. "I propose arboreal bliss to the girl of my dreams and she takes it as a joke. I wonder if Henny Youngman has the same—"
"Prof," said the girl, "I've been thinking a lot about what's happened to us so far."
"So have I." He straightened up in his chair.
"Well, it's quite obvious somebody has been able to anticipate most of our moves," she continued. "They knew where we were going to be staying, they knew I'd be calling on Professor Prolijos."
"They probably even know we're on this jaunt to beautiful, picturesque Lake Sombra," added Prof.
"There are only so many people who could have known all this stuff," June said. "Maybe it's too obvir ous, but I can't help speculating about our terribly clean-cut National Espionage agent, Denny Yewell. Could he be the one?"
"It is an awfully obvious possibility," said Prof.
Ace said, "Occam's Razor."
"The one we gave him last Christmas?" said Prof.
"I was referring to the scientific dictum about not overlooking the most obvious answer," Ace said from the driver's seat of the van.
"You think," asked June, "Yewell could be a turncoat, a double agent?"
"Never wise to trust anyone completely," said Ace. "Which is why we're heading for the lake on a different route than the one Yewell suggested."
Prof said, "Beneath that forthright exterior of yours, Ace, resides a very devious soul." He slouched again, tried more tea. "Obviously a chap would have to be essentially crafty and devious to concoct this van. So seemingly innocent, a typical tourist conveyance on the outside, within a veritable puzzle box of gadgetiy, gimmickry, weaponry and several other tricky things ending in y."
June had been following the progress of a slightly orange monkey through the far-up branches. "You're about the most devious thing we have in this van right now, Prof."
"Me? Old, open-faced Prof Haley? Why—"
"Whoa." Ace hit the brakes. "Hadn't expected this."
Completely blocking the narrow roadway some twenty yards ahead were several felled trees, the interlocked trunks forming, an effective blockade.
Prof was out of his seat. "That's no accident of nature."
"Neither," said June, looking back over her shoulder, "is that big black truck which is pulling up behind us."
The man in the rumpled gray suit took yet another look around. Butterflies, large black ones, circled the spot where he stood. The sun made twisty stripes across the mossy ground and the green jungle. The man, he seemed to be about forty, ran his tongue over his lips. He took yet another look around. No one near, nothing unusual anywhere.
Very carefully, tugging at his pant legs, he knelt on the ground. Before he reached into the wrinkled side pocket of his coat, he rubbed a freckled hand over his face, feeling at the comers of his mouth and the edges of his pale blue eyes. Then he brought out the small silver rod, located the spot beneath the familiar twist of vine. He touched rod to spot. Ten seconds passed, then twenty.
With absolutely no sound, a section of the earth swung up. The opening was about as wide as a grave, though not as long. Gonsalves, as he called himself, always thought of a grave when he stepped down into the opening.
A metal ladder took Gonsalves down into darkness. When his feet touched the metallic flooring, the panel shut above him. He was in blackness for nearly a minute, feeling cold and dampness all around him. A light came on, another, and another. The corridor, which slanted down deeper underground, was now illuminated.
Gonsalves descended.
He went, seeing no one, deeper and deeper down. "Someday
"Can we," requested June, turning toward him, "be serious for a brief spell?"
"Ah, how ironic life is," said Prof. "I propose arboreal bliss to the girl of my dreams and she takes it as a joke. I wonder if Henny Youngman has the same—"
"Prof," said the girl, "I've been thinking a lot about what's happened to us so far."
"So have I." He straightened up in his chair.
"Well, it's quite obvious somebody has been able to anticipate most of our moves," she continued. "They knew where we were going to be staying, they knew I'd be calling on Professor Prolijos."
"They probably even know we're on this jaunt to beautiful, picturesque Lake Sombra," added Prof.
"There are only so many people who could have known all this stuff," June said. "Maybe it's too obvir ous, but I can't help speculating about our terribly clean-cut National Espionage agent, Denny Yewell. Could he be the one?"
"It is an awfully obvious possibility," said Prof.
Ace said, "Occam's Razor."
"The one we gave him last Christmas?" said Prof.
"I was referring to the scientific dictum about not overlooking the most obvious answer," Ace said from the driver's seat of the van.
"You think," asked June, "Yewell could be a turncoat, a double agent?"
"Never wise to trust anyone completely," said Ace. "Which is why we're heading for the lake on a different route than the one Yewell suggested."
Prof said, "Beneath that forthright exterior of yours, Ace, resides a very devious soul." He slouched again, tried more tea. "Obviously a chap would have to be essentially crafty and devious to concoct this van. So seemingly innocent, a typical tourist conveyance on the outside, within a veritable puzzle box of gadgetiy, gimmickry, weaponry and several other tricky things ending in y."
June had been following the progress of a slightly orange monkey through the far-up branches. "You're about the most devious thing we have in this van right now, Prof."
"Me? Old, open-faced Prof Haley? Why—"
"Whoa." Ace hit the brakes. "Hadn't expected this."
Completely blocking the narrow roadway some twenty yards ahead were several felled trees, the interlocked trunks forming, an effective blockade.
Prof was out of his seat. "That's no accident of nature."
"Neither," said June, looking back over her shoulder, "is that big black truck which is pulling up behind us."
The man in the rumpled gray suit took yet another look around. Butterflies, large black ones, circled the spot where he stood. The sun made twisty stripes across the mossy ground and the green jungle. The man, he seemed to be about forty, ran his tongue over his lips. He took yet another look around. No one near, nothing unusual anywhere.
Very carefully, tugging at his pant legs, he knelt on the ground. Before he reached into the wrinkled side pocket of his coat, he rubbed a freckled hand over his face, feeling at the comers of his mouth and the edges of his pale blue eyes. Then he brought out the small silver rod, located the spot beneath the familiar twist of vine. He touched rod to spot. Ten seconds passed, then twenty.
With absolutely no sound, a section of the earth swung up. The opening was about as wide as a grave, though not as long. Gonsalves, as he called himself, always thought of a grave when he stepped down into the opening.
A metal ladder took Gonsalves down into darkness. When his feet touched the metallic flooring, the panel shut above him. He was in blackness for nearly a minute, feeling cold and dampness all around him. A light came on, another, and another. The corridor, which slanted down deeper underground, was now illuminated.
Gonsalves descended.
He went, seeing no one, deeper and deeper down. "Someday
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