The Mad Scientist Affair - Philifrent John T - Страница 11
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Seat-belts are curious anomalies. You fasten them for a brief while on takeoff and then they remain utterly unused until landing is imminent, when you are required to fasten them again, only for a brief while, until the plane is safely down. In between times, they just hang there. He had waited for the right moment, when those two particular seats had been deserted, and then he had applied just a little expert know-how—and everyone else had filed calmly from the plane while those two unhappy men had still been vainly trying to undo the catches on their belts. And so he and Sarah had passed uneventfully out of the airport and into the first available taxi. Neat, and effective, but it had all helped her unbelief.
She led him into the great hall. A burly and impassive servant took care of their luggage, walked it away. She gave him a moment to look around, then conducted him on into the receiving room, where he went three steps and then slowed as he saw the welcoming committee. Steeling himself to be calm, he put on a stiff smile and nodded as Sarah introduced him.
“Uncle Mike, this is Napoleon Solo. We met at the convention. He’s very interested in your process. He’s been telling me all—” Her chatter faltered as the electric atmosphere of the room came across to her. Trilli and his men were rigid, explosively ready at the first sound of the name. Solo felt wound-up like a watch-spring. He hadn’t counted on walking flat-footed right into the middle of this gang. One false move now and the bomb would go off. The only relaxed ones in the room were O’Rourke himself, and his black-haired bright-eyed niece. She produced a sizzling smile. O’Rourke made a lordly gesture. If he sensed the tension, he gave no sign of it.
“Be welcome to my little kingdom, Mr. Napoleon Solo. Sure and that’s the fine brave name you have. An emperor—and a king. We’re well met!”
“You’re very kind. I ought to apologize for this intrusion.”
“Not at all. Sarah speaks for you, that’s enough. In a moment I’ll ask you to take a seat and be at home, for sure and you’ve traveled a long way and must be weary. But first, a small ceremony. On the table before you, you’ll see a can of O’Brien’s Beautiful Beer, the finest brew there is, known affectionately all over the world as 3-B. Am I speaking the truth, sir?”
Solo grinned. “I won’t argue with that. I’ve heard it very well spoken of.”
“A gentlemanly reply. Well now, seeing that this castle, which is my home, and all the sweet luxuries in life that I’m fortunate to own, all come directly from the sale of that beverage before you, I make it a custom to ask every guest of mine on his first visit to drink a ceremonial glass of it. Will you do that for me, now?”
Solo heard him, stared at the innocent can, and held back a frown. He missed Sarah’s quick bewilderment at this brand new “ceremony,” as well as Bridget’s hasty finger-on-lip gesture and wink to say it was only a small jest.
“I wouldn’t want to break an old custom,” he smiled, and picked up the can. It bore the familiar 3-B label. It was cold, little beads of condensation forming on the sides.
“We saw you coming up the road and laid it on special,” the old man explained as Solo applied the opener and poured beer into the glass. Solo raised the glass, sniffed without seeming to do so. It seemed all right. He sipped, tasted, swallowed, and it was very good indeed. Just right.
“Your very good health,” he said, nodding. “This goes down well on a hot day like this.” It had a sharp clean flavor, with just the right touch of tangy bitterness. He sensed the tension receding a little. Trilli and his uglies were relaxing now, settling into their seats.
O’Rourke spoke again: “You’ve not met my other niece, Bridget, have you?”
Solo bowed gravely. This was a different loveliness from Sarah’s, an exotic flame-like quality, her dark tresses framing an exquisitely heart-shaped face. “I’m very pleased to meet you,” he declared, and meant every word.
“Dr. Trill, Mr. Foden, Mr. Schichi—my house-guests. And now we’re all acquainted, won’t you be seated and make yourself at home, Mr. Solo. Will you see after the tea, Bridget, and hurry it along?” Solo watched her move away. Sheer poetry. And there had been a glint in her eye. Had it not been for the three uglies, he would have regarded this as a very promising situation. He cast an eye over the oil-paint ancestors and wondered, wryly, if this eccentric old man really believed he was royal. And what, oh what, was Trilli and that thick-skulled pair doing here? It wasn’t like Thrush to come boldly out into the open in this way.
“So you’re interested in my process, then?” O’Rourke asked. “You’re a chemist?”
“Well, no. Not exactly. I only know what Miss Sarah has told me.” He gave her a smile, and lingered a moment to appreciate the picture she made as she smiled back. Again he toyed with the pleasant problem as to which was the lovelier, she or Bridget. “So far as I can understand, you’ve made something of a breakthrough, a new technique and a new synthetic with some rare and unusual properties. Right?”
“That’s a way of putting it. But if you’re not a chemist, just what is your interest?”
“That would depend on the properties, wouldn’t it?”
“That’s very true. And wasn’t I just this moment beginning to discuss that very thing with Dr. Trilli here?” He turned to address Trilli now. “You’ll have heard, I’m sure, of a series of nerve gases the Allies were developing in the last war. There was one, I recall, which destroyed a man’s nerve. Made him a coward. Remember? I see you do. A dreadful thing, to be sure, and what a weapon to use against an enemy! But did it ever strike you that the direct reverse would be just as terrible?”
“What does this mean, reverse?” Trilli mumbled.
“That’s one of the effects of the stuff I’m talking about. It takes about five minutes to act. It takes away a man’s caution, his sensible judgment. It inflates his confidence to an enormous degree, gives him a head full of daring and courage, a complete lack of fear of any kind. Would you call yourself a brave man, Mr. Solo?”
Solo shrugged, put his head on one side modestly and smiled. “I don’t know. I suppose I’m as brave as most.”
Inwardly he seethed with contempt. The doddering old fool King Mike, hah! And rabbity little four-eyes there, with his hired muscle-men. “I don’t scare easily, anyway,” he offered.
“I’m sure you don’t.” O’Rourke nodded gently and turned to Trilli again. “You see, courage without caution is nothing more than foolhardly recklessness, and it can be deadly dangerous. I’m sure Mr. Solo is a brave man. I’m sure if this room were suddenly full of guns, all pointed at him and all threatening sudden death, he wouldn’t turn a hair. Would you, Mr. Solo?”
“If you’re trying to scare me, you’re wasting your time!” Solo laughed, making it an open sneer now. He watched Trilli draw a pistol, a vicious little snub-nosed automatic. Then Foden waved one, and then Schichi. And he laughed again, calmly relaxed in his seat. “Fumbling amateurs,” he scorned. There was a sibilant rustle as the oil-paintings rolled back and he stared around at the massed array of pointing shotguns. Still he smiled. “Kid stuff! I can’t blame you too much, seeing that you don’t know who I am, but if you think this row of popguns is going to scare anybody you’re all wrong! I could take all of you, right now, and not even work up a sweat.”
Faintly, at the back of his mind, the small voice of sanity screamed a warning—but he was in no mood to heed it. He felt good—ten feet tall at least. Odds like this were what brought out the real fire in a man. He turned a confident smile on Sarah, who was straining forward with horror on her face.
“Don’t you worry, honey,” he assured her. “I’ve walked out of tougher spots than this before breakfast. Just let one of them start something, that’s all.” He surveyed the grim faces mockingly. “Just try me, that’s all. Dr. O’Rourke, you don’t seem to be aware of it, but you are entertaining three very lousy characters. Scum, that’s what. Thrush agents, in other words. They’d cut your throat and rob you blind, like that!” He snapped his fingers. “Only they won’t, not while I’m here.”
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