19 - The Power Cube Affair by John T. Phillifent Read Free Book Online

charging him together. With right and left hand he reached and grabbed hold of two ornate neckties, hauling the pair inwards, together, head to head, solidly. Cancel two more. He grunted as something hard, flexible and massive slammed down across his neck and shoulder, paralyzing his right arm and beating him down almost to his knees. It hurt like the devil, but he surged up and ahead, grappled the weapon wielder with his one good arm and ran him full tilt backward against the solid stone wall. The crunch was solid enough to be convincing.
    Just for one breath he stooped to investigate the damaging weapon. A bicycle chain! Then he wheeled, back to the wall, in time to see Kuryakin enjoying himself. Gripping luxuriant locks in either hand, the Russian agent heaved himself backward, brought the two heads together with a very satisfying dull thud.
    From the dark came another with a leap, full on to Kuryakin's back. Solo started forward but there was no need. Kuryakin reached back and with both hands, took a f grip of hair and head, then spun and heaved violently. The attacker hung on as long as he could, but at last came free and yelled with fright as he flew through the night air. The flight ended as he met the concrete lamp post, curled around it, hung a moment, then slid limply to the ground. Solo winced as he moved his shoulder, then spared a moment to count up the scattered bodies.
    "Eleven—twelve! That's the lot, Illya!" he announced in credulously.
    "A pity. I was just beginning to enjoy myself. What—?"
    He broke off, and both men whirled tensely as they heard a soft whistle from the roadway. They saw Nan Perrell, sitting at the wheel of her car, but with the door open, watching. She waved them, urgently.
    "Thought you'd gone," Solo said, straightening his coat and finger combing his hair. "You saw all that?"
    "Blow by blow. Hop in. You need to get away from here, fast!"
    Shrugging, the two men climbed in the back and she was gunning her motor before they had the door shut. At a furious pace she took them away, around several corners and turnings, then found a place to pull in to the side, and stopped. "Stay right there!" she commanded. "This won't take a minute."
    She strode to a public call box, spent no more than thirty seconds in talk, then returned to the car still urgently and drove off on a winding trail once more until they were safely tucked away in a traffic stream.
    "Are we supposed to know what that was all about?" Solo asked.
    "Tell me something first. Have you any idea who laid on that little lot for you?"
    "One of them was kind enough to say Mr. Absalom Green."
    "Good. I guessed right. Now for what I did. I made a nine nine nine call, to inform the police where to collect some interesting debris."
    "Let's have the rest of it. Why are we running?"
    "It's very simple. I'll draw you a diagram. Say some passerby or beat constable finds them, those that are left, then what? Report, alarm, inquiries, knock up everybody all around. You wouldn't like the publicity at all. And they could, possibly, pin an assault and battery on you. How do you fancy a longish term in clink? Our opponents can buy law, remember."
    "Good thinking," Kuryakin approved. "Much obliged, but what do we do now, wait until the heat is off?"
    "You'll wait a long time. The coppers will really dig on this one. They've had a bellyful of hooliganism just recently. Something else I should ask. Did either of you stop any thing? Any damage?"
    Solo hunched his aching hou1der. "One of them dented me with a chain. Quite a weapon. I've heard of it, never stopped one before."
    "I could do with some repairs on my coat sleeve—and my arm," Kuryakin said. "Flick knives are old hat, but still effective."
    "That's it, then," she said, decisively. "You can't go home, and you would be asking for trouble to try any hotel. So I'm taking you home with me."
    "You're in charge, Miss Perrell," Kuryakin said softly.
    "Now you're really getting smart, Illya. Truce?