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

me!"
    "I'm on vacation," he said cryptically. "Can we drive on now?"
    She scrambled out, resumed her driving seat, and within ten more minutes they had whipped their way through a slumbering suburb and come to rest in the gravel forecourt of a house standing in its own grounds some distance from the main road. Solo exchanged meaningful glances with his colleague as they followed their leader into the bright lights of a dignified hallway and came face to face with a tall, lean man dressed as a possible butler, but with all the look of a retired sergeant major about him.
    "Evening, Curtis," she said blithely. "Would you bring the medical kit up to my room in a moment, please? And some hot water. Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin will be staying, so see if you can conjure up some pajamas, won't you?" She led the way to a handsome staircase and Solo murmured, discreetly:
    "Some trollop you picked, Illya."
    "A lady tiger, and with a chip on each shoulder. We'll be lucky to get out of this alive!"
    The bedroom was obviously hers, but its riotous colors were tame by comparison with the one next door, which she pointed out to them as the place they would sleep.
    "Sorry about the decor," she said with a grimace, "but it's part of the image I try to maintain, on the rare times I do entertain guests. For now, both of you, off top gear and sit there, on the side of the bed."
    She had assumed all the confident authority of a hospital matron, and the two men obeyed without a murmur. Off came her cape, and, for good measure, off came the negligible upper half of her mesh dress.
    "That saves all the nonsense about rolling up sleeves and so forth. I like freedom of action. Besides, it will take your minds off the stings, won't it? Now then!" She came close, just as Curtis appeared with a steaming bowl and a box of medical supplies. The grin left her face as she surveyed the damage. Curtis followed her look, and there was a chill glint in his gray eyes as he asked:
    "Just how did you come by that, sir?"
    "This? A kid with a bicycle chain."
    "I hope you accounted for the murdering young devil, sir?"
    "You could say that. I tried to bounce him off a brick wall, but he didn't bounce very well. Just fell down and lay there."
    The leathery face twitched. Long arms reached for the shirt and coat Solo had discarded. "I'll see what I can do for the jacket, miss, but I'm afraid the shirt's had it. And you, sir. Let me look." He inspected the three inch gashes in Kuryakin's right arm and clicked his tongue.
    "No need to ask about that one. You were very lucky, sir. Do you think we need a doctor, miss?"
    "For a scratch like this?" protested Illya.
    "That's no scratch," snorted Nan Ferrell. "Nor is that crack you've got, Napoleon. You're damned lucky you didn't crack your collarbone. But we won't call a doctor, because they ask awkward questions and have to make reports and things. Righto, Curtis, see what you can do with the repairs to the clobber, while I patch up the bodies. And the brandy, I think, in about half an hour."
    She was competent enough. Solo watched her work on his colleague's arm and winced a time or two at the forthright way she employed her strong and shapely hands. Then he noticed that Illya wasn't wincing at all. When it came his turn to be doctored, he realized why. She looked rough, almost most casual, but her touch was precise.
    "You're pretty good," he admitted, as she finally smacked pads over the wounds and tacked them into place with strips of tape. "You look as if you're hammering dough, but you're gentle, really."
    "Thank you. I've had lessons enough. Whatever I do, I like to do it right. There you are. You'll live. Now she whirled away to grab at a telephone that stood on the mantelpiece, dialed swiftly and made a gesture. "Move apart so I can sit between you and you'll be able to listen in. Charles? I'm at home. Napoleon and Illya are with me. No, shut up and hear me out, not fun and games but a little fracas. Mr. Green strikes