Pulp Fiction | The Hollow Crown Affair by David McDaniel by Unknown Read Free Book Online Page B

have escaped, but he obviously did."
    "Well, we can hardly blame him for leaving town so suddenly, then," said Illya.
    "And now we've offended him," said Napoleon, "and he's probably gone off in a snit and will refuse to be found until it wears off or someone can talk him out of it." He sighed. "It may be a while."
    * * *
    August became September and Ward Baldwin was not seen again. Waverly sent Solo and Kuryakin off on another assignment for three weeks, but their hearts weren't really in it. Summer faded slowly, and the first hints of autumn began to show in New York City. The skirts stayed short, but gusty breezes whipped unexpectedly around corners more often and sweaters began to appear.
    One Monday morning early in the month Illya was in mid-town Manhattan on personal business when a sudden shower drove him to take refuge in the doorway of the Automat facing Bryant Park on Sixth Avenue. The sky had been low and leaden all morning, hanging like dirty cotton batting strung among the skyscrapers, oozing a chill dampness, and finally allowed its load of misery to fall on the sooty city beneath. While pedestrians scampered from the spattering drops, fat speckled pigeons huddled high on building ledges and shook their wings angrily at the indignities of the weather.
    Illya looked out into the shadowless muted grays, considering the temperature and the condition of the storm fronts he had noticed on the morning weather display, and gave it one chance in three of letting up within the hour. Opting for the lesser evil, he turned and pushed through the bronze doors polished by millions of hands into Horn & Hardart's. A dollar and a quarter later he seated himself at a tray-sized table alone amid the cluster of strangers, right by the window, with a cheering hot meal in front of him. He just started to pour the milk when a flicker of movement caught his eye and he glanced up.
    The cardboard carton froze in mid-air, halfway to the glass, as he recognised the cheerful motherly face of Irene Baldwin eight feet away. She wore a faded dress and a knit sweater; an old black shawl covered her head and she was nodding to him. She seemed to have just appeared, and she was carrying a small tray with something on it.
    Illya closed his mouth as she approached, and started to put the milk down. She stopped beside his tiny table, smiled at him significantly as he started to rise, and placed the tray before him. He looked down at it uncomprehendingly. There in a small white vase stood a leaf and a twig. He looked up again and got to his feet, but Irene was no longer there. He thought he saw the back of a faded dress in a flicker through the crowd around the cashier's desk, but he couldn't be sure.
    Then he saw her outside, with a wide black umbrella, hurrying up the sidewalk. She waved as she passed him, and was lost to view down Sixth in a few seconds. Illya stared helplessly into the rain after her for a while, then looked back at the little vase. Cheap ceramic, but a pleasing design, he thought. And a leaf, and a stick. No, a little branch of pine, with tufts of green needles sticking out of the wolf-gray bark. He picked it up and sniffed it. Fresh. He weighed it in his hand and looked at the leaf. Three-pointed, and already starting to turn color. But it was also still moist and soft. Jagged edges...What was it? Maple? He turned slowly and stared out the window again. Irene Baldwin???
    He looked back down at his own tray, and licked his dry lips. He'd eat it, since he'd paid for it and needed the food. But his appetite was utterly destroyed, and the meal was as ashes in his mouth.

Section II: "Tradition, Form And Ceremonious Duty."
    Chapter 5: "Why Mr. Solo! What A Surprise!"
    It was obviously a clue—everyone agreed as far as that went. Illya held to the opinion that it was a direct hint and they would be expected to follow it up at once, winning Napoleon to his side in short order. The pine suggested Maine to both of them, but Mr. Waverly