Pulp Fiction | The Stone-Cold Dead in the Market Affair by John Oram by Unknown Read Free Book Online

pattern of wreaths and cherubs, and a fireplace that might have been Adam. The chairs and sofa had loose covers of flowered cretonne somewhat in need of laundering. High leaded windows looked out onto flowerbeds and a green expanse of lawn.
    Price Hughes was sitting at a Victorian oval table in the exact center of the room. He wore a rusty black coat, gray striped trousers, a stiff white collar with oversize wings that exposed his Adam's apple, and an old-fashioned black cravat. His feet were incased incongruously in tartan carpet slippers that had black metal fasteners like belt buckles. Apart from the slippers, he could have been an old-time marketplace medicine faker.
    He sat huddled forward in the ladder-back chair with his hands on the table, gnarled fingers interlaced. His slate gray eyes were as full of human kindness as a horned toad's.
    He said without preamble, "Who are you, and why do you persist in pestering me?" He spoke in a queer harsh whisper.
    Blodwen laughed. "That's right," she said. "It seems to me the pestering has been all on your side. Here we are, out for a quiet morning ride, and suddenly your hoodlums set on us with enough artillery to finish a war. This we should enjoy?"
    "Morning ride, my foot!" Rafferty interjected. "The bloke was carrying a Luger."
    "A P38, my friend," Illya corrected mildly. "There's a difference."
    The old man made an impatient gesture. "That's enough! Rafferty, hand your weapon to Mr. Morgan and get back to your duties. One guard is sufficient."
    He waited until the door had closed behind the strong-arm man. Then he said to Illya, "Let us have no more prevarication. You have been making inquiries about Cwm Carrog ever since you arrived in Corwen. The girl was here early this morning with some trumped-up story of finding employment in the neighborhood. That, frankly, I find as incredible as your claim to be a Canadian tourist."
    "Then what's your guess?" Blodwen asked.
    "I will tell you." His knuckles cracked as he pushed himself to his feet. "You are two typically clumsy agents of the United Network Command of Law and Enforcement."
    "In that case," said Illya, "you know exactly why we are here. U.N.C.L.E. doesn't approve of naughty people who make their own money."
    "And you innocents were sent to stop us?" The old man emitted a graveyard sound that was probably intended to signify amusement. "You had the audacity to pit yourselves against Thrush? That was unfortunate — for you."
    "That's the way it looks," Illya admitted. "But don't bank on it. You might be disappointed."
    Price Hughes shook his head. "You have been a nuisance," he said. "No doubt you have sent a certain amount of information back to your headquarters. But it was useless. U.N.C.L.E. can do nothing to stop us now. We have worked here undisturbed for almost six years. Our mission is practically completed. Even without your intervention we should have left Cwm Carrog within the next week. Nothing remains but to dismantle the plant. You have merely made it necessary to expedite out departure."
    Blodwen said, "That doesn't make sense. None of your phony notes appeared until your man turned up stone-cold dead in the market. What have you been doing for the past six years? Just practicing?"
    He cackled again. "You see?" he said. "You don't think things through. We are not common forgers. It was never our intention to circulate the currency piecemeal. During our operation, paper to the face value of one hundred million pounds has been transported from Britain and lodged in secret depositories throughout Europe and the United States. Soon it will be released — not by degrees but in a sudden flood. And the result will be world-wide chaos."
    He sank back into his chair, his eyes suddenly dull. "Take them away," he said to Morgan. "Lock them up."
    Illya said, "One moment. Just to satisfy my professional curiosity, how did you achieve such perfect reproductions?" He put real regret into his voice. "That I should like