Read Online 19 - The Power Cube Affair by John T. Phillifent - Free Book Online
Authors: John T. Phillifent
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smaller boxes. Next in the line was a truly exquisite male, groomed to perfection, his black hair gleaming, a pencil slim moustache arched over a straining mouth as he struggled with large suitcases.
Then, dawdling along at the end of the line, came the mother's daughter, a girl of no more than twenty, the likeness to the gaudy dame unmistakable but enhanced by the full blush of insolent youth. For all her boredom, the only adjective appropriate for her was "luscious." Solo stared, felt warm all over, and stared more, absorbing her from red gold mane to tiny toes. The in between of her was draped in a dress as brief as Miss Perrell's but paper white and pin pleated from neck to hem. He drew a deep and careful breath and reflected that he was looking at an unexploded bomb. Illya could say what he liked, but that was no camouflage. That was the real thing. The idea started another one. He whispered an aside to Miss Perrell.
"You were talking about dazzle to distract the eye," he reminded her. "On that basis, there are your smugglers."
"You couldn't be more wrong if you tried," she retorted, then put up a hand to pat her hair and make a covert gesture of pointing. Solo frowned as he saw the officials brisk up, dismiss the musical comedy group with a wave and then close in on two people he would never have given a second look. That red faced beery man and the skinny drab women with the lines of age and the mouth of a nagging drudge—were smugglers? Miss Perrell made a move, and they followed her outside into the sunshine.
"Fancy picking on Maggie!" she chuckled.
"Maggie?"
"Margaret, Lady Herriott, Countess of Danby, and entourage. Brinkley, her chauffeur. Maid companion Augustine. Secretary—and thinly disguised gigolo—Monty Hagen. Daughter Evadne. Like to meet them? It will be an education for you." She marched them across to where the eccentric group had gathered around the shiny black Rolls and greeted them as old friends.
"Hello, Maggie. Vad. You look disgustingly healthy and brown, the pair of you. Meet a couple of friends of mine. This is Napoleon, and this one's Illya."
The luscious red head opened her emerald green eyes wide on the two men, her boredom fading away as she took them in. "Very healthy," she murmured, to no one in particular. "Very nice." She drifted close, gazing up. Lady Herriott ran around in a small circle and came back to her starting spot, sighed and complained.
"Isn't it hot? Hot everywhere. You know, we decided to have three days on the Isle of Levant. You know, where everyone goes nude. But it was just as hot there." She shook her head as if puzzled by that, then beamed at Miss Perrell. "You're looking as delicious as ever, Nan. I don't know how you do it.?' Turning aimlessly she brushed her daughter gently aside and took Solo's hand as if seeking stability in an uncertain world. "There—I've forgotten your name already!"
"You try to do too much," Miss Perrell put in. "You really ought to take life a little easier, you know."
"Oh, but I like to do whatever I can while I can. So long as it's legal, of course."
"That's very commendable," Solo murmured. "Rather unfashionable, too, these days."
"Isn't it dreadful?" she agreed. "I mean, once the law goes where are you? What I say is, keep to the law and you need never worry about being virtuous. That will take care of itself." She patted his hand approvingly and trotted away to supervise baggage loading operations. Evadne surged in close again, seemed to trip and would have fallen had it not been for Kuryakin's quick and strong arm.
"My!" she breathed, leaning on him and almost purring. "You're very strong, aren't you?"
"Strong enough. You didn't like Levant then?"
"Dull! Unutterably tedious. I mean, everybody looks the same in the raw, don't they? There's no scope left. I'd rather have a good old orgy any time."
"An orgy?" Kuryakin repeated, raising his brows at Solo. Lady Herriott came trotting back in time to hear his words and
Then, dawdling along at the end of the line, came the mother's daughter, a girl of no more than twenty, the likeness to the gaudy dame unmistakable but enhanced by the full blush of insolent youth. For all her boredom, the only adjective appropriate for her was "luscious." Solo stared, felt warm all over, and stared more, absorbing her from red gold mane to tiny toes. The in between of her was draped in a dress as brief as Miss Perrell's but paper white and pin pleated from neck to hem. He drew a deep and careful breath and reflected that he was looking at an unexploded bomb. Illya could say what he liked, but that was no camouflage. That was the real thing. The idea started another one. He whispered an aside to Miss Perrell.
"You were talking about dazzle to distract the eye," he reminded her. "On that basis, there are your smugglers."
"You couldn't be more wrong if you tried," she retorted, then put up a hand to pat her hair and make a covert gesture of pointing. Solo frowned as he saw the officials brisk up, dismiss the musical comedy group with a wave and then close in on two people he would never have given a second look. That red faced beery man and the skinny drab women with the lines of age and the mouth of a nagging drudge—were smugglers? Miss Perrell made a move, and they followed her outside into the sunshine.
"Fancy picking on Maggie!" she chuckled.
"Maggie?"
"Margaret, Lady Herriott, Countess of Danby, and entourage. Brinkley, her chauffeur. Maid companion Augustine. Secretary—and thinly disguised gigolo—Monty Hagen. Daughter Evadne. Like to meet them? It will be an education for you." She marched them across to where the eccentric group had gathered around the shiny black Rolls and greeted them as old friends.
"Hello, Maggie. Vad. You look disgustingly healthy and brown, the pair of you. Meet a couple of friends of mine. This is Napoleon, and this one's Illya."
The luscious red head opened her emerald green eyes wide on the two men, her boredom fading away as she took them in. "Very healthy," she murmured, to no one in particular. "Very nice." She drifted close, gazing up. Lady Herriott ran around in a small circle and came back to her starting spot, sighed and complained.
"Isn't it hot? Hot everywhere. You know, we decided to have three days on the Isle of Levant. You know, where everyone goes nude. But it was just as hot there." She shook her head as if puzzled by that, then beamed at Miss Perrell. "You're looking as delicious as ever, Nan. I don't know how you do it.?' Turning aimlessly she brushed her daughter gently aside and took Solo's hand as if seeking stability in an uncertain world. "There—I've forgotten your name already!"
"You try to do too much," Miss Perrell put in. "You really ought to take life a little easier, you know."
"Oh, but I like to do whatever I can while I can. So long as it's legal, of course."
"That's very commendable," Solo murmured. "Rather unfashionable, too, these days."
"Isn't it dreadful?" she agreed. "I mean, once the law goes where are you? What I say is, keep to the law and you need never worry about being virtuous. That will take care of itself." She patted his hand approvingly and trotted away to supervise baggage loading operations. Evadne surged in close again, seemed to trip and would have fallen had it not been for Kuryakin's quick and strong arm.
"My!" she breathed, leaning on him and almost purring. "You're very strong, aren't you?"
"Strong enough. You didn't like Levant then?"
"Dull! Unutterably tedious. I mean, everybody looks the same in the raw, don't they? There's no scope left. I'd rather have a good old orgy any time."
"An orgy?" Kuryakin repeated, raising his brows at Solo. Lady Herriott came trotting back in time to hear his words and
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