Read Online 20 - The Corfu Affair by John T. Phillifent - Free Book Online
Authors: John T. Phillifent
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place, better if you could share it with the right kind of company. But Madame had flaunted her figure, flashed her eyes, turned on the charm, and that was the end of any hope Kate might have of getting to know Mr. Summers any better. Honestly, these French women! No delicacy at all! She sighed again, and began laboriously to write out the details.
Napoleon Solo struggled back to consciousness under the impression that his head was loose. He shook it to make sure, and the instant agony that came made him decide, firmly, not to do anything like that again for a long time. Levering his eyes open and focusing them against a strong glare, he saw he was looking along the top of a polished table littered with glasses and bottles. Beyond them, gradually hardening into outline and detail, he saw Countess Anne-Marie Louise de St. Denis. She watched him in calm appraisal, almost approval.
Easing back gingerly, he realized he was sitting in those stall chairs again, but this one had improvements in the shape of a pair of chrome-steel bands that folded out from the armrests to pinion his wrists. He tried to stir his feet and assured himself there were more fetters on his ankles. He was caught. Moving his head carefully, he saw that Thrush was in full attendance, four pairs of eyes being steadily fixed on him.
He forced his face into a thin smile, looked back to the Countess, and revised his opinion of her. She was still beautiful, but now he saw her beauty as the coiled deadliness of a lethal snake.
"Welcome, M. Solo," she said, with crisp assurance. The use of his name served to shock some of the fog from his mind.
"Some mistake," he muttered, after a false start or two. The inside of his mouth had been scrubbed with a coarse brush or wire wool. It took some effort to make it work. He swallowed. "Mistake. My name is Summers."
"Let us not waste time. I knew you from the first moment I saw you in my telescope. For years I have maintained a comprehensive file, with photographs and descriptions, of all the more active agents of U.N.C.L.E. You are Napoleon Solo, n'est ce pas ?" She laughed, cast a flashing eye on her uneasy audience. "I am flattered that U.N.C.L.E. should this time send its best man. For me, M. Stanton was old. Easy. I dealt with him. I shall also deal with you, only better this time."
"You will kill him," Morales pronounced, with no question in his tone.
"Oh no, senor. That would be waste. I will use him."
"Good!" Klasser grunted. "That is the better way. Good specimens are not easy to get. May we observe?"
"But of course. That is my purpose, as you shall see." She turned her burning stare on Solo again. "You have been disarmed, and all your toys removed. If you try anything foolish one of my friends will kill you, and that would be unfortunate. But, if you are prepared to be sensible, I will free one of your hands, so that you may join us in a glass of this wine—and listen while we talk. Choose!"
"I could use a drink," he admitted, and she rose, moved away to a far corner where she must have operated a switch of some kind, for the cuff slid back from his left wrist. Then she came near, filled a glass and put it within his reach. Then she went back to her seat, but remained standing.
Watching her, it took him a moment or two to convince himself that he was not dreaming, that he had not slipped back three thousand years of time. She had caught back her black hair with a white band of silk. Her only clothing was a similar white silk, a simple garment that started from a silver brooch at her right shoulder and hung straight as far as mid-thigh, all in one piece, with just a hole for her arm, on the right side. On the left it swooped away from her shoulder to her left hip, leaving her left shoulder and breast uncovered, and from hip to hem it was loosely laced with a cord that ended in a fringe-tassel. The whole was genuine Ancient Greek, not the modernized compromise, and like the ancients, it was all she
Napoleon Solo struggled back to consciousness under the impression that his head was loose. He shook it to make sure, and the instant agony that came made him decide, firmly, not to do anything like that again for a long time. Levering his eyes open and focusing them against a strong glare, he saw he was looking along the top of a polished table littered with glasses and bottles. Beyond them, gradually hardening into outline and detail, he saw Countess Anne-Marie Louise de St. Denis. She watched him in calm appraisal, almost approval.
Easing back gingerly, he realized he was sitting in those stall chairs again, but this one had improvements in the shape of a pair of chrome-steel bands that folded out from the armrests to pinion his wrists. He tried to stir his feet and assured himself there were more fetters on his ankles. He was caught. Moving his head carefully, he saw that Thrush was in full attendance, four pairs of eyes being steadily fixed on him.
He forced his face into a thin smile, looked back to the Countess, and revised his opinion of her. She was still beautiful, but now he saw her beauty as the coiled deadliness of a lethal snake.
"Welcome, M. Solo," she said, with crisp assurance. The use of his name served to shock some of the fog from his mind.
"Some mistake," he muttered, after a false start or two. The inside of his mouth had been scrubbed with a coarse brush or wire wool. It took some effort to make it work. He swallowed. "Mistake. My name is Summers."
"Let us not waste time. I knew you from the first moment I saw you in my telescope. For years I have maintained a comprehensive file, with photographs and descriptions, of all the more active agents of U.N.C.L.E. You are Napoleon Solo, n'est ce pas ?" She laughed, cast a flashing eye on her uneasy audience. "I am flattered that U.N.C.L.E. should this time send its best man. For me, M. Stanton was old. Easy. I dealt with him. I shall also deal with you, only better this time."
"You will kill him," Morales pronounced, with no question in his tone.
"Oh no, senor. That would be waste. I will use him."
"Good!" Klasser grunted. "That is the better way. Good specimens are not easy to get. May we observe?"
"But of course. That is my purpose, as you shall see." She turned her burning stare on Solo again. "You have been disarmed, and all your toys removed. If you try anything foolish one of my friends will kill you, and that would be unfortunate. But, if you are prepared to be sensible, I will free one of your hands, so that you may join us in a glass of this wine—and listen while we talk. Choose!"
"I could use a drink," he admitted, and she rose, moved away to a far corner where she must have operated a switch of some kind, for the cuff slid back from his left wrist. Then she came near, filled a glass and put it within his reach. Then she went back to her seat, but remained standing.
Watching her, it took him a moment or two to convince himself that he was not dreaming, that he had not slipped back three thousand years of time. She had caught back her black hair with a white band of silk. Her only clothing was a similar white silk, a simple garment that started from a silver brooch at her right shoulder and hung straight as far as mid-thigh, all in one piece, with just a hole for her arm, on the right side. On the left it swooped away from her shoulder to her left hip, leaving her left shoulder and breast uncovered, and from hip to hem it was loosely laced with a cord that ended in a fringe-tassel. The whole was genuine Ancient Greek, not the modernized compromise, and like the ancients, it was all she
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