As he spoke he reached out for it.
"As you say," Illya said. He held his breath, timing it perfectly.
He released the handle. It flew upward as Albert's hand came toward it.
Albert screamed in pain as the handle slapped across his agonized hand.
Illya brought his fist upward, sinking it wrist-deep under Albert's belt. Albert fired again, the shot going into the flooring. Illya chopped Albert across the neck with the side of his hand.
For what seemed a breathless eternity, Albert stood unmoving, staring at Illya in a mixture of pain and contempt.
Illya caught his breath. His hand ached as if he had karate-chopped a four-by-four, and yet the big Moor continued to stand, peering at him.
The elevator moved downward again.
Illya stood tautly, waiting for the Moor to attack him again.
Albert disintegrated gradually.
First, his gloved hand loosened and the gun toppled to the flooring.
Then a strange new emptiness veiled his eyes, they rolled up on their sockets.
Albert slumped to his knees. He gazed up at Illya for another moment as if unable to believe what was happening to him. Then, as the elevator stopped, its doors parted, he sprawled forward on his face and lay still, in the elevator doorway.
For a moment Illya hesitated. Through the open door he saw the elevator had reached a supply basement.
He knelt, took up the gun Albert had dropped. Then he dropped it into his pocket and stepped across the prone hoodlum's form.
He paused, gazing down at the unconscious man.
"I do hope you won't be too inconvenienced explaining to your friends bow this happened, old fellow."
Illya turned then and hurried toward an alley exit.
TWO
GIZELLE UNLOCKED the door on the third floor of a sidestreet hotel.
Solo waited politely, but the blonde put her hand in the small of his back and thrust him forward into the room,
Gizelle and the blonde followed. The blonde locked the door, removed the key and dropped it down into her copious bosom.
"Marie," Gizelle said, worried. "Where is Albert? He should be here by now."
The blonde gazed at her coldly. "Can't you live five minutes without that Moor?"
Gizelle winced. "I would not be in––this—except for Albert. This is not my kind of thing."
Marie laughed harshly. "No. We know what kind of thing yours is—luring suckers into the alley for your precious Albert to mug them. You're in something big this time. If you do what you're told, maybe you and your sweet Albert will have enough so you won't have to rob drunks in an alley anymore."
Gizelle walked to the window and stood staring down at the street.
She shivered.
Marie's voice rasped at Gizelle. "Come take this gun and guard him. I must call the doctor at once."
"Aren't you feeling well, Marie?" Solo inquired in mock solicitude.
Marie lashed out, shoving Solo, and he fell upon the bed on his back. "And stay there—"
"Alone? Like this?"
"And keep quiet." She spoke over her shoulder. "Come on, Gizelle. Take the gun."
Gizelle crossed the room unwillingly.
She took the gun reluctantly. Solo saw that her earlier encounter had left her frightened, even when she held the artillery.
Marie backed to the French phone, lifted the receiver.
Solo made a false leap toward Gizelle. The dark-skinned girl screamed and almost dropped the gun.
Marie threw the phone into its cradle, ran across to her. Her face was livid.
"The next time he does a thing like that," Marie raved, "shoot him."
Gizelle nodded numbly.
Marie turned, her face twisted. She placed her hands on her hips. "You think I don't know how to quiet you down?"
Solo grinned up at her. "I know how to quiet you down, too, Marie."
Marie tossed her blonde head in contempt. "Is that all you think about—love?"
"If you've never thought about it, Marie, don't knock it," Solo said.
"Save this kind of talk for women like Gizelle—"
"I like big blondes, Marie."
"You'll never get me in your arms."
"That's too bad. You don't know what you're missing—"
"Huh!" Marie's mouth twisted. "All men are pigs."
"That's why you're so full of war, Marie," Solo taunted her. "You hate love."
"I hate men."
"Sure. And you're turning to vinegar."
After a moment of staring down at Solo, unblinking, Marie returned to the phone.
Gizelle retreated a couple of steps, holding the gun on Solo in a trembling hand.
Solo smiled at her. "I think you'd be happier back in the alleys, Marie."
Her chin tilted. "We are going to be rich."
"You and Albert?"
"That's right. We are through with the old life. We will be rich."
"Albert tell you that?"
"Be quiet!" Marie ordered. "This call is important."
Solo lay silently on the old iron four-poster bed, watching the blonde at the phone. She spoke finally, "Hello, Doctor. Marie. That's why I called you. No. I have not failed this time. I told you I would not. No, I don't have both of them. I have Napoleon Solo, and soon the other one will be here. Albert is returned to find him now. Cars are coming for us? How soon may we expect them?"
Solo sat up on the bed as Marie continued to speak with deference and servility to the "doctor" on the phone.
"Stay there," Gizelle ordered weakly. She tilted up the gun.
"Press the trigger, Gizelle," Solo said.
She winced, her face bleak.
"I don't want to have to kill you," she said, almost pleading.
Solo stood up. "Looks like you'll have to, Gizelle."
Marie slapped her hand over the phone speaker. "Shoot him, you fool!"
Solo leaped forward, going around the table. He caught at Marie, slipping his arm about her waist, putting her between him and Gizelle.
Marie was raging crazily at her. Gizelle whispered frantically, "Oh, Albert—"
"Albert won't help you now!" Marie raged. "I tell you, shoot him." She spoke again into the phone. "No, Doctor, I assure you everything's under control here."
"The doctor's going to think you're an awful liar," Solo whispered into Marie's ear.
She kicked backward, striking his shins with her pointed heel.
Solo gasped, but tightened his grasp on her. As she tried to re place the receiver, he caught it.
He ripped it from her grasp, brought it across her throat. Marie gasped, wheeling them around. She was stronger than Solo had believed.
Gizelle fired. Only the fact that she was trembling in terror saved either Solo, her target, or Marie. The bullet whipped past them, splatting against the wall.
Solo caught the wire, looping it around Marie's arms. He spun her until the wire held her immobile. She spat at him, raging.
Across her head, Solo saw that Gizelle had retreated to the door. She braced herself against it, holding the smoking gun at arm length as though she hated it almost as much as she feared it.
"Shoot him!" Marie raged at Gizelle.
Reaching across Marie's shoulder, Solo thrust his hand down the front of her dress, coming up with keys to his cuffs and the door.