"But it has to be, sir." Illya was eager. "There can't be two men named Abel Adams." He thrust himself out of his chair. "I'll go get her."
"Mr. Kuryakin." Waverly commanded. "You'll go straight along and have your arm tended. I'll send for Miss Adams."
Illya hesitated, vacillating back and forth. "But - "
"Your arm, Mr. Kuryakin. And change your jacket. I don't like my men in here with bullet holes in their clothing."
"Yes, sir, but I'll be right back. Don't let her get away from us. No wonder she's so afraid of Enforcement Agents!"
---
The tableau in the kitchen was the same when Robard returned as it had been when he left. Solo watched him enter with his little tool box, desperately wishing that things would begin to move. Waiting was always the worst of everything. Yet he had to stall. If there was any chance, he had to give it time.
Adams stepped forward. "We're ready then, Robard?"
"All set."
Good boy." Adams patted him on the back, then drew himself up tall, puffing out his chest like some courting bird. "You've been elusive, Mr. Solo. More than you should have been."
"I would have come sooner if I'd known you had a great mission in mind. But you still haven't told me why. Aside from the obvious fact that somewhere among your plants and vegetation areas you lost your balance."
"My reasons are entirely personal." Adams didn't take the baited insult. "Years of degradation that finally led to revelation. I worked for Thrush, you see, never using my full talents. I was a research lackey. Me! I did them great service, but they treated me shabbily. Anyway, in my spare time I devoured books on psychology and philosophy - good and evil."
"And you chose evil," Solo said.
"No!" This time the bait was taken. Adams advanced on Solo, infuriated. His bony hands came out and grabbed Solo by the lapels. His right hand let go and made a nasty fist.
As the fist drew back to slam into his face, Solo shot his own manacled hands up to shield himself, rising slightly from the chair. The movement was defeated by Julius, who arrowed in behind him and pushed him down by the shoulders.
Adams still held him by one lapel, but the fist didn't strike. "I chose good, Solo. Good." Now his left hand too fell away from Solo, and he said in a lower voice, "I know you think I'm crazy, but I'm not. All of this is just one part of a plan. A plan you'll never be allowed to know." His rage was gone as quickly as it had come. "I finished my last work for Thrush a few weeks ago. Bits and pieces. They couldn't operate without me, but they wouldn't tell me what I was really doing, to what purpose my work might be put. They made a terrible mistake. Then they compounded it by laughing at me, setting me a fool's task. But I've gone them one better. My first goal now is to destroy you."
Solo replaced his hands in his lap, wishing Julius wouldn't stand so close behind him. "You have your logic backwards, Adams. If you've chosen to destroy evil, Thrush should be your target."
"Hypocrisy must go down first. Thrush is what it is and pretends to be nothing else. Evil, yes. But in the open. Whereas your killers masquerade as saviors of the world. U.N.C.L.E.! Hypocrites, all of you. How many men have you killed or maimed, Solo?"
Solo didn't even grace that question with an answer. Not that Adams expected it. He was off again in his own reveries.
"A man like me," Adams said, "wasted on bits and pieces. A scientist like me - Abel C. Adams!"
"C?" Solo asked.
"The C stands for Cain. So I am a man of many facets. You can find every sin in my name. I haven't lived up to my second name yet. I've never killed a man."
"Until now," Solo finished for him.
"Not really even now. You are a killer, Mr. Solo, and I would never dispose of a killer with my own hands. A killer's death must be more subtle."
"Death is never subtle, Adams."
Adams smiled, his teeth startlingly white against his reddened skin. "This is beautiful, Solo, and if you listen you'll appreciate it. These men here" - he gestured to his hired assassins - "can never appreciate it. That's the pity. But Thrush will, and you will."
Adams stood tall again, as though pronouncing some great truth. "In order to have justice done, you must be the agent of your own destruction. It requires a Solo to kill a Solo."
Solo blinked slowly, absorbing the statement and drawing a blank. He rubbed his hands, dispersing the perspiration that appeared every time Adams approached with his madness. "You're not asking me to hold my breath, I hope, because I won't do it."
Again Adams didn't pay attention. But Solo was gaining time. He hoped it was time for his rescue and not just more time to be kept in suspense.
Adams was lecturing. "A mad killer animal can be disposed of in only one way that will provide justice. A trap! You know how that works, Mr. Solo. Trapped, the killer chews off its own leg in a frenzy to be free, and in so doing it kills itself by bleeding to death. That is justice. Blood for blood. And that you will do."
Solo raised his hands and pulled at the manacles in the slim hope that they might be loose. They weren't. "I'm afraid I don't have the teeth for it," he said, covering his movements.
"But I have! And quit wiggling about. You won't get away from me." He became a sudden flurry of command. "Robard! Fasten his hands as I showed you. Louie! Get the black cloth."
As Julius reached under Solo's arms and dragged him to his feet, Solo consciously stiffened his maddeningly jellied legs. This was it. It was coming at him fast and he didn't know what it was. Tiny rivulets of sweat drenched his back as a wave of heat headed out of his stomach to spread up and down his muscles. He drew in a deep breath. Oxygen. Strength, he hoped.
Robard came at him with a rope, then stepped be hind him. Julius came around in front and, grabbing Solo just above the wrists, held his hands at waist level to allow Robard to do whatever it was he planned to do. The rope was put through behind Solo's elbows and pulled taut, holding his elbows together nastily from behind. Yet they weren't bent backward. They rested evenly at his waist. He couldn't even guess the strategy behind it.
A hand came over his head and the rope dropped around his neck in a loop. Robard pulled on it and Solo's head jerked back as the hemp cut into the skin of his throat. He felt a knot being made on the rope between his elbows. Then Robard was through. Julius released him.
"Ingenious, isn't it?" Adams asked. "That elaborate tie will give you a limited use of your hands. You can hold them out in front of you and use your fingers to feel so you will have a chance. But you can't lift your arms high enough, or lower your head enough to rip this off." He hushed and brought out a strip of black cloth, narrow and thick. He waved it about like a banner. "The blindfold! The most essential part of my trap."
With the cloth dangling before his eyes, Solo raised his hands in a test of Adams' rope. The loop about his throat tightened and he coughed, immediately raising his head and lowering his hands to get his breath. Adams was right. He was helpless. There was no way he could ever get the blindfold off once it was in place.
"Well done," Solo admitted when the coughing spasm allowed him to talk.
"Don't lay it to the cleverness of insanity, Mr. Solo," Adams said. "I'm not insane. Now for the rest. You'll find the next rooms of the house are a giant booby trap - all simple, ordinary things, but lethal. Your goal is simple. The front door. If you can get out, you'll have your life. I don't think you can get out. And don't try the back door. You saw the pit there."