"Solo here, reporting. First report."
The Old Man's voice came through clear as a bell.
"Waverly here. Proceed with report. Over."
"I've been accepted as Owens. I'm alone in the building. Subjects have gone off to Westbury. I have attached the instrument to the vault. Neither the smelting plant nor the vault has been put to use yet. I'm down in the vault room, the basement. Any further instructions for the present? Over."
Waverly's chuckle crackled through the receiver.
"Were you paid your fee? Over."
"Ten thousand dollars in cash. How's Illya? Over."
"Validated by the magazine. He'll be off in the morning. They've made contact with the press relations man there. He'll be expected and welcomed. Over."
"Any further instructions for now? Over."
"Nothing. Play it by ear and report when convenient. So far, so good. Nice work. Over and out."
There was a click and then silence.
Solo went back to his apartment. He made him self a meal, ate, then stalked about impatiently. There was nothing to do, so he took off his clothes and went to bed.
11. An Evening Chore
AT SEVEN-FIFTEEN in the evening Solo heard a car scrape to a stop. The sound came from the rear. He hurried out of the bedroom to the kitchen, where a window faced the rear. Standing taut at the side of the window, he looked down. It was an alley, wide and long. Some of the Raymond and Langston trucks were parked there. The rear would be the delivery entrance to the establishment. From a black sedan parked at the curb Otis Langston and Felix Raymond emerged and entered the building. Barefoot, Solo swiftly padded back to the bedroom and took position in the closet.
Finally he heard their voices faintly, coming from their living room. He entered the closet and pressed his ear to the far wall. Now he heard them more clearly, but there was not much to hear.
"Time now to take care of the delivery," Langston's thin voice piped.
"Yes," agreed Raymond's baritone.
"What about Owens?"
"Let's have a look."
Instantly Solo was out of the closet, closing the door. He leaped into the bed, pulled up the covers, and closed his eyes. Within a few minutes the men were in his bedroom. Solo snored.
"Asleep," whispered Raymond.
"Let's lock him in," whispered Langston. "For safety's sake. No sense his wandering around at this particular time."
"Right."
Napoleon Solo was displeased but could not voice his displeasure. Instead he snored angrily as the men left the room. Solo heard the key in the lock of the outside door and the turn of the lock. In a few moments he padded out and tried the knob. Locked. He returned to the bedroom and opened the closet door, so at least he would know when they came back to their apartment. Then—what else could he do?—he sprawled out on the bed and waited.
Felix Raymond and Otis Langston took the elevator to the second floor. There, in their office, they removed their jackets, ties, and shirts. Raymond opened the safe and pulled out the suitcases. Each carrying a suitcase, they went to the elevator and down to the basement. Langston locked the door while Raymond opened the suitcases.
From a cabinet they took out long asbestos gowns and donned them. Then Raymond handed out the asbestos gloves, and they donned those. Next he took out the over-the-head, fiber glass, fireproof, transparent masks, and they placed these over their heads, the globelike masks fitting firmly on their shoulders. They smiled at one another— they looked like men from Mars.
Now, using bellows, Raymond fired up the smelting machines to intense heat. Item by item, Langston handed him the black pieces of machinery from the suitcases, and Raymond dropped them into the simmering vat. Slowly they melted, the bubbling gold dripping through to the container beneath, the impurities kept back in the tight sieve above.
It was a long process, but finally it was completed.
Raymond poured the yellow, bubbling gold into the ingot molds, then thrust the molds into the freezing apparatus where they quickly hardened to glowing butter-bars of pure gold.
The job was done. The smelting machines were turned off and cooled. The men doffed the masks, the gloves, and the asbestos gowns, and Langston returned them to the cabinet and cleaned up the debris.
Raymond disconnected the burglar alarm, opened the vault, placed the gold ingots safely within, and closed the vault. Then be reestablished the alarm system.
Their work was finished. It had taken a long time.
Langston closed the suitcases and carried them. They went back upstairs to the office. There, Langston neatly stacked the suitcases. They took up their garments and went upstairs to their apartment where, separately, they showered and shaved and dressed in resplendent tuxedos. It was ten o'clock.
Together they went next door to Solo's apartment. Quietly Langston unlocked the door, and they went through to the bedroom.
There, apparently, their man was asleep. Raymond shook him, waking him.
12. Invitation Declined
An," SOLO GROANED. "Ah, ah." He sat up in the bed, yawned, swung his feet to the floor, blinked. "Well, gentlemen! How completely darling you look— formal and all!"
Raymond grinned and bowed, but Langston, looking rather sour, came directly to the point.
"Mr. Owens," said Langston, "you're our guest and it is a part of our promise, a part of the deal, to show you a good time while you're here with us. Do, please, get dressed."
"Ah." Solo yawned.
"Mr. Owens," said Felix Raymond, "we have reservations at a good supper club, the best, and we have plans for a grand evening, a night of amusement and entertainment. And you are our guest."
"Pass me," yawned Solo.
"Mr. Owens," said Otis Langston, "the reservations include you."
"Pass me, if you please, gentlemen. I hate to appear an ingrate, but I'm dead tired, beat. It's been a long day for me. I thank you, but I must decline. All I want is a good, long night's sleep."
Langston frowned.
Raymond smiled.
"Otis, our guest's desires are paramount. If he wishes to sleep, we must, as his hosts, grant him his wish. Are you sure, Mr. Owens?"
A wide-open yawn. "But am I sure, Mr. Raymond."
"If he wishes to sleep, he wishes to sleep," piped Langston. "Do you wish to sleep, Felix?"
"Not at all."
"Nor I." Langston looked with distaste upon Solo. "Then sleep, Mr. Owens. We've no idea when we'll be back. Late, though. We've a long and interesting night in front of us."
"Enjoy yourselves," said Solo.
Langston, frowning, clearly showed his impatience.
"All right, then, settled. Coming, Felix?"
"A moment, please, Otis." Raymond returned his attention to Solo. From a pocket, he took a key and gave it to Solo. "Just in case, Mr. Owens, at any time you want to go out or come in." He laughed. "You're no prisoner here, you know. This key is to the rear door of the building—a private entrance for going out or coming in. That way, you don't have to go through the store downstairs."
"Thank you."
"Last call, Mr. Owens," boomed Raymond, "if you wish to join us."
"Thank you again. I'll take a rain check."