Pulp Fiction | The Hollow Crown Affair by David McDaniel Read Online Free PDF

frozen," said Napoleon, "why didn't the Bertillion measurements check out exactly?"
    Illya answered that. "I'm reasonably certain King didn't know the Bertillion code. He had odd gaps in his knowledge. Mr. Simpson, now, not only knows it, he has discovered some interesting correlations. No, I have another question entirely. The body was warm when we found it three minutes after the supposed accident—but there wasn't the least sign of decay or cellular damage. He must have been quick-frozen, but how could he have been thawed..." His speech faltered as a delayed connection was made.
    Napoleon said chidingly, "Even I know the answer to that one. Do you want to retract your question? He was quick-thawed and cooked by the same burst."
    "I wish you hadn't said that," said Illya.
    After a pause, Napoleon said slowly, "So do I."
    Chapter 3: "Where Would You Go If You Were Homesick For 1890?"
    For three weeks following their three-minute war, Napoleon and Illya spent the days sitting around the commissary and various offices, engaged in low priority research or flirting as their tastes differed, and playing endless games of Superghosts or Botticelli. The former had precedence the Tuesday afternoon as they sat in the nearly-deserted lunch area on the second floor.
    "K," said Napoleon.
    "N, before," said Illya.
    "S, after," answered Napoleon. "N, K, S."
    Illya considered for a moment and said cagily, "T. After."
    Napoleon studied his cup of coffee. "N, K, S, T." He tapped idly on the table with an unoccupied fingertip. "I think you're bluffing. I'll challenge."
    "Inkstand," said the Russian. "G."
    A concealed speaker mentioned their names softly and invited them to Waverly's office. Napoleon finished his coffee, crumpled the cup and lobbed it into a trash bin as he rose. "N, after. I wonder if the All Points Alert has finally paid off."
    "You sound as if you didn't think we could find Baldwin."
    "Do I? More like I'd almost rather we couldn't. Even if he is the key to this whole silly business. Until we straighten out his political situation we'll be in trouble." He frowned as they stepped into the elevator. "What are we doing in the middle of their politics, anyway? We're supposed to be their enemy."
    "Enemies are usually in the middle of each others' politics," Illya said. "In fact from time to time I get the impression that if we didn't have enemies we wouldn't need politics at all. And by the way, I'm not going to add a U, nor am I going to fall for a polyconsonantal trap. Your language is mostly vowels. Add an I."
    "Then I'll put another I on the front," said Napoleon, after a pause. The elevator door slid open.
    "Add a T on the end," said Illya. "Do you want to concede now or think about it for a while?"
    Napoleon stopped at the entrance to Waverly's office and scowled. "Not a chance. L at the beginning, and I think I've got you," he said, and tripped the door.
    Their chief was seated at the master communications consol with a slim silver microphone in his hand, listening to a report from Santiago. He made his recommendations while Solo and Kuryakin took their usual places at the table, then broke the connection and turned his chair to face them.
    "Our Department of Useless Information has come up with one of the most tentative leads on record," he said. "If you feel it is worth anything, you may follow it up until something more promising comes in."
    "What is it, sir?"
    Waverly tossed a neatly printed eight-by-five brochure on the table and turned it towards them. "Cape May, New Jersey, is in the midst of a program that could not exactly be called urban renewal—under the direction of a local home-owner's association they are gradually restoring the town as a Victorian era beach resort. It seemed like the sort of thing that might attract Ward Baldwin, especially as the area is one of the least traveled and least-modernized parts of the Atlantic seaboard."
    "We're at the height of the tourist season," said Illya non-committally.