"Well, I have some"—Reed hesitated—"some margarine in the car. I picked up on the way down here, and I was going to leave it at my house before..."

Both agents looked blank. "Margarine?" they chorused.

"Yes, said Reed, fidgeting more intensely. "It's colored margarine, and it's still illegal in Wisconsin. It's a dairy state and every year they try to get it made legal, but so far...Anyway, the only way to get it is to buy it in some other state and bring it back. Everybody does it, but with me being a law officer...Well, like I said, the sheriff is kind of hardnosed about a lot of things. There was some uproar a while back when one of the other deputies was caught with some margarine, and—" He broke off, with an elaborate shrug.

Illya kept his face deadpan more successfully than Napoleon, though he doubted that Reed could see either of them while staring nervously at the car's outside rear-view mirror. "I think we can manage, don't you, Napoleon? After all, if we can't get a case of colored margarine through Wisconsin customs, we had better turn in our credentials. If we're caught, we can always say Thrush planted it in out trunk."

A few minutes later they were back on the Tri-State Tollway, heading for the Wisconsin line with twenty-four pounds of contraband margarine.

Chapter 2

"Would You Like to See My Binoculars?"

It was just after five when Illya angled the car into a parking space a half block past the Waukesha County Courthouse. Illya locked the car while Napoleon virtuously fed a nickel into the parking meter. After a few minutes' search through the rambling corridors of the building, they located the sheriff's office.

Behind a large desk with a line of books across its front sat a middle-aged man, a little overweight, with graying, slicked-down hair. He looked up from the papers on the desk and smiled cordially as the two agents stepped through the door. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

Napoleon stepped to the desk. "Sheriff Shorey?"

The man nodded.

"I'm Napoleon Solo and this is Illya Kuryakin," Solo explained, producing his wallet with the gold identification card. "We're special agents for The United Network Command for Law and Enforcement, and we'd like to talk to you about the disappearance of Dr. Morthley from Mukwonago a few days ago."

"Mr. Solo and I just flew into O'Hare a few hours ago," Illya offered. "The New York office sent us as soon as word was received of Dr. Morthley's disappearance."

"That's right," Napoleon said. "There's reason to believe that the disappearance of Dr. Morthley could have serious international implications." He held out his hand for the wallet, which was dangling limply from Shorey's hand. "Could you or one of your men show us the house where he lived? We'd like to get at it as soon as we can. New York is anxious for a preliminary report."

Shorey, trying as best he could to cope with the incomprehensible handed the wallet back to Napoleon and attempted to look helpful.

"I could show them, Tom." Charlie Reed stepped into the office. "I've heard about their organization, though I can't imagine why they would be interested in Dr. Morthley."

The sheriff seized the opportunity. "Fine, Charlie," he said heartily. "You show these gentlemen what they want to see. I'll stay at the desk until you get back. Anyway, McDermit called and said he might be able to come in tonight; he can take over for you if he does." He turned to the agents. "This is one of my deputies, Charlie Reed. He can show you around; he knows the area around there like the palm of his hand. Let's see, that was Solo and...?"

"Kuryakin," Illya answered. The agents solemnly shook hands with Reed for the third time that day.

"The patrol car is out in front, if you want to ride with me," Reed said.

Napoleon considered, then shook his head. "We'd better follow you in our car. We may want to look around after you've gone back on duty. I wouldn't want to cause any problems for the Waukesha County law enforcement." He smiled at the sheriff as the three men stepped out of the office. As they walked down the corridor, Illya felt sure he had heard a sigh of relief as the door had closed.

When they reached the sidewalk, Napoleon said, "You lead the way. We'll follow; we're parked down the street. We'll want to take a look at Dr. Morthley's house first, then perhaps we can talk to the neighbors."

"Right. Here's the list of names you wanted. I'll drive past where you're parked and you can swing in behind me."

Twenty minutes later, Illya turned off a dusty country road into a rutted driveway behind Reed's car. They followed the drive around to the back of the house, where it stopped in front of an unpainted wooden structure that had apparently served as a garage for Dr. Morthley. Through some trees on their right, they could see a large, sagging building badly in need of paint.

"It's a barn," Illya said, noticing Napoleon's glance at the structure.

The agents walked up to the back door of the house, where Reed was waiting.

"Did Dr. Morthley have a car?" Illya asked.

Reed nodded. "Yes. It's gone; that's one of the reasons the sheriff thinks he went away by himself. But he'd have had his mail held' he was very particular about his mail."

"Now, you said there was a bright light in the basement the night the house disappeared," said Napoleon.

"Uh-huh." Reed pushed open the unlocked back door and stepped into a kitchen. He motioned toward a door on the far side of the room. "It's through there."

Napoleon opened the door and felt for a light switch. When he found it, light from the basement illuminated a landing where the stairs took a sharp turn. Solo ducked his head and led the way down.

At the foot of the stairs, he stepped out of Illya's way and looked around. To his right, two hot air ducts snaked through a wooden partition and disappeared into the ceiling. A vacant workbench with several electrical outlets stretched along the wall facing him, and what looked like a bin full of large chunks of scrap of metal filled one corner.

"What have we here?" Napoleon peered around behind the stairway into the other half of the basement. Lying near the far wall was a door; in the concrete wall itself a door frame was mounted, one side splintered and buckled.

Illya and Napoleon walked over to the door frame. Beyond the opening, a set of wooden steps led up to ground level outside the house. A half dozen two-by-fours lay on the steps, forming a crude ramp. The top of the stair was blocked by a single horizontal door, presumably mounted flush with the ground.

"Looks like something big was moved out through here," Napoleon observed, eyeing the splintered section of door frame.

Illya moved back into the basement. "Heavy, too," he said, gesturing at two deep gouges in the concrete floor.

Napoleon walked back toward the workbench. About ten feet from the bench, not far from the bin of scrap metal; he spotted four bolt holes in the floor.

Very big, judging from those," he murmured. "Find anything in there?" he asked Illya, who had begun poking through the scrap bin.

"No, not really," Illya said, picking up an oddly shaped piece of metal and turning it over in his hands. "Just lots of iron in strange shapes and some burnt-out electrical equipment. We'd better have some of the lab boys out here to look at it. They might be able to come up with something useful."