Napoleon blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

Illya stated down the hall, gesturing for Napoleon to follow. "She said the clothes are in the guest bedroom and there's a bath next to it. Come on." Napoleon continued to watch Kerry until she nodded agreement to Illya's translation, then followed Illya to the sleep module.

They had just started to remove their greasy clothing when Brattner stepped into the room. "Didn't you say there were two Thrush agents in the trunk of your car?" he asked.

"Yes," answered Napoleon.

"Well, they're not there now. Smith checked the trunk before driving the car down to headquarters, and there was nobody in it."

Napoleon and Illya looked at one another. "The anesthetic must have worn off early," Napoleon said. "Are you sure you gave them both a full charge?"

Illya opened his briefcase, picked up the offending hypospray, and looked at it, frowning. "This isn't a standard unit," he remarked after a moment's inspection. "According to the label, it's loaded with something called M-27. Do you know anything about the powers of M-27, Napoleon?"

Solo shook his head. "I've never heard of it before. Evidently its powers don't include sustained unconsciousness, however. It must be something Chicago supplied; I don't think Thrush tampered with our briefcase. I'll ask Mr. Waverly when I make the next report."

Illya shrugged. "There doesn't seem to be much we can do about the escape now. You might arrange to get the car back to the rental agency; considering what it's been through, you'd better assign your most diplomatic agent to the job."

"And have someone contact Charlie Reed," Napoleon added. "He's probably wondering what became of his margarine. Tell him it was destroyed in action, and we'll arrange for the Chicago branch to get him some more."

Brattner nodded and left the agents to their bath.

Returning to the living room several minutes later, Napoleon felt more assured in a clean white shirt and fresh suit. "Now we can get down to business, Miss Griffin," he said. "We understand that you were a frequent visitor at the home of Dr. Morthley outside Mukwonago a few weeks ago."

"Not precisely a visitor, Mr. Solo," she replied. "I was working for him."

"Working?" Napoleon sat down on a couch facing her.

"Yes. I'm a technical writer, and..." She paused, her face slightly flushed. "I must apologize for before. It's only that I'm so used to writing technical literature for government consumption. When I get flustered—and you people are enough to fluster anyone—I'm afraid I tend to lapse into rather unfortunate forms of phraseology and terminology." She broke off again and smiled slightly. "Like that."

"That's quite all right," Napoleon reassured her, relieved to discover that she occasionally spoke English. "By the way, may I call you Kerry?"

"Please do," she replied. "I've always favored informal nomenclature whenever its use is practicable."

"You started to say you worked for Dr. Morthley?" Illya asked patiently.

She looked up at him. "Yes. He needed someone to help him prepare a proposal to submit to the government. He thought he had a revolutionary discovery, but to properly develop the potential he need financial assistance."

"What kind of invention? And why do you say he thought he had a discovery?"

"Because its practicability was obviously negated by ..." She laughed suddenly and shook her head. Napoleon noticed that her hair whirled enticingly, not at all the way a technical writer's hair should act. "I mean, it just couldn't work. He said he had discovered a way to make thing invisible! Did you ever hear of anything so fantastic?"

The agents exchanged glances. "I'm afraid we have," Napoleon said. "What happened to the proposal? Did he submit it?"

"I assume that he did, although that assumption may not be one hundred percent reliable. I completed my assignment and he said he would submit the total package within a few days. That was in April."

"That would explain how Thrush found out about it," Illya commented. "We know they have a few people infiltrated into the government who report on any unusual proposals or patent applications."

"Yes," agreed Napoleon. "I have positive assurance that the U.S. Patent Office is riddled with card-carrying Thrushes. Incidentally"—he turned to Kerry—"how did Dr. Morthley get in touch with you? Did he advertise for a technical writer, or what?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you? I'm his niece. He helped pay my college expenses—in the hope, I think, that I'd take all science courses and end up as his assistant. After I switched to writing, I helped him several times with his proposals. This was just the latest one."

"Do you recall any of the details of the proposal?" Napoleon asked.

"No, but I can show it to you; my part, at least." She rose and started down the hallway. "I keep a complete file of all my work—except classified jobs, of course. I'll get it for you."

Napoleon followed close on her heels. The door at the far end of the hall opened on a small office with a desk, filing cabinet, and an electric typewriter. She opened the top drawer of the cabinet, and searched briefly through the folders before she withdrew one and handed it to Solo.

"Even if Uncle Willard did have a practical invisibility machine, I doubt that this would tell you much," she said. "It's primarily a description of the device intended for laymen. The technical details and formulae were contained in a separate section which he supplied and which I never personally observed."

Napoleon opened the folder and glanced at the first page. "Yes, I see. I think Illya had better look at this." He led the way from the office to the living room and handed the folder to Illya. "What do you make of this?"

Illya scanned the title page, reading aloud. "Proposal for the Further Development and Refinement of the Omnidirectional Total Spectrum Molecular Interpenetration Device." He looked at the first page. "The basic function of the Omnidirectional Total Spectrum Molecular Interpenetration Device (OTSMID) is to establish an energy field, by means of which all matter within its range is caused to become possessed of certain qualities which make it possible for the entire spectrum of electromagnetic radiation to pass totally unimpeded through that matter. The precise manner in which this is accomplished is, at present, largely conjectural; however, it is to be assumed that some warping of the space-time continuum is involved. Experimental evidence produced to date would seem to support the theory that the field, in some still-to-be-defined but probably random manner minutely shifts the phase relationship between the matter within the field and the matter external to the field. Gross phenomena, such as molecular vibrations in the sonic ranges are, insofar as our experiments have shown, unaffected by..." Illya broke off, nodding his head.

"It's a government proposal, all right," he said.

"I'm glad to hear it," Napoleon said, "but what does it say?"

Illya quickly skimmed through the first few pages, then looked up. "As Miss Griffin said earlier, it's a machine that makes things invisible. It apparently does this by setting up a field which renders everything within that field totally transparent."

Napoleon's eyebrows went up. "Hold it! I've read my share of science fiction. If someone is made totally transparent, he is also totally blind; the light rays pass right through his eyeballs instead of being picked up by them."