"But how does U.N.C.L.E. fit into this?" Illya asked.

"You're the worst of the lot! You put up this pose of international goodwill and friendship for everyone, and behind it -" he snorted.

"Yes," Napoleon prompted. "Behind it, what?"

"You don't know, of course!" Armden laughed derisively. "The innocent pose - you'd never admit any thing!"

"But what should we admit to?" Napoleon persisted. "How did you find out?"

There was the same pause, as if a gearshift had fallen into place, that Napoleon had noticed the night before.

"Oh, I know you have a hand in the newspapers the same way the government does. You never let any of your dirty laundry loose in public. Your killings are kept under wraps."

"You still haven't told us any specific thing that U.N.C.L.E. is supposed to have done." Napoleon argued.

Armden stood, unmoving, for several moments. Despite the coolness of the evening, Napoleon was sure he saw a bead of sweat form on the man's forehead. Suddenly be burst out. "You have no right to badger me this way! Get out of here and let me alone!" He spun on his heel and disappeared inside the house.

Napoleon and Illya walked quietly back to their car.

"I'm not sure I'd call it progress," Napoleon said. "But we seem to be hitting a nerve of some kind."

"At least he talked to us," Illya added. "He seemed more sympathetic toward Morthley. Perhaps we can try that approach again tomorrow."

"The more I see of this, the more it seems that Thrush must be involved. But how, and why?"

"You're just getting hypersensitive."

'Perhaps you're right, but I sense a plan in all this."

"What does it all mean?" Illya murmured as they drove back to the hotel.

Sunday afternoon Illya and Napoleon paid Dr. Armden another visit. Napoleon had barely touched the doorbell when the door popped open and Armden confronted them.

"Still here, I see." His voice was noticeably higher than it had been the night before, and there were shadows under his eyes.

"We'll probably be leaving tomorrow," Napoleon reassured him. "We just came by to make a final appeal. We spoke to Dr. Morthley last night, and he is very concerned about you."

"Yes, I know. Willard called again this morning. He..." Armden broke off in midsentence and wiped his brow, then stood fidgeting for several seconds. The two agents waited patiently. Finally Armden continued, speaking rapidly. "Very well, gentlemen, I will call your bluff. I will go back to New York with you. But mind you, I'm doing this for Willard; I feel sure that once I see him in person, I can make him see the truth."

Illya and Napoleon exchanged glances. Their suggestion to Waverly the night before had evidently borne fruit. Now they would have to get Armden on his way before he changed his mind again, or any of his friends showed up to dissuade him.

"I'm glad to hear it, sir," Napoleon said. "If you haven't packed anything yet, just throw a few things together while we arrange for transportation. I'm sure we can make a flight from Fort Wayne."

Illya gestured toward the car after Armden had gone inside to pack. "That is not my idea of a three- passenger vehicle, unless we empty out the parachute compartment and stow someone in there."

"Armden is small," Napoleon replied. "Besides, would you rather give him the chance to talk to Bennett before leaving?" He contacted Waverly and was just completing the arrangements when Armden came out of the house carrying a small overnight case.

"I called the plant manager to let him know I won't be in for a couple of days," he informed them.

Napoleon winced slightly. "He didn't try to talk you out of it?"

"Of course not; why should he?"

"Just a thought," Napoleon said. "We've arranged for you to catch a six o'clock flight out of Fort Wayne." They headed for the car.

It took considerable maneuvering, but somehow both agents and Armden managed to fit into the car. Napoleon and Illya decided that the results would be endurable for a fifty-mile drive, and Armden seemed oblivious to the discomforts.

The drive was silent and uneventful. Armden seemed disinclined to talk, and both Napoleon and Illya felt the situation was too precarious to endanger it with idle conversation, since they didn't know what might serve to stir Armden up again. It was after five o'clock when they pulled into the airport parking lot, and Napoleon congratulated himself on having arrived in plenty of time. He was locking the car when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He deliberately finished turning the key in the lock before looking up. Instinctively he checked the location of Illya and Armden; they were standing on the other side of the car. A pudgy face confronted him from a distance of a few inches.

"You're with that U.N.C.L.E. outfit, ain't you?" the face demanded loudly. When Napoleon nodded, it continued.

"I thought I recognized the car; there was an article about it in RODDING AND RAMMING." turned, and an arm motioned to someone in ground. "I told you it was them killers!"

Looking around, Napoleon saw half a dozen people converging on them. He motioned to Illya to get Armden away, but it was too late. The pudgy man who belonged with the face stuck out a beefy hand and grabbed Napoleon's shirt front, and at the same time the others moved toward Illya and Armden.

"It's U.N.C.L.E.!" a voice from somewhere shouted. "Let's show 'em what we do with their kind in a respectable town."

"Yeah!" the man grasping Napoleon said, snarling directly into his face. "We got a nice, clean city here, and we don't want you Commie killers even passing through. Just get back in your little wagon and move on." To emphasize the point, he gave Napoleon a vicious shove back against the car.

Out of the corner of his eye, Napoleon spotted something flying through the air. He ducked as whatever it was clattered noisily on the concrete of the parking lot. More people were gathering, now. Some were merely interested spectators, but many were starting to shout abuse. Napoleon knew enough about mob psychology to know that even the interested spectators would probably join in once the excitement built up.

He ducked again. This time it looked like an empty beer can. Looking up, he noticed that Illya and Armden were effectively blocked from returning to the car. Illya was trying to force a way through to the terminal building, but was encountering stiff resistance. Armden seemed to be in the passive state which had dominated him ever since entering the car, but he was following Illya.

If this crowd was feeling anything like Armden had felt Friday evening, there was no point in trying to argue with it. At the same time, he had a nasty vision of what U.N.C.L.E.'s Midwestern image would be if he used the tear gas 'pen" in his pocket on a crowd of innocent citizens. The tear gas had better be strictly a last resort. He began working his way toward Illya and Armden.

The pudgy man grabbed at him but missed. Another man, smaller, suddenly lurched forward into his path, as if he had been shoved. Napoleon avoided him just in time to duck another missile. He had almost reached Illya when someone lunged against him from behind. He sprawled against the side of a car, banging his shoulder painfully on the rear view mirror. All the time the voices were growing louder and more numerous.

By now, judging from the sound, the largest part of the crowd didn't know what it was yelling about, but was simply letting off steam. A group of teen-age boys had started pushing one another.