“All right, you take that side, I’ll take this.”

He went down flat once more and edged until he could peer around the wheelhouse superstructure and along the deck. Nothing moved. All at once he heard her let fly thunderously, and two sea-booted feet dropped urgently to the deck up there on his side. He snapped a shot and rolled back hurriedly as a blast of small lead wailed by, bouncing from the woodwork. He waited for the second barrel, and cursed as it failed to come. This fellow was too crafty to fire both barrels at once.

Sarah stood up abruptly and fired blind, over the top of the wheelhouse, and then down. This time there was an immediate reply and Solo chanced his eye around the edge, pistol ready—and then halted, as he saw a wet blond head come up over the bows and grin. Two eager arms reached, there came a wild and despairing yell, and then a splash.

“And that’s it!” Solo straightened up and sighed, feeling suddenly old and tired. “Talk turkey to those two, will you, while I look for some rope to tie them with.”

Not too long later, with the prisoners safely tied and the engines growling out their powerful song, Sarah took the wheel. “Going home,” she said. “And I do have a home, now. Won’t you come and stay a while?”

“That depends.” Solo smiled, as Kuryakin operated the transmitter.

“Volga to Shamrock.”

“Shamrock here. Hold it.”

A click, then Waverly’s voice. “Mr. Kuryakin?”

“Yes, sir. Mission accomplished, ferment destroyed, Royalty and Thrush won’t be troubling us any longer. Prisoners taken; no damage to us, threat eliminated. I’m afraid we lost the launch, sir, but we are returning in the cruiser. I would like to suggest some kind of commendation to Miss Sarah O’Rourke, sir. She has been most helpful.”

“I would agree. She seems to be a most intelligent young woman. Let me speak to Mr. Solo, please.”

Illya passed the set across to his companion. “Solo speaking, sir.”

“Mr. Solo. I have been having a long and very interesting talk with Miss Bridget O’Rourke. She too has proved most helpful. I get the impression that Dr. O’Rourke has been a bad influence in her life.”

“I’m glad you see it that way, sir. I had the same impression.”

“Yes. She tells me you saved her life. Is that so?”

“Well—” Solo hesitated. “I happened to be handy, that’s all.”

“I see. I get the impression that your action has made a great impact on her outlook, that she wishes to reform. I’d no idea you had such a salutary influence on young women.” A pause, during which Solo frowned, wondering what was coming next. Then: “She’s very intelligent. See what you can do with her, will you?”

Solo stared in amazement at the instrument in his hand. “What? You mean—?”

“There are a number of loose ends to clear up. Damage to the castle will have to be made good, for one thing. And the illegal processes in the brewery must be eliminated and all information impounded. A lot to do, and those two girls are the legal inheritors. They stand in need of help, advice and guidance. I’m leaving you in charge for a while. Use your influence!”

“Yes, sir!” Solo vowed heartily, and winked at Illya. “On my own?”

“Mr. Kuryakin will assist you with the technical side. I estimate it will take you at least two weeks to settle everything. I think Miss O’Rourke wishes to speak to you now. Go ahead, my dear.”

“Hello, Napoleon.” Her voice sounded uncertain and timid. “Did you hear that? Mr. Waverly says you’re to stay on a bit and take care of things!”

“That’s right.” He deliberately kept his tone casual. “Help you to make a new, clean start. You are clean, I hope?”

“Oh yes.” She managed a laugh. “I’ve had a bath. Will you be coming back to the castle right away?”

“Right away.” He glanced at his watch, exchanged a grin with Sarah at the wheel, and added, “We should be in time for early lunch. Can you cook?”

“Not very well. I suppose I shall have to start learning all the dull things now. No more excitement.”

“Well now,” he said, and raised a brow at Illya’s faint grin, “excitement comes in several different forms. I wouldn’t say the prospect is exactly dull, somehow!”

Sarah laughed, and turned to Illya. “Dull, he says! Illya—” And she paused as if tasting the sound. “That’s a strange name. Have you another one?”

Solo grinned broadly and opened his mouth to say it, but Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin, seeing the terrible prospect of being called “Nicky” for the next two weeks, leveled his chill gray eyes at his friend and reached for the instrument.

“Napoleon!” he said warningly. “You too have another name. Would you want me to whisper it to Miss Bridget, right now?”

Napoleon Solo caught himself, closed his mouth hurriedly and smiled. “I guess you’re right, Illya. U.N.C.L.E. agents must preserve some secrets!”