The Mad Scientist Affair by John T. Philifrent

Author:John T. Philifrent [Philifrent, John T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-07-10T04:00:00+00:00

FOUR

“I’m Afraid the Birds Have Flown.”

ALEXANDER WAVERLY held court in a small office the airport officials had set aside for his use. His craggy face more worried than usual, an unlit pipe clutched uneasily in his hand, he surveyed the intent faces that waited on his words. The small room was crowded. As the weary three entered, Solo saw and exchanged nods of recognition with several familiar faces. Enforcement men, and good ones, too. U.N.C.L.E. was showing its muscles. He introduced Sarah, and prepared to listen.

“I’ll give you the heart of the matter in very simple words, gentlemen,” Waverly said. “Dr. Michael O’Rourke has got to be stopped, no matter what the cost. I’d prefer that we get him alive, of course, but if that’s not possible—” He let the sentence hang, leaving them to draw the implications. His eyes sought out Sarah, peering at her from under shaggy brows. “This could be unpleasant for you, my dear. If you’d rather not listen—?”

“I want to hear it all,” she declared. “I’ve nothing to thank Uncle Mike for now. Didn’t he try to put me away, and would have killed me as well, if it hadn’t been for Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin here? Speak up—say what you have to!”

“Very well. Our technicians have worked out most of the implications of the O’Rourke synthetics. In one form it is a drug which enhances indiscretion and recklessness, depresses caution, and would be exceedingly dangerous if let loose on an unsuspecting population.”

“We’ve gathered that much,” Solo offered. “We’ve had some.” He went on to tell, briefly, what they had done and experienced. “So we were able to stop the shipment,” he concluded. “Now we have time to alert the authorities and have 3-B cans condemned outright. That’s a job for the revenue men.”

Waverly nodded. “Yes. Well done. That will be taken care of. But our present and highly urgent business is to deal with the second form of the synthetic, before it is too late.”

“I don’t quite see the danger, sir,” Kuryakin interrupted gently. “I’ve seen the formula and read an account of its properties. It’s a ferment, a very fast one, increasing in volume extremely rapidly. And it’s hydrophilous—that is to say, it absorbs water at a furious rate. But—”

“Salt water, Mr. Kuryakin. Sea water!” Waverly’s quiet correction was like a series of ice-pellets into the thick silence. Kuryakin sighed, and then nodded in sudden understanding. For the rest, Waverly went on to explain.

“We tried a few milligrams in a large tank of salt water. Within minutes the whole was a fermenting mass, which stopped only because it had used up all the water. And the reaction ends by transforming into a thick jelly-like stuff that is rigid enough to be cut with a knife. The volumetric increase is simply enormous. The simple facts are these. Anyone sufficiently familiar with the prevailing tides in this geographical area would have no difficulty whatever in scattering quantities of this stuff—it wouldn’t take very much—and

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