He looked back down at his own tray, and licked his dry lips. He'd eat it, since he'd paid for it and needed the food. But his appetite was utterly destroyed, and the meal was as ashes in his mouth.

Section II: "Tradition, Form And Ceremonious Duty."

Chapter 5: "Why Mr. Solo! What A Surprise!"

It was obviously a clue—everyone agreed as far as that went. Illya held to the opinion that it was a direct hint and they would be expected to follow it up at once, winning Napoleon to his side in short order. The pine suggested Maine to both of them, but Mr. Waverly pointed out that sugar maples were more prevalent in Vermont and pine was their state tree.

"The leaves are just starting to turn up there," Napoleon said generously. "Illya, do you want to take the field first this time?"

"I'll stay with central heating," said Illya. "Besides, you know the area and can pronounce those names. I've rarely had an opportunity to fight international conspiracies in Vermont."

* * *

Tuesday afternoon Napoleon Solo drove his rented car off the Lake Champlain Ferry and up a ramp into downtown Burlington, Vermont. His hotel reservations were in order; once again his first stop was the Chamber of Commerce for a listing of available accommodations. It was possible that Ward Baldwin still might not want to be found, even if Irene thought he'd avoided them long enough, and it looked as if he would have to go back to showing pictures at hotel desks and bookstores.

Wednesday featured a breakfast that was a little too heavy, an uninspiring lunch, and a lot of strangers who had never seen Ward Baldwin. Dusk found Napoleon sitting, dejected, on a bench in the curve of Battery Park, looking out over the darkening waters of the lake to where the largest western sky he had ever seen spread curtains of orange, blue, pink, purple and gold above the setting sun. He hardly noticed it at first, but he lit a cigarette and set his mind to relaxing and eventually, when the sunset had faded to smoke and embers, he rose, feeling not so much refreshed as eased.

The silhouette on the bench over near the cannon seemed somehow familiar, and he looked more closely when he neared. The girl looked up as he passed beneath the solitary streetlight, and wide brown eyes batted.

"Why Mr. Solo! What a surprise!" said Chandra Reynolds, extending a hand to him. "What in the world brings you up to Burlington?"

Napoleon paused in mid-stride and nearly lost his balance. "Well!" he said. "Uh—hi there!"

"Wasn't the sunset nice tonight?" she said brightly. "Do sit down—I think Lake Champlain has some of the most beautiful sunsets in the world. Have you been in town long?"

"Uh, no. I got in yesterday."

"Still on vacation?"

"No—I'm here on business this time."

"Isn't it a delightful coincidence? Ed and I finished the dig in New Jersey just about two weeks ago and our finds have been arriving bit by bit for the last five days. He'll probably be meeting me here in a few minutes after he closes up the office. You must join us for dinner."

"Well, I..."

"Oh, now, your business can't keep you busy all night too. You ought to have a union to prevent it. Besides, you should know you can't do business with anyone but friends after hours in New England. Oh—there he is now!" She stood up and fluttered a handkerchief as a long blue car pulled into the south entrance of the park. It braked silently to a halt by them, and Ed Reynolds leaned out.

"Well, hi, Napoleon. What are you doing in Burlington? Hey, how's about joining us for dinner? There's a great little hamburger stand just north of town..."

"Oh, Ed, we should take him to Bove's—that little Italian place on Pearl Street."

"But really, I..."

"Come on, Napoleon," said Ed heartily. "All work and no play is bad for the nerves."

He was half into the front seat when he remembered his own car, at the curb across the park. They assured him they'd bring him back, the parking was unlimited, and he might not be able to follow them to the restaurant. He gave up.

Over dinner they extracted a promise from him to drop out to the University in a day or two to look over the results of their excavation in Cape May County, and after sharing a split of the excellent house red and espresso, they parted in the darkness of Battery Park once again. Napoleon started his car and drove carefully back to his motel. Halfway there he remembered they didn't know where he was staying, he didn't know where they were, and nothing had been specified about meeting again. Oh well, he decided, I expect I'll run into them from time to time.

* * *

Between bookstores the next afternoon his pocket transceiver chirped. "How are you doing up in the wilderness?" Illya asked.

"Surviving. It's not really so bad—they have electricity in, and even a few radios. How are things in the brawling metropolis? I presume you're doing everything in your power to gain information—any more word from Foxy Grandpa?"

"Not the quiver of a whisker. I eat lunch at the Automat every day in case Irene decides to drop another hint. But we have a possibility for you to check out right there in town. Section Four's Magic Computer is cross-checking every piece of data we have, and just noticed a Dr. Fraser who's booked in as guest lecturer in chemistry at the University of Vermont this semester. That's Dr. W.B. Fraser."

"Fraser?" said Napoleon. "That's Baldwin's middle name."

"Uh-huh," said Illya. "You'll find the University straight up Main Street. Turn left into the campus."

* * *

The campus of U.V.M. looked like an idealized New England college, with smooth leaf-sprinkled lawns, old solid brick buildings with white columns, and a tree-shaded quadrangle in the middle. Napoleon loitered there, watching the students hurry past on their own errands, until he observed a chemistry text under a corduroy-clad arm.

"Ah, I beg your pardon," Napoleon said. "Could you tell me where I could find Dr. W.B. Fraser?"

"He'll either be in his office in Williams Hall or out at the Bomb Shop, unless he has a lecture this hour."

"The Bomb Shop?"

"It's a temporary building on the far side of the campus—his private research facility."

"Where's Williams Hall?"

"Right there," said the student, raising a free arm and indicating one of several buildings that stood along the east edge of the Quad. Solo thanked him and followed his direction.

Inside the stone walls were white-painted and short corridors opened to right and left of a small entry hall. A modest signboard with movable letters said that Dr. Fraser was on the second floor, and Solo went up the wide central staircase.

Behind a bright orange door marked FRASER a pretty dark-haired girl sat at a desk checking papers. Napoleon's identification was definite in the fraction of a second before she looked up—it wasn't Baldwin. He said, "Ah, Dr. Fraser?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "He's lecturing in 208 this hour. He might be able to see you for just a minute at four-thirty, but he has two students scheduled for consultation and then he's handling a graduate research group." She found a loose-leaf appointment book and checked it. "He's free at ten tomorrow, but the Convocation's at one in the afternoon..."

She's his secretary, Solo reasoned, and said, "Ah, well, I'm not absolutely sure it's Dr. Fraser I want to see. He's about my height, looks in his sixties, ratty beard, walks with a limp?"