“I told you before, 99, he shaved off his beard to disguise himself. And, as for a foreign accent, what do you think that ‘ta-ta’ was?”
“Max—I think you’re right!”
“The diabolical Dr. X! Right in our clutches! And we let him get away!”
“Max—let’s go after him.”
Max looked at his watch. He sighed. “I can’t, 99. I’m still on duty for another half-hour.”
“Rorff!”
“Fang, you’re right,” Max decided. “The fate of the whole civilized world is more important than waiting on tables.” He jumped up. “Let’s go!”
Max, 99 and Fang rushed out on deck—then stopped.
“Oh, Max,” 99 moaned, “we don’t know which way he went.”
“Fang,” Max said, “this is your big chance. Let’s see what that nose can do!”
“Rorff!”
“He has the scent!” Max cried gleefully.
Fang went bounding down the deck, then abruptly skidded to a halt.
“That door!” Max exclaimed as he and 99 hurried up behind Fang. “He’s sniffing that door! X must have gone in there!”
“Careful, Max,” 99 said. “He may be dangerous.”
“They’re all dangerous until they meet Max Smart!” Max said. “Then, suddenly, they’re nothing but a shuddering bowlful of jello!” He put a hand on the door knob and pulled out his pistol. “Ready?”
“Ready, Max.”
“Rorff!”
“Then . . . this is it!”
Max yanked open the door—and stared into the ship’s kitchen.
A cook’s head appeared. “Yeah?”
“Ah . . . we were looking for a bowlful of jello,” Max said.
“All out,” the cook replied. “That and dark brown for the chocolate malts.” He slammed the door.
Max turned to Fang. “My congratulations to your nose,” he said sarcastically. “That was the prettiest case of kitchen-finding I ever saw.”
“Rorff!”
“That’s no excuse,” Max snapped. “That guy took my longhorn under cover and moo-moo, too-too. But you don’t see me sniffing around kitchen doors when the fate of the whole civilized world hangs in the balance, do you?”
“Rorff!”
“Your apology is accepted. Although, little good it does. Now, we’ve lost the diabolical Dr. X.”
“We’ll find him again, Max,” 99 said. “He’s somewhere on the ship.”
“Yes, 99, but we’ll be spending most of our time in the brig. Have you forgotten that?”
“I did—for a second—Max.”
“Well,” Max sighed, “all we can do now is just amble around, hoping we come across him by accident. Let’s go.”
They started out.
But they had gone only a few steps when 99 suddenly stopped, put a hand on Max’s arm and said, “Look!”
Max looked. “You’re right, 99—it’s him!”
Herbert Wai was walking toward them along the deck. He was carrying a small brown paper bag.
“Quick! Back into the shadows!” Max said.
The three withdrew into the shadow of a lifeboat.
“Why are we hiding, Max?” 99 whispered.
“That brown bag,” Max said. “He may have a weapon in there.”
“But, Max, why don’t you just step out and confront him and turn him into a quivering bowlful of jello?”
“Equipped with a weapon, a bowlful of jello can turn nasty,” Max replied. “I prefer to play it Smart.”
Herbert Wai passed by, then entered the ship’s kitchen.
“Why did he go in there, Max?” 99 asked.
Max smiled. “Suddenly, 99, it’s all clear to me. The answer to your question is obvious.”
“Then why, Max?”
“Think, 99. What do we have? We have the diabolical Dr. X. We have six invisible guinea pigs. And we have a brown paper bag. What does that add up to?”
“Eight.”
“Eight, 99?”
“Dr. X is one. And guinea pigs is six. And paper bag is one. One and six and one is eight.”
“Correct. And that’s exactly where Dr. X is—right behind the eight ball. You see—”
“Max! There he is!”
The kitchen door had opened, and Herbert Wai had emerged. He strolled up the deck, away from where Max, 99 and Fang were hiding.
“You’ll notice,” Max said smugly, “that now the brown paper bag is no longer empty.”
“Was it empty before, Max?”
“It had to be. Because now it’s filled. All right—after him. But quietly and slowly. Don’t let him see us.”
At a safe distance, the trio followed Herbert Wai along the deck, then up a stairway, then down a corridor. Finally, he entered a small lounge and went to a row of lockers.
The trio halted, watching from outside the lounge.
“What is he doing, Max?”
“He’s opening a locker.”
“What now, Max?”
“He’s emptying the contents of the brown paper bag into the locker.”
“He must be putting whatever it is in there for safekeeping,” 99 guessed.
“On the contrary, 99. He fully expects that what he’s putting in there will be gone, and very soon.”
“I don’t understand, Max.”
“Simple, 99. That is food he’s putting into the locker. Food for—”
“Six invisible guinea pigs!” 99 exclaimed.
“Exactly!”
“What’s he doing now, Max?”
“He’s closing the locker. Now, he’s locking the locker. And now he’s—”
“What, Max? What is he doing?”
“He’s blowing air into the brown paper bag,” Max reported.
“He’s what?”
“And now,” Max said, “he’s going to pop it.”
There was a loud pop.
99 giggled. “That’s silly, Max.”
“I don’t see anything silly about it,” Max said. “I like to pop brown paper bags, too.”
“What now, Max?”
“He’s walking over to that refuse container. Now, he’s disposing of the brown paper bag.”
“We can get it as soon as he leaves,” 99 said.
“What for? It’s no good to us. It’s already been popped.”
“For evidence, I mean, Max.”
“Oh . . . yes . . . that . . .”
“What now, Max?”
“He’s still trying to get the brown paper bag into the refuse container. It’s full. Oh-oh—now he’s throwing the brown paper bag on the deck. That’s an evildoer for you every time. A bunch of Jitterbugs. Wait a minute—there he goes. He’s leaving the lounge.”
“Do we follow him, Max?”
“Not quite yet,” Max said, stepping into the lounge. “First, we have to get a look inside that locker. I am one-thousand per cent certain that we’ll find six invisible guinea pigs in there—but—”
“But what, Max?”
“But I’m not entirely sure,” Max said. “And, it might be a little embarrassing if we charged Dr. X with keeping invisible guinea pigs in that locker, and, upon opening it, found nothing but a pair of old tennis shoes.”
99 nodded. “It would be hard to explain. So, what do we do, Max? Open the locker?”
“Right on the button, 99.”
“How, Max?”
Max turned to Fang. “Fang, run down to our stateroom, open the attache case, and bring me the gadget that looks like a ballpoint pen.”
“Rorff!”
“No, there is not time to stop for a sandwich on the way.”
Fang bounded off.
“That dog thinks of nothing but his stomach,” Max complained.
“Max,” 99 said, “you didn’t answer my question. How?”
“Simple, 99. We’ll rent the locker right next to the locker that contains the invisible guinea pigs. Then, using an acetylene torch, we’ll burn a hole between our locker and the pigs’
locker.”
“You mean the pen is—”
“Right—an acetylene torch.”
“That’s marvelous, Max!”
“Except when your signing checks,” Max said. “Then, it has its drawbacks.”
A few minutes later, Fang reappeared. He was carrying a ballpoint pen in his teeth.
“We’re on the threshold of success, 99,” Max said, taking the pen from Fang. He reached into his pocket, got out a quarter, and dropped it into the slot in the locker door that released the lock. The door swung open.
Max squeezed his head and shoulders and one arm into the locker.
“Stand back,” he said, “this torch may create a lot of heat.”
“We’re back, Max.”
For a moment, nothing happened. Then Max was heard grumbling.
“How are you doing, Max?”
“Wonderful. This pen writes beautifully. I just drew a gorgeous circle on the metal partition.” He backed out of the locker. “All right, Fang,” he said disgustedly. “You can take this pen back and bring me the torch!”
“Rorff!”
“I think you can manage it—if you just keep in mind what you’re looking for,” Max replied. “It says ‘torch’ on it.”
Once more, Fang bounded off.
10.
MINUTES LATER, Fang returned. This time, he had the torch. Again, Max wiggled as much of himself as possible into the locker. Then, a soft blue flame appeared inside the locker.
“Max . . . are you all right?” 99 asked worriedly.
“Never been better,” Max replied. “It’s quite cozy in here.”
A few minutes later, Max withdrew. “Done and done,” he announced happily.
“Max, your eyebrows are singed.”
“A small price to pay for entrance into that next locker,” Max said.
“Did you cut the hole, Max?”
“A perfect round circle.”
“Could you see into the next locker, Max?”
“Very clearly.”
“Max . . . what did you see?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Max replied. “Proof positive, I believe, that we’re on the right track.”
“What now, Max?”
Max put the torch into the breast pocket of his jacket. “Now,” he said, “I will reach through that hole and squeeze. And if we hear a squeal we will know that we have found six invisible guinea pigs.”
“Be careful, Max.”
“Caveat emptor, 99.”
“What does that mean?”
“That’s Latin, 99. It means, ‘Let the guinea pigs beware, I can take care of myself.’ ”
Carefully, Max reached into the locker, then, cautiously, he reached through the hole in the partition.
“Yiiiiiiiii!”
Max yanked his hand out.
“Was that a squeal, Max?” 99 said excitedly.
“No, 99—that was a shriek of pain,” Max said. “One of the little beggars bit me!”
“Wonderful, Max!”
“Yes, I suppose it is—depending, of course, on how you mean that.”
“I mean that’s all the evidence we need. Now we know that Wai is X.”
“99, couldn’t you put that another way?”
“All right. It means that Herbert Wai is really the diabolical Dr. X.”
“That’s better. The other way, it was a bit too much for even me to believe.” He closed the locker door, removed the key, and put it in his pocket. “Now,” he said, “we’ll confront the diabolical Dr. X with our knowledge of his true identity, and—”
“And what, Max?”
“—and see how the ball bounces,” Max replied. “Frankly, I’m not sure what we’ll do. Legally, Dr. X has every right to sell his formula to the highest bidder—even if that bidder is KAOS. We’ll just have to play it by ear.”
“You’ll think of something, Max,” 99 said. “I know you will.”
“I’m sure I will,” Max said. “The question is—will it work?” He shrugged. “Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Let’s go.”
Max led the way, and 99 and Fang followed close behind. They left the lounge, hurried down a stairway, and emerged on deck. Max increased the pace, and 99 and Fang trotted to keep up. A moment later, they entered the ballroom, and edged their way across the dance floor, dodging in and out between the couples. When they reached the other side of the ballroom, they stepped out on deck again. Once more, Max increased the pace. 99 and Fang ran to stay near him. They climbed a stairway, then entered a corridor. At the end of the corridor, they came upon another stairway, and headed downward.
“Are we getting close, Max?” 99 panted.
“I haven’t the faintest idea, 99,” Max replied. “Don’t you remember? We don’t know where Wai’s stateroom is.”
“Max . . . then . . . why are we running?”
“We haven’t got all night, 99. We have to find Wai—or X, as the case may be—get that formula from him, and get back to our cell before that waiter comes to.”
“Max . . . wouldn’t it be easier . . . if we found out where Wai’s stateroom is?”
Max halted. “Sorry,” he said. “Sometimes I get carried away.”
“Max, as the tour director, he wouldn’t be on the passenger list, but there must be a staff list,” 99 said. “If we could get hold of it, we could find out which stateroom Wai is occupying.”
“Wait a minute, 99—I have an idea. There must be a staff list. If we could just get hold of it, we could find out which stateroom Dr. X is occupying.”
“Max . . . that’s what I just said.”
“No, you said ‘Wai’. I said ‘Dr. X’. There’s a difference, 99.”
“Rorff!”
“It’s a subtle difference. I wouldn’t expect you to be able to see it. But,” he said graciously, “I won’t argue the point. We’ll just say that we both got the same idea at the same time.”
“All right, Max, I’ll accept that,” 99 said. “Now, what shall we do about it?”
“We’ll get the staff list,” Max replied. “Let’s see, who would have a copy of it? The Captain, I suppose. Yes—that’s what we’ll do. We’ll go to the Captain’s cabin, and Fang will go in and ask him for a copy of the staff list.”
“Won’t he think that’s a little odd, Max?”
“Of course not. He won’t recognize Fang. He’ll remember him as a sheepdog. And Fang is now a Mexican Hairless.”
“Then it may work,” 99 agreed.
“It’s a cinch—the flawless plan,” Max said. “Let’s go.”
They turned around and walked back up the stairway, then entered the corridor and hurried toward the end. But, when they were halfway along the way, a party of ship’s officers suddenly appeared at the end of the corridor.
“There they are—Stop!” the leader shouted.
“Max! They mean us!” 99 cried.
“Yes—look! That waiter we left in our cell! He’s with them!”
“They know we escaped!” 99 said.
“About face! Run for it!” Max shouted.
The three whipped around and raced back along the corridor.
Behind them, the posse took up pursuit.
“Stop! Halt!”
Max, Fang and 99 reached the end of the corridor, turned, and plunged down the stairway.
99 looked back. “Max! They’re gaining!”
“Faster!” Max urged.
“Max, we’re right behind you. Hurry!”
“I’m going as fast as I can. You try leading an escape sometime with a telephone in your shoe!”
“Sorry, Max. I know you’re doing your best.”
The trio, Max still in the lead, raced out onto the deck.
“This way!” Max cried, charging forward.
Behind them, the posse appeared on deck.
“Stop! Halt!”
“I wish they’d find something different to shout,” Max complained. “Stop! Halt! Always the same old thing!”
From
behind came the cry, “De-accelerate!”
“Thanks!” Max called back.
“Max—there’s the ballroom!” 99 said. “Maybe we could hide in there.”
“Quick! There’s the ballroom!” Max said. “We’ll try to lose ourselves among the dancers!”
They plunged into the ballroom.
“Grab a partner!” Max commanded.
99 threw herself into the arms of a middle-aged man who, alone, was shaking and shivering from head to toe, wholly absorbed in his own personal version of the watusi.
“Go away!” he grumbled. “I’m dancing!”
“I’m your partner,” 99 said.
“What do I want with a partner—I’m dancing!”
99 joined him, nevertheless, a few feet away.
Meanwhile, Max glided into a waltz with the nearest available soloist. “Haven’t we met before?” he said, peering closely at his partner.
“Rorff!”
“Fang! I didn’t recognize you on your hind legs!”
“Rorff!”
“Sorry about that,” Max said, looking down. “Which toe was it?”
At that moment, the posse charged into the ballroom. It stopped, and the officers began inspecting the dancers, looking for Max, 99 and Fang.
“Cheek-to-cheek, Fang,” Max ordered. “That way, we’ll hide our faces.”
“Rorff!”
“My excuse is that I haven’t had a chance to shave. What’s your excuse?”
“Max!” 99 whispered, watusi-ing up. “They’re coming this way!”
“Drat! I was sure we’d blend in with the other dancers.”
“They’re closing-in, Max!”
“All right—we’ll show them a fancy step I learned from Rex Astaire.”
“Fred Astaire, Max.”
“Rex Astaire. He won the hundred-yard-dash at Muskogee, Oklahoma, High School in 1932.”
“What’s the step, Max?”
“About face! Run for it!”
Max, 99 and Fang took off across the dance floor.
“Halt! Stop!”
“Back in the old rut again,” Max complained.
They dashed from the ballroom, emerged on deck, and raced away. A few seconds later, they made a left turn, entered a stairway, and plunged downward.
“Where to, Max?”
“Down. It’s easier than up.”
Down, down, down, they fled. Past B Deck and all its sub-decks. Past C Deck and all its sub-decks. And still, down, down, down.
Get Smart 2 - Sorry, Chief . . . Page 11