The Watercress File: Being the Further Adventures of That Man from C. A. M. P. Read Online Free Page A

went to pick up Fritz. And she was picking up a white poodle also. I think they put the clips on the wrong dog, since Nasturtia had instructed them to put nothing on Fritz, and the other dog was bare.”
    â€œSounds logical,” Mathews agreed. He managed a slight grin as Lily at last relinquished the note, handing it over to him.
    Even from where he sat, Jackie saw the rough sketch at the bottom, the drawing of a butterfly that served, as Aunt Lily had guessed, as a signature. There was no mistake about that, it was a symbol that was known to agents and spies about the world, the sign of the most notorious and dangerous underground organization in existence—Butterfly.
    Mathews recognized it too, and his expression went from surprise to grim appraisal, to suppressed excitement.
    â€œIt looks authentic, all right,” he admitted, still studying the note. “I’d stake my reputation on it.”
    Jackie had risen to look over his shoulder at the note. “So would I,” he said. Mathews gave him a frosty look. “If I had one, I mean,” Jackie amended
    Mathews ignored that remark, folding the note and placing it carefully inside his billfold. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take care of it from here in,” he said to Aunt Lily. His manner toward her had become less skeptical, since he had seen the note.
    â€œBut what does it say?” she asked. “Heavens, I think we’re entitled to know that.”
    â€œI wish I knew,” he said with a shake of his head. “Unfortunately, it’s a code I haven’t seen yet. But don’t worry, our boys will break it in no time flat.”
    He rose to go, the others standing also. As they did so, Mathews became aware again of the “Moonlight Sonata.” It first movement was just ending, but he was certain that the same movement had already ended earlier. What’s more, he had originally thought it was the batty one, Nasturtia, who had been playing, but she was with them now. “Who’s playing?” he asked politely.
    â€œThat’s Honey,” Aunt Nasturtia answered proudly.
    â€œEntertaining a boy friend,” Mari added, in a none too pleasant voice.
    â€œNow, dear,” Lily scolded her mildly. “Don’t be envious. There’s nothing to prevent you from meeting your own men-friends, and bringing them home.”
    â€œI wouldn’t dare,” Mari said, rolling her eyes. “I did once, and between Honey and Aunt Nasturtia, the poor thing was worn out before I could even get to him myself.”
    Mathews paled slightly at the prospect of still another nymphomaniac in the house. It was beginning to seem to him that he might not be at all safe here—these women were too hungry for male flesh, and they were not the sort to whom he customarily offered his male flesh.
    â€œWhy is Honey playing the first movement over and over?” he asked, however, curious about that fact, for the first movement had indeed begun for the third time.
    â€œThe dear thing only knows the first movement,” Lily explained. “But wait, Honey will want to meet you.”
    Before Mathews could protest. Lily had floated away in search of the pianist. The music stopped a moment later. Mathews shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other, and waited, prepared to bolt for the front door if necessary.
    It was not, as he expected, a woman who returned with Aunt Lily, but a man—or an approximation of one, he corrected himself. In comparison to this one, Holmes was as masculine as a Marine commando.
    â€œHi, I’m Honey,” the young man greeted him with an overly warm smile. His eyes went up and down Craig’s body, and Craig felt a warning draft as his clothes were metaphorically stripped from him.
    â€œIsn’t that rather an odd name?” Mathews asked faintly.
    Honey nodded his head. “It’s short for Honeysuckle,” he explained. “We all