Max, 99 and Fang arrived at the dock in a taxi a little before noon the next day. A porter took their luggage-except for the attache case, which Max retained-and they boarded the “Queen Edward,” and got in line with the other passengers who were having their tickets inspected.
“So far, so good,” Max said smugly.
“Max, we’ve only been on board a few seconds,” 99 pointed out.
“The statement still stands-so far, so good,” Max insisted.
99 peered along the line of passengers. “Do you see anyone who might be Dr. X?” she said.
He’s a scientist-he’ll be wearing a beard,” Max replied. “Do you see any beards?”
99 began counting. “Five… six… seven…”
“Let me put it another way-do you see any men with beards?”
“… thirteen… fourteen… fifteen…”
Max shrugged. “All right, knock it off. I’ll grant you-that may not be our best clue.”
A few minutes later, they reached the ship’s officer, who, seated at a desk, was inspecting tickets.
“Let’s see,” Max said, patting his pockets, “tickets… tickets
… I had the tickets right here just a second ago.”
“Rorff!” Fang barked.
“Yes, that’s right,” Max said, “I did put them in the attache case.”
He placed the case on the desk and opened it. “Let’s see now,” he muttered, “tickets… tickets…”
“You’re holding up the line,” the officer complained.
“What kind of a ‘welcome aboard’ is that?” Max grumbled. “I’ve got the tickets right here… tickets… tickets…”
“Could they be in that envelope?” 99 said, pointing.
Max picked up the envelope and read from the tag that was attached to it. “ ‘Envelope for mailing plea for HELP when all other means of communication destroyed.’ ” He turned to 99. “Research and Development thinks of everything,” he said. “It even has a Special Delivery stamp on it.”
“Rorff!” Fang barked.
“I guess you’re right,” Max said. “It isn’t such a good idea. Special Delivery does take longer.” He began pawing in the attache case again. “Tickets… tickets…”
“There they are, Max,” 99 said.
“Oh, yes! They slipped into this little opening here.”
“What is that, Max?”
“That’s the little place where you stick your finger in to open the secret compartment,” Max explained. “Without that little finger-hole, you’d never be able to find it.” He handed the tickets to the ship’s officer.
“There you are, Admiral. Two staterooms on Deck C.”
The officer counted Max and 99 and Fang. “One-two-three. That’s three,” he said.
“The mutt and I are bunking together,” Max explained. “We’re on a bit of an economy kick back at the office.”
The officer handed back the tickets and pointed. “Gangway that way,” he said.
“Gangway? We’re in no hurry,” Max said. “We’ll just toddle, if you don’t mind.”
“He means the stairway is that way,” 99 explained.
“Oh.” He scowled. “I thought the stairway was called the ladder on a ship.”
“It probably is,” the officer said. “I never learned much seafaring talk. I specialized in ticket-taking.”
Bumped from behind by an impatient passenger, the trio moved on.
“Gee, Deck C-that must be pretty close to the top,” 99 said enthusiastically. “I think there’s A Deck, then B Deck, then C Deck. That’s pretty luxurious-considering that Control is on an economy kick.”
“First Class, all the way,” Max said. “Control may not pay well, but the fringe benefits make up for it.”
“Oh… here’s the gangway… or ladder…” 99 said. “See, it says ‘stairway’ above it.”
They started the descent down the stairs, with Max leading and 99 and Fang following, in that order.
“We were on A Deck,” 99 said. “So B Deck must be the next one, and then C Deck will be next.”
But when they reached the next deck it was marked “A-1”.
“Well, the next deck must be B Deck,” 99 said.
But the next deck down was “A-2”.
“As I calculate it,” Max said, “C Deck will be three decks lower than a submarine.”
They continued downward, past decks A-3, A-4, A-5, B, B-1, B-2, B-3, B-4, B-5, until they finally reached C Deck.
“The breathing is a little touch-and-go down here,” Max panted. “I wonder how far below sea level we are?”
“I don’t know,” 99 said. “But one thing- don’t open a porthole!”
They walked along the corridor, checking stateroom numbers, until finally they found their own.
“Isn’t that cozy,” 99 said. “We’re side by side. You and Fang have Stateroom C-12, and I have Stateroom C-13.” She pushed on the door of her stateroom. But it opened only a crack. “There must be something against it,” she said.
“Let me put this attache case in my own room, then I’ll help you,” Max said. He pushed open his own door and peered into the room. “I think I know what it is that’s against your door,” he said. “I think it’s the opposite wall.”
99 stood on tip-toe and looked over his shoulder. “It is little, isn’t it?” she said sadly.
“Well… it’s bigger than a breadbox-but that’s about all I can say for it,” Max replied. He stepped into the room. “Come on in.”
Fang trotted in after him.
“You, too, 99,” he said.
“If I do,” she said, “I’ll be riding Fang bareback.”
Max looked back over his shoulder. “Oh, yes, I see. With Fang and me in here, there isn’t any room for anyone else.”
“There isn’t even room for you and Fang,” 99 said. “His tail hangs out.”
“He can sleep in the corridor and keep watch,” Max said.
“Rorff!”
“All right, all right, we’ll take turns. But, right now, let’s see what we can do about getting 99’s door open.”
Fang backed out, and Max emerged behind him-or in front of him.
Max put his weight against the door of 99’s stateroom. But it refused to budge. “I think I see what the trouble is,” he said. “If your stateroom is like my stateroom, then the door to the bathroom is directly behind the entrance door. Except, of course, on the adjoining wall. Which means that when the bathroom door is open, it’s impossible to open the entrance door-because it strikes against the bathroom door. Do you see what I mean? In other words, if you’re in the bathroom and someone opens the entrance door, you’re stuck in the bathroom until whoever it is closes the entrance door so that you can open the bathroom door. Or, to put it another way-”
“I think I understand, Max,” 99 said. “But how will I get into my room?”
“Simple,” Max said. “Go in and close the bathroom door, then- Oh, yes, I see that does make it difficult, doesn’t it?”
“Rorff!” Fang barked.
“Excellent idea, Fang!” Max said. “Go to it!”
Fang squeezed in through the narrow opening. A moment later there was the sound of a door being closed inside the stateroom. Then the entrance door swung open, revealing Fang.
“Lucky you didn’t close yourself into the bathroom,” Max said to him. “If you had, we might have had to do without your valuable services on this mission. As I calculate it, once you go into a bathroom in one of these staterooms, there is no way out. Unless you escape by way of the drain.”
“My luggage is here, Max,” 99 reported from inside her room. “Is yours?”
“No, mine’s in my stateroom,” Max replied. “Why would it be in yours?”
“That’s what I meant.” She poked her head out. “I want to change. Then we better get started on our mission. What do we do first, Max?”
“According to the schedule the Chief acquired for me,” Max replied, “there is a ‘welcome aboard’ party for the touring scientists on A Deck in half an hour. I think we ought to attend. If we keep a sharp eye out, we may be able to identify the diabolical Dr. X.”
“See you in half an hour, Max,” 99 said, closing her door.
Max went to his own stateroom. Pausing in the doorway, he said to Fang, “I want to change, too. So you take the first watch.”
“Rorff!”
“Don’t be difficult!” Max snapped. “That’s utterly ridiculous! What could you change to?”
Fang growled peevishly. But then he accepted his fate and stretched out in the corridor.
“You might as well make your peace with the fact,” Max said sympathetically. “You’re a dog, and you’re going to live a dog’s life.”
Then he closed the door.
A half-hour after the ‘welcome aboard’ party for the scientists was scheduled to begin, Max, 99 and Fang began the slow and laborious climb from C Deck to A Deck. They had decided to arrive late so that, in the crowd, they would not be especially noticed.
“When you’re working undercover, it’s always best not to be the first one to arrive at a party,” Max explained. “If you are, the host or hostess feels compelled to introduce you to every blessed soul who arrives after you. And, after a while, after remembering all those names, he or she gets a little groggy. And he or she is just liable to introduce you as Secret Agent such-and-such. There is nothing that will uncover an undercover as quickly as that!”
“But that couldn’t happen to us,” 99 said. “Nobody on board knows that we’re secret agents.”
“And let’s keep it that way,” Max said. “That’s why it’s important that we arrive late at the party. You see, when you’re working undercover- Oh, I explained that, didn’t I?”
However, when they reached the lounge where the party was to be held, they found it vacant, except for one young man in a ship’s uniform who was standing at the doorway. The young man welcomed them exuberantly.
“Where are the others?” Max asked.
“Oh, it’s too early,” the young man replied. “The party was only scheduled to begin forty-five minutes ago. No one wants to be the one to arrive first at a party, you know. So, it will be at least another half-hour before the others begin to arrive. But you’re here-so we can start.”
“Actually,” Max said, “we’re not here. We were just passing by, on our way to take a half-hour stroll on deck.” He motioned to 99 and Fang. “Come along. We’re a bit early for the party.”
“But you’re not early, you’re late,” the young man protested.
“Late, yes-but early late,” Max corrected. “We’ll come back when we can be late late like everyone else.”
They walked out onto the deck. The liner was moving smoothly through the water, and the Manhattan skyline could be clearly seen in the near distance.
“Isn’t it beautiful, Max?” 99 said, peering at the skyline.
“Yes, but I wouldn’t care to sit on it,” Max replied. “Not with all those spires sticking up.”
“Instead, let’s sit in the deck chairs,” 99 suggested. “I’m a little pooped after that climb from C Deck.”
“Excellent idea. And we can keep an eye out for the diabolical Dr. X.”
Max, 99 and Fang each settled in a deck chair. But the instant they were seated, a steward appeared. “Dogs aren’t allowed in the deck chairs,” he said.
“This doesn’t happen to be your ordinary, run-of-the-mill, everyday pooch,” Max replied. “He has a ticket, so I think he’s entitled to occupy a deck chair.”
“The rule is: No Dogs in Chairs,” the steward insisted.
“Not even a secret agent dog?” Max snapped.
The steward peered at Fang. “That overgrown woolly worm is a secret agent? I can hardly believe that!”
Max looked thoughtful for a second, then said, “Would you believe that he’s a typist in the steno pool for the F.B.I.?”
The steward shook his head. “Hardly.”
“Then how about this?” Max said. “Would you believe that he once shed his hair on the couch in the outer office of the Director of the C.I.A.?”
“That, I’d believe,” the steward said. “That’s why he can’t sit in that chair. We don’t want him shedding his coat all over it. Out.”
Max turned to Fang. “You heard the man. Out!”
Fang jumped out of the chair. “Rorff!” he barked.
“He’s right,” Max said to the steward. “When J. Edgar Hoover hears about this, you are in hot water!”
The steward rolled his eyes heavenward, then walked off.
“Max, we’re not accomplishing anything here,” 99 said. “Let’s see if the party has started yet.”
“Just what I was going to suggest,” Max replied.
They returned to the lounge. Approaching it, they heard sounds of laughter and happy-talk.
“The party has started, all right,” Max said. “It sounds as if we’re just in time-the last ones to arrive.”
“Max, since we don’t know what Dr. X looks like, what shall we look for?” 99 said.
“Well… we know that he has disguised himself. And, what is the first thing a man does when he wants to hide his true identity? He puts on a false beard.”
“I see. So we look for a scientist with a false beard.”
“You phrase that very well, 99.”
They reached the entrance to the lounge-and halted. The room was chock-a-block with happy, smiling scientists. They were toasting each other, babbling away in scientific jargon, laughing and joking-all in all, having a thoroughly enjoyable time of it.
“Max…” 99 said thinly.
“Yes?”
“Do you notice something?”
“Yes. It’s very odd, isn’t it?”
“It certainly is,” 99 agreed.
“This is undoubtedly the first time I’ve ever seen a man drinking a milk shake with an olive in it,” Max said.
“An olive? Where?”
“Over there-the fellow with the beard.”
“Oh… yes. But, Max, that wasn’t what I meant. What I meant was-they’re all wearing beards!”
Max glanced around. “99, I think you’re right.”
“What do you mean, you think I’m right. They’re all wearing beards!”
“Let me put that another way: 99, you’re right.”
99 sighed. “It isn’t much help, is it?”
“Well, it does make our project a little more difficult,” Max replied. “But not impossible. One of those beards is a false beard. What we have to do is find it.”
“How? Pull every beard in the room? And suppose the diabolical Dr. X isn’t wearing a false beard? If all these other scientists are wearing real beards, maybe he is, too.”
Max scowled. “99, I think this calls for a change in tactics. Let’s assume that the real Dr. X, being a scientist, does wear a beard. Now, if you were in his shoes, and wanted to disguise yourself, what would you do?”
“Go barefoot?”
“Let’s stick to beards. If you had a beard and wanted to disguise yourself, what would you do?”
“Oh, I see. I’d shave it off.”
“Exactly. So what we’re looking for is a clean-shaven scientist.”
99 looked around again. “I don’t see any clean-shaven scientists.”
“Mark my word, 99. The diabolical Dr. X is here, and he is clean-shaven. Now, all we have to do is find him. And, to do that, all we have to do is mingle. Sooner or later, we’ll come across a clean-shaven scientist.” He motioned to 99 and Fang. “Let’s mingle.”
“Rorff!” Fang barked.
“I know, I know,” Max said. “I’m as bored by these parties as you are. Just don’t join in the conversation if it pains you so much. No one will expect you to have opinions, anyway.”
Max, followed by 99 and Fang, sidled up to two scientists who were in jolly conversation.
“Which reminds me of a funny story,” he said, breaking in. “A bunch of the other space scientists and I were sitting around the launch pad one day, discussing the moon and what sort of animal we ought to send on the first trip to that planet-It is a planet, isn’t it? Or is it an asteroid or something? Well, no matter. The point is, we were discussing the moon and animals. Well, one of the space scientists said, ‘You know, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that the moon is really made of green cheese.’ That got quite a chuckle, of course. But then I topped it. I said, ‘Well, if it is, then there’s no question about what animal we should send to the moon. We ought to send a duck.’ ‘A duck?’ the other space scientists queried. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘a duck. That way, when the first man gets to the moon, he’ll have a quacker to go along with the green cheese.’ Well, you should have heard the howls!”
The two scientists stared at Max dumbly.
“Quackers and cheese,” Max said.
The two scientists looked at each other.
“A duck makes a quacking sound, you see,” Max explained. “Consequently, I referred to the duck as a ‘quacker’. If you think about it, it’s quite funny.”
One of the scientists groaned softly. The other one closed his eyes, as if wanting to be alone.
“The boys on the launching pad liked it,” Max muttered.
“I think we better mingle some more, Max,” 99 said.
“Yes…”
They moved on.
“We were wasting our time there, anyway,” Max said. “Both of those scientists were wearing beards.”
“Max… 99 said sympathetically, “… I thought that was a very funny story.”
“Thank you, 99.”
“There was just one thing, though. The part I didn’t understand was, why would anybody want to send a duck to the moon?”
“Well, you see-” He stopped and glared at her.
99 lowered her eyes. “Sorry about that, Max.”
Max cocked an ear toward a nearby conversation. “Ah… serious stuff, scientific talk,” he said. “This, we can get in on without fear of being rebuffed. Where we made our mistake before was in not remembering that, as a group, scientists have no sense of humor.”
Max ambled up to the trio of scientists on whom he had been eavesdropping.
“… centrifugal flow of ions,” the scientist on the left was saying.
“Exactly what I was saying the other day to the boys on the launching pad,” Max interjected.
The three turned to him.
“Oh, excuse me,” Max said. “I’m Max Smart, Space Scientist. And this is my assistant, 99. And my current experiment, Fang. I expect to send him to the moon any day now.”
“Rorff!” Fang barked.
“You’ll eat cheese and quackers and like it!” Max snapped.
“Ah… space science,” the scientist on the right said, “a fascinating subject.”
“Yes,” Max agreed. “And the most interesting thing is, there’s so much of it. Space, that is. It’s probably never occurred to you, but space, you know, is all around us. Most people don’t think much about that. They take it for granted. Space, that is. As a scientist, however, I appreciate that. Whenever I want to study a little space, all I have to do is open a window, and there it is. Space. That makes it quite convenient for me. I don’t have to send out for it, and wait for the delivery truck to arrive.”
“Yes, that’s an advantage we pathologists don’t have,” the scientist in the middle said.
Max nodded. “I have noticed an acute shortage of paths,” he said.
“No, no,” the scientist smiled. “A pathologist is a medical doctor who makes a study of cadavers.”
Max squinted at him. “Mushrooms?”
“Cadavers are dead bodies.”
“Oh. Yes, now that you mention it, I have noticed an acute shortage of dead bodies. But… things will pick up, I’m sure. One little epidemic, and your problem will be solved.”
The pathologist sighed. “It’s too much to hope for,” he said. “Doctors today have no regard for science. An epidemic starts, and, right away, they rush in and stop it.” He sighed again, more deeply. “It’s not like the old days.”
“For that matter, what is?” Max sympathized. “There’s the story of Wilbur and Orville Wright, you know, when they still had that bicycle shop, before they even thought about inventing the airplane. One day, one of their customers said to Orville, ‘Wilbur,’ he said, ‘one of these days, man is going to fly to the moon-what do you think of that?’ Well, Orville-or Wilbur, as the case may be-looked at the customer for a moment, then, very dramatically, he said, ‘Hand me that socket wrench, will you?’ ”
The scientists stared at Max dumbly.
“He was putting a wheel on a bicycle,” Max explained.
One of the scientists groaned softly. Another closed his eyes, as if he wanted to be alone. The third scientist left to freshen up his milk shake.
“After he put the wheel on, he attached a basket to the handlebars,” Max said. “Bicycles were used as beasts of burden in those days.”
“I think we better mingle some more, Max,” 99 said.
“Yes…”