"One hour. My turn, Napoleon."
        Although Solo sighed deeply he pulled the car over to allow Crawshaw to drive. He decided it was far better to go along with the young man�s wishes than start an argument that might drive the partnership further into the ground. Crawshaw went by the book at all times and one hour driving was a written rule never usually obeyed. Off duty he was different. He was a young man let out of school and constantly tried to gatecrash parties and entice the fairer sex to a convenient hotel. Despite his good looks he possessed none of Solo�s charm and his advances were frequently answered by a slap in the face from an insulted beauty.
        "So, he was last seen torturing a customs officer at this airport. Just goes to show how bad the Secret Service are. How did they miss for goodness sake?"
        "Open Channel D, Slate please," said Solo constantly scanning the buildings around the airport.
        "Slate here, Napoleon. I have a few weeks medical leave�"
        "Bad mission, Mark?"
        "Bad temper, Napoleon. A pretty girl took offence and slammed the car door resulting in two broken fingers on my gun hand."
        "Perhaps we all should�ve been issued with Illya�s ambidextrous nature."
        "I will be flying to London tonight and spend the holiday finding Risen Foam. Take care out there, Napoleon, you�re up against the best."
        "Not quite, Mark, no not quite." Solo smiled for a second then a frown crossed his brow. This was going to be a battle to remember, partner against partner, friend against friend, the number two agent against the number one. Both of them knew the others tactics and almost their thoughts.
        There was no time to move. The only warning that Solo had was the crash of glass as a high-powered bullet entered the passenger side window.
        "Charming," voiced Crawshaw flicking glass off his legs but his moan went unheard, Solo was busy punching in numbers on the car-radio as outside became a battle zone. Previously unseen agents fired volley after volley towards a small figure on a hanger roof.
        "Cease fire! Cease Fire!" shouted Solo into the handset.
        "And you are?" answered a voice through the crackle.
        "Napoleon Solo from the United Network�"
        "Oh, yes. That man is sanctioned Mr. Solo�"
        "And I have the notice, you are to stand down immediately."
        "Yes, Sir," was the mumbled reply.
        Solo watched as the small figure scrambled to the ground and ran to a battered car. He heard the engine roar and smiled, the banger was tuned up Kuryakin style and a cloud of dust was all that marked the place where the car had been.
    "He nearly had you, Napoleon!"
    "Do you think? Watch your back, Crawshaw."

The locals at the small Inn had plenty of information to give and each time Solo bought them more drinks another story was told. How the Vicar stopped the German invaders by hitting the leader with a large bell. The day ten years before when the floods came and how now they were ready for the next one. The tale of Old Shuck and how the devil dog haunts the area foretelling death and disaster.
        "What about the blond stranger?"
        "Your round an�t it?" Giving up was the only thing to do. Either the locals really knew nothing about Kuryakin or he�d already got to them with some promise or other, they weren�t going to tell anything.
        "Who�s turn is it, Crawshaw?"
        "Mine," he whistled an annoying little tune as he opened the car door then managed a gasp as Solo slammed him to the ground.
        "Did you lock the car?"
        "Yes."
        "Then how come you opened it without the key?"
        "You think the Russian?"
        "I know the Russian! Check under your seat and go very carefully."
        Slightly puzzled, Crawshaw obeyed and gently removed the small bomb.
        "Pressure activated, sit on that and goodbye us," said Crawshaw giving a sigh of relief.
        "Goodbye you. Just enough explosive to take out the driver," said Solo. "That's twice now and if you hadn't stretched in the car earlier he would have shot you."
        "The bullet came through your window!"
        "And was aimed at you," said Solo scanning the nearby fields for any sign of activity. Then facing towards a small wooded area he shouted, "Illya! Try to kill this man again and I promise you I will retaliate! Illya! Show yourself! He is my partner, you don�t touch!" This time it was Solo�s turn to hit the ground as Crawshaw dove on top of him. Bullets kicked up mud as they slammed into the ground around them.
        "That blasted Russian!" shouted Crawshaw rolling to the dubious protection of the car.
        "Sniper!" answered Solo pointing towards flashes from a nearby haystack. "Illya�s in the woods, the opposite direction." Again he shouted into the car radio. "Cease fire! The burn notice is mine!"
        "Not us, Sir!" a confused voice answered.
        Solo watched helplessly as bullet after bullet cut into the trees where he knew Kuryakin was hiding. Every time he moved to aim at the mussel flashes in the haystack Kuryakin opened fire on him and Crawshaw. They were helplessly pinned down. As Solo began to belly crawl to a safer position Crawshaw�s gun spoke loudly next to his ear and was instantly knocked from his hand.
        "Do not fire at Illya!"
        "But he�s trying to kill us!"
        "He�s keeping us pinned down. Believe me we are full in his sites and if he wanted to we would be dead. For some reason he doesn�t want our�"
        A massive explosion ripped the air as two twelve-bore shotguns were discharged behind Solo showering him and Crawshaw with skin numbing lead pellets. The acrid smell of gunpowder hurt their nostrils just as the noise had their ears. Smoke began to curl upwards from the haystack as two men fell to the ground.
        "Best call the fire-brigade out," said one of the owners of the guns.
        "Jack aren�t gonna be happy. Third time this week we set the hay afire," said the second.
        "Best call the undertaker while you at it," added the first.
        "Joe aren�t gonna be happy. Third time this week we needed to bury strangers."
        For more than five minutes Solo stood open-mouthed as the calm locals chatted among themselves as in the distance the ringing bell of the fire engine grew louder.

        "You killed them!" he managed as a small red truck arrived and attached a hose to a convenient tap while a very under aged fireman continued to ring the shiny brass bell.
        "Musician�s men. Don�t want them on my land. Nope, no way."
        "You know of the Musician?" asked Solo his hopes beginning to rise.
        "Yep, bad lot that one. From the City, you know?"
        "Illya told you about him?"
        "Him? Got the wrong Musician, boy. Our one is a woman. Her is a goddess, so they say. Traps city men and makes them do what she wants."
        "Illya told you this? He spoke in English?" asked Solo his hopes high.
        "The little Russian? No, he don�t talk like what we do. We know her, nasty piece of work that one."
        With his hopes dashed Solo questioned about the Musician.
        "An�t got time to talk to you, boy. Spent too long drinking. Got cows to milk. You should talk to Joe the lawyer."
        "I thought Joe was the coroner?"
        "Coroner?"
        "He means undertaker."
        "No! City folk don�t know nothing. Joe�s the lawyer. If we get dead�uns then we call the lawyer. He makes it legal. Then we call Jack."
        "The fireman?"
        "That�s it, boy. The fireman, undertaker and dentist." Solo made a mental note not to get his teeth fixed in this village and leaving Crawshaw to examine the two dead men he walked towards the pretty house owned by Jo the Lawyer.

Trivia:- The little red fire-engine pictured with Solo was used in many British film productions including Dad's Army. Some villages in the part of England where the story is set continued to use farm equipment, lorries and fire engines of this type well into the sixties. The little red engine is still alive today and was not harmed during the making of the story.

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