There had been a series of robberies in some of the swankiest hotels in New York city as of late, more than usual and seemed to be the work of what one could call a serial burglar. The police weren't contacted as the incidents were handled by the house detectives, but in spite of their thorough investigations they couldn't come up with any reasonable clues.
Everything had been kept quiet as the hotels in question didn't want word to leak out to the public; doing so might damage their establishment's reputations and frighten away the rich and famous.
Among these hotels were the the Waldorf-Astoria, the Savoy Plaza, the Drake Hotel and the Biltmore, just to name a few.
Wealthy guests who'd been robbed of their gems and jewels often visited their favorite hotels under assumed names to avoid the gossip columnists and celebrity seekers, or simply because these guests weren't always with their respective spouses.
No one but the hotel managers knew of identities of certain guests staying at their establishments, and their reputations were above reproach.
Yet it was these incognito guests who were the ones who had been robbed.
The manager of the Biltmore was a friend of Alexander Waverly's and out of desperation he contacted him, begging U.N.C.L.E. to help solve these string of cat burglaries and keep news of them out of the public eye.
It took a burglar to know one, and what better agent to assign to solve the mystery but Waverly's best second story man, Illya Kuryakin.
First on the Russian's agenda was to figure out how these robberies were committed. Since there were no signs of a forced entry, the possibility of duplicate keys came into question, or of course the locks could have been picked. There were always tell tale signs when a lock pic had been used, and after examining them all he found nothing to indicate they'd been tampered with.
Napoleon investigated the staff, as each hotel was convinced it was in inside job. The employees at each establishment affected were thoroughly vetted with photographs of staff members supplied; they all matched their employment records. No one was unaccounted for.
as well as the guests who stayed at their respective hotels on the nights of the robberies.
None of the staff members worked at any of the other hotels, nor did many of the guest switch to different accommodations. They were loyal to the hotels which they favored.
Still none of this answered the question of how the private guest information could have been obtained. All the managers and concierges agreed to take lie detector tests, and each passed with flying colors.
Kuryakin and Solo wondered if it could possibly be a grand conspiracy between the hotel workers, but it seemed nearly impossible to coordinate these robberies especially since the identities of the wealthy guests had been kept completely secret once the pattern of robberies had become clearer.
"Was the thief a mind reader?" Napoleon spoke aloud.
"I hardly think that is possible," Illya snickered."Unless someone has invented a new mind reading machine." *
With the help of Agents Dancer and Slate, Illya set up his trap as that seemed the only way now to catch the thief. As the lure, April was to impersonate a wealthy woman.
She made a grand and obvious entrance into the Biltmore wearing a stunning peach colored Chanel suit, and matching pillbox hat. Draped over her shoulder was a white mink stole. Diamonds set in white gold adorned her neck, wrists and earlobes and made for quite an eye catching sight as they glittered each time she moved.
Standing beside her was Mark Slate dressed as her chauffeur and he was carrying her matching leopard pattern luggage.
The Manager dutifully asked if she would like to place her valuables in the hotel safe, unaware she was an UNCLE plant.
"Darling, I enjoy my baubles and would feel naked without them." She placed a small silver jewelry case on the front desk and tapped it with a white gloved hand, intimating there were more valuables within it.
"I've stayed her dozens of times and had never a concern for their safely."
"Yes Miss Greyson?" he turned the register to see her signature, as he didn't recall a woman by that name."
"Don't worry dear, that's my real name, My nom de guerre is Sylvia Starr. I'm sure you've heard of me."
"Oh yes Miss Starr the author. We're honored to have you here back at the Ritz." Ever the diplomat he died of course as he still couldn't recall Miss Starr having been there before. Perhaps the other night manager knew her. What did it matter, she was here now.
None of the management or staff were let in on the UNCLE plan, just to b on the safe side.
"Please be sure to use Miss Greyson when you address please. I don't want to be bothered by the press and such. I'm just here on holiday and to see a few of my friends. You know the Vanderbilts and Astors. I'll take my usual suite.
She could see the look of panic in the man's eyes and whispered to him.
"The Presidential suite darling."
There was a private elevator that went directly to the Presidential Suite.
Italian gardens decorated the rooftop between the north and south towers, and in the winter, the gardens were converted into an ice skating rink.
She turned her attention to her partner. "Marcus if you could please have my town car ready for me at seven this evening to take me to the Museum of Modern Art, after which I'll be having supper with my friends a the 21 club." April made sure her announcement was loud enough for anyone within earshot to hear it clearly.
That was the ruse, indicating she'd be gone quite some time, hours to say the least.
"Yes mum." Mark tried not to grunt with the weight of the suit cases.
They took the private elevator up to the suite and, April called out to the Russian.
"You can come out darling, the coast is clear."
Illya exited the bedroom, as had been waiting there in the darkness.
"Everything is set," April said.
"Yeah mate, she couldn't have announced her plans for the evening any louder. If the jewelry she's wearing sparkled any brighter I would've need a pair of sunglasses," Mark chuckled.
Slate left, going to get the Towncar that he merely planned to drive around the corner and hide on a side street once they were off on their supposed journey. They had no intention going to a museum or a club. They'd remain nearby to back up Kuryakin should the cat burglar arrive.
Napoleon was stationed nearby as well, while Illya waited in the darkness.
The jewelry case had been left out and open on a coffee table, directly under a high hat light that illuminated it. None of it was real, and were all fabulous fakes but a burglar in a hurry wouldn't have time to thoroughly examine the pieces with a jeweler's loupe.
Kuryakin waited and waited but nothing happened. No one took the bait, that was if the thief was even around.
After receiving word that nothing had happened, April and Mark returned around one in the morning.
"Don't worry darlings, we'll try again tomorrow." April reassured." April flopped on the sofa in the sitting room. "Now if you all don't mind, I'm tired and would like to take a hot bath and go to bed. Walking around in these high heels is killing my back."
"Care for some company," Napoleon flirted.
"No, now go away, you lecherous boy," she teased.
Napoleon raised a shoulder, feigning being miffed as he rolled his eyes.
"Well I never!"
That gave April and the others a momentary laugh.
"If ever there was a bold faced lie, it was that," she said.
"Hey, can't blame a red blooded American guy for trying," Napoleon winked.
"Good night boys, see you in the morning. Oh and Mr. Waverly asked me to remind you to take it easy on the room service." She quickly ushered them to the door.
She got to stay there in the Presidential suite, while the others would bed down in another nearby room.
April disappeared to the bath and ran her bath, adding some soothing bath salts. She stripped, and slowly lowered herself into the soothing water.
She added a little strawberry bubble bath and stirred the water until it was all frothy.
Canting her head to the side, she heard a click and very slowly took hold of her silver pistol she'd laid on the edge of the marble tub.
"Hi there," Napoleon whispered.
"You just don't take no for an answer do you," she smiled.
"I was feeling a bit lonely, and I have a little pain, well not little if you get my drift that needs some help."
"Oh all right, get in." April giggled.
Napoleon stripped down and did just that, leaning over on top of April and kissing her. Some water overflowed from the tub.
"Hmm, I believe that's Archimedes principle of displacement," he finally stopped kissing her." In fluid mechanics, displacement happens when an object is immersed in a fluid, pushing it out of the way and taking its place. The volume of the fluid displaced can then be measured, and from this the volume of the immersed object can be deduced, that is the volume of the immersed object will be exactly equal to the volume of the displaced fluid. An object that sinks displaces an amount of fluid equal to the object's volume…."
April pressed a finger to his lips to silence him."I see Illya is starting to rub off on you darling."
"No talk of Illya; there's only one kind of rubbing I want to engage in," Solo winked at her.
"Well what's taking you so long," April purred.
.
Next day Kuryakin's trap was repeated, giving the thief an opportunity during the day, and then again at night but still nothing ruse was again set for a one more night but still resulted in failure.
No other robberies had taken place at any other hotels, and after the third night at the Biltmore, the agents checked out.
After returning to headquarters they gathered in the agent's conference room, going through all the robbery information with a fine tooth comb until late in the evening.
"Cor," Mark snapped his fingers. "Look at all the victims, other than being wealthy and robbed what do they have in common?"
The others thumbed through the dossiers, "I give up," Solo finally said.
"Everyone of them is older. Maybe that's why April as bait didn't work?"
It was Napoleon who made the next astute observation. The guests who'd been robbed in all the hotels were older women, some with their husbands, others alone. Another thing in common was that all the people robbed were staying in suites on the upper floors of the hotels,
Illya turned to Mr. Waverly," I have an idea."
It was Illya's thinking that the Presidential Suite having but one access via the private elevator was too confined, and the thief might feel somewhat pinned in.
Two days later a refined older couple enter the Biltmore.. Dressed in a tweed and a holding the mouthpiece of a Briar pipe between his lips; he addressed the concierge.
"Duke William de Beaumont, of Warwick and his wife the Duchess Margaret," the gentleman announced. "We'd like a suite for the next few days if you please my good man."
His wife was wearing a sable stole, covering her deep burgundy dress. On her head was a large burgundy hat with a feathers, the type the British liked to wear. Her wrist was covered in diamond and gold bracelets dripping in gems and jewels; all paste of course, complete fakes. They too declined to make use of the hotel safe.
"Welcome your Grace. This is your first time visiting our humble establishment?"
"Yes, it was highly recommended by an acquaintance, a Miss Greyson. I believe you know her."
"Oh yes lovely woman; she was just here but two days ago."
"Yes we know dearest," the Duchess spoke up.
"I can offer you the Presidential suite your Grace."
"No that won't be necessary, one on the upper floor will do nicely,' the Duke replied.
"Yes, I do so enjoy a good view," the Duchess added.
"Duchess Margaret," the concierge addressed her."Would you care to lock up your valuables in the hotel safe?"
"Oh dear boy, that's such an annoyance. I have no worries that they'll be secure enough in our suite.
The Duke turned to his chauffeur, instructing them to have the Rolls ready at seven, as they'd be dining at the British consulate with the Ambassador and his family.
"Yes your Grace," Kitt Kittridge bowed his head.
The Duke and Dutchess were escorted to their suite on the uppermost floor.
"Alexander, this is quite exciting to be a part of one of your operations, Estelle Waverly smiled as she unpacked their bags. They had to have enough luggage to play their parts. Several suits and a tux were in order, finery and furs for Mrs. Waverly as well.
"Darling, these things are hardly exciting. They can be dangerous. I caution you to curb your enthusiasm. However, I think just as a precaution you should have a weapon. "He handed her a small pistol, a suitable size for a woman to hide in her purse." Just be careful my dear not to shoot any of my people."
"Alexander please, I may be older but my sight and my aim are doing fine."
There was a coded knock on the door, it was Solo's. Waverly let him in, and he was followed by Kuryakin.
"The stage has been set gentleman," the Old Man said.
.
.
* ref "The Foxes and Hounds Affair"