Mr. Waverly was examining Napoleon Solo's report of his latest mission when his office buzzer sounded. "Yes? Enter," he called, and glanced up as the door slid open. "Ah, Mr. Kuryakin. Do sit down." He pushed aside the report, folding his hands on his desk and giving the Russian his full attention. "How goes it with our little THRUSH bird?"

"Very well, Mr. Waverly." Illya pulled out a chair and settled into it, crossing his legs and resting his hands on his knee. The chief of U.N.C.L.E. New York did not fail to note the air of suppressed satisfaction about the other man, and he raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"He told you something useful, then?" he inquired, and the small Russian nodded.

"Yes, sir." The faintest hint of a smile curled the corners of his mouth, and Mr. Waverly was surprised to see an almost diabolical glint in the cool blue eyes.

"He told me everything."

Finis