Max and Blossom stared at him.
“94!” Max said finally.
“Right,” 94 replied. “This is the assignment I was in a hurry to get to.”
Max asked 94 if he had seen Noel and Fred enter the building.
“Yes-not long ago,” 94 replied. “They went to apartment four-oh-one. I know because, not long after they had gone up, the girl called down on the phone and asked to have a wrench and a pair of pliers sent up!”
“Fred! Poor Fred!” Blossom cried.
“I think this calls for haste,” Max said. “Come on!”
Hurrying after Max, Blossom called back to 94. “My regards to your three wives-and let me know if it doesn’t work out!”
Max and Blossom boarded the elevator, then, moments later, got out at the fourth floor. They raced down the corridor to four-oh-one. Without halting, Max threw himself against the door. It splintered, and fell in, and Max went tumbling after.
Blossom regarded him as he lay face down inside the apartment. “Don’t you ever knock?”
“This is how it’s done,” Max said, getting up. “Rule number seventeen.”
They looked around. The apartment was of a fairly good size, but completely vacant.
“A front, obviously,” Max said. “I wouldn’t be surprised at anything we might find here.”
“I’d be surprised if we found Fred,” Blossom said. “This place is completely deserted.”
“To the untutored eye, yes,” Max said. “But to a crack investigator this place fairly reeks of occupancy.”
“Oh? Like how?”
Max sniffed. “Get that? The scent of Mulligan stew! There’s something cooking!” He spoke to Fang. “After it, boy!”
Fang went galloping out the door and down the corridor.
“Coward!” Max yelled after him.
“No… look, he’s stopping at that door,” Blossom said.
Max followed after Fang. As he reached him, the door of the apartment that he had stopped in front of opened. A middle-aged woman put her head out.
“No dogs allowed,” she said.
“No dogs aloud? He hasn’t said a thing.”
“Well, he looked like he was going to bark.”
“Rorff!”
“He said he had no intention of barking,” Max told the woman. “And, speaking of barking, do you happen to be cooking a Mulligan stew?”
“The saints presarve us, yes!” the woman answered.
“Well, I’d appreciate it if you’d put a lid on it,” Max said. “The scent is pervading the apartment down the hall and interfering with an official investigation, the result of which the fate of the Free World hangs in the balance on- or something.”
The woman slammed the door in his face.
“The world is full of them, boy,” Max said to Fang. “Full of them!”
Max and Fang returned to the apartment.
“I heard something,” Blossom said excitedly. “While you were gone. It came from the kitchen!”
“Well, one thing, it wasn’t Mulligan stew,” Max said. “What did it sound like?”
“A kind of rattling.”
Max turned away, lowering his eyes. “A… kind… of… rattling…”
“What do you think it could be?” Blossom said fearfully.
“I want you to brace yourself, Blossom. Think of it this way: Life is fleeting, Life is short; the important think is to be a good sport!”
“You mean-”
“After all, you and Fred had a good time together-while it lasted. And… you can always build yourself another robot.”
“You mean-”
“And next time you may get a little closer to creating a look-alike Rock Hudson. Practice makes perfect, they say.”
“You mean-”
“I’m just putting two and two together, that’s all. The girl called down for a wrench and a pair of pliers. And you… you heard a rattling sound. Sort of metal on metal, was it?”
“Not exactly.”
“Don’t try to withdraw from reality. Face up to it. That’s the only sensible way.”
“But it didn’t sound like metal on metal,” Blossom insisted. “It sounded more like brooms being knocked together.”
Max faced back to her. “Let me ask you this: did Fred carry a broom with him?”
“No!”
“Hmmmm… that throws new light on the situation.” He headed toward the rear of the apartment. “You stay here, I’ll check it out.”
“Max…”
He halted. “Yes…?”
“If you were right the first time… don’t tell me.”
Max nodded, then continued. He entered the kitchen, and stopped and listened. He heard a rattling sound.
“Like brooms being knocked together,” he mused. “Let’s see now, where would I find a broom? Stove? No. Refrigerator? No. Broom closet? No. Pantry? No. Broom closet? Well, it’s worth a try.”
He went to the broom closet and opened it. There were two brooms, and, huddled between them, Boris.
“Boris! What are you doing in there?”
“I lost my tour again,” Boris said sadly.
“Poor guy. But if you’d asked me, I could have told you. A broom closet is the easiest place in the world to get separated from a tour. Come on out. Maybe we can help you.”
Boris crawled out. Max led the way back to the living room.
“Guess who I found in the broom closet?” Max said to Blossom.
She began to weep hysterically. “Oh, Fred, Fred, my poor Fred!”
“No, no-Boris,” Max said.
“I understand,” she wept. “You promised you wouldn’t tell me. I appreciate it. But I just can’t help crying-my poor Fred!”
“Listen,” Max said disgustedly, “will you cut that out! Look-here’s Boris. He was in the broom closet. Separated from his tour!”
“You don’t have to pretend any longer,” Blossom sobbed. “I understand. Poor Fred!”
“Rorff!”
Blossom looked at Fang, surprised. “Really,” she said. “I thought he was just trying to save me some grief.”
“All right,” Max said, “now that that’s settled, let’s get back to the case at hand. Boris,” he said, “how did you get here in the first place?”
“Well,” Boris said, “I was on the tour, as I explained. We had come from Chinatown, and the guide was showing us the empty apartments of New York. I lingered, and apparently the tour went on. Well, I found myself alone here in this apartment. I was beside myself, of course.”
“Of course,” Max nodded. “It gives me the chills just to hear about it.”
“Then suddenly,” Boris said, “I heard a rattling sound.”
“Like… uh… brooms being knocked together?”
“No… more like metal on metal,” Boris replied.
“Oh-oh!”
