The Final Affair

over ever since. It's absolutely nothing more than it appears. Ward and Irene Baldwin sent it.'

It was a staghorn and ebony stick, with a one-inch silver band just below the handle. On the front was engraved a tiny U.N.C.L.E. globe; on the back the legend, 'W.B. to N.S. 1970.'

Napoleon levered himself to his feet, braced with an aluminum crutch, and took the cane in his hand. 'It feels comfortable,' he said.

'One more thing I think you should know, now that it's all over. Remember 'Little Brother'?'

'I'll never forget him.'

'Did you know that of those last two wires, one would have detonated the device?'

'I guessed, when you told me not to touch the other one. Whichever one wasn't cut would set it off.'

'Not exactly. I had the mechanism worked out, you see, but I still hadn't figured out the color-coding of the wires. It didn't make sense. If I'd had a piece of paper, or if I'd been able to think more clearly, I might have. But I didn't have the least idea at that point which of those wires would set it off.'

'You didn't…' said Joan.

'Then it did matter,' said Napoleon. 'You said cut either one.'

'No,' said Illya. 'I said, 'Cut one of them.' That was all. I've worked with you for seven highly variable years, all together, and one thing I knew was that you are lucky. I don't understand it, and I knew it didn't work if you worried about it. But if I had chosen one of the wires and told you to cut it, my odds of success would be fifty percent, because I believe in the laws of probability. If you chose the one to cut, without being overwhelmingly aware that you would never know if you made the wrong choice, I guessed you had about a two-thirds chance of choosing correctly under the circumstances. I must say I'm glad you did.'

Napoleon sat down again. A taxi honked at the foot of the lawn and Illya looked around. 'That's for me,' he said. 'Sometime again, Napoleon.' And he was gone at a trot, his left arm encumbered, officer's cap gripped in his right hand, blond hair catching the breeze.

Napoleon stared after him. 'Smart Russian,' he said, and stood to wave his free arm as the taxi pulled away. Then he turned to Joan. 'Come on,' he said. 'We should get back to our own reception. Leave the crutch here – I think I'll show off my new cane.'

***

[1] In answer to numerous questions: the rules for Botticelli, also known as Culture, may be found in most large books on games. The cycle of play is simple, as sketchily outlined above: data is gathered through yes/no questions whenever the subject fails to correctly identify a reference, until the assumed identity of the subject is guessed, in the same form. Unlike most Q &A games, both sides must work continually. SuperGhosts is an evolution from the well-known game of Ghosts, and was discovered to me by James Thurber. It is illustrated elsewhere. Admittedly, both play better with more than two. -D.McD.