William Johnston - Max Smart and the Ghastly Ghost Affair

“Yeah, it kind of set my teeth on edge, too,” the old prospector said. “On account of that, I just might make a full career out of looking for that lost vein of gold. I’ll tell you the truth-I got a look through the gates while I was standing there jawing with that fella. And what I saw was, I saw all these folks sitting around on clouds in a bunch of sheets. They had wings on their backs and they were playing harps. Now, I could take about ten minutes of that. But if I had to put up with it for a whole eternity, I’d be climbing the walls trying to get out. See what I mean?”

“I’ll admit to seeing what you mean, but only if it’s understood that I don’t believe any of this,” Max said.

“Deal!” the old prospector grinned, holding out a hand.

Max tried to shake it-but found himself grasping thin air. “Let’s make that a verbal agreement,” he said. “Now, what can you do about getting us out of here?”

The old prospector looked at him speculatively. “Why would I want to get you out of here?” he asked. “I don’t know you, young fella. For all I know, you might turn out to be the worst enemy I ever had. I admit, you look kind of dumb. But maybe that’s an act.”

“It is not an act,” Max said.

“You’re really as dumb as you look, eh? It’s hard to believe.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Max said. “What I meant is, I’m not putting on an act of any kind. I’m really exactly what I seem to be-an innocent secret agent in trouble. Maybe it would help if I introduced myself. My name is Smart-”

“Your middle name is smart, you mean?”

“No-my last name. I’m with-”

“Then what’s your middle name? Dumb-like it looks?”

“Let’s forget the name,” Max said. “Just refer to me by my number. I’m 86.” He indicated 99. “And this is my wife, 99. You see, we’re secret agents. And, instead of being called by name, we’re called by number. Understand?”

“All but a couple things,” the old prospector replied. “What’s a secret agent? And how come you got a number instead of a name?”

“Yes. . well. . A secret agent is-in a way-like a private detective-understand?”

“Sure-like a Pinkerton. Now, why do you have numbers in the place of names?”

“That, I’m afraid, I can’t answer,” Max replied.

“Oh. Too big a secret, eh?”

“Actually, the reason I can’t explain it is because I haven’t the faintest idea why,” Max replied. “All I can tell you is, I don’t make the rules.”

“That’s enough,” the old prospector said. “I can understand that.” He looked Max and 99 up and down. “Well, I guess you look okay to me,” he said, finally.

“Thank you,” Max smiled.

“Not you. I was talking about her,” the prospector said, winking at 99. “You,” he said, facing Max again, “don’t look quite right to me. But, if she’ll vouch for you-”

“I will,” 99 assured the old prospector. “He’s really very nice. And honest and trustworthy, too.”

“What puzzles me,” Max said to the old man, “is why you’re so suspicious. You’re a ghost-what harm could any of us do you? It seems to me that you’re as bad off as you’ll ever get”

“You’re wrong,” the old prospector said. “Suppose somebody else found that lost vein of gold? And mined it? If that happened, it wouldn’t be there for me to look for any more. I’d go loopy just wandering around here in this ghost town with nothing to occupy my talents. If it came to that, I’d be just as well off up there behind them gates with them fellas in the sheets and wings. Only, I couldn’t get in. Without that gold, they’re not even going to let me within smelling distance of the place.”

“Yes, well-”

“So, when I saw you strangers pull into town, I disappeared myself,” the old prospector said. “I had to find out if you were after my gold or not. Now that I know you’re not-according to you-I can disappear myself again and go on about my business. And, you can do the same.” He tipped his hat to 99. “So long, ma’am, it’s been-”

“Hold it a minute,” Max said. “You can’t leave us. It’s true, we’re not after your gold. But I can’t promise the same about those other fellows. If they happened to run across your vein of gold, they’d pack it up and ship it out of here quicker than you could bat an eyelash.”

“Oh?” the old prospector said. “How come? Aren’t they friends of yours?”

“Hardly. They’re our worst enemies,” Max replied. “We’re Control and they’re KAOS.”

“Like cops and robbers?” the old prospector asked.

“Not exactly,” Max responded. “It’s just not that simple. Nothing is quite that simple any more. You see, we’re all secret agents, both Control and KAOS, but the KAOS secret agents are dedicated to the propagation of evil, while the Control secret agents are dedicated to stamping it out. Although, of course, it’s not always that simple. I mean, every once in a while, we’re forced to fight fire with fire. Or, in other words, sometimes we have to propagate a little evil ourselves in the interests of stamping out the evil that the KAOS secret agents have propagated earlier-if you understand what I mean. Not that I’d blame you if you didn’t. Because nothing is really that simple any more. I mean, looked at from one standpoint, it could be said that in propagating evil to stamp out evil we are tarring ourselves with our own brush, or that we’re trying to put out the fire by dousing it with kerosene, or-”

“Can you just tell me how I can tell the good guys from the bad guys?” the old prospector broke in. “If I just know who I’m for and who I’m against, I don’t need all that fiddle-faddle.”

“Well, I’m afraid it’s just not quite that simple,” Max answered. “There was a time when you could distinguish the good guys from the bad guys by looking at their hats. The bad guys had on black hats and the good guys had on white hats. But things have changed. A lot of people these days don’t wear hats of any color. And, too, bad guys put on white hats, and good guys put on black hats. So, telling a good guy from a bad guy, or, even if you know the difference, really deciding what is essentially good and what is essentially bad is almost- Frankly, it’s so complicated, it’s absolutely impossible to explain. But, I’ll tell you what I do. I have a rule of thumb. I think of it as being like cops and robbers.”

“I don’t see what’s so complicated about that,” the old man said. “Who’re you-cops or robbers?”

“Actually, it’s not as simple-”

“Cops!” 99 shouted.

The old prospector nodded. “Got it. Now,” he asked, “what do I do to get them strangers out of here?”

“They’re not in here,” Max said. “We’re the ones who are in here.”

“Out of town, I mean!” the old prospector said.

“Oh. Well, actually, that’s my job, not yours,” Max said. “You could go wave your arms at them or something, but I doubt that it would get rid of them. Not many people believe in ghosts these days. They’d probably only laugh at you. And then they’d disinfect you.”

“But I got to get them out,” the old prospector said.

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Max said. “And 99 and I will be happy to do the job for you. Not only will we remove them from your town, but we will lock them up where they will never get out-so you won’t have to worry about them coming back later to look for your lost vein.”

“ ‘Lost vein of gold’ say,” the prospector requested. “When you call it ‘my lost vein’ it sounds kind of personal. Too personal to say in front of a lady.”

“All right-your lost vein of gold.”