William Johnston: Get Smart Once Again!

Again, the waiter departed.

“Papa Bear,” Max mused. “What connection would Papa Bear have with a Dooms Day Plan?”

“I think you’re on the wrong track, Max,” Peaches said.

Max looked at his watch. “You’re right. We should be on the track that has a train on it. It’s time to board.”

“But I haven’t had lunch.”

“Going without lunch is pretty romantic,” Max said, rising. “Let’s go.”

At the door they were met by the headwaiter.

“Did you enjoy your lunch?” he smiled.

“I didn’t eat,” Max replied. “But I did enjoy that little tussle we had when we first came in.”

“Next time, I’ll throw you through a plate glass window,” the headwaiter smiled.

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” Max said.

“Your food would probably have been all right-if I’d had any,” Peaches said to the headwaiter. “But I can’t say much for your candles.”

“Watt?” the headwaiter replied, puzzled.

“Never mind,” Max said. He hurried out, pulling Peaches after him.

“Don’t forget the Plan, Max,” Peaches said. “You left it in a locker-remember?”

“How could I forget that?” Max said, leading the way toward the lockers. “I put the Plan in the locker, then I locked the locker, then I put the key in-”

“What’s the matter, Max?”

Max had stopped and was going through his pockets.

“I seem to have misplaced the key,” he said.

“Max!”

“A pickpocket has pocked my picket!” Max said.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive!”

“Then how can we get into the locker to get the Plan?”

“Fortunately, we secret agents are prepared for such emergencies,” Max replied. “Come along.”

They made their way through the crowded station to the row of lockers.

“If you don’t have the key, how will you know which locker it is?” Peaches asked.

“By the process of elimination. I’ll simply open all of the lockers until I find the one with a Dooms Day Plan in it.”

“Without any keys, Max?”

Max got out his ballpoint pen. “With this acetylene torch, I’ll burn a hole in the door of each locker, then reach in and inspect the contents.”

“Oh, dandy. But what will you do when you punch the button and get a hair-dryer?”

“I’ll go soak my head and put it to use,” Max replied. “After that, I’ll punch the button again. As I recall, the acetylene torch is activated by the second punch.”

“Why don’t you just punch twice the first time?”

“Very good-for an empty-headed blonde,” Max said. “I’ll try it.”

He punched the button-twice. And a tongue of flame leaped from the end of the pen.

“I think you’ve got it,” Peaches said.

Max burned a round hole in a locker, then stepped back, and handed the torch to Peaches. “Hold this. I’ll reach in.”

“Careful.”

Max reached in through the hole. “I’ve found something,” he said. “In fact, I’ve found a lot of whatever it is.”

“Is it the Plan?”

“No. It seems to be a basket of very large marbles.”

“Max, they’re not your marbles!”

“I know. But this is- No, they’re not marbles. They’re more like.. wait a minute, I’ll give one of them a squeeze.”

Max squeezed. An unpleasant expression appeared on his face. He withdrew his hand, which was dripping.

“Not marbles?” Peaches said.

“More like a basket of eggs,” Max said.

“I guess the yolk’s on you,” Peaches giggled.

Grimly, Max wiped his hand with his pocket handkerchief. Then, “All right,” he said, “I’ll take the torch again.”

“The flame seems to have gone out,” Peaches said, handing him the pen.

Max studied it. “It needs a little adjusting,” he said. “Do you have a hairpin?”

“Sorry.”

“Well, let’s see what I have,” Max said, beginning to go through his pockets. “Here’s my door key, and my car key, and a locker key, and… locker key?”

“Max, your picket wasn’t pocked. You’ve had that key all the time.”

“A slight error,” Max shrugged. “It could happen to anybody. The important thing is, we now have the key, and we can retrieve the Plan. Let’s see, which locker was it? Oh yes, locker 44, it says on the key.”

“You should have remembered that.”

“A slight loss of memory,” Max replied. “It could happen to anybody.”

Max fitted the key into the lock, turned it, and opened the door. The locker was completely empty.

“Agent 44?” Max called, putting his head into the locker.

There was no reply.

“Maybe he’s out to lunch,” Peaches said.

“No. He would have hung a little sign on the outside of the locker,” Max replied.

“Max… do you suppose…?”

Max withdrew his head from the locker. “I’m afraid so. Evidently the Agent 44 we gave the Plan to wasn’t Agent 44. My guess is that Agent 44 was Noman. And, by now, Noman is well on his way to KAOS headquarters to report the success of his mission.”

“I’m awfully sorry about that, Max,” Peaches said sympathetically.

“And you should be,” Max snapped. “This is entirely your fault!”

“Did I give the Plan to Agent 44?”

“No, but-”

“Did I mistake Noman for Agent 44?”

“No, but-”

“Was I the one who said it was a good idea when I suggested putting the Plan in the locker?”

“No, but-”

“Was I the one who insisted on having candlelight for lunch?”

“No, but-”

“Yes, that was me, Max.”

“Oh.”

“So how can you say it’s entirely my fault?”

“Because,” Max replied, “my mind hasn’t been on my work. It’s been on you.”

“Max! That’s so romantic!”

“Not on you exactly,” Max said, correcting himself. “It’s been on your list of romantic things to do. And, consequently, it hasn’t been on the mission.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. “What I ought to do is tear this list limb from limb,” he said. “Because of it, Noman has emerged victorious.”

“No, Max! Don’t do that.”

“And just why not?”

“Because that isn’t my list, Max! That’s the Plan!”

Max looked at the sheet of paper. “By George, It is!”

“You gave Noman my list and kept the. Plan,” Peaches said.

“A slight error,” Max said. “It could happen, to anybody.”

“You’ve ruined everything!” Peaches sobbed.

“Actually, it’s all in the way you look at it,” Max said. “Since I’ve kept the Dooms Day Plan out of the hands of Noman, some might say that I’ve saved the day.”

“That’s selfish!” Peaches wept. “My list! Now I’ll have to start all over again.”

“But civilization (as we know it) has been given a second chance!” Max said.

“What does that mean to an empty-headed blonde who’s lost her list of romantic things to do?”

“Let’s argue about it on the train,” Max said. “We started early this morning, and it’s past noon, and we’re still not out of Washington. Considering that we’re living in the jet age, that’s not a very good record.”

“All right, let’s go,” Peaches wept. “Anything to take my mind off my loss.”

They boarded the train, then looked for their compartment.

“What number is it?” Peaches asked.

“Compartment 44,” Max replied. “That sounds familiar, doesn’t it? I wonder if I’ve ridden this train before.”

“That’s your friend,” Peaches reminded him.

“My friend? I don’t have any friends who are train compartments.”

“Agent 44.”

“Oh… yes. Good old Agent 44. He must be well thought of by the railroad.”