"Yeah, sure," Remo said. He put down the telephone and opened the drawer of the small end-table. In it were two plastic, foam-covered cylinders that resembled space-age earmuffs. Remo picked up one of them, looked at the back of it for identification, then snapped it on the earpiece of the phone. He snapped the other over the mouthpiece.

"Okay, they're on," he said. "Can I shout now?"

"Not yet," Smith said. "First set the dials on the back to number fourteen. Remember to set each one of them to fourteen. And then turn the units on. That's important too."

"Up yours," Remo mumbled as he held the telephone away from him and set the dials on the back of the scrambler units. It was CURE'S latest invention. A portable telephone scrambler system that defied interception, recording devices, and nosy switchboard operators.

Then Remo flicked the "on" switches and raised the phone back to his ear.

"All right," he said. "I'm ready."

All he heard was garble, as if a man were gargling.

"I got it set," Remo shouted. "What the hell's wrong now?"

"Grrgle. Grrble. Drrble. Frgle."

Remo regarded it as an improvement over what Smith generally had to say.

"Grrgle. Frppp."

"Yes," Remo said. "In your hat."

"Grggle. Drbble."

"Yes. And put your foot in it. Up to your ankle."

"Brggle. Cringle."

"And your Aunt Millie too." Remo said sweetly.

Then Smith's voice broke in. "Remo. Are you there?" His voice was clear, but slightly brittle.

"Well, of course I'm here. Where else would I be?"

"Sorry. I had trouble with the device."

"Fire the inventor. Better yet, kill him. That's your answer to everything anyway. Now, as I was saying, about my vacation."

"Forget your vacation," Smith said. "Tell me about Devlin. What did he have to say?"

"That is about my vacation," Remo said. "You called me in to talk to him, when it's not a problem for us. It belongs to the CIA. So why the hell don't you give it to the CIA? Empire-building again?"