Amazing Mrs. Pollifax (7 page)

But it was not from Henry, it was a message from the desk clerk on lined paper with the name of the hotel printed at the top. She read:

“9:02 Mr. Remsee fone. You lost pkge in his ownership. He bid you stop before—”
The clerk had written
before tiring
but she judged the word was meant to be
retiring
. She read it a second time, frowning. What on earth did it mean? It seemed hours since she had seen Colin Ramsey, and with her mind on Henry it was difficult to think what package she could have left behind when she visited Colin that afternoon. She tried to remember what she’d carried with her to Ramsey Studios but aside from the signet ring, which belonged to Colin, there had been only her purse. Lost package! She’d lost nothing today.

Nothing except a defecting counteragent, she thought in horror, and forgetting Henry she snatched up her purse and fled the room, almost overturning several people on the stairs in her haste to reach the street and find a taxi.

By night, Zikzak alley looked desolate and sinister, its buildings ghost-haunted. No light at all came from number twenty-three. A little worldlier now, however, Mrs. Pollifax walked down the narrow drive to the courtyard and was relieved to see thin stripes of light showing through the shutters of the kitchen window. She knocked on the door and it was opened at once by Colin. “What lost package?” demanded Mrs. Pollifax breathlessly.

Colin held the door wide and beckoned her in. “I say—I do hope they didn’t give you a hard time!”

“Who?” she said, blinking at him.

“The police.”

“You
saw
?” she flung at him accusingly. “You
knew
I was picked up by the police and you left? Just
left
?”

He was bolting the door behind him. “Of course,” he said. “I was afraid you’d head for the jeep and talk to me. In that case the police would have headed for the jeep too, and would have noticed your friend—that woman who was sitting with you in the hotel window.”

Mrs. Pollifax stared at him incredulously.

“I had her hidden in the back seat of the jeep, covered with a sheepskin,” he explained calmly. “She was in a spot of trouble, wasn’t she? Running out like that, looking like death itself—”

Appalled, Mrs. Pollifax stared at him. “You mean she was in your jeep when you drove
away
?”

He said patiently, “It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, yes. She came flying out, I leaned over and opened the door, said, ‘Hop in—I’m Mrs. Pollifax’s driver’ or some such words. She fell in, I dropped the robe over her and that was that. A few seconds later the policeman followed and asked me if I’d seen a woman run from the hotel. I pointed out that I couldn’t possibly see the entrance from where I was sitting without turning my head, but that no one had run up the street
past
me. Se he went the other way.”

Mrs. Pollifax faltered, “But then—what did you do with her?”

He looked surprised. “Nothing at all—she’s here. She’s still in the jeep.”

“Still in the jeep!”

“I couldn’t rouse her so I simply locked the garage and left her there, and—what’s the matter?”

Mrs. Pollifax had sat down very suddenly in the nearest chair. “You mean she’s here? In that garage in back? In your jeep?”

Puzzled, Colin said, “Yes, of course. She
is
your friend, isn’t she? I saw you together in the lobby and—”

Mrs. Pollifax began to laugh, she couldn’t help herself. The laugh was a mixture of relief and hysteria but if it had a disquieting effect on Colin it was extremely therapeutic for her. As she wiped her eyes and blew her nose she said, “I simply can’t thank you enough, Colin.”

“Yes you can—you can tell me what the hell this is all about,” he said, sitting down and looking at her sternly.

“About?” she echoed.

“That woman is no tourist. She needs blood transfusions at a hospital, not shish kabob at Pierre Loti’s. What did the police want of you?”

“My passport,” said Mrs. Pollifax sadly.

“Passport! You mean they took it away from you?”

“Yes, but only until they’ve investigated me.”

He looked appalled. “But good heavens, you can’t do anything without a passport—this isn’t America, you know. You can’t even change hotels without your passport!” He stared at her incredulously. “Doesn’t the seriousness of this seep through to you at all? What on earth do the police think
you’ve done? What reason did they give for taking your passport?”

Mrs. Pollifax sighed—she was beginning to feel very tired. “They seem to feel that I might have come to Istanbul to meet a notorious Communist agent.”

His jaw dropped. “They
what
?
You?
”

“Yes,” she said, and stood up. “Now I really must speak to my friend—speak to her at once—and then I’ll remove her as soon as possible. I don’t want to involve you—”

“Involve me?” he said angrily. “I’m already involved. What I’m trying to discover is what I’m involved
in
. You do know you’re being followed, don’t you?”

“You keep noticing things,” she said with a sigh.

“Of course. I saw that chap walking up and down the alley when you were here this afternoon, but when I left you at the door of your hotel damned if he didn’t follow you directly inside, and for all I know he’s followed you here again, and is outside right now.”

Mrs. Pollifax brightened. “Oh I do hope so,” she said eagerly. “I tried to find him only half an hour ago at the hotel but I couldn’t. That’s Henry.”

Colin looked taken aback. “Henry,” he repeated blankly. “You know him then. Look here, who the devil are you? Or to put it more succinctly,
what
are you?”

She said sympathetically, “I’m Emily Pollifax, truly I am. I live in New Brunswick, New Jersey, and I’m an American citizen and I have two grown children and three grandchildren, and that’s more than the Turkish police believe at this moment but it’s absolutely true.”

He put his hand to his head. “All right. Oddly enough I believe you, although I can’t think of any
logical
reason why I do. But why did you come to Istanbul then?”

“To meet a notorious Communist agent,” she told him cheerfully. “Now do please show me where the jeep is.”

“You insist on being facetious,” he told her bitterly. He removed a key from the shelf over the sink, opened the door for her and closed it behind them both. “This way,” he said, and they walked in silence across the courtyard. A bright moon had turned the whitewashed buildings into ghost-silver and the bougainvillea threw jagged shadows over the
cobbles. The sounds of the city were muted in this enclosure. Colin unlocked the door to the office and beckoned her inside. “She’s in here,” he said, and opened still another door and turned on the lights with a flick of his hand.

Mrs. Pollifax entered a double garage, at the moment containing only the jeep, a pile of abandoned tires and an orange crate. A shapeless bundle in the rear of the jeep stirred and lifted a head, shedding a sheepskin rug, and Magda Ferenci-Sabo blinked at the sudden light.

“Good evening,” said Mrs. Pollifax amiably. “It seems that Mr. Ramsey has reunited us!”

Magda’s glance moved from Mrs. Pollifax to Colin. “He is also—?”

Mrs. Pollifax sighed. “No, he is not,” and for a moment both of them looked dubiously at Colin, who gazed stolidly back at them. “Colin,” she said, “I wonder if you would mind—”

“No,” he said crossly.

Mrs. Pollifax regarded him with interest. “You won’t allow us a few minutes—?”

“No.”

“What a difficult young man,” said Magda.

Mrs. Pollifax smiled. “Yes, but he hid you from the police, this is his jeep you’re occupying and this is his uncle’s garage. Now we must think how to get you out of here. You
are
the woman I was sent to meet, aren’t you?”

The woman looked at Colin. “It’s better not to mention names, but there was a cable—”

Mrs. Pollifax nodded. “Yes, it was shown to me. Can you quote it?”

“I think so.” Magda closed her eyes. “It read: Arrived six
P
.
M
., have enjoyed eight hours Oteli Itep, wish—” She opened her eyes. “If you were shown it perhaps you would be so kind as to complete it so that I too can be sure.”

“Of course,” said Mrs. Pollifax. “Wish you could join me why not send Red Queen or Black Jack before Friday.”

“Look here,” said Colin, regarding them uneasily.

“And the identity of Red Queen?” asked Mrs. Pollifax.

“I say,” broke in Colin again, looking increasingly alarmed.

“Red Queen was Agatha Simms. I thought at first you
might be she but you’re not. For my benefit—because you know so much about it—can you identify Black Jack?” asked Magda, and Mrs. Pollifax complied by bending over her and whispering the name of Carstairs. Magda nodded. “We understand each other—good. Now you must help me get to Yozgat, please.”

Mrs. Pollifax looked at her blankly. “I beg your pardon?”

“Yozgat.”

“Who on earth is Yozgat?”

Colin said testily, “It’s a town, a Turkish town off beyond Ankara somewhere.”

Mrs. Pollifax stared at Magda in astonishment. “But that’s out of the question. I’m carrying a passport for you, all very legal and made out in the name of Alice Dexter White, and sufficient funds for you to get to America. You’re to leave Turkey at once—and really you can, I think, in spite of all the furor because I’ve thought about it, and if I dye your hair and bring you some fashionable American clothes—”

A strangled gasp came from Colin but they paid it no attention. Magda sat up and said flatly, “I cannot leave this country yet, not even if it costs me my life.”

“But you must,” cried Mrs. Pollifax. “The police are looking for you—”

“I know, I know,” admitted Magda, “and so are the Russians and the Bulgarians—”

An outright groan issued from Colin.

“—not to mention the people who kidnapped me from the British consulate and who are far more dangerous than any police.” She edged her feet over the seat and dangled them. “But my life is of no significance at all if I leave without what I brought with me, and I
must
get to Yozgat. What is the trouble?” she asked of Colin, turning toward him. “Are you ill?”

He was sitting on the orange crate staring at them in open-mouthed horror. “My God,” he gasped, “I’m harboring a bloody pair of spies! The two of you!”

“You insisted on listening,” Mrs. Pollifax reminded him patiently.

“But she’s that woman everybody’s looking for!” He
looked haggard. “And she’s sitting right here in my uncle’s garage!”

“Yes, she is,” admitted Mrs. Pollifax, “but really I’m trying very hard to think of where to take her, I
don’t
want to involve you in this, you’ve already been so very kind—”

“Kind!” he said in a stricken voice. “Kind! You seemed like such a nice elderly lady!” He stopped, appalled. “I say, I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” He looked even more appalled to discover himself apologizing. “Oh, hang it all,” he said fiercely, and turning to Magda, “Do you know of somewhere to go?”

“Yes, to Yozgat,” she said firmly.

“Magda—”

She turned to Mrs. Pollifax impatiently. “Why do you think they not kill me?” she demanded. “They want what I brought with me; I cross the Bulgarian frontier—do not ask me how—and I know I am followed so I separate myself from what I brought with me and I go instead to Istanbul for help. Now I must get to Yozgat, to recover what I bring. Do you not understand that—” She stopped uncertainly. “I hear someone.”

“It must be Henry,” said Mrs. Pollifax and turned toward the door expectantly.

But it was not Henry. Two square-shouldered bulky young men in trenchcoats stood in the door regarding them and the interior of the garage with interest. Magda caught her breath sharply. Mrs. Pollifax pulled herself together and said in a steady voice, “And who are you?”

The bulkier of the two men casually pulled a gun from his pocket.

“Police?” said Colin hopefully.

“I don’t think so,” Mrs. Pollifax told him regretfully.

Magda sighed. “Stefan and Otto, I grow tired with you. For what do you want to follow an old woman like me, hmm?”

Stefan grinned; it was a joke he appeared to appreciate and in such a stolid Slavic face his mirth was almost indecent. “We do not follow you—it is this one leads us here.” He pointed at Mrs. Pollifax, who stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Who would have guessed the plump American partridge would know the wily Russian fox?” As he spoke
his eyes continued to roam over the garage, mercilessly assessing the possibilities of the situation. Now he moved to Colin. “You will give the key to the jeep, please,” he said, and extended his left hand, palm up, to Colin. Behind him his friend Otto also pulled out a gun.

“I say—it’s not your jeep,” Colin said indignantly. “It’s not even mine, and you’ve absolutely no right—”

“The key,” said Stefan, pressing the gun into Colin’s stomach. “Otto, open the garage doors, and quickly.”

Reluctantly, glaringly, Colin fumbled in his pocket and brought out a key that he placed in the palm of the man’s hand. “You are wise,” said Stefan. “Stay wise and you will live.” Carefully he backed up until he reached the jeep, where Madame Ferenci-Sabo had begun making feeble attempts to climb out. With one arm he shoved her down. “Sit! Did you really think we wanted only a jeep?” he said mockingly. He opened the door and slid into the front seat, his head still turned to watch them. Only when the garage doors stood wide open did he insert the key into the ignition. Over his shoulder he called, “Don’t forget our little souvenir, Otto!” To Mrs. Pollifax he said with a smile, “We do not wish to leave you emptyhanded. That would be quite unfair. We are like your pack rat, preferring always to leave something behind.”