She knew the answer because it followed a logical pattern: he would want power. Given power, he would be able to manipulate, to create and to change. It was the ultimate toy, the deepest psychological lust of all because it held within it all the satisfactions of the sensual as well as the ascetic.
Her hand moved to the sheik's suitcase behind her that had been so important to Sabry that it couldn't be left behind. I have Hafez and I have this, she thought, and wondered what they would do to get them back.
In the adjoining room Fouad moaned, and Mrs. Pollifax put away her thoughts and nudged Hafez. "We'd better look at Fouad," she told him, and distributing the contents of her lap she led the way into the next chamber, they bent over the chest with a lighted match. This time Fouad's eyes lifted to stare without intelligence at the pinpoint of flame above him, another half hour or so, she guessed, and he would remember who they were and why he was in the chest.
She groped for a place to sit. "I have Hafez and I have their suitcase," she repeated ... It must be one o'clock by now, already Monday morning, the caretaker of the castle would be asleep in his apartment by the gate, and the highway would be nearly empty of cars but she did not believe for a moment that Sabry had abandoned his post outside, at first he would have been angry, and then he would have been puzzled because Fouad was strong, shrewd, and armed with a gun. It would be inconceivable to him that Fouad could disappear in the company of an elderly woman and a boy. But that incredulity would have returned to anger by now, and given time to check and double-check she thought that Sabry must be quite certain the three of them were still in the castle. Someone would be on guard outside—waiting, watching . ..
Hafez tapped her on the arm. "What is it, madame, you sigh so heavily! And don't you prefer a chest? You are seated on the latrine."
"Latrine?" She was startled, and one hand moved to the ancient, splintery surface to discover that he was right, she was sitting on the long bench-top that concealed the latrine, while below—"Hafez!" she said in a surprised voice and began to smile in the darkness. "Hafez, I've been waiting for inspiration and you've just given it to me. Think, Hafez! Think what's below me!"
"Lake Geneva," he said doubtfully. "And rocks."
"No, no, a way out of the castle, Hafez, a way out."
"Down that chimney?" he said incredulously. "But, madame—how could one get down? It is two floors high, surely?"
"I'm thinking of the coil of rope," she told him eagerly. "I managed a rope once, over Robin's balcony. It will all depend on the strength of the rope, we must be resourceful, Hafez."
"Rope . . ." Hafez said reflectively, and his voice suddenly quickened. "Oh, yes, madame! Here, try it, feel it. Do you think—?"
"Let's tie it to the suitcase and drop the suitcase down the chute and see what happens," she urged. "Give me a hand, Hafez. Light a match."
Matches flared briefly, one after the other, they secured one end of the rope to the iron bolt of the window shutter on the wall nearby, and the other end she knotted to the handle of the suitcase. Gently they lowered the weight down the cute; it bumped softly here and there against the stones, and hung suspended, swaying back and forth.
"It didn't break," whispered Hafez. "How far down do you think it went?"
"I don't know," she said. "Twenty feet, thirty. It's a long rope." She was assessing twenty pounds of suitcase against Hafez's weight and her own and she was not sure that she liked the odds. To entrust their lives to a rope that had lain in a damp chest for days, months, even perhaps for years—
Hafez abruptly placed his hand on her arm, he said in a low voice, "Madame."
She heard it, too, and stiffened. Not far away—it came from one of the rooms nearby—a voice had lifted in momentary anger.
"Munir's voice," whispered Hafez. "Madame, they're inside the castle."
Inside the castle . . , her astonishment fought against the chill of terror. How could they be inside, what entrance had they discovered that she and Hafez had missed? She tried to think, a ladder? The thought of a ladder jarred her out of paralysis. If they had a ladder they could scale the outside wall and gain the lower roofs, and from there—yes, they could do it if the ladder was long enough—they could reach one of those barless windows on the stairs to the Defense Tower and this would bring them into the corridor two rooms away, there was no magic about it, then; they had brought equipment and were coming in after them.
She turned quickly to Hafez, her decision made for her, and placed the end of the rope in Hafez's hand. "Go first," she told him sternly, "hand over hand, not too fast. If I can't make it, take the suitcase to Robin, the walls will be near enough to touch with your feet if you panic."
"I do not panic," Hafez whispered scornfully, and she saw his shadowy form step over the side and vanish, the rope groaned a little, and behind her the shutter creaked as it felt his weight but the knots held, the rope remained steady.
In the chest across the room Fouad groaned and moved, one knee hitting the top of the chest with a thud. In the corridor beyond the chest a beam of light flashed across the stones, lifted and vanished, a low voice said, "Fool! Keep the light away from the window!" It was Sabry's voice, she climbed over the side of the opening and waited, holding her breath. When she felt two tugs on the rope she thought—madness!—but she didn't hesitate.
It was dark and cold in the chute, the rope strained at her weight, she placed a hand under her to check her descent but even so she went down in an insane rush, the weight of the suitcase had turned the rope into a plumb Une so that it moved in slow giddy circles between top and bottom, her hands burned from the coarse hemp. Down —down—Something brushed past her, wings fluttering, and then she reached the suitcase and dangled there uncertainly. "Jump, madame," whispered Hafez excitedly. "You've made it! It's not far."
She let go, slid across wet rocks and promptly sat down in the water, head spinning dizzily. "Please, madame—do hurry," gasped Hafez, cutting away the suitcase with his knife. "Quickly, madame!"
She stumbled to her feet. Hafez handed her the gun and the knife, lifted the suitcase and waded out of the opening into the shallows of Lake Geneva, she followed, the water was up to her knees, she had neglected to remove her shoes and the rocks underfoot were slippery with lichen, as they moved slowly around the castle in the direction of the shore she alternately stumbled, rose, slipped and fell again, she was drenched when they reached the cobbled shore and as she waded out of the water she stopped and looked up at the dark castle serrating the skyline. Suddenly a thin beam of light impaled her and vanished. Out of the darkness a familiar voice said, "Good God, it's really you?"
It was a voice from another world. Mrs. Pollifax stood uncertainly at the water's edge, caught in the act of wringing water from her skirts. "Robin?" she faltered.
"Over here—in a rowboat," came his stage whisper, and she heard the creak of oar locks and a muted splash of water. "Climb in," she heard him say, and then he added flippantly, "Whatever kept you so long?"
Sixteen
"And now let's get the hell out of here," Robin said, steadying her as she fell into the boat. "They've good ears, those two, they're at the gate." He sat down, picked up the oars and began to row.
"Monsieur, they are not at the gate," whispered Hafez, "they're inside the castle."
"Good Lord," he said, and rowed faster.
The darkness was thinning and shapes were beginning to separate themselves from the opaque blackness of night, she could see the point of land toward which Robin rowed, and then the silhouette of rocks through which he threaded the boat as he headed toward a more distant cove, he spoke only once. "Are those teeth I hear chattering?"
Hafez giggled.
"Yes," said Mrs. Pollifax with dignity, they rounded the point and a minute later the boat hit the graveled shore and ground to a stop, the castle could no longer be seen; it was hidden by trees.
"I've got a car," Robin said. "A rented one. It's up there off the road, straight ahead throu
gh the trees."
"You're a miracle, Robin," she said. "It's the greatest piece of luck your being here."
"Luck!" he growled, helping Hafez out with the suitcase. "It was getting too damned crowded at the front of the castle, that's all, the lake was the only place left for me. Could you hurry a little? The sooner we get out of this place the happier I'll feel, there's a blanket in the back seat of the car," he added. "Get moving while I tie up the boat."
When he joined them in the car Mrs. Pollifax and Hafez had already found the blanket and were huddled under it together. Climbing in behind the wheel he turned and gave her a stern glance. "Look here, I've never felt so helpless in my life," he said. "I've spent the whole night debating whether to go to the police, telling myself I'd call them within the hour, then postponing because I didn't want to upset your applecart, but don't you think it's time I drive like hell now to a police station?"
"Now?" gasped Hafez, and turning to Mrs. Pollifax he said desperately, "Madame, my grandmother—"
Mrs. Pollifax nodded. "Hafez is right, we must get back to the Clinic, Robin, it's where Sabry will head as soon as he discovers Fouad and learns how we've gotten away, there isn't time to go to the police."
Robin said incredulously, "We can be there inside of ten minutes."
"Yes and spend the next fifteen explaining to them. Robin, we must hurry to Madame Parviz—please!"
He angrily started the car. "Then you'd better explain to me what you found at the Clinic that's so important you go back. What did happen in Sabry's room?"
"Everything, and all of it ominous," she said grimly. "Hafez and his grandmother are hostages—"
"Hostages?"
"Yes, and Sabry's a murderer, and your old friend the sheik is heavily involved—"
"Yazdan!"
"And Serafina is guarding Madame Parviz, who's been kept drugged, and just one telephone call from Sabry could end her Ufe and—"
"But this is incredible," protested Robin.
"Yes, isn't it? And Marcel—" Her voice broke. "Marcel's body is in Sabry's closet, that's why I screamed."
"Good God," he groaned. "You mean nobody knows he's dead except us?"
"Yes," she said, and sitting up saw that her words had at least effected a change in their speed for they were already entering Villeneuve. "We left Fouad tied up in a chest inside the castle but he was already beginning to stir and groan, and once they find him they need only telephone the Clinic, you see."
"I'm not sure they'll reach anyone—that night porter sleeps most of the night," Robin said dryly.
"Let's hope he's sleeping now!"
"But what are these demented people up to?" protested Robin as he guided the car at top speed through narrow streets and headed toward the mountains.
"I think a coup d'etat in Zabya," said Mrs. Pollifax. "The king is celebrating his fortieth birthday on Tuesday."
"But that's tomorrow."
"My goodness, yes," she said, glancing at her watch. "But what time is it?" she faltered, staring at a watch that said half-past midnight.
"Nearly four o'clock."
"Good heavens I" She held the watch to her ear and shook it. "My watch has stopped, I've lost three hours!"
"Be grateful, they were damned tedious hours, believe me."
She conceded this and sat back. It was no wonder, then, that Sabry and Munir had risked going into the castle after them, they were obviously running out of time if they planned to return to the Middle East today or tonight to await a triumphant entry into Zabya tomorrow. If they were leaving the Clinic so soon perhaps they had planned to bury Marcel somewhere on the mountainside before they left, she had certainly been naive about Marcel's death: of course they couldn't risk the discovery of a murder so soon after Fraser's questionable death, she had assumed that employees of the Clinic had concealed the tragedy when instead it was Sabry who had returned to the Unterwasser Massage room, carried the body up to his room and gone back to scrub away the blood.
And so neither the police nor Interpol knew that Marcel was dead, and there was nothing to warn them of anything wrong except that she had not signaled last night from her balcony, she wondered what they were doing about that She tried to think what she would do if she were Interpol but she was too tired, and anyway she had begun to suspect that Interpol did not expect a great deal of her. It was Marcel who had direct lines of communication with them, and from her they apparently wanted only reassurances that she was all right. This was gallant of them if one enjoyed playing Boy Scout games with a flashlight at night but it was of no particular usefulness when, as the expression went, all hell broke loose. Possibly a touch of male chauvinism there, she thought; Swiss women had only just won the vote, after all.
"Really," she said aloud in an exasperated voice, "nothing seems to be going as they expected. I think Interpol has taken far too many precautions to keep everything undercover, there's also this suitcase," she added, looking at it speculatively.
"What suitcase?"
"You'll see it presently," she told him. "It has two padlocks on it beside the regular lock and I'm hoping you'll open it for me, Robin. It belongs to the sheik, at least it has his luggage tag on it, and Mr. Sabry seems to regard it as terribly important. Obviously it has something to do with the coup d'etat or whatever they're planning."
"I can hardly wait," Robin said lightly.
They had entered the village on the mountain, and turning the corner at high speed they surprised an old man sweeping the sidewalk with a broom, he jumped back from the curb, shaking his fist in indignation, and then they turned and drove down the narrow road along the ravine to the Clinic. It was still night here but the rising sun was dusting the mountain peaks with gold, the lake below was wrapped in a mist that drifted lazily with each stirring breeze.
Hafez said in an anguished voice, "We're almost there, but how shall we ever get inside the Clinic?"
"That you can safely leave to Robin," she told him wryly.
"But Serafina mustn't hear," he protested. "She'll be waiting for Mr. Sabry, and if she sees us without him—" His voice trembled. "You understand, monsieur, they kill so easily."
"That," said Robin grimly, "I'm beginning to understand." He turned off the engine of the car and coasted it down the incline past the greenhouse, abreast of the main door it came to a halt. "Don't slam the car doors," he whispered. "Watch the gravel—stick with the flower beds. Tiptoe around the Clinic to the garden door."
A few minutes later they stood inside the Clinic on the ground floor next to the Unterwasser Massage room. "Now here's what we do," said Robin, taking charge. "No sense taking the stairs and all three of us creeping past the concierge's desk, we'll go boldly up in the elevator, each of us pressed against the wall, with luck he'll think the elevator's going up empty."
Mrs. Pollifax offered him the gun. "Would you like this?"
"No, but I daresay it talks louder than I do, he shoved it into his pocket. "Hafez, what will Serafina do when I knock?"
"She'll ask who's there."
He nodded. "Be sure and tell me if she says anything else." He reached out and ruffled Hafez's jet black hair. "You're quite a lad, Hafez, your father must be damned proud of you."
The elevator carried them past the night porter and up to the third floor, here they tiptoed down the hall to room ISO and Robin gently tapped on the door.
There were muted footsteps and then a low voice. "Meen?"
"She asks who you are," whispered Hafez.
In a thick voice Robin grunted, "Sabry."
The door opened a few inches and Serafina's face peered out. Quickly Robin placed his foot inside and leaned against the door. Serafina's obsequious smile vanished, she gaped in horror, then turned to flee. Robin seized her, placed a hand across the mouth and dragged her to a chair. "I say—someone bring me a curtain cord and a gag. Hurry, she's slippery as an eel."
Hafez produced both. Robin gagged her and then wound the cord round and round her and under the ch
air as well. "Not bad," he said in a pleased voice. "One could become accustomed to this sort of thing. Now what?"
"I think we move Madame Parviz to my room while I telephone the police," decided Mrs. Pollifax. "I don't like this room, it's not safe."
Robin said, "I couldn't agree with you more." He joined Hafez by the bed and looked curiously at the slender figure lying there unconscious. "So this is the mysterious Madame Parviz. Not quite the dragon I imagined, she looks more like a fallen eagle, well, steady does it." He lifted her slight body easily. "If someone will open the door—"
She was carried down the hall to Mrs. Pollifax's room and placed on the bed. Mrs. Pollifax put down the suitcase with a grateful sigh and then remembered that its contents were still a mystery and turned to Robin. "Open it," she said.
"Now?"
"Now."
He took one look at her face, sighed and brought out his pocket-sized kit of keys. Carrying the suitcase to the desk he examined the padlocks and set to work grimly, the first padlock was quickly removed and discarded. "The second's a combination lock. Be very quiet while I listen for clicks. Look, can't you be calling the police while I do this?"
"In a minute," she said impatiently.
The second padlock was removed and Robin bent over the conventional lock. It snapped, and with a grunt of triumph he opened the suitcase. Sand-like grains of filler spilled across the desk, the suitcase was lined with small plastic sacks of the stuff, some of which had split open during the jolts of the night. Puzzled, Mrs. Pollifax reached down and pushed them aside to discover a layer of shredded newspapers, she peeled this away and suddenly stepped back in horror.
"What on earth?" exclaimed Robin.
"But what is it?" whispered Hafez.
Mrs. Pollifax was staring incredulously at the contents of the suitcase, at two innocent-looking drab cans suspended in a birdcage-like contraption and placed in a nest of newspaper and cotton, she had seen two such cans before but when she had seen them they were projected on the wall of a room in the Hotel Taft in New York, there was a world of difference between phantoms on a wall and the real and tangible thing, she could not remember when she had felt so shocked, she said in a shaken voice, "It's plutonium—I've just found the plutonium."
A Palm for Mrs. Pollifax Page 14
