The Amazing Mrs. Pollifax

by Dorothy Gilman

  "No, we can't," said Mrs. Pollifax.

  "Because you don't have a passport," he said, as if this explained everything.

  She nodded. "I realize that. But I believe I know what to do with Henry. It's just struck me. 1 can take him to Dr. Belleaux."

  "Who?"

  "I was given the name of a man—a retired professor— to contact in an emergency."

  "But with a body?"

  Mrs. Pollifax thought about this. "I daresay it's unorthodox," she admitted, "but if he's equipped to handle emergencies can you think of any graver emergency than being presented with the body of a man who's been murdered? We have to consider your uncle, too; this is his garage."

  "Yes," Colin said, nodding solemnly.

  "Also," continued Mrs. Pollifax feverishly, "what else can we do with Henry? Stefan need only make one anonymous phone call to the police and I shall never get my passport back. And I have Dr. Belleaux's address right here in my purse. He's highly respected by the Turkish government—"

  "Do you mean Dr. Guillaume Belleaux?" said Colin in surprise.

  "Yes, do you know him?"

  "I've heard of him. Everyone has."

  "Well, I hadn't. But don't you see, he can vouch for me to the Turkish police! Of course we can't tell the polica about Magda, but this time there's your jeep, with a registration number and a traceable license, and I can certainly describe to the police the two men who stole it. With this information the police may very well find both the jeep and the men by morning, and I shall have a clue as to where Magda may bel"

  "Let's go then," Colin said, nodding. "The van's in the other garage. I'll back it up and we can put—uh—Henry inside." He disappeared through the door to the office and she heard an engine starting, garage doors open, and then a cumbersome van backed into the courtyard and Colin leaped out. "I think I'll turn the lights out for this," he said nervously and pulled the switch, leaving moonlight their only illumination. "You take his feet, will you? I'll take his shoulders."

  Clumsily, slowly, they carried Henry to the van and inserted him into it. This proved extremely difficult because the van's rear doors had been welded closed—to gain more space inside, Colin explained breathlessly—and Henry had to be lifted up to the high cab of the van. Then it proved impossible to lift him between the two seats and they were forced to let him remain sprawled between the seats in a rather abandoned, drunken pose.

  "I hope Henry doesn't mind," Mrs. Pollifax said breathlessly. "I mean his spirit, or whatever lingers behind."

  "I suppose he's a spy, too," Colin said.

  "Probably," said Mrs. Pollifax with a sigh, "although he was here only to keep an eye on me, to look after me, so to speak. Oh, if only I could have warned him!"

  The van was moving ponderously up the driveway and now turned down Zikzak alley. "You said you have Dr. Belleaux's address?" asked Colin.

  She disentangled it from the other papers in her purse and handed it to him. "The bottom one is the home address," she pointed out.

  He glanced at it, memorized it and handed it back to her. 'That's in the Taksim area. At this hour it won't take long. I know that street—very posh." He glanced down at Henry briefly. "Did you know him well?"

  "No," said Mrs. Pollifax. "I was introduced to him in Washington just before I boarded the plane. But in London he winked at me, and he was one of the men who kept staring in fascination at my seat companion—why that was your sister," she recalled in surprise.

  "He liked Mia," Colin said soberly, and Mrs. Pollifax realized that they were giving Henry the Dearest thing to a wake possible.

  They lapsed into silence, each of them involved in their own thoughts as the van negotiated the dark streets. Doubtless Colin was thinking of his uncle's jeep—another disaster for him, she mused—while she tried not to think of what might be happening to Magda, or what had already happened to Henry. It must have been his murder that she had interrupted when she entered his room at the Oteli Itep to warn him. She recalled the curtains fluttering at the balcony window and shivered: his body must have lain behind those curtains. It was rather obvious now that Stefan had also hidden behind those curtains, and heard her call to Henry— and then she had led the murderers straight to Magda. / should never have gone to Henry's room, she thought sadly. Mr. Carstairs warned me—no, ordered me—to have no contact with him at all. How could I have forgotten? One softhearted moment and I betray Magda.

  And Magda, she remembered, had been her assignment. Not Henry. In retrospect all kinds of ingenious little ideas came to her: she could have sent the manager's son to room 214 carrying the guide book as well as a note for Henry, whom she had believed to be alive then. Or she could have slipped an anonymous warning under his door and fled. But no, she had gone instead to his room and entered, calling out his name, and now his enemies knew that Emily Pollifax, too, was not what she appeared to be.

  They were passing over the Galata Bridge now, and the lights of moving tugs and boats slashed the glistening inky water with long ribbons of gold. Even at midnight the bridge was filled with traffic: mules, trucks and donkeys bearing fruits and vegetables to the markets and merchandise to the bazaars. Pale moonlight etched out the silhouette of the mosque at the foot of the bridge and touched each passerby with a high light of silver. Mrs. Pollifax sighed and forced herself back to the moment, and to arranging explanations for the Dr. Belleaux whom she would presently meet. "How is it that you've heard of Dr. Belleaux?" she asked Colin. "Is he really that well-known?"

  "To live in Istanbul is to hear of him," he said. "The police consult him on murders—he writes and lectures about criminology, you know—and the archaeologists consult him on bones, that sort of thing. He's quite lionized as an author and scholar. Goes to all the 'in' parties."

  "What does he look like?"

  "My impression is that he's fiftyish, or early sixtyish, with a pointed white goatee. Rather thin, talkative, elegant."

  "I do hope he's of a practical nature."

  "You mean practical enough to dispose of a body?" commented Colin dryly. "Ah, here's the street, I told you it was an impressive one."

  "Indeed yes," she said, looking out upon well-spaced villas surrounded by charming gardens. The homes on the street were dark except for one in the center of the block that blazed with light. It was at this house that Colin applied the brakes. "You're in luck," he said. "Dr. Belleaux is not only up but from the look of all the cars parked here he's giving a party as well—and they've not left much space to get through, damn it." He leaned out and swore, maneuvered the van through the line of cars, turned around and came back, cutting the ignition and the lights. "Here we are," he said. "What do you plan to do?"

  "I'd not expected a party," she said. "I shall have to ask to speak privately to Dr. Belleaux. I think I shall tell them at the door I'm from the American embassy—is there one?"

  "They're all consulates here."

  "All right, then I'm from the American consulate. That will do until I can get Dr. Belleaux aside and explain myself and try to explain Henry."

  "Would you rather I pull into the drive?" he asked. "A bit awkward unloading in the front."

  "Later—I want to be able to find you again," Mrs. Pollifax confessed. "This may take a little time. Would you care to come too?" She was growing rather attached to Colin, she realized.

  "I don't feel I should leave Henry, do you? If anyone Walked past and happened to glance in—"

  His voice trailed off as a car rattled up the avenue, sputtering and backfiring, to turn into Dr. Belleaux's driveway a few feet away from them. At the crest of the drive the car shuddered to a halt, a man jumped from the rear seat and gave it a push—it was a jeep—and then leaped in as the car coasted down the driveway to the rear.

  Mrs. Pollifax drew in her breath sharply. "Colin," she said incredulously. "Colin—"

  "I saw it," he said in a stunned voice.

  "I'm not losing my mind?"

  "No," he said, and then, quickly and incohe
rently, "Damn it, no. Even the petrol—I told you the tank was almost empty and you saw him pushing it. Damn it, that was my jeep!"

  "But here?" whispered Mrs. Pollifax. "Here?"

  "It was Otto—I swear it—who jumped out and gave it a push," he said. "And that must have been your friend slumped in the back. Are you coming?" he demanded. He opened the door and jumped to the pavement.

  "I certainly am," she said fervently. She could not imagine what kind of mix-up she had stumbled into. There had to be some reasonable explanation, but it would have to be delivered to her at a more appropriate moment. Stefan and Otto simply couldn't be working for Carstairs, too; not when Magda had virtually identified the two of them as her abductors. And they had killed Henry. But why were they here?

  "Just a minute," said Colin, and reached into the compartment of the van to extract two lethal-looking guns. "Don't expect them to fire, they're made of wood," he whispered. "They're props Uncle Hu made for a short subject on Ataturk."

  "But I'm delighted he did," she told him.

  Props in hand they hurried down the driveway, moving from shadow to shadow until they came to the corner of the house. But already it was too late. Mrs. Pollifax had hoped they might arrive in the rear to find the jeep's motor still running, Stefan and Otto off guard and Magda still accessible but the jeep had been abandoned. The back door to the house stood wide open, the screened door still swinging gently, but although a great deal of light and noise came from the building there were no humans to be seen.

  "Damn," said Colin. He looked intently at Mrs. Pollifax. "You're not going to knock and ask for Dr. Belleaux." He might have intended it as a question but it came out as a flat statement.

  "No."

  "Are you going to call the police?"

  She said gently, "From what you've told me of Dr. Belleaux a number of the police are probably inside at his party. And I don't have a passport. No—I'm going to risk a look inside."

  He looked shaken. "I say, that's rather dangerous."

  She said steadily, "Perhaps it will be but 1 really don't know what else to do. As you may have guessed, I came to Istanbul only to meet and help Magda—and she's in there, and I'm responsible."

  He nodded. "Then I'm going in with you."

  She looked at him. "Colin, I can't let you become any more involved, I really can't. I have to remind you that all I did was deliver a message from your sister this afternoon—"

  "Yesterday afternoon by now—"

  "—and you'd never seen me before in your life. This is going to be very illicit, I may get caught, and you've said yourself that you're a physical coward."

  He said fiercely, "Of course I'm a coward but I absolutely loathe being pushed around—I told you that—and these men stole my uncle's jeep, dumped a dead man in our garage and kidnapped your friend. Now do let's stop talking—of course I'm going with you!"

  Mrs. Pollifax smiled faintly. "All right," and returned her glance to the house. It was a two-storied rectangle of pale stucco with blue shutters. She wondered if Stefan and Otto had gone upstairs or down to the basement but there were no clues. She tiptoed to the screen door and peered inside; directly opposite, scarcely five feet away, a back staircase rose steeply toward the top of the house. Her decision had been made for her: they would try the upstairs first. "Look," she whispered, pointing.

  To the right lay a long kitchen, brightly lit but empty of people although she could hear the sound of running water from a distant corner. Mrs. Pollifax slowly opened the screen door, testing for squeaks. Nothing happened and she slipped inside and across to the staircase with Colin directly behind her. She did not pause until she was halfway up the stairs. Here the rising sounds of the party proved an irritant: it was a very large party and the murmur of voices rose and fell in waves, but if they concealed any sounds that she and Colin made they had the disadvantage of concealing approaching footsteps as well. She felt trapped in noises, all of them confusing; still, she could not remain exposed on this stairway for any length of time and so she rallied, brought out her absurd wooden pistol and moved to the top of the stairs.

  Here she met a wide carpeted hallway containing six doors, all of them closed. On her right, at the far end, the hall terminated in a stairwell and the carpet overflowed the stairs like a waterfall of gold; it was from this end of the open the door, holding it wide. As Colin backed into her, stepping painfully on her ankle, she said in a low voice, "Take Magda and run."

  He nodded and pressed the functioning gun into her hand. 'Thanks—I couldn't possibly shoot it," he admitted.

  "I can," she said calmly. "Just get her out, she's going under."

  It was now Colin who bore the sagging Magda into the night and down the path, and Mrs. Pollifax who faced Stefan. "I am going to shoot the first person who walks through this door after I leave," she called out, only a little embarrassed by her clichés. To her left, from a corner of her eye, she saw several people move apart, and for just one moment she allowed her glance to leave Stefan: she looked into the livingroom and into the eyes of the party's host who had suddenly appeared. She thought, Dr. Belleaux, I presume, and then her glance swerved back to Stefan, she saw him coiled to jump at her and she fired the gun at the ceiling above him. Slamming the door behind her, she ran.

  Colin was bundling Magda into the van across the street but unfortunately Henry was already there, which had led to difficulties. When Mrs. Pollifax reached the van Colin was starting up the engine with a dead Henry at his elbow and an unconscious Magda in the passenger seat. "Jump in somewhere—anywhere," he cried in a harassed voice. "Try the floor or sit on Henry. Or Magda."

  Mrs. Pollifax climbed in and fell across Magda just as the van began to move and a second before it raced down the street. "I'm heading for the ferry, I'm going to get you out of Istanbul right now, before all hell breaks loose," he said, and he turned on the van's lights as they reached the corner. "You can't go back to your hotel, and the first place Stefan will look for you is Ramsey Enterprises, and after that they'll begin watching the ferries and the airport. There's not a minute to lose; the ferries don't run as often at night."

  "I'm a wanted citizen," Mrs. Pollifax said in a surprised voice.

  Colin looked at her and grinned. "Well, look at the facts, Mrs. Pollifax," he suggested. "The police have your passport and will be looking for you, Stefan and Otto will be looking for you, you'll be wanted for burglarizing—not to mention kidnapping:—and have you noticed the interesting passengers we've acquired? At the moment I can't think how to explain a dead man with a hole in his chest or a woman who's been heavily drugged."

  Mrs. Pollifax looked at him. "Colin" she said accusingly, "you enjoyed it!"

  "Good God, it was terrifying," he said. "What I am experiencing is the absolute relief at still being alive. Who would ever have believed we would get away with it! I say," he added, "shouldn't you do something about Henry before we reach the ferry?"

  Mrs. Pollifax agreed; and as the van careened through the empty streets she alternately tugged and pulled Henry into the darkest shadows of the van.

  7

  At The Kabatas landing stage they encountered their first stroke of luck: a ferry was being readied to leave its slip. Ropes and chains were being cast off, but the gates had not yet closed. With a flourish Colin drove the van onto the ferry; only one more car followed and the gates swung shut. "But there are telephones?" pointed out Mrs. Pollifax bleakly.

  'There are telephones, yes. Keep your fingers crossed that no one will be waiting for us on the other side!"

  As they crossed the Bosporus they undertook a frenzied and certainly bizarre housecleaning of the van's rear, which had been casually equipped for living purposes. Under Colin's tutelage they set up a battered old army cot and chained it to the wall, placed a still heavily drugged Magda on it and covered her with blanket. They rolled Henry under the one piece of built-in furniture in the van: a high workbench which Colin explained was used for developing photographs, cooking
meals on a sterno and even, in emergencies, as a bed. "Do you think the people at Dr. Belleaux's party saw the van clearly enough to describe it?" asked Mrs. Pollifax, covering Henry with a blanket, too.

  "From the window anyone could have seen the shape of it," Colin said. "But the license or its color, no. It was too dark—the nearest light was far down the street. But you know they need only inquire what vehicles belong to Ramsey Enterprises to learn the registry number and description. There's the jeep, and this van, and then the second van that Uncle Hu's taken to Erzurum. Do you think Stefan overheard Magda insisting on going to Yozgat?"

  Mrs. Pollifax said in a dismal voice, "Probably." She sighed. "It does seem the most wretched luck that Magda's drugged again and can't explain more. My orders were to get her out of Turkey quickly—to save her life at any cost—and I don't like this Yozgat business. I've finally found her, and it would still be relatively simple to put her on a plane, whereas Yozgat—" Her voice trailed off uncertainly and she shook her head. "I don't even know where it is yet!"

  "I don't mind dropping you off there," Colin said. "I've thought about it, you know. I can't go back to Istanbul until this blows over and I've decided to keep going and find Uncle Hu. He's the only person who can untangle all this—for me at least—and he should be starting back from Erzurum tomorrow morning."

  "Colin—"

  He smiled. "I know, I know, you hate to see me involved. It's purest chivalry, of course—I'm cursed with it. I was raised on King Arthur."

  "I think that's rather charming," said Mrs. Pollifax thoughtfully, "but you're taking me on face value alone which alarms me."

  "Rum, isn't it?" he said smiling, and shrugged. "I can't possibly explain it—call it a hunch or an instinct. Or put it this way: How can I possibly drop all this now and never know how it turns out? Good God, the thought appalls me. And do you realize that tonight—for the first time in my life —I've been involved in something I actually pulled off successfully? It's positively dazzling. In the meantime your friend Magda seems to attract the most unwholesome bunch of toughs I've ever seen, and I can't say very much for your other friend—I mean Dr. Belleaux, of course."