Elusive Mrs. Pollifax by Dorothy Gilman Read Free Book Online Page A

indication of her anger during the night. She was delighted to find Mrs.Pollifax waiting. “You still wish to advance by yourself, on the wheels?”
    “Yes indeed, and I’ve decided to drive to the TV tower on Mount Vitosha. It’ll be easiest to find because I can see it ahead of me while I drive.”
    “Good! You may also wish to try the cable car–it goes down, then up–splendid views! For lunch the Kopitoto is good, very good. Here is the driver.” She waved to him vigorously and ushered Mrs. Pollifax outside to the door of a trim little green Volkswagen. “You are certain?” she demanded.
    Mrs. Pollifax looked at the car and felt a wave of doubt. Then, “I’m certain,” she said and climbed in, turned the key in the ignition and heard the purring of the engine.
    But Nevena insisted upon having the last word. She leaned over the window, her eyes suddenly brimming with glee. “Be certain nobody steals the pretty brown coat again, eh, Mrs. Pollifax?” she shouted into her ear.

8
    An hour later Mrs. Pollifax was seated triumphantly on the terrace of the Kopitoto restaurant, a mountain breeze ruffling the bird on her hat and Sofia lying at her feet. Marvelous, she thought, gazing around her appreciatively, and as her glance roamed the terrace with its bright little tables she saw that either Sofia was a very small town indeed, or she was beginning to know a surprising number of people. She saw first of all the small gray man from the hotel dining room the evening before. He was just seating himself, and she thought his arrival four minutes after her own was an interesting development. It was of course a very scenic place in which to lunch; it was also possible that he was a fellow tourist, perhaps visiting Sofia from another Balkan country, but she was not inclined to think so: he looked so particularly joyless.
    The second person she recognized on the terrace was the American girl Debby, from the group at the Belgrade air terminal. Although Philip was missing, it was otherwise the same group of young people. One of them arose–itwas Nikki, still talking aggressively, with gestures. He was abruptly cut off from view by the arrival of her waiter.
    Mrs. Pollifax ordered and ate her lunch. Finished, she gathered up coat and purse and looked across the terrace. Phil had still not rejoined the group and Nikki was just leaving, smiling and formally shaking hands with each member of the party. Mrs. Pollifax watched him go and then crossed the terrace.
    “Good afternoon,” she said cheerfully. “We traveled together here on the same plane from Belgrade. Are you enjoying Sofia?”
    Five faces turned blankly to her.
    “It was Phil I spoke with,” she explained, dropping into the chair Nikki had vacated. “Is he with you today?”
    The American girl promptly burst into tears.
    “Mon cheri,”
said the pale young man softly, grasping her wrist.
    “Is she ill?” asked Mrs. Pollifax anxiously.
    “It’s Phil,” explained the other girl. “You mentioned Phil.”
    “Yes, I was concerned about his dysentery. How is he? Or rather, where is he?”
    “In prison–here in Sofia,” blurted out Debby with a sob. “They’ve arrested him.”
    “Arrested him!” cried Mrs. Pollifax.
    The ginger-haired British boy nodded. “The idiots seem to think he’s some kind of spy.”
    “Phil a spy,” Debby repeated angrily. She drew a sodden handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her eyes. “I remember you,” she said abruptly. “You did talk to Phil and now he’s–and in Bulgaria of all places!” She burst into tears again.
    “But I don’t understand,” protested Mrs. Pollifax. “What on earth happened?”
    The young Frenchman turned to her and in preciseEnglish and a soft voice explained. “First they questioned us at Customs–”
    “Who did?” asked Mrs. Pollifax, wondering if they shared Nevena’s knowledge of uniforms.
    He shrugged. “The uniforms were different. We do not know since we don’t speak