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

their language. Nikki was upset–”
    “In what language was he upset?” asked Mrs. Pollifax quickly.
    Again he shrugged. “Who knows? He is–Yugoslavian, isn’t he?” he asked the others. “In any case he was very angry–in what language I don’t know,” he added with a soft smile for Mrs. Pollifax, “and they took him away, into another room. A few minutes later he came and said okay, it was a small misunderstanding.”
    She nodded; that sounded familiar.
    “Then we decided to be stoppers–”
    “That’s what they call hitchhikers here,” put in the girl.
    “Except no one picked us up so we kept walking, stopping only once–”
    “To take a picture–”
    “Phil took it,” added the girl. “But of nothing but flowers.”
    “And then
they
drove up, two new men in a car, no uniforms, and said Phil would have to be questioned. They said this to us in French. And they just–took him away.”
    “But that’s incredible,” cried Mrs. Pollifax. “Does the Embassy know?”
    “We went there at once. It was a big shock to them. This morning they say he has been charged with espionage, and the Embassy suggests we leave this country at once,” he said in a melancholy voice. “Because we were with him.”
    “Which we will do,” added the French boy, “on the six o’clock plane out of Sofia this afternoon.”
    Debby said suddenly, “I think it’s terrible just goingoff and leaving Phil. It could have been any of us, and he’s here all alone–”
    “You heard Nikki. He’s going to stay a few days and keep doing everything possible.”
    “Nikki’s not leaving with you?” asked Mrs. Pollifax sharply.
    She thought Debby looked at her appraisingly. “No,” the girl said quietly. “How do you happen to know who Nikki is?”
    “Philip complained about him.”
    “Yes,” said Debby, looking abstracted.
    The French boy had glanced at his watch. “We must go,” he said. “We must be certain we catch that plane It’s nearly three o’clock now and we want to stop again at the Embassy for news.” He looked politely at Mrs. Pollifax. “You have been kind to ask.”
    “But I’m terribly sorry,” she said. “For all of you, but especially for Philip. You’re quite sure you’ll be allowed to leave safely?”
    “Reasonably sure, madam,” said the French boy. “We have the assurances of your Embassy.”
    Mrs. Pollifax nodded. “I’m glad.”
    Debby said politely, “We hope your stay is a pleasanter one than ours. You’re at the Hotel Pliska?”
    Mrs. Pollifax shook her head. “The Rila.”
    Debby nodded. “Good-bye. You’ve been nice to ask.”
    One by one they shook hands with her, and Mrs. Pollifax watched them move across the terrace trailing their packs behind them. She thought about Philip Trenda, remembering his thick black hair, the level blue eyes, his dysentery and his indecision over staying or going, and she felt very alarmed for him. A Bulgarian prison was hardly a fitting experience for such a young person. He probably didn’t even know that his Embassy was trying to reach him. He would be feeling very alone, very frail, and of course almost no Bulgarians spoke English, which would make it all the more frustrating.
    But espionage! Despite the warmth of the sun across her shoulders, Mrs. Pollifax shivered. There but for the grace of God, she reminded herself, and at that moment she glanced up and met the eyes of the little gray man in the gray suit. He looked hastily away, but his interest was no longer coincidence.
He’s following me
, she thought. The bright terrace seemed dimmer and the breeze cold.
    After a trip down and back on Mount Vitosha’s cable car–it would have been exhilirating if she had not just learned of Philip’s arrest–Mrs. Pollifax drove her rented car slowly back through the environs of Sofia and to her hotel. It was four o’clock when she picked up her key at the desk. She ascended in the elevator carrying half a dozen picture postcards to