A moment later she realized that not only was the door open but that someone else was in her room with her.
Seven
Her awareness was a combination of sixth sense and of those nearly imperceptible but speaking sounds comprised of motion, faint rustlings, and haste, she remembered the lamp sitting only a few feet away from her on the night table and tried to slowly disengage her right hand from its tangle of sheets. If she could reach the lamp before her unknown guest heard the rustling of the covers—
Over by the desk a thin beam of light appeared down near the floor, a light scarcely broader than a hairline. Caution vanished. Mrs. Pollifax freed her hands, swept back the sheets, switched on the light and stared in astonishment. "You!" she cried.
Robin Burke-Jones slowly rose to his feet from the floor. "Damn it, yes," he said, looking shaken.
"And through my balcony door—"
"Sorry about that. I suppose you want my hands up and all that?"
"If you'll feel more comfortable that way," she told him, groping for her slippers and wondering exactly where and how he fitted into this. Marcel had warned her, of course, but still she admitted a deep sense of disappointment because she had liked this young man. "At the moment I'd prefer to know just what you're doing in my room at"—she glanced at the clock—"at half-past one in the morning."
Defiantly he said, "I'll be damned if I'm going to tell you."
"And you'll be damned if you don't," she reminded him.
"A typical double-bind situation, I believe, but you don't have to rub it in." His voice was reproachful. "Look here, I don't suppose if I promised to leave the Clinic first thing in the morning, ever so discreetly—"
She ignored him; she had just seen that her jewelry case stood open on the desk. "Have you a gun?"
He looked actually offended. "Of course not."
"I think I'd rather see for myself if you're telling the truth. Do you mind keeping your hands up?"
"Of course I mind," he said snappishly. "Have I any choice?"
"None at all." She approached him gingerly, noticing for the first time his clothes, a startling contrast to his daytime costumes, being entirely and soberly black: black pullover, black slacks and black rubber-soled shoes. Patting him she found no gun but there was an oddly shaped bulge in his left pocket. "Out," she said sternly. "Empty it."
"A scandal's not going to help the Clinic," he warned her. "If I go quietly—if I swear to you—"
"Out," she told him.
He sighed. From his pocket he drew a small black object that looked like a truncated binocular. "One jeweler's glass," he said resignedly, and digging again he brought out her emerald pendant and two ruby necklaces. "The diamond pin dropped on the floor by the desk," he told her, and added bitterly, "I suppose you know that every damned one of these pieces—for which you can send me to prison for years—is a blasted fake?"
Mrs. Pollifax stared incredulously at the display and then lined her glance to him accusingly. "But you're only a jewel thief!" she cried.
"What to you mean 'only'?"
"Why didn't you say so at once!" she demanded. "I thought—I can't tell you how relieved I am."
He backed away from her in astonishment. "Relieved? I don't think my hearing's been affected but you said relieved?"
"Yes, terribly. It makes such a difference." She crossed to the windows, closed the balcony door and drew the curtains, really pleased to discover that her instincts had been sound after all. "Are you what they call a cat burglar?"
He sank into a chair. "I've never really thought about it. God I wish I had a drink," he said with feeling.
"Why were you going to steal my jewels if you knew they were fakes?"
"If you must know, they're damned good fakes and there's a market for good fakes. Look here, are you going to call the police?"
She considered this thoughtfully and shook her head. "On the whole, I think it wiser not—provided, of course, that you return Lady Palisbury's diamond."
He gaped at her. "Good God, you're clairvoyant!"
"It's simply a matter of listening and putting things together," she told him reassuringly. "Lady Palisbury had lost her diamond and now I discover a professional second-story man on the premises. You are a professional, aren't you?"
"I was," he said bleakly. "Until tonight."
"So you've never been caught before! You must be very good then?"
"Oh, one of the best," he told her dryly. "God, I wish I had a drink."
"I'll get you one." She patted him on the arm and went to her suitcase from which she removed two envelopes of instant mix and a pair of paper cups. "I always like to travel prepared," she told him. "Excuse me a minute." She went into the bathroom, filled the cups with hot water and returned, stirring them with the handle of a toothbrush.
"Cocoa?" he said disbelievingly.
"It helps to settle the nerves," she told him, pulling up a chair tête-à-tête. "You do realize, of course, that stealing jewelry is dishonest."
He managed a feeble smile. "I'm surprised it's just occurred to you."
"Have you tried more conventional work?"
He shrugged. "On occasion, but never with zest. I'm afraid I like the danger. I especially enjoy working alone."
She considered this and nodded, she could appreciate his point. "It's been remunerative?"
"Rather." She received the flash of a smile. "I've managed to salt away a few choice pieces of real estate. Clothes of course are a huge expense, and I drive a Mercedes convertible." He sighed. "The thing is, it takes a damnable lot of money to be rich."
"Mmmm," she murmured, studying him. "There's no import business, either?"
He shook his head.
"And I don't suppose Robin Burke-Jones is your real name?"
"Sorry about that," he apologized. "Actually it's plain Robert Jones." He sighed. "It's taken a damned lot of work turning myself into Burke-Jones and I wish the hell you'd tell me what you're going to do about me."
"I'm thinking about that myself," she admitted. "For the moment I wish you'd tell me how you arrived at my balcony without any noise, the gravel—how did you keep it from crunching like popcorn under your feet?"
"With the proper equipment—in this case padded runners—it's no bother." His glance suddenly narrowed and his face changed. "Look here," he said, "there's something wrong about this, about you, I mean. Surely you ought to be in hysterics or tears over finding a burglar in your room? Most women would have screamed or gone into shock by now, and you should never never be sitting here plying me with cocoa and inquiring about my techniques."
"I am always interested in people who do things well," she said with dignity.
He put down his cup. "I don't believe it. You shouldn't have given me cocoa, it's bringing me to my senses. Those jewels being fake—" He scowled at her. "You're not in desperate straits, are you? I mean I could lend you a hundred pounds if you're in trouble." A thought struck him and he added politely, "Or give you them."
She laughed. "I'm really very touched, but thank you, no."
"You're not going to blackmail me, and you're not going to inform—"
Mrs. Pollifax put down her cup and said crisply, "On the contrary, I said nothing about not blackmailing you."
He drew in his breath sharply. "I see. Yes, it would be that, of course."
"I propose an agreement," she suggested. "Terms, shall we call them? I shall say nothing at all of tonight's events, and nothing of your—uh—career so long as I hear sometime tomorrow that Lady Palisbury has found her missing diamond."
"Those are your only terms?" He looked taken aback.
"Almost. Have you robbed any other people here as well?"
He shook his head. "It's not my technique. I never commit myself until just before I'm ready to leave a place—it's too dangerous—but by that time I know precisely who to rob and how. I do my rehearsing ahead of time," he admitted. "Like tonight, as a matter of fact I've spent the last three nights out on the roofs—"
"Roofs!" she exclaimed.
"Yes, testing exits and entrances and generally getting the lay of the land. If you must know," he went on, "I overheard you telling the night porter a few hours ago that you had emeralds to put in the safe. Your voice carried, and I was in the solarium. I decided I'd better pay a visit ahead of schedule and see what you have. Most people don't bother with safes, they never believe anything will happen to their jewels."
This had the ring of truth. "And Lady Palisbury?"
He sighed. "No sense of property, that woman, she left her diamond out on her balcony two nights ago. Simply left it on the table." He shook his head disapprovingly. "Not even sporting of her. I ask you, what was a man to do?"
"Yes, I can see the temptation," said Mrs. Pollifax, nodding. "Tell me, how did you happen to choose this particular profession?"
"Is this part of the deal?" he asked darkly.
"No, but I'm terribly curious," she confided. "I'd feel so much more satisfied knowing."
He made a face. "There's no point in going into it, it's an extremely dull and vulgar story."
"But I enjoy dull and vulgar stories," she told him.
He shrugged distastefully. "If you insist, then. To be perfectly blunt about it, my name is not only not Burke-Jones but my father was a locksmith. Soho in London. Oh, very low caste," he said with a scowl. "As the eldest of six children—I can't possibly describe the accent I spoke with, the English very properly say that speech is breeding—my father taught me his trade so that by the time I was fifteen I could pick a mean lock." He sighed. "He went crooked just once, my father. For the sake of the money and God knows he needed it. Somebody offered him a small fortune to open a safe and—well, he was caught and died in jail. Of grief, I think, and that, dear lady, stirred in me a hatred of all 'systems'—that an honest trade brought debts and one fall from grace brought death and ruin."
"Life isn't fair, no," she agreed. "So it's anger that motivated you?"
"A very typical juvenile anger," he admitted, "but serving its purpose. I left school, totted up my assets—negligible—and decided to change myself, went to actina school. No Oxford or Eton for me. No Hamlet, either, acting school trimmed off the rough edges, put the h's back in my speech and removed the accent, then I went off to the Riviera in borrowed clothes and made my first heist. But you see by the time the anger wore off I was too damned good at my trade to do anything else, there's nothing else I can do."
"Overspecialization," said Mrs. Pollifax, nodding sympathetically.
"A certain amount of hedonism, too," he admitted.
"I have often thought," she said idly, "that police and criminals have a great deal in common, the only difference being that they're on opposite sides of the law."
"Rather a large difference," he pointed out dryly.
She shook her head. "Purely one of intention, I'm sure. Both live by wit and deduction, don't they, and share a common isolation? It's always struck me that Sherlock Holmes took far more pleasure in talking to Professor Moriarty than to Doctor Watson."
He gave her a quizzical glance. "You've rather an unusual way of looking at things, haven't you?"
"I'm only thinking that you have invaluable talents," she told him thoughtfully.
He glanced at the clock on her night table. "Which I'd jolly well better put to work if I'm going to get Lady Palisbury's diamond back before dawn. You're really not going to call the police?"
She shook her head.
"And you'll let me—just walk out of this room?"
"You may consider yourself a free man."
He held out his hand and grinned at her. "I say, this has really been awfully pleasant, a bit strange but pleasant."
"It has," agreed Mrs. Pollifax, getting to her feet and beaming at him. "Actually it's been delightful. Which door will you leave by?"
"I'll feel much more secure leaving the way I came," ha assured her. "And look, if I can ever do anything for you in return—my room's directly above yours, number 213." "Number 213," she repeated, and watched him vanish over the railing of her balcony, although she listened very closely she could hear nothing, not even a whisper of gravel, a fantastic performance, she thought, and as she turned off her light—there seemed no point in bothering with locks again—she reflected that Robin could prove to be something of a jewel himself.
Eight
In the morning there was a doctor, a large, hearty man named Dr. Lichtenstein. While he poked and prodded her they made polite conversation about America; Mrs. Pollifax obligingly coughed for him and he poked and prodded her still more. "Very good," he said at last, and prescribed a metabolism test, a lung X-ray, three blood tests, and an electrocardiogram.
"All this for Hong Kong flu?" she protested.
"At your age," he hinted delicately, and then, shrugging, "Why else are you here?"
Mrs. Pollifax sensibly did not reply to this but it was exasperating to say the least, she repressed her crossness, however, she was waiting to ask him a question.
"In the meantime," he concluded, removing his stethoscope and placing it in his bag, "enjoy Montbrison. Walk in the gardens. Feel free to visit St. Gingolph, and over at Montreux there is the Castle Chillón, where Byron visited." He closed his bag and stood up, saying to the nurse, "You will please schedule the tests?"
Mrs. Pollifax also stood. "By the way," she said casually, "you are certainly the one person who can tell me how Madame Parviz is today, she wasn't well enough last night to see me." When the doctor looked blank she said, "Hafez's grandmother."
"Hafez?" he repeated, and turned to the nurse, who explained the question to him in French.
"Oh, the Zabyan group," said the doctor. "I know nothing about it, Madame Pollifax, they bring with them their own doctor."
Mrs. Pollifax sat down in astonishment. "You allow that? Isn't it very unusual?"
"Of this I do not approve," he admitted with a shrug. "But it happens sometimes, it happens. In a Clinic like this certain adjustments are made, you understand? It is handled entirely by the Board of Directors."
"You don't know why they're here, then?"
He turned with his hand on the doorknob. "I understand the woman is very old, very tired, she wishes to see Switzerland again but with no wish to be examined by foreign doctors. Good day, madame."
She nodded, scarcely aware of his departure. But this was very peculiar, she thought, frowning, and his statement, added to the reception given her last night by the Zabyans, threw an entirely different light on the situation. If no one ever saw the woman—"I must talk to Marcel," she realized, and picked up the phone to order her breakfast.
But when her breakfast arrived it was brought by a young apprentice waiter. Marcel, he said, was on late duty today and would not be in until after lunch. This was frustrating news, and Mrs. Pollifax found herself very cross about the odd communication system set up by Interpol. Still, she knew the hours Marcel kept, having seen him here at midnight, there was nothing to do but wait She breakfasted on her balcony, only a little charmed today by the birds and the stillness, after breakfast she went down to the garden to sit in the sun.
"I was utterly taken aback," said Lady Palisbury, speaking to Court, they stood on the graveled path and her voice carried across the flower beds. "We breakfasted on the balcony as usual, John and I, and John had no sooner sat down in his chair when he winced and jumped up again, he said he felt as if he'd sat on a golf ball, and there it was, my diamond, buried where the two chair cushions met. It had been there all the time!"
"Oh, Lady Palisbury, I'm so glad for you."
"My dear, you have no idea how glad I am for myself. John gave me that ring in 1940—"
Several feet away, ensconced in the sun, Robin turned to Mrs. Pollifax and murmured, "I'm actually blushing. It's downright embarrassing being such a benefactor."
Mrs. Pollifax smiled. "Painful, too, I should imagine, a good deed shining in a dark world—"
He groaned. "Please—spare me yo
ur clichés, and don't try to reform me."
Mrs. Pollifax followed his gaze to Court, whose long, straight brown hair gleamed in the sun, she looked remarkably wholesome and healthy, her bright pink dress emphasizing her sun-tanned face, and Robin's eyes were fixed upon her with hunger. "I may not have to," she said with a smile. Beyond Court the doors swung open and a nurse pushed out the man in the wheelchair, she thought idly what a shuttered face he had, a cruel one, too, she had never felt that suffering necessarily ennobled people; it could but more frequently it didn't. It depended on attitude. "But I notice that you didn't pack up and bolt this morning," she reminded Robin, "and you're actually out of bed before noon."
"I decided to stay on a few days. You know, have a vacation—like honest people?" He succeeded in wresting his gaze from Court and flashed a wicked grin at Mrs. Pollifax. "Besides, if you leave the Clinic first—if I outstay you—"
"It was a particularly virulent strain of flu," she reminded him.
"About that flu," he said. "It reminds me that after I left you last night I began remembering things, that jewelry case of yours, for instance. I didn't pick it up but I pushed it across the desk and I've never known a jewelry case to weigh so much, about ten pounds, I'd say."
"Perhaps that's where I keep my genuine jewelry," she told him pleasantly.
Court was moving toward them across the lawn and Robin jumped to his feet. "Miss van Roelen," he said happily. "I was wondering if you'd care to join me in a walk to the village before lunch."
Court looked at him with steady blue eyes, she hesitated and turned to Mrs. Pollifax. "I'd like to very much, the three of us?"
Mrs. Pollifax shook her head. "I'm having tests this morning."
Court glanced helplessly at Robin and Mrs. Pollifax realized that she was actually very shy, she wondered, too, if the girl hadn't sustained a few inner wounds recently that left her frightened of men. "But I'd certainly appreciate your bringing back four postcards for me," she said briskly. "It would be so terribly kind of you."
Court looked relieved and persuaded. "Of course," she said warmly. "Of course I will. Shall we go then?"
A Palm for Mrs. Pollifax Page 6