Mrs. Pollifax and the Hong Kong Buddha

by Dorothy Gilman

  "I am, yes, me husband said I was the best. Lor' love Mm—British Army he was, and us here so long I couldn't ever go back to England, it's not me home any more, and Mr. Detwiler, he's ever so pleased with my dinner parties—when he gives 'em—for I've taken up gourmet, don't you know."

  It was becoming a very real effort for Mrs. Pollifax to hide her astonishment over Mr. Detwiler's absence from his home hut she managed to say soothingly, "Away on a business trip, is he?"

  An odd expression came over Mrs. O'Malley's round, honest face—puzzled, thought Mrs. Pollifax, reaching for a word to describe it. "Some sort of business," she said, "although once a week comes his laundry to be done, brought by a delivery boy without a word of where he is, and back I send his clean shirts, just the right amount of starch as he likes, but what 1 say is, it's downright depressing when once there was dinner parties—two, three times a week—and he had his lady friends too, he did. Very lively place it was until two months ago, and now only the errand boy once a week, and me TV for company. So if you're doing a survey you can put me down for lots of telly-watching because otherwise I'd be talking to meself from dawn to dusk."

  Two months, Mrs. Pollifax was repeating to herself dazedly—how very extraordinary—and hadn't Bishop told her that it was two months ago that Detwiler's reports to the Department had become deceptive and misleading? Aloud she said warmly, "Oh yes, I can see that," and, placing her clipboard on the table and bringing out her pen, she added with a smile, "Like Mrs. Wong across the street, who tells me that she too has her—uh—telly on all day."

  Mrs. O'Malley's face softened. "Now she's a dear little thing, and so much happier now her father-in-law's dead." She shook her head. "Such a Nationalist he was—talk talk talk—and she so patient!"

  "Nationalist?"

  "You know—what China was before the Reds took over, that general Whatsisname—Chiang Kai Shek—who moved his government to Taiwan and always schemed to get back to the mainland." Seeing Mrs. Pollifax's surprise, she explained in a kind voice, "No doubt it seems a long time ago to you, dear—all that happening—but not here in Hong Kong. You have to remember most of the refugees came here running away from the Communists, so there's still feelings about it, like old Mr. Wong across the street flying his Nationalist flag every day on the lawn. Glad to see that gone, I can tell you! Now what was you going to ask me?"

  Mrs. Pollifax began her survey, Mrs. O'Malley giving her a running commentary on each of her preferred shows, and conscientiously recorded her dawn-to-midnight viewing.

  "Widow, too?" asked Mrs. O'Malley, watching her put away her clipboard and pen.

  Mrs. Pollifax temporarily erased Cyrus from her thoughts and said that yes, she'd been a widow for many years.

  Mrs. O'Malley nodded. "And this 'ere inflation—I know! What it does to pensions . . . where you living, dear?"

  "Off Lion Rock Road," said Mrs., Pollifax, adopting Inspector Hao's house, and then with a glance at her watch, "but I really must be running along now, I've ever so many more people to see, and it's getting on for five, and—?"

  "Run you ragged, do they," Mrs. O'Malley said, nodding. "Get yourself a nice housekeepin' job, dear, it's like having your own home, I say."

  Mrs. Pollifax laughed as she rose from the table. "Yes, except when your employer goes away for weeks at a time."

  "Well, stop in tomorrow if you're doing any surveying in the neighborhood," said Mrs. O'Malley as they reached the front door. "What did you say your name was, dear?"

  Mrs. Pollifax felt her mind go blank. "Blank—Irma Blank," she stammered, and fled.

  But her visit to Mr. Detwiler's house had produced a shock that she wrestled with strenuously all the way back to the hotel, and in her room once she arrived there, for certainly Mr. Detwiler was not away from Hong Kong on a business trip when she'd spoken with him only yesterday at Feng Imports. Yet he'd not visited his home for two months, and the nagging question to which she found no immediate answer was, why?

  She tried to remember what she'd prepared herself to find on her visit to his house: something sinister, of course, or she wouldn't have kept the Beretta pistol in her purse when she left the hotel. She found it difficult now to reconstruct in her mind the picture she'd conceived of an attic or outbuilding where Detwiler might have hidden Alec after murdering his father. What she'd found instead was an elegant suburban villa, a devoted housekeeper, and as for Mrs. O'Malley, she couldn't help feeling that if Alec had been on the premises she would have kept him in the kitchen with her for long chats over cups of tea.

  She thought, I'm missing something here . . .I've got to stop writing scenarios and free my thoughts for looking at what I've not seen yet. . .

  At ten o'clock that evening Mrs. Pollifax was once again riding through the streets of Hong Kong for a second clandestine meeting with Sheng Ti, but this time Robin was with her.

  They had met in the freight elevator as she left the hotel. "One meets the most distinguished people here," Robin quipped as the doors slid open at basement level and she found herself face to face with him. "Where are you off to now, dear Mrs. P.?"

  She told him quickly, "Lotus has called, I'm off to Dragon Alley—in a hurry—she's bribed her roommates again for half an hour."

  Robin at once grasped her by the arm. "I'll take you," he said. "The Renault's just outside and I'd like very much to meet this young man of yours."

  "You've been to the airport?"

  He opened the car door for her. "Yes, and delivered both Interpol men to Marko. Krugg will take over in Dragon Alley from Marko, and then Marko was to deliver Upshot to the street behind, after which he'll be returning to the hotel to eat and sleep. According to Marko nothing's happened except that Sheng Ti left the shop around five-thirty carrying two packages wrapped in brown paper, and came back empty-handed at seven, and I wouldn't mind at all finding out what he was delivering."

  "And I," said Mrs. Pollifax, "intend to ask Sheng Ti where Mr. Detwiler is living." She proceeded to tell him of her advertising survey of late afternoon.

  "You have been busy," he said, giving her an appreciative glance. "Whatever made you think of doing that?"

  "Remembering that Detwiler is my assignment," she said promptly.

  "He is, isn't he," mused Robin with some surprise.

  She smiled. "I have also—besides writing Cyrus a letter and doing my Yoga—watched Mr. Hitchens on the evening TV newscast. I thought he did a very sophisticated job, handling questions, and there wasn't the faintest suggestion of his knowing anyone in Hong Kong except Alec Hao."

  "Good for him, I'm relieved."

  "And," she added triumphantly, "you may not have had time to pick up the late edition of the newspaper but there's a photo of Alec Hao on the first page, with the headline, HAS ANYONE SEEN HIM? I'm carrying it with me to show Lotus and Sheng Ti."

  "I marvel," said Robin with a twinkle. "You insist with rare talent on sticking to the basics, or what do you call it, the nitty-gritty?"

  She said frankly, "Well, I don't want you to forget Alec. I quite understand how you might, what with Eric the Red entering the picture, but Mr. Hitchens is very concerned about him. I've seen Mr. Hitchens, by the way, and he'll join us for breakfast in the morning at eight—he sounded delighted—and of course he knows nothing about terrorists, he's still rooted in yesterday and losing Alec."

  "Yesterday . . . when we were all a shade more innocent—and why do I feel I'm being properly reproached and chastised, and making Mr. Hitchens desperately unhappy?"

  She laughed. "Well—not too unhappy, because—" She told him about Ruthie and it was his turn to laugh.

  "The manifestations of fate!" he exclaimed. "And she's on one of those awesome tours that pass through countries in this season? I'd like to meet her, I'm curious."

  Mrs. Pollifax nodded. "I think you'd like her, she's not a beauty like Court—"

  "No one's like Court," said Robin firmly.

  Amused, Mrs. Pollifax said, "No, of course not�
��for you at least—but for Mr. Hitchens—well, I'm going to be very interested in finding out just what happened between him and Ruthie, because she strikes me as a very sensitive and sensible person and I must say his reaction was that of a man experiencing a small miracle." She added quickly, "There's a parking space up ahead on the right."

  Robin slid the Renault into it with skill. "Thanks. A common miracle or a divine one?"

  She smiled. "No miracle is ordinary, but any woman who appreciates green bananas and television reruns— as Mr. Hitchens does—certainly could be a divine miracle. We've two blocks to walk now, we turn at the corner with the sign Jazz Nitely. Girls."

  Opening the creaky gate and entering the tiny compound at number 40 Dragon Alley, Mrs. Pollifax found Lotus waiting again in the shadows. Seeing that she was not alone Lotus stood up, ready to flee, her face distressed.

  "A friend," she told Lotus. "Good friend, too, it's all right, believe me."

  Lotus gave Robin a doubtful glance, but she led them through the entry and into the dim room that Mrs. Pollifax had visited before.

  "Good God, looks like an opium den," murmured Robin, entering behind her.

  To Mrs. Pollifax's surprise, Sheng Ti accepted Robin's presence at once, which she found touching until she realized that it implied a complete and unquestioning trust in her that she found alarming. "Friend," said Sheng Ti, shaking Robin's hand and beaming. "New friend. Pliss—a seat."

  They sat down under the smoking lamp, their faces orange in its weird light, and Mrs. Pollifax began their conference by unwrapping a napkin full of sweet buns and placing them on the table. Beside them she laid twenty Hong Kong dollars. "For renting the room for half an hour," she told Lotus. "Now to business! Did you do errands today for Mr. Detwiler, Sheng Ti?"

  He nodded. "Yes, and I show memory for you." Closing his eyes he recited, "Two packages diamonds: one to Donald Chang, Nga Tsin Wai Road, apartment near airport Kowloon, and other to post office, one package insured, Gem Mart, Bombay, India." He opened his eyes and smiled.

  "The Hong Kong address particularly interests me," said Robin, "but I note both with thanks. Can you fill in the address for me of Donald Chang?"

  Sheng Ti nodded, and bringing out a slip of paper read off the numbers of both the street and the apartment. "I work good?" he asked Mrs. Pollifax eagerly.

  She smiled. "You 'work good,1 yes." She brought out Alec Hao's picture in the newspaper. "Now have you seen this man at Feng Imports'.'"

  "Not there, no," he said, shaking his head.

  "You mean you've seen him elsewhere?" gasped Mrs. Pollifax.

  He pointed at the picture. "In newspaper this night, yes; I study paper every night in shop to learn English."

  Mrs. Pollifax's heart sank. "I see. And Lotus—you?"

  "No, never," Lotus told her.

  "Then what about this man?" she asked, bringing out the worn newspaper photo of Eric the Red. "Do either of you recognize him from the shop?"

  "No," said Lotus, and Mrs. Pollifax remembered that she'd not yet arrived at the shop when the man with the violent aura made his exit.

  Sheng Ti, however, narrowed his eyes as he studied the picture and suddenly nodded vigorously. "Yes—he come very early, yesterday I think, yes. I was packing yude—''

  "Jade," explained Lotus.

  "Shi, jade . . . and when he come in I am sent away fast to buy qishui.''

  "Soft drinks," put in Lotus.

  Sheng Ti nodded impatiently. "But I see him anyway as I go. He had—funny marks on—" He touched his cheek with his fingers. "This man very same."

  "Yes," said Mrs. Pollifax, nodding.

  Robin leaned forward, his voice harsh. "Have you seen him again? Do you know where he went? Did you hear what name he was called?"

  Sheng Ti sadly shook his head.

  "One other question," said Mrs. Pollifax, "and do have a sweet bun."

  "Su-eet boon?"

  "Yes. Where does Mr. Detwiler sleep? Does he stay at the shop? Does he live there now?"

  Sheng Ti looked at her blankly. "I leave eight, nine, ten o'clock, him still there, Xinsbeng, I not know.''

  "Good heavens," murmured Robin, "and what time do you begin work?"

  Sheng Ti shrugged. "Six sometimes, maybe eight."

  Robin whistled. "Slave labor!"

  "Lotus?" asked Mrs. Pollifax.

  The girl frowned, puzzled. "I hadn't thought of it before, but for weeks now Mr. Detwiler's been at the shop when I leave at six. This is not usual, he always used to leave at five or half-past, for he has a house—"

  "Yes," said Mrs. Pollifax. "Where does Mr. Feng live?"

  Her brow cleared. "Oh, he has rooms over the shop."

  Mrs. Pollifax met Robin's questioning glance with triumph. Rooms over the shop . . . Detwiler could be staying with Feng, then, to remain in charge, to be available for any decision. Mrs. O'Malley, she thought, would not be seeing Detwiler, then, until whatever he planned was completed.

  Whatever he planned . . . She sighed: to learn that Detwiler was remaining downtown nights was not a very large thing to learn but she was nevertheless glad to place his whereabouts at night.

  "Something wrong?" Sheng Ti asked anxiously.

  Robin said thoughtfully, "Are either of you aware of a radio transmitter on the premises?"

  Lotus said, "There is a music radio . . . shouyinji," she explained to Sheng Ti. "What is upstairs I do not know but I think two rooms. What is it?" she asked.

  Mrs. Pollifax glanced at Robin, who imperceptibly shook his head. "It's better you don't know, not yet," she told them both, "but it's terribly important, and this man"—she pointed to the picture of Eric the Red—"this man is very dangerous, a bad one. If he comes again to Feng Imports or if you hear anything about him, let us know at once, will you?"

  "Him too?" asked Lotus, glancing at Robin.

  "Him too," Mrs. Pollifax assured her gravely.

  Robin was already jotting down his number. "Someone will be at this telephone if you can't reach Mrs. Pollifax."

  "Or come to the hotel if it's important," said Mrs. Pollifax, and removing another twenty Hong Kong dollars from her purse she gave Lotus ten and Sheng Ti ten. "For taxi."

  "So much money," murmured Sheng Ti in awe. "And sueet boons, too. We call ten tomorrow again?"

  "Please do," she said, and as Robin stood up she rose to shake hands warmly with Sheng Ti and Lotus. "Thank you both," she told them, and they left.

  "I like your young man," Robin said as they drove back to the hotel through streets brilliant with flashing neon. "He's badly frightened, though."

  "Yes," she said, and then, "I am, too, aren't you?" This time only Robin used the freight elevator; Mrs. Pollifax, wondering if there were any cables from Car-stairs, stopped at the desk in the lobby to inquire; there was indeed a cable for Mrs. Reed-Pollifax and she carried it unopened up to her room, thinking how long a day it had been. It had begun with Mr. Hitchens asleep on her chaise longue, after which they had found the body of Inspector Hao; she and Robin had discovered the identity of the man with the black aura; she had observed stakeouts at Feng Imports, done her advertising survey and had seen Sheng Ti and Lotus again. It was no wonder that she was feeling drained and tired.

  She placed her purse next to the figure of the Buddha that stood on the bureau, the expression on its face one of an unbelievable serenity that at this moment Mrs. Pollifax envied with all her heart. With a sigh she slit open the envelope of the cable to discover that it was not from Carstairs but from Cyrus. She read: rained out stop returned early stop catching first plane to join you thursday night hong kong time stop miss you see you love you cyrus.

  Mrs. Pollifax read it over a second time, feeling all of her tiredness drop away from her like an outworn coat. Cyrus was coming . . . Cyrus!

  She laughed with delight, and catching the eye of the Buddha she thought for a moment that it smiled back at her; she made it a very small, whimsical curtsy before she turned out the lights.
r />   9

  WEDNESDAY

  Mrs. pollifax drifted in and out of an uneasy dream, and—waking—opened her eyes, found it still night, and closed them again, wondering why there persisted a feeling of something wrong. With her eyes still closed she sent her mind's antenna out to probe: it wasn't Cyrus, who was on his way to Hong Kong now, nor was it—her thoughts froze as she heard the faintest whispering sound of motion nearby. What was wrong, she realized, was here and now, and in this room.

  She was not alone.

  Mrs. Pollifax opened her eyes and cautiously turned her head so that she could observe the room. The heavy drapes had not been completely drawn across the window, and a dim and eerie light from the street spilled across the floor. In the center of the room stood a man, his outline clearly discernible against the lighter patch of window. He was standing very still and Mrs. Pollifax at once recognized that stance, having experienced it herself: in her sleep she must have turned over restlessly, or called out, and he had frozen, waiting for her to settle back again into sleep.

  Mrs. Pollifax had no intention of settling into sleep, however. Through half-closed eyes she waited too, very awake now, very alert, her muscles tensing. A sheet and a light blanket confined her; as her intruder began to move again she slid one leg out from under the covers at the side of the bed, and when her foot met the floor she slowly followed it until she was free of the covers and standing.

  Her intruder had now arrived at the luggage rack on which rested her suitcase and suddenly a pencil-thin ray of light carved a circle of illumination out of the darkness, hung briefly on the wall and then dropped to her open suitcase. As he leaned over it, Mrs. Pollifax moved toward him, thinking this was going to be unfairly easy if his back remained turned, and no challenge at all. She had just reached him when he stiffened, hearing perhaps the whisper of fabric or catching a movement in the mirror to his left but it was too late for him: Mrs. Pollifax was already behind him, centering herself, assuming her stance and turning her hand into a coiled spring that abruptly shot out now to hit him at the base of his skull. He gasped, reeled and started to turn, at which Mrs. Pollifax followed through with a heavier karate slash to the center of his neck, the first blow confusing him, the second stunning him and sending him unconscious to the floor. Her burglar had been rendered harmless.