It was dismayingly dark out here but she reflected that this had the advantage of blotting out the garden four stories below. “I’m ready.”
“Good. Give me your jewelry case. Once over the railing lean out a bit, rope in hand, and then slide down and in.”
“In,” she repeated.
He disappeared and Mrs. Pollifax found herself hesitating until she remembered the lighted halls and the shadowy solariums where anyone could hide. She climbed over the railing and grasped the rope. Closing her eyes she murmured a brief prayer and let go.
“Good girl,” said Robin, catching the rope and guiding her in close to the balcony. “With a little training you’d make a splendid burglar.” He helped her over the railing, turned his pencil-thin flashlight on the door to her room and a moment later it stood open. “I trust you locked your other door, the one into the hall?”
She shook her head. “No, I thought I might have to retreat in a hurry.”
“Then I’d better take a look around and make sure nobody else used it for a hasty retreat.” He followed her inside and while she put away the scintillator counter he glanced under her bed, into her closet and then disappeared into the bathroom. She heard him swear softly and then he sputtered angrily, “What the devil!”
She turned questioningly toward the door just as he reappeared pushing a frightened Hafez in front of him. “Behind your bathtub curtain,” he said grimly. “Hiding.”
Ten
Hafez stood very still in front of her but there was no quietness in him; he was taut with anxiety. He had been crying, of this there was no doubt, because his eyes were red-rimmed and his cheeks still damp. “Where have you been?” he cried despairingly. “I came to find you and you’d gone and I waited for you so long.”
“Behind the shower curtain?” inquired Robin dryly.
“No, no, monsieur, in that chair over there—for fifteen minutes—but then I heard your voices on the balcony and I was afraid.”
“But why?” asked Mrs. Pollifax softly. “Why aren’t you in bed asleep?”
He hesitated, looking at Robin.
“I think you can regard him as a friend,” Mrs. Pollifax told him.
Hafez looked doubtful.
“Try,” begged Mrs. Pollifax.
“If you say so, madame,” He turned back to her. “I have come to take you to my grandmama. She is awake now. Please,” he urged, “you will come with me quickly?”
“At two o’clock in the morning!” exclaimed Mrs. Pollifax.
Robin said flatly, “Nonsense, lad, Mrs. Pollifax isn’t going anywhere except to bed.”
Watching Hafez, Mrs. Pollifax realized that she had heard of people turning white but she had never seen it happen before. The color literally drained from Hafez’s face, as if his whole world depended upon her coming with him and Robin, as judge and jury, had turned down his appeal. She was touched and astonished. Rallying, she said, “On the contrary, it needn’t take long.” Turning to Robin she explained, “It’s not as if his room is on another floor, it’s just down the hall at the other end.”
Robin said angrily, “Are you mad?”
“Probably.”
He sat down in the chair by the desk and mutinously folded his arms. “Well, I’m staying right here, I’m not leaving until I see you settled for the night. Damn it, that’s why I escorted you, remember?”
She gave him a forgiving glance. “I won’t be long.”
He added furiously, “If you’re not back soon I’ll turn the whole Clinic upside down. What’s the room number?”
“It is 150, monsieur,” said Hafez, regarding him with awe.
Robin nodded and Mrs. Pollifax gave him a last thoughtful glance as she gathered up her skirts. His attitude struck her as exaggerated, considering how little he knew about the events of her evening, and she wondered what caused it. “Let’s go, Hafez,” she said quietly, and heard him sigh with relief.
The hall was mercifully empty. Hafez tiptoed ahead of her and Mrs. Pollifax, who had only slightly recovered from her last venture into the halls, was happy to tiptoe with him. Down near the end of the hall Hafez stopped and drew a key from his pocket. Unlocking the door he beckoned her inside the dimly lit room. Somewhat nervously she stepped across the threshold and hesitated.
The normality of the scene reassured her. This time there was no Serafina, and the door to the adjoining rooms was closed. A small lamp burned at the night table, throwing shadows against the wall and a circle of light across the bed in which Madame Parviz sat braced against a number of pillows. She wore a rough homespun robe with a hood that shaded her face but even at a distance Mrs. Pollifax could see an uncanny resemblance to Hafez. A pair of brilliant dark eyes watched her approach; in the dim light they glittered under deeply cut lids but as Mrs. Pollifax drew closer she was shocked to see dark shadows under the eyes, like bruises. It was a ravaged face, once exotic, still handsome but drained of all vitality now. Only the essence of a strong character remained, and a certain imperial air that she shared with her grandson.
“Grandmama,” said Hafez quietly, “here is my friend Madame Pollifax.”
“Enchanté,” murmured the woman in a low voice, and one hand lifted to indicate the chair next to the bed. Her voice when she spoke was filled with exhausted pauses, as if a great effort was being made. “I understand you—paid me—a call yesterday. When I was—asleep.”
“Yes, Hafez and I have become friends,” said Mrs. Pollifax, smiling. “You’ve a very charming grandson, Madame Parviz, I’ve been enjoying him.” Her own voice sounded alarmingly healthy and she lowered it.
Madame Parviz did not respond to the pleasantry; her eyes remained fixed upon Mrs. Pollifax with an intensity that was embarrassing. “May I—ask a favor, then, Mrs.—Pollifax?”
The abruptness was startling in a woman so obviously gracious. Mrs. Pollifax glanced at Hafez, standing at the foot of the bed, and saw that he was watching her with the same intentness. “But of course,” she said, suddenly very still and alert. “Of course.”
“If I may ask—one thing Hafez—cannot do. A cable-sent from the village?”
“A cable,” repeated Mrs. Pollifax.
“Not from—the Clinic.”
“I see,” said Mrs. Pollifax, almost holding her breath now. “You’d like me to send a cable for you but not from the Clinic.” Turning practical she reached for her purse. “I’ve pencil and paper. If you’ll dictate what you’d like—”
Hafez said quickly, “It is already prepared, madame.”
And this was true: from beneath her blanket Madame Parviz drew a sheet of Clinic stationery and offered it to Mrs. Pollifax. “Please—you will read it?”
The silence as Mrs. Pollifax accepted it was heavy with suspense and she realized it was because two of the three people in this room were holding their breath. The mood was contagious and she heard herself read it aloud in a low, conspiratorial whisper. “To General Mustafa Parviz, Villa Jasmine, Sharja, Zabya: HAFEZ AND I SAFE AND WELL LOVE ZIZI.”
Having read it Mrs. Pollifax was struck by its normalcy and curious at its necessity. “But it’s not to be telephoned from the Clinic,” she repeated.
“Please—no.”
From the adjoining room, behind the closed door, there came an abrupt human sound resembling a snore; it was a snore, decided Mrs. Pollifax, hearing the sound move down the scale and then repeat itself and she saw Hafez and his grandmother exchange a warning glance.
“Is something wrong?” asked Mrs. Pollifax quietly.
“Wrong?” Madame Parviz turned quickly toward her and produced a laugh that was high and unnatural. “But—of course not!” Having managed this she leaned back exhausted against the pillows. “But—of course not, madame,” she echoed.
“She is tired,” Hafez said in a low voice.
The audience had ended. “Yes,” agreed Mrs. Pollifax and arose and moved with him to the door. There she stopped and looked at Hafez thoughtfully. “You and your grandmother are very close, Hafez
.”
He nodded. His eyes were wary.
On impulse she leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “I like you very much, Hafez, and I think you’re an ingenious young man.”
“I beg your pardon, madame?”
She shook her head. “Never mind. Good night, I’ll go to my room now.”
She walked down the empty hall and entered the sanctuary of her room with a sense of relief. Robin sat in the chair by the desk, arms still folded across his chest. “Well?” he said, glowering at her.
“Well,” she said, taking a deep breath.
“You finally met the vampire grandmother? You’re satisfied?” A close look at her face and he sighed. “All right, you’re not satisfied.”
“It’s been—a strange night,” she admitted.
“You’re reckless,” he said. “Good God but you’re reckless. Upstairs you were frightened of the halls, pale as a ghost, and then thirty minutes later you’re tootling off on impulse with a small boy whom anybody could have sent. Anybody.”
“Yes,” she said absently.
“I get the feeling you’re not hearing me.”
“It’s just turned Sunday,” put in Mrs. Pollifax, frowning. “Where can one send a cable on Sundays, Robin?”
He gestured toward the night table. “You pick up the telephone, and provided the night porter’s at the desk, and providing he’s the one who speaks English—”
She shook her head. “I mean where does one go to send one personally, from an office.”
He sighed. “You’d have to go to Montreux for that, to a PTT building. The telegraph is open on Sundays—8:30, I think, closed most of the afternoon and open again in the evening. I’ll take you down in my car if you’d like.”
She gave him a skeptical glance. “At 8:30 in the morning?”
He climbed to his feet. “Yes, at 8:30.” He studied her face a moment and then said quietly, “Suppose you meet me at eight beside my car, which is parked around the corner from the main entrance. It’s a dark blue Mercedes convertible. Will you do that?”
“It’s very kind of you,” she said, surprised.
“Not at all.” He paused with one hand on the knob of the door to the balcony. “It’s certainly been interesting seeing how the other half lives—the respectable half,” he added with irony. “Sleep well, milady.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh, and by the way,” he added, “I’d advise your taking a close look at that robe of yours before you wear it again. There’s rather a lot of blood on it in the back, as if you’d knelt in a puddle of the stuff.”
She stared at him in astonishment.
“I didn’t notice it when you first popped into my room but when I saw it I had a fair idea of what frightened you tonight, and frankly it scares the hell out of me. See you at eight.” He went out, carefully closing the door to the balcony behind him.
Considerably jolted Mrs. Pollifax stared after him and then she moved to the door and locked it behind him. His remark explained the reason behind his sudden protectiveness—he knew. She took off the offending robe, eyed it wearily and dropped it to the floor. There was suddenly a great deal to do, and a great deal to think about, but she was exhausted. Setting her alarm clock for seven she fell across her bed and sank into a sleep interrupted only spasmodically by small Unterwasser nightmares.
Eleven
The next morning, Mrs. Pollifax breakfasted in the dining room and discovered that at 7:15 she was the only patient to do so. She found no unusual activity on the Reception floor, and the waiter who served her gave no indication that one of his colleagues had met with violent death during the night. When she had finished her coffee she left and descended to the ground floor, ostensibly for a stroll in the garden but actually to see what had been happening in the Unterwasser Massage room.
She discovered to her surprise that nothing appeared to be happening at all. The halls were deserted and the door to the massage room stood open. She moved toward it cautiously and stopped on the threshold. Inside, the pale green tub gleamed spotlessly. Sunlight poured through the frosted windows, striking the faucets and dials with silver and illuminating an immaculate and freshly polished floor. There was not so much as a hint that only hours ago a murder had taken place here, and for just a moment Mrs. Pollifax wondered if she might be losing her mind and had dreamed the murder.
Odd, she thought, frowning, and found it strange that no police were on duty here. Very odd, she mused and went upstairs to see if any police could have taken refuge in the offices behind the switchboard. But the offices were shuttered and locked and although she leaned against the door and listened she could hear no voices. Certainly the discovery of a body in the Unterwasser Massage room was an embarrassment but at the moment the Clinic’s discretion seemed excessive and inhuman.
“Madame?” said the porter, peering around the corner at her.
She opened her mouth to speak, closed it and shook her head. It was nearly eight o’clock; she went out to find Robin in the turnaround.
Nothing was said as Robin backed his car and drove it up the narrow entrance to the Clinic and along the ravine. Emerging from the woods into bright sunlight he maneuvered his dark blue Mercedes through the streets of the village and headed it down the mountain toward Villeneuve.
“This is extremely kind of you,” Mrs. Pollifax said at last.
As if a few hours had never intervened he said harshly, “All right, whose blood was it?”
She had been expecting the question; it had stood like a wall between them ever since she had stepped into the car. “The waiter, Marcel’s,” she told him quietly.
Looking appalled, Robin braked the car and drew it to a stop by the side of the road. “Hurt or dead?”
“Dead.”
“Good God, do you mean murdered?”
She studied his face and nodded. “Yes, in the Unterwasser Massage room, in the tub. Did you know him, Robin?”
“Damned right I knew Marcel, he waited on my table and we had a bet on today’s French bicycle race.” He sat staring at her incredulously. “You found him there dead and— Was that all, or was there really someone else down there?”
Remembering, she shivered. “As I went into the Unterwasser Massage room by one door someone was just leaving by the opposite door. I almost called out, but then I saw Marcel lying there in the tub, all bloody and—” Her voice broke and she steadied it. “Yes, there was someone else down there, and someone very curious about me.”
“His murderer?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Good God, were you seen?”
She shook her head. “I’m quite sure I wasn’t.” She added wryly, “You see, I’d been reconnoitering the basement just as you’ve been reconnoitering the roofs. I knew where the fuseboxes were and that, I suppose, is what saved me.”
He slowly shook his head. “That was cutting it a bit thin. Good God! But look here, why on earth Marcel? Why would anyone go after a perfectly innocent waiter—” A thought struck him and his eyes narrowed. “Or wasn’t he a perfectly innocent waiter?”
“Actually he wasn’t,” she admitted. “He was an Interpol man looking for the same thing I am. Oddly enough you seemed to be his chief suspect.”
Robin whistled through his teeth. “Good Lord, I hope you told him—no, I hope you didn’t.”
“I was going to tell him last night except—except—”
“Yes, except,” he filled in grimly. “Well, at least they didn’t send you here alone, which lifts my respect for your superiors a notch. Look here, I told you before if there’s anything I can do to help—”
“You’re helping now, Robin, and I appreciate it.”
“You mean by taking you to the telegraph office.” He nodded and eased the car out into traffic again. “This cable you’re sending is for Hafez’s grandmother, of course?”
She smiled. “How wasted you are on petty crime, Robin. Yes, it’s for Madame Parviz. Would it be against your scruple
s to help me do some balcony spying on room 150 when it’s dark tonight?”
“Against my scruples!” He laughed. “Bless you for being so delicate about it, my dear Mrs. P., I’d be delighted to do some spying with you. What exactly did you find in room 150 last night?”
“On the surface, nothing,” she said soberly.
“Ah, but under the surface?”
“A great many undercurrents.” She was silent, staring ahead of her as they entered Montreux and Robin threaded the car through quiet streets. “Madame Parviz looked very ill and she was still quite weak. She asked me to send a cable for her announcing their safe arrival, to a man with the same name in Zabya. A General Parviz.”
“That sounds normal enough.”
She nodded. “Yes, until one remembers that Hafez and his grandmother have been at the Clinic for a week, and that she insisted the cable not be sent from the Clinic. There were only the three of us in the room but someone was asleep in the adjoining one—again very normal considering the hour—but when the sound of a snore was heard through the walls both Madame Parviz and Hafez looked alarmed. There was a kind of—of hushed urgency about our meeting.”
“You mean you had the impression no one must know you were there?”
“Exactly. I’m trying to be very clear in my thinking.” she told him earnestly. “Hafez has been frightened ever since I first met him, and I’ve not wanted to exaggerate or be melodramatic but I’ve felt he was trying to tell me something. Not consciously, you understand, but with every gesture and every expression. He’s an unusually intelligent child, and I think he’s been trying desperately to—”
When she faltered Robin gave her a quick glance. “To what?”
“To cope,” she said softly. “Cope with something quite beyond him. I’ve been getting little messages consistently, without a word spoken. It’s what I’ve felt from the beginning.” She hesitated, feeling for words. “Everything matters terribly to children, you know, they’re fresh and unformed, but of course they can exaggerate, too, so I had to be sure. Now I’m finally beginning to understand.”
Palm for Mrs. Pollifax Page 9