Unexpected Mrs. Pollifax (18 page)

“But you finished the tracing!”

“Oh yes. And something else happened, fortunately while Nexdhet wasn’t here. About half an hour ago
this
fluttered through the window.” He brought from his pocket a slip of paper.

“Our neighbor!” gasped Mrs. Pollifax. “He did reply after all.”

“In a fashion,” said Farrell, and watched with ironic eyes as she held the slip of paper up to the light.

On it had been printed in beautiful script the following message:

That evening Colonel Nexdhet followed their dinner trays out of the cell, and as soon as he had gone Mrs. Pollifax crossed the room to Farrell and sat down on the cot beside him. She had spent the afternoon in playing solitaire and doing some private assessing which had definitely not aided her digestive juices. She was also beginning to scratch and she feared that she had lice, but this did not concern her nearly so much as the knowledge that within twenty-four hours General Perdido would be appearing. The general, she reflected, was the more compelling irritant.

“He’s gone?” whispered Farrell, sitting up. They did little talking at all while Adhem Nexdhet was with them.

“He may not be gone long,” Mrs. Pollifax reminded him. She thought that Farrell was no less haggard, but he looked brighter-eyed and more interested than she had seen him in a long time.

“All right, let’s go over the list.”

Mrs. Pollifax nodded. “We have one tree.” She gave it a reproachful glance. “But no earthly way of cutting it down to a crutch.”

On her memo pad he wrote
knife or facsimile
. “Go on.”

She continued gloomily. “We have four magazine clips, apparently
for Beretta or Nambu pistols but unfortunately we have no Baretta or Nambu pistols.”

Farrell winced as he made a note of this.

“We have enough cheese and stale bread for two people—two pygmies, really—for two days. But no water.”

“Mmm.”

“We have one compass that works—we think. And one tracing of a 1919 map of Albania. And two rocks.”

“Ah—rocks!” Farrell brightened. “But let’s take the items one by one. The tree first of all: they’d never allow us a saw or a knife. I don’t suppose you’ve seen one lying around that you could, uh, pinch? Make off with?”

“There are at least half a dozen knives in the gun rack in the guardroom,” Mrs. Pollifax told him. “But they’re under glass and locked up. There’s always someone with me, and I doubt if they’d trade a knife.”

“No, not likely. I could always ask to shave—”

“I’m sure they’d want the razor blade back.”

He nodded, but without appearing in the least discouraged, which pleased Mrs. Pollifax because she was beginning to feel very discouraged indeed. He said, “The branches we can tear off at the last minute with our hands, but we do need a cutting edge to shape the top.”

“How do we manage all this with Colonel Nexdhet here in the cell with us?” asked Mrs. Pollifax. “I thought—I mean I picked up one of those rocks thinking we could hit him over the head at the proper time but …” She shivered. “I couldn’t, you know, could you?”

“Yes.”

“But you can’t even walk yet.”

Farrell smiled faintly. “No, but I haven’t been completely idle, Duchess. At night while you and our spy friend are asleep I’ve been trying to get my strength back. I stand. I do crazy exercises. Look.” He got laboriously to his feet and stood, his weight on the good leg. “I don’t get dizzy any more. I nearly fell over the first time, I was so lightheaded. I’ve been exercising my hands and arms, too. Yes, I could hit our friend over the head, at least I can if he gets close enough to me. Let’s see those rocks, by the way, and whatever’s left of your trading goods.”

“Trading goods,” repeated Mrs. Pollifax, smiling. “You mean for friendly natives?” She brought out the diminished contents of her pocket. “One lipstick, one handkerchief …”

He was examining both as if he had never seen either. “Always use men’s handkerchiefs?” he asked with amusement.

“For a number of years, yes. They were my husband’s, and so much more substantial.”

“Excellent gag,” he pointed out.

Mrs. Pollifax brightened. “I didn’t think of that.”

“One must,” he murmured. He had taken apart her lipstick case and was studying it. He ran a finger over the rim of the metal tube and said quickly, “Let’s see those rocks, are any of them rough?”

Mrs. Pollifax leaned eagerly over his shoulder. “You mean we may have found a cutting edge?”

“Only a peeling edge, I fear. I’ll see if I can chisel a sharper point with the rock. Try to bring back a few more rocks if you’re allowed a walk tomorrow. Except that without a gun …”

Mrs. Pollifax said reasonably, “But if we escape as far as the guardroom we can steal as many guns as we want.”

“Yes, and a knife, too, except we can’t leave the crutch until the last minute. It would take too long to make. We’re going to have to manage it somehow during the last hour we’re here, preferably after our spy has been rendered unconscious.”

“And he’s so pleasant, I like him,” mourned Mrs. Pollifax. “You
will
hit him gently, won’t you?”

“Gently, yes, but very thoroughly.”

“When should we—that is, what hour tomorrow should we plan on?” asked Mrs. Pollifax timidly. “It will have to be a time when someone unlocks the cell and comes in, Lulash with a tray or whoever’s on duty. We hit him over the head, too, I suppose?”

“Everybody. Major Vassovic, too—somehow.”

“I could scream or do something like that to bring him in,” suggested Mrs. Pollifax, getting into the spirit of the thing. “About six o’clock, do you think?”

Farrell shook his head. “Dinnertime’s too early. Too light outside. We don’t know how many people are left in the other building, the big one. They might see us stumbling around on the rocks.”

Mrs. Pollifax said anxiously, “But if we wait until later, when they bring in the candle, that might be too late. General Perdido may have returned, and I’m sure he’ll want to see us right away.”

Farrell said firmly, “I’ll think of something. I’m better now, trust me. Just don’t worry.”

“Not worry,” echoed Mrs. Pollifax, and at once felt a trembling begin deep down inside her and run along her nerves until she began to shiver uncontrollably. Really this was madness, she realized—absolute madness, none of it could be real, neither Albania nor Farrell nor General Perdido nor this ridiculous cell in which she had been placed as a prisoner—and tomorrow evening they were going to try to escape with two rocks and a Christmas tree turned into a crutch. It was the final touch of madness.

The spasm passed, and Mrs. Pollifax regained her poise and was relieved to see that Farrell had not noticed her moment of weakness. He was staring at their pathetic heap of treasures and saying, “Not bad, really, not bad at all. Their letting you out for walks, and these rocks you picked up, are the two real miracles allowed us. Nobody can ask for more than two miracles, the rest is up to us.”

“
I
could ask for another,” said Mrs. Pollifax tartly.

He grinned. “Then go ahead, maybe you have more influence than I. But don’t turn gloomy on me suddenly. Thanks to that map you spotted in Lulash’s book we know fairly well where we are—”

“We think,” added Mrs. Pollifax warningly.

“And thanks to your ingeniousness we have weapons, a bit primitive but no less effective.”

“Yes, but if only we had a
knife
!”

Farrell said flippantly, “Maybe someone will start throwing knives at that party of yours and you can deftly catch one between your teeth and hide it in your pocket.”

Unfortunately there was not a knife to be seen at the party. There were forks—Mrs. Pollifax at once secreted two of them—and various-sized spoons, but no knives, not even dull ones. Mrs. Pollifax might have become despondent again if it were not for the
raki
that Lulash had filched from the wine cellar in the larger building. He and Major Vassovic had obviously begun sampling it already. “Join us,” said Lulash with shining eyes.

“I believe I will,” said Mrs. Pollifax, and startled them by emptying her glass. “It is extremely sweet of you to have a party for me,” she told him with feeling.

“Have an olive,” said Lulash, embarrassed. “Have more
raki
.”

“But you have no knives,” pointed out Mrs. Pollifax.

“Why do you need a knife?”

“I always eat olives with a knife,” Mrs. Pollifax told him hopefully. “A sharp knife.”

“Americans do this?”

“Always.”

Major Vassovic shook his head. “We have no knives. Try a fork.”

Mrs. Pollifax philosophically accepted a second glass of
raki
instead, and was sipping it when Colonel Nexdhet arrived bearing a dish of cheese and what looked like a zither. Mrs. Pollifax’s reaction to his arrival was ambivalent: she felt extremely wary of him and yet as a human being she liked him.

“General Hoong will be coming too,” said the colonel. “It seems that he enjoys parties.”

“Then I will sing before he comes,” said Lulash, and promptly sat down on the floor and crossed his legs. “Please,” he told Mrs. Pollifax, gesturing her toward the desk chair. The colonel plucked a few strings of his peculiar-looking instrument and Lulash began to sing a song filled with weird half notes and pauses.

There was a long silence when he finished. With his head still bowed Lulash said sadly, “There was a Russian engineer in Tirana, she once said to me those same words. Where is she now?”

Why was it, wondered Mrs. Pollifax crossly, that love songs everywhere had to be so terribly sad? Major Vassovic was noisily blowing his nose and Mrs. Pollifax realized that something was needed to cut the treacly sentiment that was submerging them. She herself did not feel sad; on the contrary the
raki
had left her lightheaded and a little belligerent. She turned to Colonel Nexdhet and said with unsteady dignity, “Colonel Nexdhet, I have been thinking about your country and I have decided it was immoral of you to give it to China.”

Lulash looked appalled. “
He
gave us to China?”

The colonel said firmly, “Not personally, Private Lulash.”

“Then who did? That’s what I’d like to know, who did give us to China?”

The colonel shrugged. “Russia moved out, China moved in.”

Major Vassovic looked up and said piously, “We needed and wanted China to help us. We gave ourselves to her gratefully, willingly.”

Lulash looked insulted. “I didn’t have anything to say about it, Major—did you? What this country needs is a George, a George …” He turned to Mrs. Pollifax. “Whoever he was you told me about.”

“Washington.”

“Tha’s right, George Washington. And let me tell you something else, Colonel, if anybody was to ask me who to give this country to, I’d say, give it to Mrs. Pollifax.”

“Why, thank you, Lulash,” she said warmly.

Colonel Nexdhet said mildly, “Lulash, you have had too much
raki
.”

“I? Too much? It is a lie. I will sing to you another song.”

“Yes, please do,” said Mrs. Pollifax.