Read Online Mrs. Pollifax and the Hong Kong Buddha by Dorothy Gilman - Free Book Online Page B

either.”
    Mrs. Pollifax drew in her breath sharply. “You haven’t learned their destination?”
    He shook his head. “The silence—the cover-up—is astonishing; we can’t pierce it, there are almost no leaks and that’s
highly
unusual. Our normal informants have gone mum.”
    Mrs. Pollifax studied his face and then she said slowly, “You’re thinking it’s the kind of silence that only eight million dollars’ worth of stolen diamonds can buy?”
    He gave her an appreciative glance. “You see that … Yes, it would take something like that to accomplish this kind of secrecy. Bribes here, bribes there … But what keeps me awake nights, frankly, is the feeling that this whole damn thing, whatever it may be, is far more advanced than my superiors believe. Which is why I want very much to locate Inspector Hao, who just may have stumbled across whatever’s being planned, and know what’s going on.” He glanced at his watch and shook his head. “And now it’s nearly one o’clock and I think we’d better continue this tomorrow, when I’m hoping your Mr. Hitchens will feel well enough for a trip to the New Territories. What interests me right now”—he stopped and grinned, looking suddenly boyish—“is what your plans are tomorrow. Is there the slightest chance—?” He paused hopefully.
    “I thought you’d never ask,” said Mrs. Pollifax, beaming at him. “Actually I’ve nothing pending until ten o’clock tomorrow night.”
    “Bless you for that,” he said, and leaned over and kissed her. “I don’t know what it is about you but I seem to recall a certain élan that entered the picture once we joined forces in Switzerland. Interpol can be so deadly serious!”
    She laughed. “You surely don’t miss being a cat burglar, Robin?”
    He grinned. “Occasionally, but then I find entering rooms as I did yours tonight a palliative. Breaking and entering were only mild addictions, you know. Shall we leave our respective bathroom perches?”
    “At the moment I can’t think of a happier thought,” she told him.
    Opening the door he added, “Sorry I can’t carry Mr. Hitchens off for the night but I’m afraid it would beterribly difficult to explain if I were seen, and even harder to explain than his spending the night with you.”
    “So long as he doesn’t snore,” she told him gravely.
    Robin grinned. “Hit him if he does, although
not
, of course, on the head, poor chap. Look here, I’ll be back in the morning, not
too
bright and early but we can’t let Alec Hao’s trail grow cold.” He opened the door to the hall and peered out. “Looks clear,” he said, waved at her and went out, closing the door behind him.

6
TUESDAY
    I f Mr. Hitchens snored during the night Mrs. Pollifax remained blissfully unaware of it: she was too busy sleeping away two nights of plane travel and a long Monday full of surprises. When she awoke at eight and sat up in bed it was to find that Mr. Hitchens was sitting up too, and staring at her from the chaise longue across the room.
    He said with dignity, “I am not accustomed to travel, as you know, or to being hit over the head, or to being chloroformed, either, for that matter.”
    “No,” she said, regarding him with interest.
    “I have never in my life had such a headache,” he went on, his voice trembling a little, “and I have the most dreadful feeling that I am going to cry.”
    “Yes,” she said, and nodded sympathetically. “What I would suggest then, Mr. Hitchens, is that you get up—very very slowly—and go into the bathroom and stand under a hot shower and cry. While you’re doing this I’lldress and call room service, order you some
very
strong coffee, and then you can come out.”
    “Thank you,” he said miserably, and allowed her to help him to his feet, place a shower cap snugly over his bandaged head and lead him into the bathroom.
    By the time that Robin joined them she and Mr. Hitchens were sitting companionably by the window