Amazing Mrs. Pollifax Read Free Page A

hotel in the old section—and look for someone carrying a copy of
Gone with the Wind
.”
    “Gone with the Wind!”
echoed Mrs. Pollifax, suppressing a laugh.
    “In Istanbul it’s now almost Sunday midnight,” went on Carstairs. “We had time to immediately notify our agent in Istanbul, who presented himself at eight o’clock at the Hotel Itep.” Carstairs’ mouth tightened. “Word of his death reached us thirty minutes before I telephoned you, Mrs. Pollifax. I
cannot
regard it as an accident.”
    Mrs. Pollifax expelled her breath slowly. “Oh,” she said soberly. “Oh dear!”
    “Yes. At eight-fifteen he walked out of the hotel with a woman companion—and a car suddenly went berserk in the street, pinning him to the wall and killing him instantly. The woman seen with him vanished into the crowd.”
    “I’m terribly sorry,” Mrs. Pollifax said. “You think he met Ferenci-Sabo there?”
    Carstairs shrugged. “It’s quite possible, in which case she must be even more desperate after seeing her contact killed before her very eyes. You are in effect replacing a dead man, Mrs. Pollifax—but with one difference.”
    “Yes?”
    “There may be a leak somewhere—or with so damn many agents in Istanbul they may be keeping one another under surveillance—but no one could possibly recognize you, or suspect you of being an agent. I intend that no one outside of this building know of your departure. In the world of espionage there are only two living people who have ever met you—John Sebastian Farrell, currently in South America, and General Perdido, now recovering from a heart attack in Peking. And this is the way I plan to keep it. Henry Miles knows nothing except that you are to be kept under surveillance—I’m sure that not even in his wildest dreams would he guess that a novice is being sent into such a maelstrom, even if he should know the situation—which he doesn’t. In turn you are to send no cables nor contact me at all. You are to trust no one and above all,” he concludedgrimly, “you’re to watch for reckless drivers when crossing streets in Istanbul. Now I think you will be happy to learn that this time you travel with a passport—a bona fide one accomplished for you in an hour’s time.”
    “How nice,” said Mrs. Pollifax, as he handed it to her. “Even my photograph!”
    “Yes, we took one for our files, you may remember.”
    “Very efficient.”
    “Also money,” he said, drawing a manila envelope from the attaché case and handing it to her. “Rather a lot of money because of the unpredictability of the—er—situation. And in this second envelope is money for Ferenci-Sabo, as well as a passport for her in another name. It lacks a photograph, of course, and this she will have to supply but it has all the necessary stampings proving that she entered Turkey legally a week ago, and as an American citizen. Here are your plane tickets,” he added, “as well as an especially gaudy edition of
Gone with the Wind
. A reservation has been made for you at the Hotel Itep—there wasn’t time to be devious—and Henry Miles will have a room there too, but you are to avoid Henry, you understand? I don’t want you linked with a professional under any circumstances—we’ve already lost one. And on Saturday morning you are to fly back whether you have made contact or not.”
    “All the way to Asia and back in six days?” said Mrs. Pollifax. “My dear Mr. Carstairs I shall almost be back in time for the Art Association tea on Sunday.”
    “As a matter of fact by American time you will be,” he said. “You will experience the uncanny sensation of arriving here long after the tea should have ended, only to discover that they’re putting up the folding tables in New Brunswick. Ah here it is!” he exclaimed, and drew out another slip of paper. “I can’t foresee what will be needed, Mrs. Pollifax. All this has happened too quickly to consider possibilities, but I’m giving you the