Free Palm for Mrs. Pollifax by Dorothy Gilman

he said with feeling.
    “Why were you going to steal my jewels if you knew they were fakes?”
    “If you must know, they’re damned good fakes and there’s a market for good fakes. Look here, are you going to call the police?”
    She considered this thoughtfully and shook her head. “On the whole, I think it wiser not—provided, of course, that you return Lady Palisbury’s diamond.”
    He gaped at her. “Good God, you’re clairvoyant!”
    “It’s simply a matter of listening and putting things together,” she told him reassuringly. “Lady Palisbury had lost her diamond and now I discover a professional second-story man on the premises. You
are
a professional, aren’t you?”
    “I was,” he said bleakly. “Until tonight.”
    “So you’ve never been caught before! You must be very good then?”
    “Oh, one of the best,” he told her dryly. “God, I wish I had a drink.”
    “I’ll get you one.” She patted him on the arm and went to her suitcase from which she removed two envelopes of instant mix and a pair of paper cups. “I always like to travel prepared,” she told him. “Excuse me a minute.” She went into the bathroom, filled the cups with hot water and returned, stirring them with the handle of a toothbrush.
    “Cocoa?”
he said disbelievingly.
    “It helps to settle the nerves,” she told him, pulling up a chair tête-à-tête. “You do realize, of course, that stealing jewelry is dishonest.”
    He managed a feeble smile. “I’m surprised it’s just occurred to you.”
    “Have you tried more conventional work?”
    He shrugged. “On occasion, but never with zest. I’m afraid I like the danger. I especially enjoy working alone.”
    She considered this and nodded. She could appreciate his point. “It’s been remunerative?”
    “Rather.” She received the flash of a smile. “I’ve managed to salt away a few choice pieces of real estate. Clothes of course are a huge expense, and I drive a Mercedes convertible.” He sighed. “The thing is, it takes a damnable lot of money to be rich.”
    “Mmmm,” she murmured, studying him. “There’s no import business, either?”
    He shook his head.
    “And I don’t suppose Robin Burke-Jones is your real name?”
    “Sorry about that,” he apologized. “Actually it’s plain Robert Jones.” He sighed. “It’s taken a damned lot of work turning myself into Burke-Jones and I wish the hell you’d tell me what you’re going to do about me.”
    “I’m thinking about that myself,” she admitted. “For the moment I wish you’d tell me how you arrived at my balcony without any noise. The gravel—how did you keep it from crunching like popcorn under your feet?”
    “With the proper equipment—in this case padded runners—it’s no bother.” His glance suddenly narrowed and his face changed. “Look here,” he said, “there’s something wrong about this. About you, I mean. Surely you ought to be in hysterics or tears over finding a burglar in your room? Most women would have screamed or gone into shock by now, and you should never
never
be sitting here plying me with cocoa and inquiring about my techniques.”
    “I am always interested in people who do things well,” she said with dignity.
    He put down his cup. “I don’t believe it. You shouldn’t have given me cocoa, it’s bringing me to my senses. Those jewels being fake—” He scowled at her. “You’re not in desperate straits, are you? I mean I could lend you a hundred pounds if you’re in trouble.” A thought struck him and he added politely, “Or give you them.”
    She laughed. “I’m really very touched, but thank you, no.”
    “You’re not going to blackmail me, and you’re not going to inform—”
    Mrs. Pollifax put down her cup and said crisply, “On the contrary, I said nothing about not blackmailing you.”
    He drew in his breath sharply. “I see. Yes, it would be that, of course.”
    “I propose an agreement,” she suggested. “Terms, shall we