Free Palm for Mrs. Pollifax by Dorothy Gilman Page B

things, haven’t you?”
    “I’m only thinking that you have invaluable talents,” she told him thoughtfully.
    He glanced at the clock on her night table. “Which I’d jolly well better put to work if I’m going to get Lady Palisbury’s diamond back before dawn. You’re really not going to call the police?”
    She shook her head.
    “And you’ll let me—just walk out of this room?”
    “You may consider yourself a free man.”
    He held out his hand and grinned at her. “I say, this has really been awfully pleasant. A bit strange but pleasant.”
    “It has,” agreed Mrs. Pollifax, getting to her feet and beaming at him. “Actually it’s been delightful. Which door will you leave by?”
    “I’ll feel much more secure leaving the way I came,” heassured her. “And look, if I can ever do anything for you in return—my room’s directly above yours, number 213.”
    “Number 213,” she repeated, and watched him vanish over the railing of her balcony. Although she listened very closely she could hear nothing, not even a whisper of gravel A fantastic performance, she thought, and as she turned off her light—there seemed no point in bothering with locks again—she reflected that Robin could prove to be something of a jewel himself.

Eight
    In the morning there was a doctor, a large, hearty man named Dr. Lichtenstein. While he poked and prodded her they made polite conversation about America; Mrs. Pollifax obligingly coughed for him and he poked and prodded her still more. “Very good,” he said at last, and prescribed a metabolism test, a lung X-ray, three blood tests, and an electrocardiogram.
    “All this for Hong Kong flu?” she protested.
    “At your age,” he hinted delicately, and then, shrugging, “Why else are you here?”
    Mrs. Pollifax sensibly did not reply to this but it was exasperating to say the least. She repressed her crossness, however. She was waiting to ask him a question.
    “In the meantime,” he concluded, removing his stethoscope and placing it in his bag, “enjoy Montbrison. Walk in the gardens. Feel free to visit St. Gingolph, and over at Montreux there is the Castle Chillon, where Byron visited.”He closed his bag and stood up, saying to the nurse, “You will please schedule the tests?”
    Mrs. Pollifax also stood. “By the way,” she said casually, “you are certainly the one person who can tell me how Madame Parviz is today. She wasn’t well enough last night to see me.” When the doctor looked blank she said, “Hafez’s grandmother.”
    “Hafez?” he repeated, and turned to the nurse, who explained the question to him in French.
    “Oh, the Zabyan group,” said the doctor. “I know nothing about it, Madame Pollifax, they bring with them their own doctor.”
    Mrs. Pollifax sat down in astonishment. “You allow that? Isn’t it very unusual?”
    “Of this I do not approve,” he admitted with a shrug. “But it happens sometimes, it happens. In a Clinic like this certain adjustments are made, you understand? It is handled entirely by the Board of Directors.”
    “You don’t know why they’re here, then?”
    He turned with his hand on the doorknob. “I understand the woman is very old, very tired, she wishes to see Switzerland again but with no wish to be examined by foreign doctors. Good day, madame.”
    She nodded, scarcely aware of his departure. But this was very peculiar, she thought, frowning, and his statement, added to the reception given her last night by the Zabyans, threw an entirely different light on the situation. If no one ever saw the woman—“I
must
talk to Marcel,” she realized, and picked up the phone to order her breakfast.
    But when her breakfast arrived it was brought by a young apprentice waiter. Marcel, he said, was on late duty today and would not be in until after lunch. This was frustrating news, and Mrs. Pollifax found herself very cross about the odd communication system set up by Interpol. Still, she knew the hours Marcel