Amazing Mrs. Pollifax by Dorothy Gilman

together—beating the bushes in a steadily diminishing circle until they were isolated and then flushed out. “At least I have Magda,” shesaid, but since she did not have the slightest idea of what to do with Magda, or how to get her safely out of the country before the police found them, this was not essentially comforting.
    “Could you get word to your friend in Washington?” Colin asked.
    “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I was given strict orders not to. I was also given strict orders never to contact Henry; but then I did, you see, in order to warn him he was being followed, and you know what a monstrous mistake that was. I led Stefan straight back to Magda. A cable to Mr. Carstairs might do the same thing. Do you need to show a passport to send a cable?”
    “Probably. I have mine with me but of course by the time we get to Ankara the police may very well be looking for me, too.”
    “Yes,” said Mrs. Pollifax in a depressed voice, and resumed staring out of the window.
    Beyond Izmit the road dipped down to Geyve and then wound up again through hills covered with fields of wheat and tobacco. Dawn found them on a high plateau beyond Goynuk, and then they reached a pass and coasted down into a plain. Beyond the town of Nallihan Colin suddenly pulled the van off to one side of the road and braked to a stop. “We’ve gone nearly a hundred and sixty miles and I’m tired,” he said, mopping his forehead with his sleeve. “Sandor’s going to have to pay his way now. Sandor,” he called. “It’s morning—half-past seven—and your turn to drive.”
    “What the hell,” said Sandor, making a great deal of noise yawning. “This lady back here is staring at me,” he complained. “Is there breakfast?”
    “There’s a camp stove somewhere,” said Colin, “and the water jug is full, I filled it myself—Uncle Hu is always very fussy about that. And I believe there are bouillon cubes, dusty but soluble.”
    “But that’s wonderful,” said Mrs. Pollifax with feeling. She crawled back to Magda who was staring at the roof of the van with a puzzled expression. Seeing Mrs. Pollifax she said in a weak voice that bore a trace of irony, “Where am I now?”
    “It’s a little difficult to explain.”
    “Who was that man who snores so dreadfully?”
    “That’s even more difficult to explain. How are you feeling?”
    “Weak and very thirsty. I have been drugged again?”
    Mrs. Pollifax nodded. “It might be wise for you to get some fresh air now. It’s very hot back here. Colin is making broth for you.”
    “Colin! That funny young man is still here?”
    “The situation is extremely fluid and unconventional,” Mrs. Pollifax told her, “but we
are
moving in the direction of Yozgat.” She helped her to her feet, and out of the van to the roadside where Colin had set up his sterno.
    Colin was saying, “Presently we’ll be crossing the Anatolian plain and there will be even more sun, wind and dust.” The water he was nursing came to a boil, he stirred bouillon into it and carefully divided it among four battered tin mugs. “Here you are,” he said.
    Never had Mrs. Pollifax tasted anything kinder to her palate: at first she rolled the broth on her tongue, savoring its wetness, and then she drank it greedily. “Purest nectar,” she said with a sigh, and saw that color was coming back into Magda’s white face for the first time. “At what hour do you think we will reach Ankara?” she asked.
    Sandor was noisily smacking his lips. “With me driving we go like the wind. Another forty miles to Beyzapari, beyond that sixty maybe.” He was studying the van. “She has a Land Rover body?”
    Colin nodded. “She’s a rebuilt Land Rover, yes. Four-wheel drive and all that.”
    Sandor nodded. “Very good! By early afternoon we get there, or near enough. Then we go by back roads. They are very bad,” he added regretfully, “but very very private.”
    “You are wanted by the police?” inquired