assault.
The car’s headlights picked out an end to the retaining wall and a widening of the road into a cleared section. Above them the horizon was occupied by the outline of the fortress’s tower and she realized they were almost under it. The car’s lights were switched off and Mr. Bemish climbed out and turned. He held a gun in his hand; this much the moon illuminated. “Out,” he said, waving the gun.
“I don’t want to get out,” said Mrs. Pollifax.
“Out, or I’ll shoot the girl here and now.”
Mrs. Pollifax climbed out.
“This way,” Bemish said, prodding her. His companion followed, carrying Debby wrapped in the rug over his shoulder. After walking a few paces Bemish drew apart a clump of bushes and descended rock steps into a hole that was half cellar, half excavation. The man behind Mrs. Pollifax trod on her heel and then shoved her down as well. She entered what appeared to be the corner of an ancient, half-buried room.
Bemish was lighting a candle. “Over there,” he saidcurtly, his face washed clean of friendliness. He brought a smaller gun from his jacket and began attaching a silencer to it, taking his time.
Mrs. Pollifax thought, There must be something I can do or say. She felt curiously mesmerized, completely unable to come to grips with their seizure. It had all happened so quickly. She had faced death before on her other assignments, but her protestations of innocence had never been so genuine as they were now. The moment seemed totally unreal—insane—because of its senselessness. “Why?” she said aloud to Bemish, and then as his companion unrolled Debby from the rug and propped her up beside Mrs. Pollifax, she said furiously, “You’ve made a terrible mistake! It’s unspeakable, your murdering an innocent girl like this!”
“Orders,” Bemish said, tight-lipped.
“From whom? And why?”
He looked at her closely. “You make nothing but trouble, Mrs. Pollifax, and now you make questions. You think I risk your speaking just once more with Mr. Eastlake?”
“Eastlake!” she gasped. “But that was about Philip!”
His lips trembled; drops of sweat shone on his forehead. “Bulgaria is my home now—my home, do you know what that means?” he shouted at her. “There’s nowhere left for me to go, and you stick your silly American noses into my business. There’s big money at stake, months of arrangements—months, do you hear?—and you come along and blunder into my business.”
“
What
arrangements?” cried Mrs. Pollifax. “
What
money?
What
business?”
“Nikki understood,” he shouted furiously. “Nikki saw right away that it’s not fair. I’ve nothing, and Stella’s brother has everything. If Petrov hadn’t emigrated to America he’d have to share all his money, wouldn’t he? He’d be forced to–this is a socialist country!”
He was plainly on the verge of hysteria. She felt pity for the violence in him that was driving him toward madness.Very quietly, for she had to understand, Mrs. Pollifax said, “Who is Stella, Mr. Bemish?”
“Stella? My wife, of course. And he sends her only hand-outs–his own sister!–when he has millions. Think of it, millions, and all in American dollars. Nikki understood, he saw immediately how unjust it is.” Desperately he cried, “You think I want to kill you in cold blood like this? Don’t you understand I have to, that it’s orders? I must!”
His eyes widened in sudden astonishment. He said “orders” in a dazed voice, and then “must.” His lips formed a silent O from which a trickle of blood emerged. Slowly, gently, he sank to the earth, his eyes fixed upon Mrs. Pollifax uncomprehendingly. His companion gasped and jumped for Bemish’s fallen gun. As he reached it Mrs. Pollifax heard a soft
plop
and he, too, sank to the earth.
She stared in astonishment. They were both dead. Incredulous, she turned toward the entrance–to the gaping hole in the stone wall–and saw movement. Two men slid feet
The car’s headlights picked out an end to the retaining wall and a widening of the road into a cleared section. Above them the horizon was occupied by the outline of the fortress’s tower and she realized they were almost under it. The car’s lights were switched off and Mr. Bemish climbed out and turned. He held a gun in his hand; this much the moon illuminated. “Out,” he said, waving the gun.
“I don’t want to get out,” said Mrs. Pollifax.
“Out, or I’ll shoot the girl here and now.”
Mrs. Pollifax climbed out.
“This way,” Bemish said, prodding her. His companion followed, carrying Debby wrapped in the rug over his shoulder. After walking a few paces Bemish drew apart a clump of bushes and descended rock steps into a hole that was half cellar, half excavation. The man behind Mrs. Pollifax trod on her heel and then shoved her down as well. She entered what appeared to be the corner of an ancient, half-buried room.
Bemish was lighting a candle. “Over there,” he saidcurtly, his face washed clean of friendliness. He brought a smaller gun from his jacket and began attaching a silencer to it, taking his time.
Mrs. Pollifax thought, There must be something I can do or say. She felt curiously mesmerized, completely unable to come to grips with their seizure. It had all happened so quickly. She had faced death before on her other assignments, but her protestations of innocence had never been so genuine as they were now. The moment seemed totally unreal—insane—because of its senselessness. “Why?” she said aloud to Bemish, and then as his companion unrolled Debby from the rug and propped her up beside Mrs. Pollifax, she said furiously, “You’ve made a terrible mistake! It’s unspeakable, your murdering an innocent girl like this!”
“Orders,” Bemish said, tight-lipped.
“From whom? And why?”
He looked at her closely. “You make nothing but trouble, Mrs. Pollifax, and now you make questions. You think I risk your speaking just once more with Mr. Eastlake?”
“Eastlake!” she gasped. “But that was about Philip!”
His lips trembled; drops of sweat shone on his forehead. “Bulgaria is my home now—my home, do you know what that means?” he shouted at her. “There’s nowhere left for me to go, and you stick your silly American noses into my business. There’s big money at stake, months of arrangements—months, do you hear?—and you come along and blunder into my business.”
“
What
arrangements?” cried Mrs. Pollifax. “
What
money?
What
business?”
“Nikki understood,” he shouted furiously. “Nikki saw right away that it’s not fair. I’ve nothing, and Stella’s brother has everything. If Petrov hadn’t emigrated to America he’d have to share all his money, wouldn’t he? He’d be forced to–this is a socialist country!”
He was plainly on the verge of hysteria. She felt pity for the violence in him that was driving him toward madness.Very quietly, for she had to understand, Mrs. Pollifax said, “Who is Stella, Mr. Bemish?”
“Stella? My wife, of course. And he sends her only hand-outs–his own sister!–when he has millions. Think of it, millions, and all in American dollars. Nikki understood, he saw immediately how unjust it is.” Desperately he cried, “You think I want to kill you in cold blood like this? Don’t you understand I have to, that it’s orders? I must!”
His eyes widened in sudden astonishment. He said “orders” in a dazed voice, and then “must.” His lips formed a silent O from which a trickle of blood emerged. Slowly, gently, he sank to the earth, his eyes fixed upon Mrs. Pollifax uncomprehendingly. His companion gasped and jumped for Bemish’s fallen gun. As he reached it Mrs. Pollifax heard a soft
plop
and he, too, sank to the earth.
She stared in astonishment. They were both dead. Incredulous, she turned toward the entrance–to the gaping hole in the stone wall–and saw movement. Two men slid feet
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