night you arrived in Sofia? We have had severe doubts about you.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, nodding. “That’s why you wanted to get me out of Sofia–I understand that now.”
“Not for
your
safety,” he pointed out harshly. “For ours. We began to fear that Shipkov had betrayed us.”
“Oh no, Shipkov reached New York safely, thanks to you,” she said warmly. “Are you the man who warned him on the street?”
Tsanko shook his head. “That was Boris.”
“You have a marked talent for saving lives,” she said gratefully.
He was watching her intently; now he shook his head. “You still have no idea of the danger you have been in, Amerikanski–from us–especially after you came to Tarnovo with two men still following you. I can assure you it was only the utmost good luck–for you!–that I hear you speak with the two men on the road, and hear this young lady scream. Until then I am sure you are friends with these men, and arranging big trap for me.”
“But I thought I was the one walking into a trap,” she told him in surprise.
He lifted his shoulders in a large and eloquent shrug. “Touché. But we begin to see that you are in trouble,Amerikanski, you have blundered into something we know nothing about. How is this?”
“Philip Trenda,” said Mrs. Pollifax. “Does that name mean anything to you?”
“It might,” he said evasively and turned to Kosta, who had dropped in a corner with both hands across his eyes. “What is it?” he asked sharply, and then broke into Bulgarian.
“Is he all right?”
“He has never killed a man before,” Tsanko explained. “He will feel better soon.”
“You didn’t answer my question about Philip Trenda, you know.”
He shrugged. “One does not like to confess one listens to Radio Skolje, it is forbidden in my country. Yes, his arrest has caused a great noise in the Western world. But does this explain your being followed in Sofia by”–he removed a piece of paper from his pocket and read from it–“by one Mincho Kolarov, also one Assen Radev–”
“Two?”
said Mrs. Pollifax blankly.
“And now these men.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, puzzled. “I noticed a short gray-haired man in a gray suit–”
“That was Mincho Kolarov of the secret police. The other party, Assen Radev, we know nothing about. Late last night he returned to a collective farm outside of Sofia. He appears to raise geese.”
“Geese!” echoed Mrs. Pollifax in astonishment.
“Yes. And now we have this Bemish, in company with a man never before seen by us.”
“He’s a man I’ve never seen before, either. Back in the cellar you said he was from the secret police. How could you know?”
“You saw me remove the wallet from his body. His papers carry the name of Titko Yugov, and this particularkind of identity card is carried only by members of our secret police.”
He handed her the narrow card of plastic and she gave a start.
“It looks like a lottery ticket or a swimming pass,”
she heard herself say aloud, and she began to dig into her purse, dumping papers out all around her. “Here it is,” she said in amazement. “I’d completely forgotten. What does this say? You see, it’s exactly the same kind of card except it carries a different name. I’ve had it in my purse since Belgrade.”
Tsanko took it, glanced it over and looked at her questioningly. He said quietly, “This one identifies its bearer as one Nikolai F. Dzhagarov, serial number 3891F in the Secret Security Police of the People’s Republic of Bulgaria.”
Debby, who had been leaning wearily against the wall, suddenly straightened. “That’s
Nikki!
”
“Nikki,” repeated Mrs. Pollifax. “So there it is–the proof. Nikki’s not only Bulgarian, but he’s a member of your police.” The knowledge saddened her because it removed all hope that Philip’s arrest had been an accident. “I think I’d better tell you the whole story,” she said to Tsanko. “If I
“I’m sorry,” she said, nodding. “That’s why you wanted to get me out of Sofia–I understand that now.”
“Not for
your
safety,” he pointed out harshly. “For ours. We began to fear that Shipkov had betrayed us.”
“Oh no, Shipkov reached New York safely, thanks to you,” she said warmly. “Are you the man who warned him on the street?”
Tsanko shook his head. “That was Boris.”
“You have a marked talent for saving lives,” she said gratefully.
He was watching her intently; now he shook his head. “You still have no idea of the danger you have been in, Amerikanski–from us–especially after you came to Tarnovo with two men still following you. I can assure you it was only the utmost good luck–for you!–that I hear you speak with the two men on the road, and hear this young lady scream. Until then I am sure you are friends with these men, and arranging big trap for me.”
“But I thought I was the one walking into a trap,” she told him in surprise.
He lifted his shoulders in a large and eloquent shrug. “Touché. But we begin to see that you are in trouble,Amerikanski, you have blundered into something we know nothing about. How is this?”
“Philip Trenda,” said Mrs. Pollifax. “Does that name mean anything to you?”
“It might,” he said evasively and turned to Kosta, who had dropped in a corner with both hands across his eyes. “What is it?” he asked sharply, and then broke into Bulgarian.
“Is he all right?”
“He has never killed a man before,” Tsanko explained. “He will feel better soon.”
“You didn’t answer my question about Philip Trenda, you know.”
He shrugged. “One does not like to confess one listens to Radio Skolje, it is forbidden in my country. Yes, his arrest has caused a great noise in the Western world. But does this explain your being followed in Sofia by”–he removed a piece of paper from his pocket and read from it–“by one Mincho Kolarov, also one Assen Radev–”
“Two?”
said Mrs. Pollifax blankly.
“And now these men.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, puzzled. “I noticed a short gray-haired man in a gray suit–”
“That was Mincho Kolarov of the secret police. The other party, Assen Radev, we know nothing about. Late last night he returned to a collective farm outside of Sofia. He appears to raise geese.”
“Geese!” echoed Mrs. Pollifax in astonishment.
“Yes. And now we have this Bemish, in company with a man never before seen by us.”
“He’s a man I’ve never seen before, either. Back in the cellar you said he was from the secret police. How could you know?”
“You saw me remove the wallet from his body. His papers carry the name of Titko Yugov, and this particularkind of identity card is carried only by members of our secret police.”
He handed her the narrow card of plastic and she gave a start.
“It looks like a lottery ticket or a swimming pass,”
she heard herself say aloud, and she began to dig into her purse, dumping papers out all around her. “Here it is,” she said in amazement. “I’d completely forgotten. What does this say? You see, it’s exactly the same kind of card except it carries a different name. I’ve had it in my purse since Belgrade.”
Tsanko took it, glanced it over and looked at her questioningly. He said quietly, “This one identifies its bearer as one Nikolai F. Dzhagarov, serial number 3891F in the Secret Security Police of the People’s Republic of Bulgaria.”
Debby, who had been leaning wearily against the wall, suddenly straightened. “That’s
Nikki!
”
“Nikki,” repeated Mrs. Pollifax. “So there it is–the proof. Nikki’s not only Bulgarian, but he’s a member of your police.” The knowledge saddened her because it removed all hope that Philip’s arrest had been an accident. “I think I’d better tell you the whole story,” she said to Tsanko. “If I
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