Palm for Mrs. Pollifax by Dorothy Gilman Page A

up to brandy in a crisis.” He poured an inch into a bedside glass and handed it to her. “Drink it down, you look like hell.”
    She nodded gratefully.
    “And while you’re thawing out,” he continued pleasantly, “you’ll no doubt think up some outrageous lie to explain why you’ve been playing hide-and-seek with someone in the halls at this ungodly hour, but don’t—don’t try—because I won’t believe you. When you stumble into a man’s room in the middle of the night, looking as if you’d just seen a corpse, and carrying of all things that damn jewelry case—” His eyes narrowed as he sprang to his feet.
    “Robin!” she cried sharply.
    He picked up the box and carried it to the light. “Sorry, milady,” he said. “Curiosity killed the cat but never a cat burglar, as you call it. I’ve been curious about this thing all day, and obviously you’re not what you appear to be. Let’s see what you really are.” She sat mute as he openedthe case. “Let’s see, if I designed this—oh, it’s very well done—I’d put the lock in one of these hinges, I think, and—” He triumphantly pressed the hinge on the right and removed the tray.
    There was silence as he peered down at what he’d unearthed. “Good God,
not
the Queen’s jewels. A—surely not a
Geiger
counter?” He stared at her disbelievingly.
    She sighed and put down the emptied glass of brandy. “As a matter of fact, yes. Did you really expect stolen goods?”
    He looked bewildered. “I don’t know, I expected something illicit, although you don’t
look
illicit. But a Geiger counter? What on earth are you looking for, uranium?” He thought he was making a joke.
    Mrs. Pollifax considered him, hesitated and then made a decision. “Plutonium, actually.”
    “Plutonium?”
    “Yes.” There was a welcome impersonality about plutonium. It did not bleed, it was a metallic object without hopes, dreams, fears, or a throat that could be cut. At the moment plutonium seemed much less dangerous than Marcel’s body lying in the Unterwasser Massage tub, and she did not want to speak of Marcel. She had sought sanctuary in this room, and Robin had saved her from being discovered and possibly killed. For this she owed him something, even truth, but if Robin was to be involved then let him be involved in an abstract without personality. Marcel’s murder was too dangerous to share.
    “Interpol is in this,” she told him gravely, “and my government is in this, and yours, too.”
    He shuddered. “That’s a bit thick.” He stared ruefully at the scintillator counter in his lap. “My God, I’ve opened Pandora’s box, haven’t I? You’re involved with my mortal enemies and I’m sitting here listening to you.” He shook his head. “Damn it, I wish I’d allowed you to think up that outrageous lie.”
    “You didn’t give me time,” she reminded him.
    “Plutonium … It would have to be stolen plutonium, of course.”
    “Yes. Presumed to have been sent here.”
    “Pretty damned clever sending it
here
.” He began to look interested. “Not a bad drop-off point at all. I don’t have to ask what your precious authorities are afraid of, of course, but they’re not going to relish your telling me this, are they? Why did you?”
    She thought about this a moment, a little startled herself at her openness. “I find no evil in you,” she said at last, very simply. “It’s true that you have a somewhat distorted sense of morality in one area but I’m looking for someone with no morality at all. Someone”—she shivered—“completely amoral, without scruples or fear or compassion or decency.”
    “Here?” he said in astonishment. “Among the patients?”
    “Perhaps.”
    He looked at her. “So that’s why you were relieved to find me only a thief. And tonight? What did you find tonight? Who was it out there?”
    “I wish I knew. I wish I’d had the cunning to find out.” The memory of Marcel intervened and she steadied