capable of talking how exactly did he explain his—er—impetuous arrival?”
Mrs. Pollifax closed her eyes and thought about it. “First he whispered ‘something terribly wrong … how … how’ and then when I told him I’d call a doctor he gasped ‘Not safe … after me … how … must find how …”
Robin stood up and gave her a thoroughly startled look. “Would you mind repeating that, word for word?”
Obligingly she repeated it. “Why?”
Robin’s eyes had narrowed. “And you say he’s here to find a missing person?”
She nodded. “What is it, Robin?”
Ignoring this he said thoughtfully, “I can provide a doctor who won’t ask questions and I think I’d like very much to stick around and hear what else your friend Mr. Hitchens has to say when he regains consciousness.” He walked over to the phone, dialed a number and stood waiting, smiling at her. “And to think,” he told her, shaking his head, “that I stopped in just to say hello and talk over old times! You know, such as how you rescued young Hafez and karate-chopped the sheik’s men and—hello, Chiang?” he said into the phone. “Three-oh-one here, I’m at the hotel; can you come discreetly to room 614—repeat, 614? Chap with possible concussion, unconscious at the moment, bad gash in the head, probably needs stitching … Right-oh. Good.” He hung up. “He’ll be here in five minutes. You know, it crossed my mind when I saw your friend here that it might be Cyrus, but you wrote us that Cyrus is six feet four, and this chap simply doesn’t extend that far on the floor.”
“He’s bird-watching,” she told him. “In Vermont.Is this conversation making any sense? I had to leave in a great hurry and—”
“So you
are
on a job for Carstairs!”
She smiled. “A very small one,” she admitted. “Reconnaissance, you might say. Robin, what startled you when I quoted Mr. Hitchens’s words to you, and why do you want to hear what he has to say when he wakes up?”
Robin perched on the arm of a chair and looked at her. “I am naturally sworn to secrecy but considering that I owe you my lovely bride and my new job—what startled me, my dear Mrs. P., is that for the past two days I’ve been looking for a missing man who happens to be named Hao.”
It was her turn to be startled. “Named … You mean—you mean ‘must find how’ could be a name?”
He smiled. “In Hong Kong, yes. Hong Kong is filled with Hu’s and Hao’s and Yu’s and Wi’s … It could of course be coincidence—”
“And your name for this occasion is Lars Petterson?”
“Oh you know that, do you.” He looked amused.
“Actually it was Mr. Hitchens who told me at breakfast, he’d just seen you on Hong Kong television this morning before you walked into the restaurant.” She shook her head at him. “Third-richest man in the
world
, Robin?”
“Mmmm,” he murmured, grinning. “It was hoped that it might bring just the right kind of attention—or wrong kind, whichever way you look at it—my arriving with great fanfare and lots of money to invest, possibly very naïve and definitely a playboy.”
“And now you’re being followed?”
“Only since I began looking for the missing Mr. Hao, which is interesting, don’t you think?”
She stared at him thoughtfully and then she said, “All right, why are you here, Robin?”
His face sobered. “To put it very simply I’m here because there’s something terribly wrong in Hong Kong … disturbingly and alarmingly wrong, and I’m here to discover what it is.”
There was silence and then Mrs. Pollifax said musingly, “You know, that’s the third time today that someone’s told me something is ‘terribly wrong’: you, Mr. Hitchens, and someone I talked with earlier this evening. In your case, Robin—”
“That will be Chiang,” Robin said as three staccato knocks interrupted her. “Let me open it, he knows me.”
Dr. Chiang hurried into the room, a
Mrs. Pollifax closed her eyes and thought about it. “First he whispered ‘something terribly wrong … how … how’ and then when I told him I’d call a doctor he gasped ‘Not safe … after me … how … must find how …”
Robin stood up and gave her a thoroughly startled look. “Would you mind repeating that, word for word?”
Obligingly she repeated it. “Why?”
Robin’s eyes had narrowed. “And you say he’s here to find a missing person?”
She nodded. “What is it, Robin?”
Ignoring this he said thoughtfully, “I can provide a doctor who won’t ask questions and I think I’d like very much to stick around and hear what else your friend Mr. Hitchens has to say when he regains consciousness.” He walked over to the phone, dialed a number and stood waiting, smiling at her. “And to think,” he told her, shaking his head, “that I stopped in just to say hello and talk over old times! You know, such as how you rescued young Hafez and karate-chopped the sheik’s men and—hello, Chiang?” he said into the phone. “Three-oh-one here, I’m at the hotel; can you come discreetly to room 614—repeat, 614? Chap with possible concussion, unconscious at the moment, bad gash in the head, probably needs stitching … Right-oh. Good.” He hung up. “He’ll be here in five minutes. You know, it crossed my mind when I saw your friend here that it might be Cyrus, but you wrote us that Cyrus is six feet four, and this chap simply doesn’t extend that far on the floor.”
“He’s bird-watching,” she told him. “In Vermont.Is this conversation making any sense? I had to leave in a great hurry and—”
“So you
are
on a job for Carstairs!”
She smiled. “A very small one,” she admitted. “Reconnaissance, you might say. Robin, what startled you when I quoted Mr. Hitchens’s words to you, and why do you want to hear what he has to say when he wakes up?”
Robin perched on the arm of a chair and looked at her. “I am naturally sworn to secrecy but considering that I owe you my lovely bride and my new job—what startled me, my dear Mrs. P., is that for the past two days I’ve been looking for a missing man who happens to be named Hao.”
It was her turn to be startled. “Named … You mean—you mean ‘must find how’ could be a name?”
He smiled. “In Hong Kong, yes. Hong Kong is filled with Hu’s and Hao’s and Yu’s and Wi’s … It could of course be coincidence—”
“And your name for this occasion is Lars Petterson?”
“Oh you know that, do you.” He looked amused.
“Actually it was Mr. Hitchens who told me at breakfast, he’d just seen you on Hong Kong television this morning before you walked into the restaurant.” She shook her head at him. “Third-richest man in the
world
, Robin?”
“Mmmm,” he murmured, grinning. “It was hoped that it might bring just the right kind of attention—or wrong kind, whichever way you look at it—my arriving with great fanfare and lots of money to invest, possibly very naïve and definitely a playboy.”
“And now you’re being followed?”
“Only since I began looking for the missing Mr. Hao, which is interesting, don’t you think?”
She stared at him thoughtfully and then she said, “All right, why are you here, Robin?”
His face sobered. “To put it very simply I’m here because there’s something terribly wrong in Hong Kong … disturbingly and alarmingly wrong, and I’m here to discover what it is.”
There was silence and then Mrs. Pollifax said musingly, “You know, that’s the third time today that someone’s told me something is ‘terribly wrong’: you, Mr. Hitchens, and someone I talked with earlier this evening. In your case, Robin—”
“That will be Chiang,” Robin said as three staccato knocks interrupted her. “Let me open it, he knows me.”
Dr. Chiang hurried into the room, a
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