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impatience and addressed himself to Bemish, the two of them speaking in rapid Bulgarian.
    She knew him, but from where? He was young, very dark, square and broad-shouldered. “The Belgrade air terminal!” she said aloud.
    The young man turned and looked at her. “I beg your pardon?”
    “You’re Nikki,” she said in surprise. “You were in Philip’s group. What was his name, Philip Trenda?”
    Carleton Bemish’s mouth dropped open. He turned to look incredulously at Nikki.
    “Oh?” said Nikki, heavy brows lifting. “You were there, perhaps?” he added smoothly.
    “Yes indeed,” she told him warmly. “And later I saw your group led away from the Customs line by the police, and I wanted to come over and …” She stopped. The atmosphere almost crackled with shocks. Carleton Bemish’s eyes were growing larger and rounder while Nikki’s eyes were growing narrower. She added limply, “But you’re–all right? They didn’t bother you?”
    Nikki bowed stiffly. “A small misunderstanding, no more.” He looked at her curiously. “You say that you knew Philip?”
    “I didn’t say so,” she pointed out. “We had a brief but very interesting chat in the air terminal, that’s all. Now I really must leave,” she said. “Please remember me to Philip when you see him,” she told Nikki, and over her shoulder to them both, “Good night.”
    Neither man responded. She had the feeling that she left them dazed, but she couldn’t honestly attribute it to the force of her personality. She wondered what she’d said that so took them by surprise.
    The smell of cabbage was stronger in the hall, reminding Mrs. Pollifax of her own hunger and of the increasing lateness of the hour. She hurried back to her hotel.
    Mrs. Pollifax dined alone with a small sense of letdown that aborted her appetite. First of all the food in the hotel restaurant was imitation American, the peas straight from a can, and yet–perversely–no one, not even the headwaiter, knew the English language; a contact with Tsanko appeared impossible for another twelve or fifteen hours, and Carleton Bemish was not available at all. She told herself that she was experiencing the effects of herfirst hours in a strange country far from home, although this was of small consolation to her frame of mind, which was gloomy.
    It was not until she was in the middle of dessert that it suddenly struck her how very odd it was that Bemish’s guest had turned out to be Nikki. How did it happen that a hitchhiking Yugoslavian student was on such friendly terms with a man who lived in Sofia?
    I know many, many important people
, Bemish had said defiantly.
    The thought so startled her that she looked up in astonishment to meet the eye of a small gray-haired man in a gray suit who was watching her closely from a table near the entrance. He glanced away so swiftly that she gave him a second look, at once curious and alerted. He was short and stolid, his suit badly cut and his whole appearance so remarkably anonymous that she would never have noticed him except for his stare. She had the impression that he had only recently arrived, and this was confirmed by a glance at his table, still empty of food.
    Perhaps it was Tsanko, she thought hopefully, and perhaps contact would be made soon, after all.
    She paid her bill and went upstairs, but no one knocked on her door and no messages were slipped under the rug. Rather sadly, she retired at half-past ten.

7
    Sometime during the night Mrs. Pollifax experienced a nightmare in which she was lying helplessly in bed at home and being observed by a burglar who had entered her room. She was not accustomed to nightmares and as she fought her way back to consciousness she discovered that she was indeed in bed, it was night and a man was standing at the foot of the bed looking down at her. He was clearly silhouetted against the window.
    Mrs. Pollifax waited, breath suspended, for the man to identify himself as Tsanko. He did not. He