Mrs. Pollifax and the Hong Kong Buddha Read Online Free PDF Page A

she set out again, her hat a shade less squarely on her head and one rose listing slightly in spite of efforts to discipline it; it too suffered from travel fatigue, she guessed. Once again she made her way up Dragon Alley, finding only the shadows changed, and stopped to look into the window and beyondit: this time she could see two people in the shop, a stooped and elderly Chinese gentleman seated behind the counter, and the girl, now leaning over the counter to rearrange objects on a tray.
    There was no Sheng Ti.
    At this point Mrs. Pollifax realized that she lacked the patience of a professional spy. She was by nature very direct, and the thought of visiting the shop at hourly intervals for the rest of the week appalled her. Bishop had told her that, on the two occasions when the shop had been reconnoitered, Sheng Ti had been found
inside
it, the first time in the company of Mr. Feng, the second time alone. Where was he now? There was no way to disguise herself and keep the shop under surveillance-she would be noticed at once—and in any case the whole point of her being in Hong Kong was to find and talk with Sheng Ti.
    She would go in. Carstairs might not approve but she would go in.
    Calmly Mrs. Pollifax entered Feng Imports.
    The man seated behind the counter had the face of an ancient Manchu, with skin wrinkled like crepe paper and the ghost of a goatee at his chin; his eyes were nearly suffocated by folds of flesh, but they were shrewd as they moved over the roses on her head and then dropped to her face. She thought he looked tired, like a man who had been seated in this shabby store for all of his life but had once expected a great deal more and had not yet resigned himself to having less.
    “Good afternoon,” she said cheerfully.
    “Good afternoon,” he responded, placing his hands in the voluminous sleeves of his robe and bowing slightly.
    “I’ve come to see Sheng Ti,” she announced, and waited.
    The girl looked up quickly and just as quickly looked away. The man—Mr. Feng, she supposed—stiffened slightly but nothing stirred in his impassive face. “I do not understand,” he said politely. “Shangchi?”
    “Sheng Ti,” repeated Mrs. Pollifax.
    To the girl he murmured, his eyes on Mrs. Pollifax, “You may go, Lotus.” After another swift and curious glance at Mrs. Pollifax the girl walked to the back of the room, parted the long line of beads that curtained the doorway and disappeared, leaving the beads gently swaying and rustling in her wake. “But,” said the man gently, “there is no one here by that name.”
    Oh dear
, thought Mrs. Pollifax,
they’re going to be difficult, very difficult
. “Nonsense,” she said cordially, “of course he’s here, I’ve been told on excellent authority that he works here, and if he no longer works here perhaps you can tell me where he does. Because,” she added breathlessly, “I’m on holiday for the week in Hong Kong and really must say hello to him before I leave. You’re Mr. Feng?”
    “Told he works here?” repeated the man, blinking.
    Mrs. Pollifax brought out Bishop’s scribbled memo and read from it in a clear loud voice. “Sheng Ti, care of Feng Imports, 31 Dragon Alley … you
are
Mr. Feng?”
    He stared curiously at the slip of paper. “If I may see—” His hand reached out with astonishing speed and grasped it before she could either protest or pull back.
    He said sharply,
“Who gave you this?”
    “A friend of Sheng Ti’s.”
    “Friend? Of Sheng Ti?”
    It felt suddenly important to emphasize that yes,Sheng Ti might have a friend or two. She said tartly, “Is that so surprising, such a charming young man?”
    His voice was cool. “And how would such a person as you know such a person as Sheng Ti?”
    Even more coolly she said, “I really fail to see how it’s any concern of yours, Mr. Feng, but since you insist on an inquisition, I met him in mainland China, near Turfan, in Xinjiang Province. Really,” she said