Mrs. Pollifax Unveiled Read Online Free PDF Page B

his red sweater still in sight but at a distance. Seeing him turn left they quickened their pace, passing displays of water pipes, followed by a shop with children’s bright clothes hanging from rods. The boy had turned again, this time to the right, and they hurried lest they lose him in this labyrinth of stalls. They needn’t have worried. The boy paused at a souk displaying carpets of all kinds; he lingered only for a moment and then without looking back he slipped down a narrow brick-lined passage next to the rug stall. Following, they saw him open a handsome door of mahogany and disappear, leaving the door ajar.
    “Here we go,” whispered Mrs. Pollifax, and took a deep breath.
    Pushing the door open and closing it behind them they found themselves in a storeroom occupied by a desk piled high with papers and surrounded by roll upon roll of kilim and Oriental rugs standing upright, like sentinels. A particularly fine Oriental rug that hung from the far wall caught Mrs. Pollifax’s eye, and as she stepped closer to admire it a hand appeared, the carpet was drawn aside, and a man stepped out. He wore a voluminous striped robe and a checkered kaffiyehwrapped around his head and bound with a cord; he also wore sunglasses and a pointed beard so that in the dimness of the room it was impossible to see the features of his face clearly. Only the whiteness of his teeth penetrated the shadows as he smiled and bowed.
“As salaam alaikum.”
    Mrs. Pollifax, remembering her adventures in Jordan, smiled and said,
“Alaikum as salaam.”
    There was the flash of white teeth again. In clipped English he said, “And how is your health?”
    “Well, thank God … but have you news?”
    “There is news, yes.” The boy in the red sweater suddenly reappeared, bearing a tray with tiny glasses of tea. “Please,” said their host, gesturing them toward chairs dimly discerned near the desk. “You may call me Omar if you wish.”
    Cups in hand they obediently sat down. Examining each of their faces Omar said, “You know you are being watched. From the moment your plane landed you have been followed.”
    “That soon?” Farrell said, frowning. “We were expected?”
    Gravely the man said, “The American Embassy here has many leaks. They employ cooks, interpreters, cleaners, workmen, all Syrian.” He shrugged. “But the boy Abdul is well trained and you can be sure you were not followed to me here. By now, of course, they will have learned you look for a missing young woman—”
    Mrs. Pollifax interrupted him to say, “Yes, but there
is
news of her? She is alive?”
    “There are rumors.…”
    “Such as?” asked Farrell.
    Omar lifted a cup of tea to his lips, blotted his lips with a napkin and replaced the cup on the tray. “Of a young woman, presumably American, in a place where no American woman should be. We hear of this because of a Bedouin whose sheephad strayed, and in his wanderings—what he saw and heard he mentioned to a friend, who spoke of it to another man who is interested in such matters.”
    You
, thought Mrs. Pollifax but did not say so.
    “It was some time ago, you understand. It needed many days for news of this to pass from person to person—and there are distances.…”
    “We’re here to investigate the rumor,” said Farrell. “This is the aunt”—he gestured toward Mrs. Pollifax—“of the young American who disappeared.”
    “Really?” he said, amused.
    “And the embassy appears to have heard nothing of this rumor.”
    “Oh, they would not hear of it, no,” the man said smoothly.
    “But go on, please,” said Mrs. Pollifax. “May I ask how a Bedouin looking for his sheep would know this young woman was American? And how can we find him?”
    “It is you who will have to find him,” he said. “Do drink your tea, it has a delicious jasmine flavor, I assure you. As for the Bedouin I can only tell you what was told to me by … a friend,” he emphasized. “In the desert there are