Silhouette in Scarlet Read Online Free PDF Page B

man and no reason to seek him out. I’d just as soon
cohabit with a rattlesnake.’
    I applied myself to my meal whatever it was. ‘That is all?’ Leif demanded.
    ‘That is all.’ It was all he was going to get. What I had told him was public knowledge – at least it was information available to any police officer. My private dealings with
John were none of Leif’s business.
    ‘Why did you choose Sweden for your holiday?’ he asked.
    ‘Why not? It’s the land of my ancestors.’
    ‘You have kin here?’
    ‘Probably . . . Leif, I’ve tried to be cooperative, but I am terribly, terribly sick of Smythe-Monkshood and everything to do with him. There is nothing else I can tell you that
could be of use to you.’
    That wasn’t strictly true, but there were several good reasons for neglecting to mention John’s cryptic message about Wayland Smith which was beginning to look more and more like a
legitimate clue instead of a cute come-on meant to lure me into a bargain-package rendezvous with John B. Smythe. It was one hell of a vague clue, though. ‘Wayland’s work’ could
refer to any one of a hundred objects in a dozen different museums. If John really was planning to steal a historic treasure, and if Leif really was on his trail, Leif presumably knew more about
the plot than I did. Besides, that damned message made me sound like a collaborator. I wouldn’t have blamed Leif for interpreting it that way. I couldn’t figure it out myself. Why the
devil would John warn me of his illegal intentions? He knew I’d do everything possible to thwart him if I took the warning seriously . . . I hadn’t taken it seriously, though. The
message had been perfectly framed – vague enough to preclude action on my part, intriguing enough to whet my curiosity. It had done the job. Here I was, right where John wanted me. I wished
to God I knew why he wanted me here.
    While I pursued this depressing train of thought, Leif watched me intently. After a while he said, ‘I believe you.’
    ‘Thanks a heap. I’d like some dessert, please.’
    ‘Certainly.’ He waved at the waiter and watched benevolently as I consumed something consisting primarily of whipped cream and custard. ‘I like to see a woman who enjoys her
food,’ he announced.
    I glanced at him, licking custard off my upper lip, but he wasn’t being funny. ‘You are right,’ he went on. ‘I should not spoil your vacation. I apologize. Let me make
amends. I will show you some of the night life of Stockholm.’
    Things were looking up. I smiled at him. ‘I’d like that.’
    There was one minor contretemps, when I hauled my purse out from under the table and checked, as I always do, to make sure the contents were intact. I can never get the darned thing closed
– I carry too many things in it – so I was not surprised to find that several items were missing. ‘My passport,’ I exclaimed.
    Leif eyed the bulging, obscene object critically. ‘You should keep it always in your hands.’
    ‘It’s too big.’ I peered under the table, then shied back as I found myself nose to nose with Leif. His eyeballs gleamed like boiled eggs in the gloom. They looked absolutely
disgusting.
    ‘As I thought,’ he said, fumbling around the floor. ‘Passport, lipstick, comb . . . What in God’s name is this?’
    I couldn’t tell. It was too dark under the table. We both came up into the light and Leif handed me my belongings, including the object that had prompted his horrified inquiry. I
didn’t blame him; it must have felt like something long-dead and rotten. I am particularly addicted to a variety of pastry made by a certain bakery in Munich. It’s like a jelly
doughnut, but squashier. I had forgotten it was in there.
    ‘Sorry,’ I said, retrieving the collection and putting it in my bag. Leif started to lick his fingers, then thought better of it and wiped them on his napkin. ‘Is everything
there?’ he asked, with the doggedly patient look men get