They shook hands.

'You are a devout man, like myself,' Abdullah said. 'I knew you would come, sooner or later, to your father's mosque.'

'You've been looking for me?'

'Many people are looking for you.'

Together they walked away from the mosque. Abdullah said: 'Knowing you to be a True Believer, I could not betray you to the British, even for so large a sum of money; so I told Major Vandam that I knew nobody by the name of Alex Wolff, or Achmed Rahmha.'

Wolff stopped abruptly. So they were still hunting him. He had started to feel safe-too soon. He took Abdullah by the arm and steered him into an Arab cafe. They sat down.

Wolff said: 'He knows my Arab name.'

'He knows all about you except where to find you.'

Wolff felt worried, and at the same time intensely curious. 'What is this major like?' he asked.

Abdullah shrugged. 'An Englishman. No subtlety. No manners. Khaki shorts and a face the color of a tomato.'

'You can do better than that.'

Abdullah nodded. 'This man is patient and determined. If I were you, I should be afraid of him.'

Suddenly Wolff was afraid.

He said: 'What has he been doing?'

'He has found out all about your family. He has talked to all your brothers. They said they knew nothing of you.'

The cafe proprietor brought each of them a dish of mashed fava beans and a flat loaf of coarse bread. Wolff broke his bread and dipped it into the beans. Flies began to gather around the bowls. Both men ignored them.

Abdullah spoke through a mouthful of food. 'Vandam is offering one hundred pounds for your address. Hal As if we would betray one of our own for money.'

Wolff swallowed. 'Even if you knew my address.'

Abdullah shrugged. 'It would be a small thing to find out.'

'I know,' Wolff said. 'So I am going to tell you, as a sign of my faith in your friendship. I am living at Shepheard's Hotel.'

Abdullah looked hurt. 'My friend, I know this is not true. It is the first place the British would look----'

'You misunderstand me.' Wolff smiled. 'I am not a guest there. I work in the kitchens, cleaning pots, and at the end of the day I lie down on the floor with a dozen or so others and sleep there.'

'So cunning!' Abdullah grinned: he was pleased with the idea and delighted to have the information. 'You hide under their very noses!'

'I know you will keep this secret,' Wolff said. 'And, as a sign of my gratitude for your friendship, I hope you will accept from me a gift of one hundred pounds.'

'But this is not necessary~'

'I insist.'

Abdullah sighed and gave in reluctantly. 'Very well.'

'I will have the money sent to your house.'

Abdullah wiped his empty bowl with the last of his bread. 'I must leave you now,' he said. 'Allow me to pay for your breakfast.'

'Thank you.'

'Ah! But I have come with no money. A thousand pardons-' 'It's nothing,' Wolff said. 'Alallah-in God's care.'

Abdullah replied conventionally: 'Allah yisallimak-may God protect thee.'

He went out.

Wolff called for coffee and thought about Abdullah. The thief would betray Wolff for a lot less than a hundred pounds, of course. What had stopped him so far was that he did not know Wolffs address. He was actively trying to discover it-that was why he come to the mosque. Now he would attempt to check on the story about living in the kitchens of Shepheard's. This might not be easy; for of course no one would admit that staff slept on the kitchen floor indeed Wolff was not at all sure it was true-but he had to reckon on Abdullah discovering the lie sooner or later. The story was no more than a delaying tactic; so was the bribe. However, when at last Abdullah found out that Wolff was living on Sonja's houseboat, he would probably come to Wolff for more money instead of going to Vandam

The situation was under control-for the moment.

Webb left a few milliemes on the table and went out.

The city had come to life. The streets were already jammed with traffic, the pavements crowded with vendors and beggars, the air full of good and bad smells. Wolff made his way to the central post office to use a telephone. He called GHQ and asked for Major Smith.

'We have seventeen of them,' the operator told him. 'Have you got a first name?'

Вы читаете The Key to Rebecca (1980)
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