Lost trumpet

THE LOST TRUMPET
236
“Some woman, Esdras ?”
“How did you know ?”
“It is always either a woman or God.” And she
lighted a cigarette and curled her feet up beneath
her. “Tell me.”
He was telling her, succinctly. And I could not
take my eyes off this woman of the Wagh el Berka.
. . . Certainly I must be near to an attack of fever,
for it seemed to me, in despite her blindness, that her
glances in my direction were definitely the glances
of one who saw. . . . She was nodding to Quaritch.
“And you want me to help ? But I shall! What
is it you wish ?”
“This woman Fm going to take—it seems she
had a brother who lived at Rashida, a Carl Simonssen.
It seems some woman Huth Rizq lived with him.
Was it you ?”
“It was I.”
The boy’s laugh had a ring of triumph in it.
That s splendid. Listen. This man’s sister thinks
you were the murderess. That’s amusing enough.
But if I can find you and take you to her I fulfil my
part of the bargain. Will you come ?”
The prostitute picked up her shawl. She did it
without any of the tentative gropings of the blind.
“Yes, I’ll come.” She mused. “Carl Simonssen ?”
But I also had stood up. It seemed to me time to
end this mad conversation. “Carl Simonssen,” I
said, slowly and distinctly. “And this sister believes
you murdered him.”
She turned her head with its unwinking, laughing