The Snake Stone

85

“You’re quite sure?”

“Quite sure, Dr. Millingen. Thank you.”

“At least you have some fine Turkish slippers now,” he said, smiling.

“Yes. You have been kind.” She turned to the little sunken door and knocked.

Widow Matalya answered the door. She did not know what to think, finding the Frankish woman on her doorstep, with a strange man. Dr. Millingen tipped his hat politely, and the old woman sniffed, transferring her distaste onto a solid target: hats, she thought, were very nasty things.

“Please, madame-do keep in touch.”

Amelie gave him a curious smile. “I shall have to, I suppose,” she said.

She went in. The old woman closed the door and turned with a very set expression on her face, her lips compressed.

“Monsieur Yashim-Yashim efendi-he’s upstairs?” Amelie pointed a finger.

The widow’s eyes bored into her.

“I think I’ll just go up and see,” Amelie said gaily. “Salut!”