The Mysterious Caravan (13 page)

The aisles teemed with people. Customers wandered from stall to stall. Donkeys bearing produce pushed through the milling humanity. Shopkeepers, standing in front of their places, extolled their wares with rapid speech and gestures.

“This seems like a madhouse,” Frank said as he walked in the lead with Christine.

“To us it is quite orderly,” she said.

“Hey, Chet. Here's a sword place.” Joe pointed to a stall next to a rug bazaar.

The boys stepped into the low, narrow store. Its walls were hung with scimitars, swords, be-jeweled daggers, and radiant hunting knives.

The Americans, fascinated, examined the wares eagerly. The shopkeeper spoke French, and with Christine as an interpreter, they learned much about the exotic blades.

Seemingly from nowhere, another salesman appeared. More loquacious than the first, he had the advantage of knowing some English. He took
Frank by the arm and led him deeper and deeper into the store.

“The best things are in back!” he said.

Frank felt uneasy. When they reached the rear, the man pushed him through a doorway heavily hung with a curtain of beads.

Before the boy could protest, he found himself facing an Arab holding a magnificent dagger. The fellow grinned and approached the boy!

I
NSTANTLY
Frank assumed a judo defense posture. If the man were to lunge, he would be ready! The thought of calling out flashed through his mind, but if the Arab were an assassin, he could strike before help arrived.

The boy emitted a low guttural challenge and watched for the slightest move from his adversary. But instead of the anticipated thrust, the man smiled benignly.

“You are not in danger,” he said. “This part of the shop is a special place. It contains nothing but my very best merchandise.”

He proffered the dagger and Frank took it in his hand. The blade, curved slightly, was finely honed and the haft was inlaid with beautiful copper work. Then the salesman showed him the sheath. It was made of leather and copper, intricately patterned in a red-and-blue design.

“This you will find nowhere else,” the shopkeeper said. “But for you a special price.”

When he quoted it, Frank remembered Christine's advice. “
La!
” he said. “Too much.”

“Ah, you speak Arabic,” the man said, nodding his head in appreciation. “You know something about our country. We will reduce the price. Only for you.”

But the twenty percent reduction, Frank reasoned, was not enough. They haggled back and forth, and every time Frank turned to walk away, the man clutched his arm and lowered the price by a few more dollars.

Finally Frank made a counter-offer of half the original price. The shopkeeper rolled his eyes up, said his children would starve if he carried on business this way, and ended by saying, “Good. We have a bargain.”

To make sure, Frank walked back into the main part of the shop to consult Christine. She agreed that the dagger was worth that much, and that it was a good buy.

Frank paid and showed his purchase to the others. “I'm going to hang it on the wall of our room as a memento of Marrakesh,” he said.

As they stepped out of the shop, Joe asked Christine where the leather store was located. She said it was not far ahead. They continued pushing through the crowd, and as the sun rose higher, the colors of the interior became even
more vivid. Displayed in front of a boutique was a sky-blue djellabah with a black face veil, also a shocking pink one with a purple veil.

William remarked that the clothes concealed the wearer's figures, so their identity was unknown.

“And what about the face?” Chet said. “All you can go by are the eyes. And every girl seems to have big brown eyes.”

Joe laughed. “You came here to do a bit of detective work. Remember? Don't worry about the girls.”

They stopped at another shop and watched a group of men sewing the embroidered caftans worn by women and adding gold braids and trimmings of colored sequins.

“Hey,” Joe said, “if we get one for Mother, do you think she'd wear it?”

Frank laughed. “To a costume party maybe.”

Farther on was a stand devoted to sandalwood from Indonesia. “This is burned for incense,” Christine remarked and added, “Look, there is the leather-goods shop.”

The stall was hung with all kinds of clothing made of leather. “It smells like a new football,” Chet remarked, as he sniffed the air.

The owner spoke rapidly in French. Frank said, “Do you speak English?”

“
Non, Monsieur
,” He looked sadly at them until Christine smiled and addressed him in the melodious language he was accustomed to.

Acting as their interpreter, she described a beautiful leather coat the boys had seen in the United States. It had carried a Paris label. Who could have bought it?

The man at first did not seem to understand, but suddenly his face brightened. “Yes,” he said, “I made a few special garments for the French company and inserted the labels myself. But before I could ship them abroad, a customer bought one right here.”

“Do you remember who he was?” Christine asked.

The leather man seemed pleased that praise for his work had reached America. “
Oui, Mademoiselle.
”

He was about to open his mouth again, when his eyes fell on something in the crowd. A look of fright crossed his face. His mouth shut tight, and with a grim look he turned and walked to the rear of his shop.

“What'd he see?” Chet asked. “A ghost?”

“Maybe someone gave him the high sign to quit talking,” was Frank's guess.

Christine added, “Perhaps it was the buyer himself!”

“We're being spied on,” Joe declared. “There's no doubt about that!”

“Let's get out of here,” Frank said.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Chet said. “I've got my eye on that vest over there. Wouldn't that look great with my checkered sport jacket?”

Christine smiled and said, “I will stay with Chet and help him bargain.”

“Okay, we'll meet you outside,” Frank said, and the boys hurried off. They walked back through the teeming alley of the
souq
, glancing at everyone who wore European clothing. But Scott was not among them.

“And to think he may be living right here in Marrakesh,” William said, frustrated.

“Not only that,” Frank added. “He knows we're here.”

“Probably has our photos, too,” Joe put in. “Frank, this could be dangerous.”

When they emerged from the
souq
into the glaring sunshine, the first thing they saw was the snake charmer.

“Let's watch the act,” Frank suggested, “while Chet's making up his mind about that vest. No use to look for our elusive friend any more.”

The snake charmer, bareheaded and dressed in a dirty djellabah, sat cross-legged before an earthen jar. About his shoulders was coiled a large black snake. He picked up a flute and began to play a weird, random tune.

A cobra's head appeared from the jar. Its eyes shone like black diamonds, and its tongue flickered as the hood rose ominously. Then, to the delight of the onlookers, the cobra swayed to and fro to the rhythm of the music.

The crowd, which had been sitting back some
fifteen feet or so, pressed in closer to watch the dancing snake. Most were Arabs, but a handful of gaping tourists were among them.

The music stopped. The snake charmer spoke harshly to the cobra and its head disappeared into the jar. Then he stood up with the large black snake still over his shoulders. He smiled, showing a gleaming gold tooth, and begged for coins.

The spectators flung a few in his direction, as did the Hardys and William. The man walked up to the trio, pulled the snake from over his head and offered to drape it on one of them.

William spoke a few words of Swahili, where-upon the man grinned broadly and nodded.

“I will try it,” William said. “He says it is harmless.”

With that the snake charmer put the reptile over the Jamaican boy's head, and William began to stroke it.

“This baby is really cold,” he said.

The snake charmer now hissed a few words to his beast. Instantly the snake coiled around William's chest; then it covered his face, so the boy's shouts of protest became muffled grunts.

The man danced around, as Frank and Joe tried to pull the reptile from William's body. But it was like a band of steel!

“He'll be killed!” Joe stormed at the Arab. “Get it off!”

W
HILE
William and the Hardys struggled with the snake, the Arabs in the crowd laughed gleefully. Finally one of them, with a neat beard and spotless djellabah, touched Frank on the arm. He spoke good English.

“This is part of the act,” he said. “The snake will not hurt your friend. You must pay the owner a fee, however, to get it off.”

Frank whirled about. “How much?”

“You have United States dollars?”

“Yes.”

“I suggest you give him one.”

Frank whipped open his wallet and threw a greenback in the direction of the snake charmer. The man stepped forward to retrieve the money. Then he clapped the reptile on the head, spoke rapidly, and the snake let go. With a sinuous
movement, it climbed back on its master's shoulders.

“Are you all right?” Joe asked William.

“It did not hurt me, but I was quite startled,” the boy replied.

They looked about for Chet and Christine, who had not yet appeared. Joe grew impatient. “I'm going back into the shop,” he said. “Meet you here in a little while.”

He sidled through the murmuring crowd. Finally he saw his friends coming. Chet held a package under his arm.

“Where've you been?” Joe asked.

“We had to do quite a bit of bargaining after the shopkeeper decided to talk to us again,” Christine explained.

“He had just what I wanted,” Chet added, affectionately patting his package.

“Well, come on now,” Joe said, “the fellows are waiting.” He was about to tell them about the snake, when he happened to glance back toward the leather shop. He noticed a man in native dress duck into the place. A ray of sunlight flashed across his face for a split second.

“It's Scott! I'm sure it's Scott!” Joe exclaimed.

“What? Where?” Chet asked.

“He went into the shop. Look, you go and get the others. Christine and I will try to eavesdrop.”

“But——” Chet began to protest.

“Vamoose!” Joe ordered, and gave him a push. Chet realized that this was no time to argue and left.

Joe and Christine pushed through toward the merchant's stall and stopped at the rug bazaar next to it.

“In here!” the boy whispered.

They wriggled into the hanging folds of a Persian rug, unnoticed by the proprietor, whose back was turned. Once concealed, they listened intently. Voices were coming from the leather shop. The men were speaking French. The man Joe thought was Scott, was being addressed as
Monsieur
Dubonnet. His new coat, the shopkeeper said, was not ready yet.

Christine translated in a hushed whisper.

“There has to be fine needlework in the lining,” the artisan declared. “Give me a few more days,
Monsieur
Dubonnet.”

“But I am very busy,” was the annoyed reply. “I need it right away.”

“I will send it to your home,” the merchant offered.

“Good.”

With his heart pounding, Joe heard the man give his address in French. “Did you get it, Christine?”

She bobbed her head.

Joe peeked out of the rug in time to see the man press money into the hand of the artisan.

“If you see or hear anything of those Americans again,” he said, “let me know.” Then he left.

The young people stepped out of hiding and Joe declared, “It's Scott for sure. Let's go after him!”

The man had concealed his face in the hood of the djellabah and was striding toward the exit of the
souq.

“Here come the others now,” Christine said.

Frank, Chet, and William passed Scott, nearly touching elbows. Joe gestured wildly, but Frank did not get the message. Instead he called out, “Joe, was that really Scott?”

“Yes!” Joe replied, pressing forward as fast as he could. “He just passed you. Come on, we can still chase him.”

But the shouting had alerted the man. He dashed in and out among the shoppers, with the pursuers on his heels. The djellabah retarded Scott's speed somewhat, but nevertheless he kept a safe distance ahead as he crossed over the open area and dashed to a gate in the city wall.

“
Balik! Balik!
” Chet cried, and the Arabs melted to one side. Outside the wall, they found themselves on a broad, dusty street. It was cluttered with carts, donkeys, and decrepit old automobiles, chugging along and laden with produce for the market.

“We'll catch him this time!” Joe cried out as he tried to keep pace with William's long strides.

Finally the fugitive reached a narrow slit cut into the ramparts. It contained a row of steps leading to the top of the wall. The man raced up, with the others in pursuit. William reached the top of the stairs first, in time to see Scott glide over several flat roofs and disappear.

“There he goes!” William said.

The others were at the spot in seconds and looked down over the edge to see a strange sight. In an area of several acres stood huge open vats half filled with dyes. They were yellow, red, and purple. A pungent smell rose from them.

“What crazy swimming pools,” Chet quipped.

“This is where wool is dyed,” Christine said. “Usually many men work here, but today is a holiday.”

“Scott must be hiding among those vats!” Frank said. He put a hand on the edge of the wall and vaulted down. The others followed.