Out on the street again, they walked slowly in the direction of the old
administration buildings where both had left their means of
transportation.
Isobel, who was frowning thoughtfully, evidently over the things that
had been said, said, "Let's go this way. I'd like to see the old Great
Mosque, in the Dyingerey Ber section of town. It's always fascinated
me."
Crawford said, looking at her and appreciating her attractiveness, all
over again, "You know Timbuktu quite well, don't you?"
"I've just finished a job down in Kabara, and it's only a few miles
away."
"Just what sort of thing do you do?"
She shrugged and made a moue. "Our little team concentrates on breaking
down the traditional position of women in these cultures. To get them to
drop the veil, go to school. That sort of thing. It's a long story
and--"
Homer Crawford suddenly and violently pushed her to the side and to the
ground and at the same time dropped himself and rolled frantically to
the shelter of an adobe wall which had once been part of a house but now
was little more than waist high.
"Down!" he yelled at her.
She bug-eyed him as though he had gone suddenly mad.
There was a heavy, stub-nosed gun suddenly in his hand. He squirmed
forward on elbows and belly, until he reached the corner.
"What's the matter?" she blurted.