4. I Don't Know. Believe Me.

He thought: Why this girl is so much enthused about Andrew. Why she wants to know whether he has any off spring or not? Whether own or adopted?

Then he answered "No, I do not know. They have been considering of adopting a baby for a long time. But they could not find a fitting baby."

"So, finally did they adopt a baby or not?" asked she eagerly as if her life was hanging on the answer of this question.

He said, "I do not know. They went for a vacation and then never returned. Some say they are dead. Plane crash, train toss or anything. I tried to find them. But all in vain. I do not know if they adopted a baby or not. Yes he was my best friend but I am surprised that there are so many things I do not know about him. Forgive me. This is unbelievable. Surely hundred percent unbelievable. But I do not know many things about him."

She smirked and said, "No, I believe you. You are totally believable. Your tone is believable. Tell us, you are a rich man, you can go anywhere you like. But a scholarly man like Andrew where could he afford to go on a vacation? What do you think?"

"I am nothing before Andrew. He was a richer man than I was. His property was double of my current property. He is very rich. He could go from Palmvilla to Paris. Vast scope. I am sorry but again I have to stick to my phrase: I do not know. Believe me. But to be true he always liked to go to strange places. Explore. Discover. Mix with people. Know their quirky cultures. The more odd the culture the more attractive it seemed to him."

Papa rose up from his seat and came near Veronica and said, "He speaks the truth dear. As much as I know Andrew was a scholarly man from the outset. But an adventurer from

inside. He had a craze for experiencing the inexperienced. A very unique personality. Seeking knowledge and cherishing adventure.

"Thank you sir," said the publisher. "for believing in my words."

"Ok Papa," said Veronica. Then she asked the publisher, "But if he is rich then what about his property? Is it handed over to some charity?"

"Hmm, good question," appreciated the bulky assistant of Papa. "Just ask this maggot."

"No need sir. I will answer voluntarily. Strangely enough his house and land properties were sold. His bank accounts were closed, when I went to the banks inquiring about his property. You know I informed everything to the police and the police while investigating got my attention drawn to so many facets of this missing person case. I was surprised. Then I had to admit that it is a premeditated murder. Done by some evil genius. That villain must have gotten the whole family from its old house. Then killed them all. Disposed all their bodies. Prior to that he must have forced them to sell all their properties and the villain himself pocketed all the money. But it makes me curious. Why do you need to know about Andrew? He has not harmed anyone. He would not. You are not here to search him and avenge him, are you? But sorry for that because someone has done that to him already."

Papa said, "You should be curious, you should be. Harm. Yes he had not harmed us. Rather he is our last ray of hope. And we need him because I have bet all my hopes on that man. Now do you understand how important this is to us?"

"Yes sir, yes sir," said the publisher, bending up from his waist part in midair, as if he was trying to bow. "I understand this is very important."

"Ok, do tell us, who has inherited his property? Do you know this? Did the police tell it to you?" Papa asked. His two assistants, one bulky and fair and one lean and dark, still standing near the sofa. They were watching him with conviction filled eyes – as if at a slight hint – a little twitch from Papa's side and they would lurch upon him and eat him alive and finish him up in no time.

"Sorry sir. The police also could not solve the mystery. I had to hire a handful of private detectives – the best ones this city could offer at that time. But they were also helpless."

"Hmm," said Papa. "It is our assumption Karl that your friend Andrew and his family are still alive. Yet. It is our assumption that he has been in hiding. For a long time. And until someone, that someone can be we, finds them out, they are going to live in hiding all their lives."

Andrew was not dead or murdered. Well he had always wished it that way. And he needed very dearly someone give words to this very comforting thought. Now he wished to kiss the hand of Papa. But he controlled his emotions – fought back them. Well the sad fact was that he could not kiss Papa's hands for he was dangling in the mid air. And wishing against wishes he thought: Well, I accept this theory of Andrew and his family still breathing. But why on earth such a practical family would play a childish hide and seek game?

And one more topic on which he was curious. He asked, "Why sir, if I may ask, you are after Andrew and why you need to find him? From your zeal and eagerness I can say that you have been searching him over years."

            "Years, ha!" Papa said. "Decades. To be clear for almost two decades. – And just by a single interview from you we have collected a wealth of information. We are thankful to you Karl."

"The pleasure is all mine sir. You also instigated a ray of hope into me. I can stay assured that my bosom friend is still alive. You do not know what a comfort this thought has brought to my heart – my burning heart. I have been also equally benefitted from this interview. I want to thank you and your assistants for this."

"Oh," Papa smirked. "No need Karl. We have a couple of questions to ask. Then we will leave you."

"Please ask," the publisher said.

Papa nodded his head and asked, "The thesis. No one has ever read Andrew's thesis named Matriarchy in Anglesland: Ancient and Modern. But we intend to get a copy of this thesis. Guide us how we can get a copy?"

The publisher smiled.

"Why are you smiling?" Veronica asked, angrily.

"Sorry miss, I did not smile to make anyone irritated and angry. But the thing is that no one has read the thesis except Andrew. This fact is a bluff. Created by me."

"Wow good to know," said Papa. "Yes, publishing houses have to resort to bluffs sometimes. What was your cause? We are all eager to know," Papa again curled his lips to a smirk.

The publisher said, "We spread bluff news sometimes for promotion. But in this case we did spread the bluff to stop our readers' demanding the publication of Andrew. For Andrew had asked me personally I must not publish this book in his absence. He had extracted a promise from me. And I have been keeping my promise."

"But why do you publish it now?"

"This thesis was my friend Andrew's dream project. How can I keep it to myself?"

"Good to know it sir. Then you must possess one or two copies of the manuscript. Can you please part with one for us? It would be very nice of you. We will really appreciate it."

The publisher indeed appreciated Papa's elusiveness. A gentleman. Sorry a gentle lady like. He was a man, no doubt. But his elusive way of talking style and other features seemed like that of a highborn lady's. A yin- yang issue. He guessed and said, "Yes sir I am ready to handover one copy to you. But you have to promise me something."

Veronica smirked and retorted, "Look at you. You are in no position to strike a deal with us. Just do as you are asked. Otherwise..."

Papa interjected, "Oh dear. So typical of your mother. Please control your anger. Keep your angst in check. And give this poor rich man an ear," Now eyeing at the publisher he added, "Yes sir, please tell us what promise do you want us to make? I promise you if it is feasible we will surely keep our words. Keeping our words is in our blood. Do tell."

"I think it is feasible sir," said the publisher. "I will give you whatever you want. I will not even stop you from finding my best friend Andrew from his hiding. That is ok. But please promise me you will not kill Andrew and his family, if they are still alive."

Papa took a few seconds. Then he said, "Ok. So be it. We do not need to kill Andrew and his family. Ok. We give our words. Now you keep your words and give us a copy of his thesis."

The publisher informed them that the copy was in the study room. These men will make a mess of my study: thought the publisher. He imagined the trio of men throwing books here and there. Tearing some of his prized books in frustration – for there were a lot of books in his study. The bulky man did not seem like a bookish man. He will not appreciate my collections; neither the labour nor money spent in collecting these rare and beautiful books – classic and modern of every genre possible. He muttered under his breath, "Oh my poor books." His muttering went unrecognized by the impatient girl. Papa had come to him by now. He flashed his teeth in response to him. Within fifteen minutes the two assistants returned with a thick manuscript copy. On its front page was written the title of the book they were searching for. Papa took the manuscript in his hand and turned few pages. "Hmm, this is it. Thank you Karl for your cordiality. You were very helpful. Stay assured just like you, we will also keep our promises. I leave you unharmed. If my girl has something to say you it is up to her."

The publisher eyed at Veronica. She was still angry. "Veronica, did not you tell me that this was your name," said the publisher. "A very beautiful name indeed. My dear little girl what you want to say I understand. You do not need to take such a fowl matter into your sweet little mouth. I will change myself dear. Allow me once."

She said getting a little knife out of her pocket, "I hate your eroticas. You should acquaint yourself with our world. There you will definitely have a different opinion of your own books."

"No… No…" the publisher whimpered preparing for the worst.

She put her knife's edge on his left leg and slowly slid it on a vein and it was cut. Blood trickled down from inside his trousers. He felt his warm blood gushing down making trails on his white trousers and white shirt.

Veronica said, "We consider that a limp is better on bed. Try it with your wife and mistresses. Good luck."

Papa came forth and stood before him and procured a CD from his coat pocket and said, "Sorry sir we have meddled with your privacy while shooting you and capturing your clandestine activities with Miss Mala, one of your prodigies, one of your best novelists, yesterday evening. But the credit goes to your old gatekeeper. See here money buys years' long loyalty. We beg pardon. But I think we had to do this. Because if you feel like going to the police or private eyes and inform about us and our little interview, I think the thought of this CD and some more like it will restrain you from doing so. Imagine how your spouse will react. Imagine how the media will throw this news."

Throwing the CD on the ground and eyeing the publisher and his upside down scared face he added, "I guess you have a strong imagination power. Nice to meet you. Good bye."

Then the whole gang left him still dangling in the mid air crying with pain. And crying for the gatekeeper. But the old fool was gone for good. For he has made his pocket warmer: thought he. Thankfully his mobile phone was still in the trouser pockets and his hands were open.