“Did you pay?” Sami asked.

“We don’t have a million dollars.”

“But the Abisha Scroll has been returned?”

“We asked for help from all our friends in Nablus.” The priest lifted his hand in front of him, fingers pointing upward. “Perhaps one of them was able to influence the thieves.”

“What friends?”

“We’re part of the local community. My accent is like everyone else’s in Nablus-I say Oi, when I mean to say I, just like the people in the casbah. We have friends among the business community, wealthy, powerful friends.”

“Did one of them pay the ransom for the Abisha?”

“No one told me they did so. I finally reported the scroll stolen during the weekend, because our Passover takes place in three days and, as I told you, the entire ceremony would have to be abandoned if I couldn’t carry this scroll in our procession. But the scroll was returned overnight. I came here this morning to meet you, as your office instructed me to do when I called in the theft. But then I found the scroll on the steps, safe in its box. My prayers had been answered.”

“Just like that?” Sami spoke calmly, but Omar Yussef heard the suspicion in his voice. “The thieves didn’t tell you they’d returned it?”

“No one comes here unless they’re accompanied by me. I have the only key to the building. They must have known I’d find it.”

“Who knew that the scroll was kept in the safe?”

“Many people in Nablus.”

“Who knew where the safe was?”

“We often welcome guests such as you in this synagogue. Then, there are international scholars who come to study our community. Any one of them might know where the safe is kept.”