She rolled over and headed back for the beach, suddenly hungry.

Charles joined her, in swimming-trunks and with not a hair out of place, as she laid out what began to look like a very uninteresting picnic on a cloth on the beach.

“Don’t you tan?” asked Agatha, looking at his white, smooth chest.

“I never tan. I don’t know why. Thick English skin or something. What goodies do we have? Dear me. I hope you’ve brought an English can opener for that salmon, Aggie. The Turkish Cypriot ones don’t work.”

But Agatha had only a local can opener, which ran around the rim of the tin of salmon without piercing it at all.

“There’s bread and cheese and things,” she said defiantly. “And I got some cakes.”

“There’s a restaurant there.”

“Oh, all right,” grumbled Agatha. “I’ll pack all this up again and have it for supper.”

She then set about performing the tricky business of drying herself and slipping off her swim-suit under her dress and hauling on her knickers over wet and salty thighs. Charles wrapped a large beach towel around his waist and removed his swimming-trunks and put on his underwear and trousers and then a shirt without any of the struggles Agatha was enduring.

They put the unwanted picnic and swim-suits in the car and headed for the restaurant.

Charles ordered wine despite Agatha’s protests that sooner or later they would be stopped and breathalysed. “Not if we keep within the speed limit,” said Charles. “Anyway, we can have a sleep on the beach afterwards.”

“You forget why we came,” said Agatha. “To go look for the others.”

“Later. Let’s not spoil the day.”

Agatha ate kebab and looked out onto the beach. It was a tranquil scene. The water was crystal-clear. She wondered where they put their sewage. Then a sudden longing for James hit her like a wave. How could he go off, just like that? Had she ever really known him?

“He’ll probably turn up in Carsely sooner or later, after playing Lawrence of Arabia or whatever he’s doing,” said Charles, guessing her thoughts.

“You can’t play Lawrence of Arabia in Turkey,” said Agatha with a watery smile. “I don’t want to eat any more. May I have a cigarette?”

“Of course. And give me one as well.”

“Don’t you ever buy any for yourself?”

“No, that would mean I would have to admit to myself that I smoke. Besides, smokers are usually all too eager to pass out their fags. Make another addict like themselves.”

“I shouldn’t give you one.”

He leaned forwards and extracted one from her packet and ht it up.

“So we’ll order coffee,” he said, “and go and find your suspects. Isn’t it peculiar the way they all seemed to have worked each other up to the idea that your interference could cause trouble? Maybe one of them wanted you warned off.”

“Maybe. I’m frightened someone will have a go at me again. One of them is taking me seriously. James shouldn’t have left me to face this alone.”

“I’m here.”

“True, but…”

“I lack gravitas. Bad-tempered people always carry weight.”

“James is not bad-tempered!”

“If you say so.”

Agatha thought of James. She had to admit that he had been bad-tempered since she arrived, but finding yourself in the middle of a murder was enough to make anyone bad-tempered, she thought defensively, to keep the idea at bay that it was her unwelcome pursuit of him that had turned him nasty.

“I suppose you expect me to pay for this,” said Agatha.

“Yes, thank you.”

“You are a cheapskate.”

“No, Aggie, I am your twentieth-century man. You wanted equal rights and that means equal expenses. If you stop bitching fü take you to dinner tonight.”

“James might be back.”

“Dream on. Now the path from this beach only leads to the old harbour. I had a look at your guidebook. We’d better drive round.”

“No sleep?”

“No, I’m awake now.”

They drove round to the site and parked outside the old amphitheatre. A bearded guide in a battered sports jacket was just about to take a party around. “I am Ali Ozel,” he introduced himself after waving them over. “You may join my tour if you like.”

“That’s very kind of you,” said Charles, “but we’re looking for some friends.”

“I may have seen them,” said Ali. “What do they look like?”

“One woman, middle-aged, scrawny, arrogant, high commanding voice, with four men. One her husband, thin and sallow, quiet; friend Harry, farmer, elderly, thinning white hair; Angus, Scottish and proud of it, looks a bit like Harry; Trevor, fair hair, thick lips, beer belly, ghastly pink from the sun, truculent.”

Ali’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “You did say they were friends of yours? I did see some people like that about an hour ago, but I haven’t seen them since.”

“Okay, thanks anyway. We’ll look for them.” Charles took Agatha’s arm and led her into the ruins of Salamis.

They ploughed their way through the ruins. Charles was particularly impressed by an open-plan latrine with seating for forty-four people. The ruins were bright with tourists in multi-coloured holiday clothes. The sun was dazzling. Agatha would just think she had seen her quarry, and then the group would turn out to be totally different people.

The tall columns of the gymnasium stood proudly up against the blue sky. Charles appeared to have forgotten why they were at Salamis and enthusiastically took control of Agatha’s guidebook, wandering here and there, admiring everything.

There are a great many ruins at Salamis and they cover a wide area. Agatha began to become weary and would have liked to sit down somewhere in the shade and wait for Charles, but she did not want to be alone, not with Olivia and the others possibly somewhere around.

They trudged ever onwards until Charles consulted the guidebook and said he would like to see the tombs of the kings. A map showed them to be situated on the other side of the main Famagusta road. “Better walk back and take the car,” said Charles.

They walked back to the car-park and then drove back out to the road and so to the tombs. They bought tickets at a museum which was more of a dusty hut with replicas of a chariot and a hearse. They left the museum and walked towards the tombs.

The nearest tomb has a broad shallow ramp leading to the burial chamber with the skeletons of two horses at the entrance, where the animals were cremated after pulling the king to the burial chamber. The tombs where kings and nobles were buried dated from the seventh and eighth centuries B.C. They were buried along with their horses and chariots, favourite slaves, food, wine and other necessities for the afterlife.

It was when they had got to the fiftieth tomb of the hundred and fifty tombs and just when Agatha thought she could not walk a step farther that Ali Ozel appeared with his tourists.

“I saw your friends,” he said.

“Where?” demanded Agatha.

“Back towards the gymnasium. You said five of them, but there were only four, looking for a fifth, who had disappeared.”

“We’d better go,” said Agatha to Charles, all her energy renewed.

They walked back to the car-park and drove to the gymnasium. There were only a few tourists, but no Olivia, husband or friends. The pillars were beginning to cast long black shadows across the gymnasium.

“Back out to the car-park,” said Charles. “We might just catch them.”

But at the entrance, before they reached the car-park, they could hear Olivia’s voice questioning another guide. “Haven’t you see him?”

Agatha and Charles went up to her. Her husband George, Trevor and Angus stood a little way away.

“What’s up?” asked Agatha.

Olivia swung round. “We lost Harry.”

“Wasn’t he with you?”

“Of course he was. But he wandered off towards the beach. You know, there’s a Roman villa and then a crossroads with a track leading down to the sea. He said he wanted to see what kind of beach it was. We then all agreed to go different ways to look at different things and then meet up in the gymnasium. When he didn’t come back, we went down to the beach but there was no sign of him. We all spread out and began to search and agreed to meet up in the gymnasium again, which we did, but none of us has been able to find Harry, and I’m tired and don’t want to be stuck here all day.”