After a moment Katherine sank back into her chair with a look of unconcealed relief, and shame at that relief. News of her son would not come to her through Walter. Bertie was safe. But some other woman’s child was not.

It was my dear Emerson who went to Fatima and took the telegram from her. The lines in his face deepened as he read it.

“Which of them?” I asked evenly.

“Young John.” Emerson looked again at the paper. “A sniper. Killed instantly and without pain.”

Nefret turned to Ramses and hid her face against his shoulder. He put his arm around her in a gentle but almost perfunctory embrace. His face was as cold and remote as that of Khafre’s alabaster statue.

“Evelyn is bearing up well,” Emerson said. He kept looking at the telegram, as if he could not remember what it said.

“She would, of course,” said Ramses. “That’s part of our code, is it not? Part of the game we play, like the marches and the songs and the epigrams. Killed instantly and without pain. Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.” He let the sheet of music fall to the floor. With the same detached gentleness he took Nefret’s hands and guided her to a chair. He left the room without speaking again.

He saddled Risha himself, waving aside the sleepy stableman’s offer of assistance. The great stallion was as sensitive as a human being to his master’s moods; as soon as they had left the stableyard Ramses let him out, and he ran like the wind, avoiding the occasional obstacle of donkey or camel without slackening speed. There was more traffic on the bridge and in the city streets, but by that time Ramses had himself under better control. He slowed Risha to a walk.

It was half past eleven when he reached the club. Too early for the rendezvous, but Russell would probably be there. Leaving Risha with one of the admiring doormen, he ran up the stairs and went in. Russell was in the hall. He was alone, reading or pretending to read a newspaper. He was watching the clock, though, and when he saw Ramses he dropped the newspaper and started to rise. Ramses waved him back into his chair and took another next to him.

“What are you doing here?” Russell demanded in a hoarse whisper. “I got the message. Has something gone wrong?”

“Nothing that affects our business. There’s been a slight change in plans, though. You can empty the arsenal whenever you like, but it must be done in absolute secrecy, and you mustn’t make any arrests. There’s another cache hidden in the ruined mosque near Burckhardt’s tomb.”

Russell’s eyes narrowed at the peremptory tone. He was accustomed to giving orders, not taking them. “Why?”

“Do you want the man who’s behind this?”

“You mean… Do you know who it is?”

“Yes.”

He laid it out with the cold precision of a formula, point by point, ignoring the skepticism that formed a stony mask over Russell’s face. Once a slight crack appeared in the mask, but Russell said nothing until he had finished.

“When he was in Alexandria we missed two deliveries. He was at the wrong place.”

“Then you believe me. You can convince General Maxwell—”

Slowly Russell shook his head. “It might have been pure incompetence. I thought it was. That’s why I relieved him and sent him back to Cairo . He’s one of Maxwell’s fair-haired boys, and Maxwell would resent my interference.”

Ramses knew he was right. Interservice jealousy was a damned nuisance and a fact of life. “Military intelligence hasn’t been able to get a line on him,” he argued. “At least give me a chance to find the proof.”

“How? Whether you’re right or wrong, the fellow hasn’t made a false move. There’s someone running the show here, even Maxwell admits that, but he’ll never believe it’s one of his pets. We’ve rounded up a few of the underlings, like that Fortescue woman, but none of them had ever spoken personally with him.”

“He must communicate directly with his paymasters, though. Probably by wireless. Obviously he can’t keep the equipment in his quarters. That means he’s got a private hideaway. I think I know where. He takes women there sometimes.”

Russell’s lips tightened. “Where did you get that? Your pederast friend?”

“My friend is more familiar with his habits than Maxwell or you. Your fine upstanding young officer is well known in el Was’a. Maxwell probably wouldn’t believe that either. Allow me to return to the point, please. There’s no use raiding the place, he wouldn’t keep anything there that would incriminate him. I’ll have to catch him in the act. No, don’t interrupt me. The uprising is set for tomorrow or the next day. He’s too fond of his precious skin to stay in Cairo during a riot, so he’ll head for a safe place—possibly the hideaway I mentioned. I’ll follow him.” He cut off Russell’s attempt to speak with a peremptory gesture. “That is why you mustn’t do anything to put him on his guard. You can’t arrest Wardani’s lot without his finding out about it, and then he’ll do something—God knows what—I can never predict what the bastard is likely to do. He might decide to sit tight and make no move at all. He might bolt. Or he might take steps to protect himself by removing potential witnesses.”

“You really hate his guts, don’t you?” Russell said softly.

“My feelings don’t come into it. I’m asking a single favor from you, and I believe I have the right.”

Russell nodded grudgingly. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You’ve done your job.”

Ramses went on as if he had not spoken. “I’ll look for a communication tomorrow morning. If it’s there, I’ll ring you and leave the message about the camel. If you don’t hear from me tomorrow, you’ll know it will be the next day.” He rose to his feet. “We’ve talked long enough. Would you care to call me a few names or slap my face? People have been watching us.”

A reluctant, hastily hidden grin curved Russell’s lips. “I doubt anyone would believe, from our expressions, that this was a friendly conversation. Where is this hideaway?”

Ramses hesitated.

“I won’t move in until I hear from you,” Russell said. “Or until—I haven’t heard from you. In the latter case, I ought to know where to look.”

“For the body? You’ve got a point.”

He described the place and its location. Russell nodded. “Do me one favor. No, make that two.”

“What?”

“Don’t play hero. If he’s our man, we’ll get him sooner or later.”

“And the other favor?”

Russell wet his lips. “Don’t tell your mother!”

Ramses backed away, trying to appear angry and insulted. God forgive him, he had almost burst out laughing at the look of abject horror on Russell’s face.

After he had mounted, he turned Risha, not toward home, but toward the railroad station and the narrow lanes of Boulaq. There was one more appointment he had to keep. He dreaded it even more than he had the other.

The cafй was a favorite rendezous for a variety of shady characters, including some of the less reputable antiquities dealers and the thieves from whom they obtained their illegal merchandise. It had been a good choice; even if Ramses was recognized—which was more than likely, considering his wide circle of acquaintances in the antiquities game—the assumption would be that he had come on business.

David was there as promised, wearing a tarboosh and a cheap, badly fitting tweed suit and sitting alone at a table. He was unable to conceal a start of surprise when he saw Ramses, and when the latter joined him he said at once, “Mukhtan is here. He’s seen you.”

“It doesn’t matter. You look very neat and respectable,” he added. “For a change.”

“Tell me,” David said quietly.

There was no putting it off; David knew he wouldn’t have risked coming there undisguised without a good reason. He got the news out in a single blunt sentence, before David could imagine even worse.