“All of you?” But the two detectives had already brushed me aside and entered my room. Cash didn’t look at me at all. He was looking around the room.
“Nice room,” he said. “Very nice. I’ve never actually been in a room at Shepheard’s. Officers only, you see.”
“Standards have to be maintained, you know,” I said, disliking him for the way he had of making me feel like I was a criminal. “Otherwise where would the empire be?”
He winced a little and fixed me with his stoniest look. Perhaps it worked on Egyptians, but it didn’t work on me. But then he smiled. His smile was terrifying. It was full of teeth. Bad teeth. I turned to Luger in disgust.
“Look, what’s going on? I was just about to take a bath.”
“Did you spend the night in this room, sir?” he asked.
“No, I just came here to take a bath.”
“Just answer the question, please, Professor.”
“All right. I spent the night at a friend’s house.”
“Would you mind telling me the name of your friend, sir?”
“If you really think it’s necessary. The house belongs to the Princess Elena Pontiatowska. I can’t remember the street number. But it’s on Harass Street, in Garden City.” Even as I spoke, I saw Sergeant Cash pick up my bloodstained handkerchief and catch Luger’s eye. “Look, what is all this? I’m with the American delegation.” I looked at Cash. “That’s spelled D-I-P-L-O-M-A-T-I–C.”
“We’ll try not to take up too much of your valuable time, sir,” said Luger. “When did you leave the princess’s house. Approximately?”
“Early this morning. At about seven.”
“And did you come straight here?”
“No, as a matter of fact I dropped into British Army GHQ at Grey Pillars. On official business. My boss, General Donovan, will vouch for me, if required. As indeed will Mike Reilly, who is head of the president’s Secret Service detail.”
“Yes, sir,” said Luger.
Cash replaced my handkerchief carefully on the table. A little too carefully for my liking. Almost as if he contemplated picking it up again and placing it in an envelope marked “Evidence.” That was bad enough, but now he collected my trousers off the back of the chair where I had thrown them, and was inspecting the pocket. There was a bloodstain on the edge of the pocket lining.
“Look, I’m not saying another goddamn thing until you’ve told me what’s going on.”
“In that case, sir, you leave me no alternative,” sighed Luger. “Willard Mayer, I’m arresting you on suspicion of having committed murder. Do you understand?”
“Who’s been murdered, for Christ’s sake?”
“Get dressed, sir,” said Cash. “But not these trousers, eh?”
“I cut myself. Climbing out of a cab about half an hour ago.”
“I’m afraid that’s for the laboratory to decide now, sir.”
“Look, this is a mistake. I haven’t murdered anyone.”
Luger had found my shoulder holster and the Colt automatic it contained. Holding the holster, he lifted the pistol to his nostrils and sniffed it experimentally.
“It’s not been fired for months,” I said, putting on some clothes. “I wish you’d tell me what this is all about. Has something happened to Elena?”
Neither of the two detectives spoke as they escorted me to a large black car parked outside the hotel. We drove south, to the Citadel, a centuries-old bastion that, with its needle-like minarets, was just about the most dramatic feature on Cairo’s skyline. Circling the Citadel, we entered it from the back, at a higher level, close to the center of the ancient complex, and then drove through the gate tunnel and into a courtyard in front of the police station.
I got out of the car and, still closely escorted, entered the building. There, in a large room with a wear- polished stone floor, a fine view over the city, and, on the wall, a portrait of King George, my interrogation began.
It very quickly became apparent that Elena had been murdered.
“Were you involved in a sexual relationship with Elena Pontiatowska?”
“Yes,” I said.
“How did you meet?”
“We were friends, from before the war. In Berlin.”
“I see.”
“Look, Inspector, she was still alive when I left the house this morning. But there’s something you should know. Something important.”
Luger looked up from the notes he had been making while I spoke. “And what might that be?”
“I need to see that she really is dead before I tell you.”
“All right,” sighed Luger. “Let’s go and take a look at her.”
The two detectives had the car brought back, and we drove to the house in Harass Street. It was now guarded by several Egyptian policemen and already subject to the close scrutiny of various scientific experts.
In the hall, Luger led the way up to the first floor. Cash brought up the rear. We went into Elena’s bedroom.
She lay beside a high French window, wearing a silk gown. She had been shot through the heart at fairly close range, for the wound was surrounded with black powder. I didn’t need to put a mirror in front of her mouth to know that she was dead.
“It looks as if she knew her attacker,” I observed. “Given the close proximity of her assailant. But it wasn’t me.”
On the floor beside her body lay a Walther PPK, and I realized with horror that it was very likely the same automatic I had handled in the radio room. It would have my fingerprints on it. But for the moment I said nothing.
“You’ve had your look,” Luger said.
“Just give me a minute, please. This was a good friend of mine.” But I was playing for time. There was something small on the floor, near Elena’s hand, and I wondered if I might see what it was before I was obliged to leave the crime scene. “This has all been a dreadful shock to me, Inspector. I need a cigarette.” I took out my cigarettes. “Do you mind?”
“Go ahead.”
I pretended to fumble with the pack and dropped a couple onto the floor. Placing another in my mouth I bent quickly down and retrieved only one of the two cigarettes from the carpet. At the same time I picked up the object close to Elena’s outstretched hand and slipped it into the pack.
“Here, here, you’re contaminating my crime scene,” objected Luger. “You’ve left one of your cigarettes on the floor.” And, bending down, he picked it up.
“Sorry.” I took the cigarette from Luger’s fingers and then lit the one in my mouth.
“Now, then, Professor. What were you going to tell me that’s so important?”
“That Elena Pontiatowska was a German spy.”
Luger tried to repress a smile. “This case really does have everything,” he said. “Yes, it’s been quite a while since we had such a sensational murder here in Cairo. You have to go back to 1927, I’d say-the murder of Solomon Cicurel, the owner of the department store-to have such a fascinating dramatis personae, so to speak. There’s you, Professor, a famous philosopher, and a Polish princess who used to be married to one of the richest men in Egypt. A man who I might add, was also shot. And now you say that this woman was a German spy.”
“You can forget that business about ‘now I say,’ ” I told him. “I don’t recall saying anything about her before now.”
“Is that why you killed her?” asked Cash. “Because she was a German spy?”
“I didn’t kill her. But I can prove she was a spy.” For a moment I thought of showing Luger the plaintext message that was still in my coat pocket and then decided it would be better to put that straight into the hands of Hopkins and Reilly. “There’s a German agent radio in a secret room upstairs. I could show you where it is.”
Luger nodded, and we left Cash in the bedroom and went back along the landing to the double doors that
