Wolff relaxed visibly.
Smith was startled. His eyes seemed about to pop out of his head. 'Good Lord!' he said. 'Do you think so?'
'Yes, I do, major.'
'I say, I wish you'd call me Sandy.'
Wolff stood up. 'I'm afraid I've got to leave you. Sonja, may I escort you home'
Smith said: 'I think you can leave that to me, Captain.'
'Yes, sir.'
'That is, if Sonja. .
Sonja batted her eyelids. 'Of course, Sandy.'
Wolff said: 'I hate to break up the party, but I've got an early start.'
'Quite all right,' Smith told him. 'You just run along.'
As Wolff left a waiter brought dinner. It was a European meal-steak and potatoes-and Sonja picked at it while Smith talked to her. He told her about his successes in the school cricket team. He seemed to have done nothing spectacular since then. He was very boring.
Sonja kept remembering the flogging.
He drank steadily through dinner. When they left he was weaving slightly.
She gave him her arm, more for his benefit than for hers. They walked to the houseboat in the cool night air. Smith looked up at the sky and said: 'Those stars . . . beautiful.'
His speech was a little thick.
They stopped at the houseboat. 'Looks pretty,' Smith said.
'It's rather nice,' Sonja said. 'Would you like to see inside?'
'Rather.'
She led him over the gangplank, across the deck, and down the stairs.
He looked around, wide-eyed. 'I must say, it's very luxurious.
'Would you like a drink?'
'Very much.'
Sonja hated the way he said 'very' all the time. He slurred the r and pronounced it 'vey.' She said: 'Champagne, or something stronger?' 'A drop of whiskey would be nice.'
'Do sit down.'
She gave him his drink and sat close to him. He touched her shoulder, kissed her cheek, and roughly grabbed her breast. She shuddered. He took that as a sign of passion, and squeezed harder.
She pulled him down on top of her. He was very clumsy: his elbows and knees kept digging into her. He fumbled beneath the skirt of her dress. -
She said: 'Oh, Sandy, you're so strong.'
She looked over his shoulder and saw Wolff's face. He was on deck, kneeling down and watching through the hatch, laughing soundlessly.
Chapter 8.
William Vandam was beginning to despair of ever finding Alex Wolff. The Assyut murder was almost three weeks in the past, and Vandam was no closer to his quarry. As time went bv the trail got colder. He almost wished there would be another briefcase snatch, so that at least he would know what Wolff was up to.
He knew he was becoming a little obsessed with the man. He would wake up in the night, around 3 A.M. when the booze had worn off, and worry until daybreak. What bothered him was something to do with Wolff's style: the sideways manner in which he had slipped into Egypt, the suddenness of the murder of Corporal Cox, the ease with which Wolff had melted into the city. Vandam went over these things, again and again, all the time wondering why he found the case so fascinating.
He had made no real progress, but he had gathered some information, and the information had fed his obsession-fed it not as food feeds a man, making him satisfied, but as fuel feeds a fire, making it burn hotter. The Villa les Oliviers was owned by someone called Achmed Rahmha. The Rahmhas were a wealthy Cairo family. Achmed had inherited the house from his father, Gamal Rahmha, a lawyer. One of Vandam's lieutenants had dug up the record of a marriage between Gamal Rahrnha and one Eva Wolff, widow of Hans Wolff, both German nationals; and then adoption papers making Hans and Eva's son Alex the legal child of Gamal Rahmha ...
Which made Achmed Rahmha a German, and explained how he got legitimate Egyptian papers in the name of Alex Wolff. Also in the records was a will which gave Achmed, or Alex, a share of Gamal's fortune, plus the house.
Interviews with all surviving Rahmhas had produced nothing. Achmed had disappeared two years ago and had not been beard from since. The interviewer had come back with the impression that the adopted son of the family was not much missed.
Vandam was convinced that when Achmed disappeared he bad gone to Germany. There was another branch of the Rahmha family, but they were nomads, and no one knew where they could be found. No doubt, Vandam thought, they had helped Wolff somehow with his re-entry into Egypt.
Vandam understood that now. Wolff could not have come into the country through Alexandria. Security was tight at the port: his entry would have been noted, he would have been investigated, and sooner or later the
