‘I gather from the spy thrillers I’ve read that this is standard procedure. Minimal contacts, maximum anonymity.’
I’d read a few of the damned things myself. Ali had known me and Alice. If they had questioned him before they killed him . . . There wouldn’t necessarily be any marks on his body. Up-to-date torturers have all kinds of neat scientific devices at their disposal, including drugs.
‘It couldn’t be Anton, could it?’
Her words made it as far as my ears but my brain refused to acknowledge them. ‘What?’ I gasped.
‘They’ll have to replace Ali,’ Alice said. ‘Anton turned up this morning, out of the blue – ’
‘No! Are you crazy, or what? Schmidt isn’t . . .’ I stopped to catch my breath. ‘The timing is too tight, Alice. They couldn’t have learned of Ali’s death until early this morning. Schmidt was already in Minya.’
‘That’s true.’ She stubbed out her cigarette and stood up. ‘No sense speculating, I guess. The situation won’t become critical until we get back to Cairo, and surely we’ll be contacted long before then – probably in Luxor. My advice would be to sit tight, play it cool, and be careful.’
It was excellent advice and I had every intention of following it – if I was allowed to.
After she had left I stood stock-still staring at the closed door. My heart was pounding as if I’d run a mile. Her suggestion that Schmidt might be Ali’s replacement was so far out that only a lunatic could believe it. Alice wasn’t a lunatic, though. Did she know something about Schmidt I didn’t know? Did other people know that same something?
Someone groaned. It had to be me; I was the only one there. ‘Impossible,’ I informed myself. Ali other considerations aside, such as the possibility that I was prejudiced, condescending, and easily manipulated by a cute little, shrewd little actor, Schmidt couldn’t have gotten from Munich to Minya in three hours. I prayed with all my heart that the bad guys were as familiar with plane schedules as I was. I didn’t want them to think, as Alice had done, that Schmidt might be Ali’s replacement.
The telephone rang. Schmidt, of course. The sound of that fat, jolly, Father Christmas voice snapped me back into the real world. ‘Impossible,’ I said.
‘Was ist’s?’ said Schmidt.
‘I’m on my way, Schmidt.’
To judge by the image I saw in a mirror later on I must have selected clothes that were more or less coordinated, but I don’t know how I did it; I was thinking of other things.
The opposition seemed to be a lot more efficient than our group. They had fingered Ali, which was more than I had, and disposed of him without scruple or delay. Why now? I wondered. Just general tidiness, or had he been about to blow the whistle on one or all of them? He’d have to have solid evidence to do that – and they must have known he had it or they wouldn’t have taken the risk of committing murder at this stage.
Despite the record he’d managed to build up while hobnobbing with me, John wasn’t a killer. Admittedly that assessment depended to some extent on his own statements, which were far from reliable in other areas, but I was inclined to believe him. He could reasonably claim self-defence in both the examples to which I had been an eyewitness.
Or defence of me.
The phone distracted me from that uncomfortable train of thought. I didn’t bother answering, since I assumed it was Schmidt; I picked up my bag and headed out.
All prejudice aside, I couldn’t visualize John knocking Ali unconscious and holding his head underwater till he drowned. That wasn’t John’s style. Apparently he had got himself mixed up with a very nasty crowd. He had a bad habit of doing that.
Schmidt’s room was on the top deck, the sundeck, on the same side of the boat as mine. There were only four suites on that level – the choicest of all, I assumed, since Blenkiron had two of them.
Schmidt flung the door open before I could knock, and enveloped me in a huge hug. ‘At last! I was about to go in search of you. You are late.’
‘No, I’m not. We didn’t settle on a time.’
His room was a tad bigger and fancier than mine. A fixed screen separated the sitting area from the bedroom and there were two overstuffed chairs, plus a long comfortable sofa. The sliding doors stood open, admitting a cool breeze and a breathtaking view of the sunset-reddened cliffs.
‘We will sit on the balcony and admire the scenery,’ Schmidt said, bustling around with glasses and bottles. ‘It is very pleasant, nicht? I have been on many cruise boats, but never one so luxurious as this.’
Like mine, his balcony was fringed with flowering plants. I edged cautiously onto it, telling myself nobody could drop anything on me here; there wasn’t another deck above this one. To my right I could see the prow – or maybe it was the stern – of one of the lifeboats. To the left a solid partition separated Schmidt’s balcony from the one next door. However, it wasn’t solid enough to muffle a voice as loud as Schmidt’s, and when he shouted cheerfully, ‘Sit, sit, my dear Vicky, and we will have a pleasant chat,’ I said, ‘Who’s next door?’
‘Ssssir. . .’ Schmidt caught himself. ‘Mr Tregarth and his wife.’
‘Damn it, Schmidt,’ I said savagely but softly. ‘That’s the precise reason I insisted on a private conversation. You’ve got to avoid slips like that.’
‘Ach, yes, yes, I know. But what is the harm this time? You know and he knows – ’
‘Maybe she doesn’t.’
‘They have gone downstairs.’ Schmidt looked subdued. ‘You are right to remind me, though, Vicky. They have only been married a few weeks, and she is very young, very innocent. Perhaps he has not yet told her of his brave and perilous occupation. She is the sort of child one would wish to shield from the harsh realities of life, nicht?’
Down below I heard a rattle and clank that must have been the gangplank being drawn in. The boat began to move, gliding gently away from the shore. The eastern sky was darkening but the curving bay of cliffs glowed in reflected sunset light. A flock of egrets settling into the shallows looked like flying white flowers.
Schmidt was rambling on. ‘It may be that he will decide to retire from the service. A man of honour and of conscience would not wish to endanger his young bride or cause her a broken heart if he should – ’
‘It’s a nice plot, Schmidt. Why don’t you write a book? Now listen to me. You’ve never met him before. I’ve never met him before. Nobody has ever met anybody before. Can you remember that?’
Schmidt had taken advantage of the interruption to hoist his glass. Emerging from it, he fixed a stern eye on me. ‘Aber naturlich. And you, Vicky – do you promise me, on your word of honour, that you did not know he would be on this cruise?’
‘I did not know,’ I said steadily.
‘Not that you wouldn’t lie to me if you wanted to.’ Schmidt ruminated. I drank my beer. It was some local variety – not bad, actually. Then Schmidt said, ‘And your heart is not broken? You would not revenge yourself on your faithless lover by betraying him to his innocent, trusting – ’
‘For God’s sake, Schmidt!’
‘Good,’ said Schmidt calmly. ‘Then we will have a pleasant holiday, eh, and enjoy ourselves. I have not been in Egypt for many years. This should be a wonderful excursion. I have long looked forward to making the friendly acquaintance of Mr Blenkiron.’
‘And extracting a contribution?’ I suggested.
Schmidt grinned. ‘It is my job, getting money from wealthy people. I am very good at it.’
He was, too. Our museum is remarkably well endowed for such a small institution. ‘He gives money to many worthy causes,’ Schmidt went on reflectively. ‘Why not to us? Since your heart is not broken, you can help me do this. He is not such an ugly man, is he?’
‘Shame on you, Schmidt. Is that any way to talk to a dedicated feminist like me?’
‘Well, he is not ugly,’ Schmidt declared. ‘I would not ask you to use your charms on a man who was disgusting to you. He is a woman hater, they say, but he said many nice things about you, Vicky, and asked many questions.’
I long ago gave up hope of convincing Schmidt that it is not nice to seduce potential donors. He’d have done it himself if he had had the necessary equipment. I suspect this is true of most museum directors. ‘What did he say?’ I asked, pulling my chair closer.
II
I had planned to sleep in next morning; it had been a long day, concluded by one of Perry’s more boring
