the truth comes out. Feisal too must be cleared of blame. We are three intelligent people; I feel certain we can invent a scenario that will achieve those ends.’
If the situation hadn’t been so serious I would have enjoyed listening to those two concoct a plot. The greatest collaborators of fiction couldn’t have done better; Schmidt’s inventive imagination had been developed by years of reading sensational fiction, and John had always been the world’s champion liar.
Getting Feisal off the hook was the easiest part. He hadn’t been involved with the restoration of the tomb and he could reasonably claim he had suspected nothing until after Jean-Louis’s death. His activities thereafter warranted a medal, not a prison sentence. If all four of us told the same story and stuck to it, it would be hard to prove we were lying.
‘What about Larry?’ I asked.
‘It will be his word against ours,’ Schmidt began.
John shook his head. ‘Forget about Blenkiron. His wisest course is to say nothing and admit nothing. There will be a behind-the-scenes deal made, in order to avoid embarrassment all around. Egypt will get its treasures back and will accept with proper appreciation the gift of the Institute for Archaeological Research, and the blame will be placed on the shoulders of Max’s crowd – and on mine.’
‘No, no,’ Schmidt said energetically. ‘I have it all worked out, you wlll see.’
Max and the boys had made their getaway. Three men of their descriptions had boarded a plane to Zurich shortly before midnight and were now believed to be somewhere in Europe. A rather large territory.
‘They will not be caught this time,’ Schmidt said. ‘Which is all to the good. They will say nothing about you, John, and Blenkiron cannot accuse you without admitting things he will not wish to admit. So far as anyone else knows, you and Vicky met for the first time on the cruise. Neither of you had any reason to doubt Herr Blenkiron’s intentions until I expressed to you my suspicions – ’
‘Oh, so you’re going to take the credit for discovering the plot, are you?’ I inquired.
‘But I did discover it,’ said Schmidt.
‘Oh yeah?’ I caught John’s eye and smiled self-consciously. ‘I never did get around to asking you how much you knew, Schmidt. I assumed – ’
‘You assumed I was a stupid old man,’ said Schmidt calmly. ‘And you did not ask because you were crazy with fear for the man you – ’
‘I think that point has been made, Schmidt,’ I said. ‘So tell me now, okay?’
‘It was ratiocination of the most brilliant,’ Schmidt explained, twirling his moustache. ‘Though I will confess that the truth did not dawn until John told me that Herr Blenkiron was a criminal and that I must leave the house. Mind you, he told me no more than that. It was while I was eating my lunch at the hotel that I put the pieces together. The crime, I deduced, must be theft; for what other reason would Herr Blenkiron have in his employment a person like – er – like Herr Max? And what was it that a rich man could not buy, that he must steal it? The death of M. Mazarin was the ultimate clue. He was killed, not by the explosion but by a bullet. A confidence, that the only one to die was the man who had directed the reconstruction of the tomb? I did not, think so. And when I remembered the way in which the reconstruction was carried out, and the sudden ending to the tour, and all the other suspicious circumstances . . . Voila Eureka! So you see it spells Frohliche Weihnachten; we are heroes, and everyone will live happily ever after.’
Exhausted by this creative effort, he paused to eat a croissant.
‘Very well done, Schmidt,’ John said, ‘but you’ve overlooked one little detail. Vicky has already dutifully informed her mysterious superiors – and thereby, I feel certain, Interpol and every police department in Europe – that I am the dashing Robin Hood of crime they have sought so long in vain.’
Schmidt choked, emitting a fine spray of crumbs. ‘Vicky! Did you do that? How could you?’
John gave me a kindly smile. ‘I don’t hold it against you, darling. You will wait for me, won’t you? Seven to ten years should do it, unless they make the sentences consecutive, in which case you may have to hire a wheelchair when you meet me at the prison gates.’
‘No, I’ll hire Max and Hans to break you out. I’ve always wanted to be a moll.’
‘A what?’ Schmidt demanded.
‘Gun moll,’ I said abstractedly. ‘Like Bonnie and Clyde.’
‘It is not amusing,’ Schmidt grumbled. ‘How can you joke about such a disaster, such a tragedy – ’
‘Shut up, Schmidt. Just let me think. I told . . . That’s right, I told Sweet and Bright. They knew anyway, they’re part of the gang, nobody is going to believe . . . And Larry Blenkiron.’
‘And?’ John had stiffened.
‘That’s all. Oh, damn. The tapes. They’ve got the tapes. But you didn’t say anything – ’
‘They don’t have the tapes. Feisal picked them up and handed them over to Larry. I was there when he destroyed them. You’re sure you didn’t mention me to anyone else?’
‘I didn’t tell Alice. She was the only person who identified herself to me. I don’t know to this day who the other agent on board was, if there was one. Am I a great spy or what?’
‘I can’t believe this,’ John muttered. ‘It’s too easy. There must be something we’ve overlooked.’
‘Very good,’ Schmidt said. He gave me a forgiving smile. ‘I should have known that in the struggle between love and duty your heart would triumph over your – ’
‘Shut up, Schmidt,’ I said.
‘So then, how does it stand?’ Schmidt bit into a pastry and chewed ruminating. ‘I see only one remaining difficulty. Are you prepared, John, to play the grieving husband? For if her part in this comes out it will be the knot that unravels the tangled skein of the truth.’
‘Very literary, Schmidt,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what the hell it means but it sounds good.’
‘It is obvious, what it means,’ Schmidt said indignantly. ‘The forced marriage, his knowledge of the plot, his earlier connection with her brothers – all these things will become known, together with your acquaintance with John, and your reputation, my dear Vicky, will be in ruins.’
‘Do you think I care about my reputation?’
‘I care,’ John said shortly. ‘Honestly, Vicky, I’m beginning to worry about you. Anyhow, Schmidt is right; the whole implausible story hangs on her innocence. Unless . . . How about claiming I was unaware of her criminal connections when I married her? They aren’t exactly public knowledge.’
‘But how could you have remained unaware of them?’ Schmidt didn’t like this version; he saw where it was leading, and he wanted the credit for unearthing the plot.
John grinned at him. ‘That’s the point, isn’t it? I’ll leave the medals to you, Schmidt. I don’t doubt that Max and his employers will appreciate our keeping her name out of it. That’s another consideration. So when I marched in there last night I was hoping to rescue her as well as Vicky?’
‘Yes, yes, that is it,’ Schmidt said eagerly. ‘The villains foully murdered her. Both of you saw it.’
‘No,’ John said. ‘She was dead when I arrived. Vicky saw nothing.’
‘That is easier, yes,’ Schmidt agreed. ‘The less one admits to knowing, the fewer lies there are to remember. Do you find any other holes in the plan?’
‘Not at the moment,’ I said. I couldn’t believe it either.
‘Good. Then we will go shopping.’ Schmidt scraped crumbs off his moustache and bounced up. ‘You cannot come, Vicky, not wrapped in a bedsheet, so I will select for you a suitable wardrobe.’
‘Oh, God. See here, Schmidt – ’
‘I’ll go along,’ John said. ‘And try to control Schmidt. I believe I can claim to have a reasonably good idea of your size.’
He was smiling as if he didn’t have a care in the world. But he hadn’t eaten much and he had never spoken her name.
I
THE FOLLOWING DAYS are something of a blur. We spent most of the time trying to elude the press and the
