Madame Sarah was standing in the kitchen doorway.

‘Sorry,’ he said, flushing. ‘I – what is it?’

Her lips were pressed tight, as if she was working up to something. ‘Monsieur Hackett, if you want to stay after this week, you must pay me in advance. I cannot allow any more late rent.’

He stared at her, trying to haul his mind into the present. ‘In advance? But …’ He’d just about been managing to pay a week in arrears. ‘Can’t we just carry on as normal? I won’t be late with it, I promise.’

In truth, he wasn’t entirely sure how much money he had left. Most of the cash from the typewriter had gone on rent, the rest on kif and a supply of paper, new ink and coffee and beers.

Madame Sarah looked unhappy. ‘My sister says I should not let you stay here unless you pay in advance. Last night, when you did not come back, I thought you might have run off without—’

‘I’d never do that! Last night I was with a … a friend.’ He sounded so guilty. No wonder she was frowning at him. ‘OK, I’ll pay a week in advance, I swear. As soon as I get back later.’

She looked unconvinced. Not for the first time, Sam wished he was a better tenant. Or a better liar. Behind her shoulder, the clock was pointing at two. He’d have to run if he wanted to catch Norton before he got back to the office.

‘Here.’ Impulsively, he held out the writing case. ‘This is incredibly important to me. Keep it as a security deposit. Tomorrow I’ll give you the rent, I promise.’ Perhaps he could borrow a few dirhams from Ale.

Madame Sarah frowned at the leather case, with its scuffed corners. ‘All right,’ she said quietly, taking it. ‘But tomorrow, please.’

Sam’s hands felt empty as he hurried through the casbah. He stuck them in his pockets, full of kif dust and rolling papers and small change. Facing Norton would be easier in a suit like Ale’s, something smart and elegant, rather than his usual scrubby jeans. He straightened his shirt as much as he could before stepping into the El Minzah.

He needn’t have bothered. Norton wasn’t there. The desk clerk, side-eyeing Sam’s attire, told him coolly that Mr Norton had not returned at all that day. Grimly, Sam strode out into the street and started in the direction of the new town. Was Norton putting in extra hours to dig around the archives, looking for information about Langham? He walked as rapidly as he could through the sweltering afternoon, until he saw the brown glass windows of the Interpress building glinting up ahead.