As she started to speak, she noticed the man had a similar reaction on confronting her as the concierge: a kind of distracted recognition. Jennifer felt instantly self-conscious, worrying something must be amiss with her appearance, like something was stuck between her teeth. As a reflex, she ran her tongue across them.

“Can I help you?” the man repeated. Jennifer noticed his name was Samarjit Rao. She certainly didn’t remember meeting him.

“Have we met?” Jennifer asked.

“Unfortunately, we have not—not in person, anyway. But I did arrange for your airport transportation Tuesday evening, and I know you are to accompany an airport pickup this evening. And we are encouraged by management to learn our guests’ names and faces.”

“I’d say that is impressive,” Jennifer said. She then went on to ask how much a car and driver would be for three hours or so, and if one was currently available with a driver who spoke English.

Samarjit quoted Jennifer a price, which was less than Jennifer expected. As soon as he was able to ascertain a car with an English-speaking driver was available, Jennifer said she’d take it. Five minutes later she was sent out to the porte cochere and told a Mercedes would soon be up from the garage for her. She was also told the driver’s name would be Ranjeet Basoka and that the Sikh doormen had been informed and would direct her to the right vehicle.

As she stood waiting for the hired car to appear, she amused herself by observing the mix of nationalities, but in so doing she didn’t make particular note of a man dressed in black with several gold chain necklaces exit the hotel, weave his way through the crowd, and climb into a black Mercedes. Nor did she notice that the man did not start the car but merely sat in the driver’s seat, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Would you Care for more coffee?” the waiter asked.

“No, thank you,” Neil said. He folded the newspaper he’d been given, stood up, and stretched. The breakfast had been terrific. The buffet had been one of the most extensive he’d ever seen, and he’d tried just about everything. Having already signed the check, he walked out into the busy lobby, wondering what his plan should be. Catching sight of the concierge desk, he thought he’d start there.

It took a while before it was his turn. “I’m a guest in the hotel . . .” he began.

“Of course,” Lakshay said. “You are Sahib Neil McCulgan, I presume.”

“How did you know my name?”

“When I arrive in the morning, if there’s time, I try to acquaint myself with the new guests. Sometimes I’m wrong, but usually I’m right.”

“Then you must be aware of Miss Jennifer Hernandez.”

“Absolutely. Are you an acquaintance?”

“I am. She doesn’t know I’m here. It’s sort of a surprise.”