“That group was holding a conference at the Cavendish Hotel,” said Lucy. “Elizabeth was helping to set it up.” She pointed to the head shot of Khalid Sadek, whom she recognized as the gray-haired man in the old-fashioned suit. “I actually saw him. He was there.”

“I wonder where they’re getting their money,” said Bob. “That place isn’t cheap.”

“Maybe they’re selling their jewels, like the Russian émigrés,” Lucy said, speculating. “Maybe this Fouad is like Anastasia, a fake, and that’s why he doesn’t want to claim the throne.”

“More likely, he doesn’t want to face an angry mob in Tahrir Square,” said Bill, turning to the sports. After learning the Bruins had lost to the Canadiens, they went on to finish the crossword. They were playing a half-hearted game of hangman when number forty-seven was called. Their hopes were high, however, when they were finally allowed to see a foreign service officer.

“I’m Fox Carrington,” he said, rising from his desk and leaning across it to shake hands. “How can I help you?”

“I’m Bob Goodman. I’m an attorney representing a group of eight Americans. We all need emergency passports.”

“All your passports were stolen?” asked Carrington, who looked as if he’d stepped out of a J.Crew catalog. He was clean-cut and smooth shaven and had a slight Southern accent. Lucy thought he was perhaps old enough to be in high school.

“Not exactly,” explained Bob. “We were enrolled in a cooking school, and the teacher—the chef, actually—was assaulted. The investigating police officer confiscated our passports.”

Carrington put down his pen. “Did I hear you right? You’re involved in a crime?”

“Definitely not involved,” said Bob. “We had nothing to do with it.”

“But this French cop took our passports, which I don’t think he is allowed to do,” added Lucy.

“Did this assault take place while class was in session?” asked Carrington. “Were you all witnesses?”

“No, nothing like that,” said Bill. “Class was over. We were leaving, waiting for the rain to stop.”

“But I forgot my umbrella, and when I went back to the classroom to get it, I found Chef Larry on the floor, bleeding, with a knife in his chest.”

Carrington tented his hands and nodded. It was as if he heard stories like this every day. Perhaps he did, thought Lucy.

“He would have died, except for my wife, here. She called for help,” said Bill.

“And what thanks do I get?” asked Lucy. “None at all. Instead this cop took our passports and said we have to stay indefinitely, which is a real problem, because our flight is in ten days. And I have children at home, who need me.”

“And you know what it’s like to change flights,” said Bob, rolling his eyes. “We’ll have to pay exorbitant fees.”

“I didn’t even think about that,” said Bill.