“That’s what we were wondering, Cousin,” said Abdul. “We came to see you and found the front door ajar. When we entered, we discovered your wife alone—or, rather, alone except for these women, who are not the regular servants.”

Ali glanced at Bahia and Maryam. Was there a trace of anger in his expression? “Well, I know them,” he muttered.

“We asked about your distinguished guest,” Abdul blundered on. “Your wife claims that she hasn’t seen him all morning.”

“Dr. Rochon is, as you say, my guest. I dislike insinuations against him.”

It was a slip, thought Amira. No one had insinuated anything against Philippe. The whole business had the feeling of a play in which Bahia and Maryam’s presence had disrupted the actor’s lines, forcing them to ad lib.

“She says that he is asleep,” prompted the angry-eyed man. The other two men had said nothing. They were simply witnesses, Amira realized.

“It’s late for anyone to sleep, even a foreigner,” said Ali. “I’ll check on him myself.”

He was gone for longer than it should have taken. In the kitchen, no one spoke. The familiar-looking man glared at Amira. Suddenly, she knew who he was. She hadn’t recognized him without the green turban. He was the man who had approached when she was leaning on Jabr’s arm during the Egyptian Night catastrophe.

Ali returned. “He isn’t there,” he said. “Where is he, Amira?” “I don’t know, my husband. I haven’t seen him at all.” “Perhaps he left a note or—or something,” said Abdul.

“I looked,” said Ali irritably. “There was nothing.” “Nothing? I could help you search.”

Even the man appeared nonplussed by this exchange.

“Bonjour, my friends. A lovely morning. Am I intruding?” Philippe stood smiling in the doorway. He wore the typical walking clothes of the European tourist, and his pale skin showed a faint touch of sunburn.

“We—we were just looking for you,” said Ali lamely.

“Ah! I’ve been out. I slept poorly, woke early, and saw that it was a beautiful day, so I went for a walk. In fact, I left just behind Your Highness. I thought to call out to you, but you seemed to be in a hurry.”

“You’ve been out all morning?” asked Abdul obtusely.

“As I said.” Philippe shrugged. “I had a pleasant walk, then took an out- door table at a coffeehouse and watched the world go by.”

“What coffeehouse did you visit?” inquired the man casually. “We have so many.”

“I didn’t notice the name.” “Ah.”

“But if you really want to know, you could ask my host’s brother, Ahmad. He and his entourage passed in the street. He was kind enough to spend an hour with me.”