How much did Philippe understand of what was going on? Amira couldn’t tell, but the fact that he could call on Ali’s brother to account for his whereabouts ended the little inquisition in her kitchen. Ali made some remark about the mystery being solved and herded his visitors toward the men’s quarters.

“Have Bahia bring us coffee,’’ he told Amira. “I hope we haven’t disturbed your reunion.” His smile was so disarming that Amira wondered if the only danger had been in her imagination. Or was the smile that of a duelist who has lost the first touch but knows that he will win the duel?

That afternoon, they drove Philippe to the airport. In the crowded con- course, the two men embraced like brothers. Listening to them exchange thanks, compliments, and cordial promises of future hospitality, Amira again wondered if she hadn’t been paranoid about the empty house.

The farewell was interrupted by the public-address system paging Prince Ali Rashad.

“Always something,” said Ali. “I’ll be right back.”

Philippe watched him go. “We have only a minute,” he told Amira. “I’m the one who had him paged, I called from the house before we left. Amira, do you know what was happening this morning?”

“I think so. I didn’t know if you did.”

“It was a stage piece—what the Americans call a ‘frame-up.’ Just as I said, I woke early and decided to take a walk. While I was dressing, I dropped some coins. One rolled under the bed. When I reached for it, I found a bottle of whiskey, half empty. It wasn’t mine—someone had to have put it there. I became worried and searched the room. What do you suppose I found tucked into a corner of the bed, under the sheet? A piece of lingerie—very attractive, I might add. Provocative. I don’t know, but I imagine it would have fit you perfectly.”

“Oh, my God.” She had been afraid that morning, but only now did she understand how great the danger had been. In al-Remal, evidence like that could send a woman to her death.

“I hid the bottle and the lingerie in my pocket—and then threw them away as soon as I got far enough from the house.”

“Thank you for that. But what—”

“Amira, you can’t wait too long to decide. If it’s to be Tabriz, I’ll need time to make plans, set things in motion. If not … well, I fear for you, my dear. You must get away from this somehow—before it’s too late. I’ll help in any way I can.”

Before she could reply, Ali rejoined them with a joke about confusion in the paging system: “Too many princes named Ali.” At that moment, Philippe’s flight was called.

They walked him to the gate. Passengers were boarding in a line. Philippe said good-bye.