‘So the next bridge after Hammadi is at Sohag? The train Schmidt took – might have taken – stops there, doesn’t it?’

‘That’s right. It’s about fifty miles from Nag Hammadi.’

‘And the next crossing is at Asyut.’

‘Right again.’

‘Asyut is the second train stop. After that there’s only one before Cairo.’

‘Minya,’ Feisal agreed.

‘That’s where Schmidt stayed the night before he joined the cruise,’ I said thoughtfully.

John cleared his throat. ‘Are you suggesting he might have left some of his luggage there? My theories may have been a trifle exiguous, but that is really – ’

‘No, listen.’ The more I thought about it, the more likely it seemed. ‘Schmidt stocked up on spy stuff before he ever left Munich. He even had contact lenses made in various colours! He suspected this cruise was more than a simple vacation. Who would know better than Schmidt that I wouldn’t try to pass myself off as an expert on a subject I know nothing about without good and sufficient reason? I’ll bet he’s been plotting and planning ever since he arrived in Egypt. He’d have done that just for the fun of it. He spotted Max immediately, and that confirmed – ’

‘Bloody hell,’ John said. ‘You mean the little elf’s been on to us all along? Why didn’t you tell me this?’

‘There hasn’t been time,’ I began.

‘Schmidt is bad enough,’ John went on bitterly. ‘The two of you together . . . Feisal, stop the bloody car. No, not in the middle of the bloody road, pull over as soon as you can find a suitable place. Now then, Vicky, perhaps you can bring yourself to tell me precisely what Schmidt said to you and what you said to Schmidt before you sallied forth to rescue me. You did have sense enough to make contingency plans, didn’t you, in case you were held up or Schmidt had to vacate his room?’

The medicine had cleared his head but it certainly hadn’t improved his disposition. I realized, with only faint surprise, that we were back on the old footing. Nothing had really changed except my perception of him. He was the same person he’d always been – neither saint nor sinner, hero nor villain, but a bewildering and exasperating mixture of all of them. Human, in other words. Like me. We were more alike than I had wanted to admit – sarcastic, prickly, defensive, afraid of feeling emotion, much less expressing it. My other self; my dark angel, my dear, deadly companion, my . . .

‘Take all the time you like,’ John said, sneering audibly. ‘We’re in no hurry.’

‘Damn it, how the hell could we plan ahead?’ I demanded. ‘I didn’t know how long it would take me to get into the house, or where in the house you were. It might have taken me all night to locate you.’

‘All night?’