He paused for refreshment before going on. ‘The idea of stealing Tetisheri’s tomb came to Blenkiron soon after the Getty people began working on the other queen’s tomb – that of Nefertari. It was really rather a clever idea. Restoring the reliefs was precisely the sort of philanthropic endeavour people had come to expect of him, and it gave him a perfect opportunity to have them copied. There was even a suggestion that a replica of the tomb might be made, in order to satisfy tourists without endangering the original. If at any point his activities had been discovered he could claim that’s what he was doing, as a boyish surprise for his good friends in the EAO. It was a monumental job, of course, but as Feisal pointed out, Blenkiron’s rich enough to buy all the expertise he needs.’

‘And the experts,’ I murmured. ‘Poor Jean-Louis.’

‘That was one of the most difficult aspects, actually,’ John said. ‘You’d be surprised how many honest scholars there are. They had to he approached very, very carefully. But there aren’t many positions in archaeology open, and there are a lot of poor, overeducated devils like Mazarin and Feisal seeking employment. Mazarin wasn’t the one I would have chosen. Instead of admitting his own venality he had to convince himself he was guided by noble motives. Such men are dangerous. Their consciences are never at ease, and they are apt to crack under pressure. I told Blenkiron that. He ignored my advice, and now you know why. He was prepared from the first to remove inconvenient witnesses.’

‘Is that why you tried to pull out?’

‘It was certainly a consideration. However, Max was an even stronger deterrent. If you recall, he was already vexed with me when we ran into one another in Sweden. I had advised Blenkiron not to hire him for this job and Max knew it. He took my refusal to work with him personally, I’m sorry to say. He’s such a sensitive chap.’

‘How did he learn your real name?’

I had caught him off guard. The empty can crumpled in his hands. ‘That’s not – ’

‘You’ve been controlling the direction of this conversation. Now it’s my turn. How did they find you? Max didn’t know who you were before. He kept calling you Smythe.’

John didn’t answer. I knew he must be feeling rotten or he’d have been able to come up with a facile lie. Not that I’d have believed it. I knew the answer.

‘It was through me, wasn’t it? Max knew you weren’t dead. He knew my identity. She knew it, from him. When she set out to track you down she started with me. They must have been watching me for months, hoping – expecting – you’d turn up. All they had to do then was follow you home.’