John shook his head. ‘Forget about Blenkiron. His wisest course is to say nothing and admit nothing. There will be a behind-the-scenes deal made, in order to avoid embarrassment all around. Egypt will get its treasures back and will accept with proper appreciation the gift of the Institute for Archaeological Research, and the blame will be placed on the shoulders of Max’s crowd – and on mine.’

‘No, no,’ Schmidt said energetically. ‘I have it all worked out, you wlll see.’

Max and the boys had made their getaway. Three men of their descriptions had boarded a plane to Zurich shortly before midnight and were now believed to be somewhere in Europe. A rather large territory.

‘They will not be caught this time,’ Schmidt said. ‘Which is all to the good. They will say nothing about you, John, and Blenkiron cannot accuse you without admitting things he will not wish to admit. So far as anyone else knows, you and Vicky met for the first time on the cruise. Neither of you had any reason to doubt Herr Blenkiron’s intentions until I expressed to you my suspicions – ’

‘Oh, so you’re going to take the credit for discovering the plot, are you?’ I inquired.

‘But I did discover it,’ said Schmidt.

‘Oh yeah?’ I caught John’s eye and smiled self-consciously. ‘I never did get around to asking you how much you knew, Schmidt. I assumed – ’

‘You assumed I was a stupid old man,’ said Schmidt calmly. ‘And you did not ask because you were crazy with fear for the man you – ’

‘I think that point has been made, Schmidt,’ I said. ‘So tell me now, okay?’

‘It was ratiocination of the most brilliant,’ Schmidt explained, twirling his moustache. ‘Though I will confess that the truth did not dawn until John told me that Herr Blenkiron was a criminal and that I must leave the house. Mind you, he told me no more than that. It was while I was eating my lunch at the hotel that I put the pieces together. The crime, I deduced, must be theft; for what other reason would Herr Blenkiron have in his employment a person like – er – like Herr Max? And what was it that a rich man could not buy, that he must steal it? The death of M. Mazarin was the ultimate clue. He was killed, not by the explosion but by a bullet. A confidence, that the only one to die was the man who had directed the reconstruction of the tomb? I did not, think so. And when I remembered the way in which the reconstruction was carried out, and the sudden ending to the tour, and all the other suspicious circumstances . . . Voilà Eureka! So you see it spells Fröhliche Weihnachten; we are heroes, and everyone will live happily ever after.’

Exhausted by this creative effort, he paused to eat a croissant.