I agreed that they were, and left Suzi closing in on Feisal.

By the time I got back to my room I was tired enough to die, but I knew I was too uptight to sleep, so I went out onto the balcony. The lights of the city glowed like jewels against the dark – diamond white, ruby and emerald and sapphire. The night breeze was cool, and if it was polluted – there was no ‘if’ about it, in fact – I didn’t notice.

The worst was over, I told myself. I hadn’t lost my temper or my dignity, and there was no danger of my doing so now – not when I had him dead to rights, under my thumb and in my power.

I had replaced the tiny tape reel in my gold locket, but the old tape was still on the table. It was supposed to be in the little safe under the dressing table.

Every suite had such a safe – not an ordinary lockbox, but specially designed safe with a specially designed key that could not be reproduced by an ordinary locksmith. I’d heard of luxury hotels that provided such a service, but never a cruise ship. However, this was a special ship in every way, and people who were rich enough to take the cruise probably expected such amenities.

We had been warned that if we lost the key the safe would have to be drilled open, at our expense, since there was only one. In my case that wasn’t true. At least one other person had a key to mine. I was supposed to leave messages in it and he – she – it? – would communicate with me in the same way.

Nobody would be entering my room that night The door was equipped with enough hardware to stop a tank. People were nervous about travelling in Egypt, and this was only one of many additional security precautions our management had provided. My mysterious ally wouldn’t open the safe until after I had left the room the following morning. I could leave the tape anytime before then.

There was nothing on that tape that could be of use to Burckhardt and his pals. John hadn’t admitted anything, except that he and I had known one another before.

But that conversation might be enough to identify him to other people who knew him only by one of his innumerable aliases. My acquaintance with Sir John Smythe, et cetera, ad infinitum was a matter of record in the police departments of at least three countries, and I didn’t doubt that Interpol was one of the organizations involved in this investigation.

I sat with my elbows on my knees and my chin propped on my hands and tried to think clearly. That mysterious message of Burckhardt’s had been rather vague. Maybe his informant had been mistaken. Even hot-shot secret agents are mistaken sometimes. Suppose that for once John was on the level. He had a job – a nice, honest job – and a nice little wife. Maybe he had turned over a new leaf. Maybe he was trying to go straight. He must realize that he’d have to find a new profession before arthritis and/or the cops caught up with him, and surely he wouldn’t involve his mother and his bride in one of his forays into crime.