Having reached this point in my cogitations—which took far less time than it has taken to write them down—I went to the main door, asked Ali to have tea sent up, and settled back to await the next development.

This would be, I assumed, a visit from the police. Seldom in a case of murder do the authorities have an eyewitness to the crime, and if I may be allowed a slight touch of vanity, such an experienced witness. However, I had had dealings with the Cairo police before and found them strangely reluctant to call on me for assistance. After waiting for what I considered a reasonable length of time I was about to go to them when there was a knock at the door.

Ali entered with the tea cart, followed close behind by another man. Recognizing him, I got to my feet with an exclamation of pleasure. We were old friends, Thomas Russell and I, and I took it as a personal compliment that he had come in person instead of sending an underling. Formerly commissioner at Alexandria, he recently had been appointed chief of police in Cairo. One could not have called him classically handsome, but he was a fine-looking man, with light blond hair and steady brown eyes.

After congratulating him on his well-deserved promotion, I said with a smile, “Is this a professional call, Mr. Russell, or may I invite you to take tea with me?”

“I would be honored to join you for tea, Mrs. Emerson, but I must ask a few questions in my professional capacity. When I realized you were involved in this case I decided to come round in person.”

“That was kind of you. Sugar? Milk?”

While I attended to his requests (no milk, three lumps of sugar) he said, “Not so much kindness, ma’am, as selfishness. I seldom get the chance of questioning an eyewitness to murder.”

“And attempted murder,” I said, adding a third lump of sugar to the cup. “Emerson is of the opinion that the fellow came there to assassinate me.”

Russell started to laugh, but quickly sobered. “I beg your pardon. It was your—er—insouciance, your matter-of-fact tone of voice . . .”

“You need not apologize. My attitude may strike some persons as unusual, but one becomes used to that sort of thing after a time.”

“No doubt. However, I am of the same opinion as the Professor,” Russell said seriously. “A gentleman does not burst into a lady’s bath chamber, or, if he inadvertently intrudes, he immediately apologizes and retreats. This fellow was no gentleman. His appearance as well as his behavior mark him as a lower-class individual. I have seldom seen such a rough countenance.”

“Have you been able to identify him?”

“It is early days yet, Mrs. Emerson. He is not a local villain; I have a good memory for such persons, and this man is unknown to me. Did he say or do anything that would give you a clue to his identity or nationality?”