“Alexandria,” he said suddenly, summoning up his courage.

She stopped. “Alexandria?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand.”

“If you’ve forgotten, I can’t.”

“You’re mad.”

That sapped his newfound courage. “But aren’t…?”

“Don’t try these old tricks on me,” she interrupted and continued up the stairs.

“Well, anyway, please accept my unbounded admiration!”

She disappeared up the stairs. He leaned on the banister to get his breath and allow the fires of desire to die down. The night of the chase reappeared vividly in his imagination. Aly Seriakous, the porter, was coming down the stairs.

“I think I hear someone calling you,” Saber told him slyly.

“Maybe it was Madam.”

“Madam?”

“Mr. Khalil’s wife.”

“No. I don’t think so. It might be the guest in room fifteen. I’ve just seen Madam enter her flat.”

“Ah. Maybe. Does Madam live in the flat?”

“Mr. Khalil’s flat. On the roof.”

“Where was she these past few days?”

“At her mother’s. She goes there every month.”

He saw Khalil coming down the stairs. Hatred and resentment suddenly filled him. Beauty and the beast! He couldn’t bear the idea of staying one minute longer in the hotel. The sun and fresh wind lifted his feelings of depression, anger, and envy. How he wished he had more time to go sightseeing. The advertisement would not be published after tomorrow.

“Anything new?” asked Elham as he walked into her office at the paper.

“Telephone calls and meetings, all to no avail.”

“Patience.”

He watched her fingers skip over the keys of the typewriter. A sudden feeling of sadness came over him in spite of the happiness at seeing her.

Ihsan Tantawi was busy writing an obituary. He remembered the last night in his mother’s life. All his happiness and future were now hanging on a fine thread lost in an enveloping fog. Tantawi finished writing and looked up. “A renewal?” he asked, smiling.

“I’ve seen many people, but not him,” said Saber with despair in his voice.

“Such an advertisement requires patience,” said Tantawi encouragingly.

“But he is supposed to be very well known.”

“You only know his name. All the rest is hearsay. I’ve lived in many districts over the past thirty years, and I’ve never heard of him.”

“But I trust the person who sent me to look for him.”

“Then there must be a secret which only time will reveal.”

“I’ve got a photograph of him. It was taken thirty years ago.”

“We can put it in the advertisement; it will help.”

He showed him the photograph.

“He certainly looks impressive,” murmured Tantawi.