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Egyptian smiled. “You should take a good dragoman with you, sir. He would see to it that you avoided such things!”
    “Very likely,” Brian agreed. “Maybe I’m too independent. But perhaps you can tell me something. I got lost, and wandered on into another quarter, ‘way beyond the Khân Khalîl. It wasn’t far from a city gate, and there was mosque.”
    “There are many.”
    “It was near a street where they sold cotton goods and pottery and that sort of thing.”
    “Ah, that would be the Ghurîyeh.”
    “Well, in a narrow street leading into what you call the Ghurîyeh there’s a fine old mansion with a high wall around it. Most unlikely spot for such a house. There’s a courtyard, and—”
    “I know what you have seen, sir. It is the house of the Sherîf Mohammed Ibn el-Ashraf.”
    “And who is he?”
    “A very holy man, sir. A descendant of the Prophet, and the greatest physician in Cairo. Or he was; he is retired from practice now.”
    Brian was more mystified than ever. What possible connection could there be between Sir Denis and the Sherîf Mohammed?
    He called Mr. Ahmad’s number, but failed to get a reply.
    What to do next was the problem. But the more he thought about it, the more completely it baffled him.
    He went into the cocktail bar fairly early in the evening, and saw that he had it to himself. He had made several further attempts to call Mr. Ahmad, but could get no reply. He ordered Scotch on the rocks and sat there sipping his drink and feeling very puzzled and very lonely.
    It was a perfect night, a half-moon sailing in a jeweled sky, and he would have liked to go somewhere, do something; get away from himself.
    He smoked two cigarettes and then ordered another drink. He had made up his mind to take it out onto the terrace. When the bartender served it, Brian picked up the glass, slipped down from the high stool, and turned to go.
    How it happened he could never quite make out. He had heard no sound, had no idea anybody was there. But a girl wearing a strapless gown that displayed her creamy arms and shoulders had apparently been standing just behind him. She raised her hand too late. He had spilled most of the whisky and some of the ice all over her.
    She stifled a squeal. Reproachful eyes were raised to his. Brian grew hot all over. He called to the bartender: “Quick! A napkin or something!”
    A napkin was produced. The girl took it from his hand, looking aside, and began to dab at her dress and her bare shoulders.
    “What can I say?” he fumbled. “Of course I shall replace your dress, which I’m afraid is ruined. But there’s no excuse for my clumsiness.”
    She glanced at him. “Oh, I doubt that the dress is ruined.” She had a quaint, fascinating accent. “And truly I think I was to blame. I was looking for someone, and how could you know I was right behind you?”
    “I should have looked. It was entirely my fault. You must let me drive you to wherever you live, so you can change.” He detected the dawning of a smile stealing across her face. “I suppose you must have a dinner date, but please allow me to see you tomorrow and fix everything up for a new dress.”
    “I live in this hotel. I arrived only today. I can go to my room and change my dress. It will clean quite well. But it is very sweet of you to offer to buy another.”
    “That isn’t an offer. It’s a promise!”
    She really smiled now; and Brian realized with a sort of shock that she was a very pretty girl indeed.
    “Perhaps I won’t hold you to it.” She spoke softly. “It would not be fair.”
    “We’ll leave that for the moment. Maybe, when you’re changed, you’ll find time to have a cocktail with me before you go?”’
    “Thank you. I am going nowhere. I meant to dine here in the hotel.”
    “Then you’ll dine with me?”
    “Yes—if you really want it so.”
    When she had gone, Brian had his glass refilled.
    “Do you know that lady’s name?” he asked the barman.
    “No, sir. I