From the bathroom he ventured into the kitchen, putting on water to boil and pouring a glass of juice. In the living room he opened the shutters that gave out onto Louisburg Square. The mid-October sunlight filtered down through the golden leaves of the elms, taking the chill off the air. Richard smiled wearily, deepening the lines at the corners of his eyes and accentuating his dimples. He was a pleasantly handsome man with a square, somewhat impish face under thick honey-colored hair. His blue eyes, deeply set, had a frequent twinkle.

“ Egypt. Christ, it’s like going to the moon,” Richard said forlornly to the beautiful morning. “Why the hell did she have to go to Egypt?”

He showered, shaved, dressed, and breakfasted in a long-established, efficient pattern. The only interruption of the usual routine was his socks. He didn’t have any clean socks, so he was forced to find some in the hamper. It was going to be a terrible day. Meanwhile, he could think of nothing but Erica. Finally, in desperation, he put a call through to Erica’s mother in Toledo, with whom he got along splendidly. It was eight thirty and he knew he’d catch her before she left for work.

After some small talk, Richard got to the point.

“Have you heard from Erica yet?”

“My God, Richard, she’s only been gone a day.”

“True. I just thought there was a chance. I’m worried about her. I don’t understand what’s going on. Everything was fine until we started talking about marriage.”

“Well, you should have done it a year ago.”

“I couldn’t have done it a year ago. My practice was just getting started.”

“Of course you could have. You just didn’t want to then. It’s that simple. And if you’re worried about her now, you should have kept her from going to Egypt.”

“I tried.”

“If you had tried, Richard, she’d be in Boston right now.”

“Janice, I really tried. I told her that if she went to Egypt I didn’t know what would happen to our relationship. It was going to be different.”

“And what did she say to that?”

“She said she was sorry, but that it was important for her to go.”

“It’s a stage, Richard. She’ll get over it. You’re just going to have to relax.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Janice. At least I hope so. If you hear from her, let me know.”

Richard hung up the phone, acknowledging that he didn’t feel much better. In fact, he felt a certain panic, as if Erica was slipping away from him. Impulsively he called TWA and checked on connections to Cairo, as if the mere act of doing so would make him feel closer. It didn’t, and he was already late for the office. Thinking of Erica enjoying herself while he was suffering a depression made him angry. But there was little he could do.

Erica had not been able to speak for some time. When she had looked up expecting to face the Arab killer, she had found herself standing in front of a European dressed in an expensive three-piece beige suit. They had looked at each other for what seemed like an eternity, both confused. But Erica was also terrified. As a result, it had taken a quarter of an hour for Yvon Julien de Margeau to convince her that he meant her no harm. Even then Erica had trouble speaking, because she was trembling so violently. Finally, and with great difficulty, she had communicated to Yvon that Abdul was in the outer part of the shop, either dead or dying. Yvon, who had explained that the shop had been empty when he entered, agreed to check after loudly insisting that Erica sit down. He returned quickly.

“There is no one in the shop,” said Yvon. “There is broken glass and some blood on the floor. But there is no body.”

“I want to get away from here,” said Erica. It was her first whole sentence.

“Of course,” soothed Yvon. “But first tell me what happened.”

“I want to go to the police,” continued Erica. The trembling recommenced. When she closed her eyes, she saw the image of the knife cutting into Abdul’s throat. “I saw someone killed. Just a few moments ago. It was terrible. I’ve never even seen someone injured. Please, I want to go to the police!”

With her mind beginning to function, Erica looked at the man in front of her. Tall and thin, he was in his late thirties, with a tanned and angular face. There was an air of authority about him, heightened by the intense blue of his hooded eyes. More than anything else, after seeing the ragged Arabs, Erica was reassured by his impeccable tailoring.

“I had the misfortune of watching a man murdered,” she said at length. “I looked out through the curtain and saw three men. One was in the doorway, another was holding the old man, and the other…” Erica had trouble continuing-“and the other slit the old man’s throat.”

“I see,” said Yvon thoughtfully. “What were these three men wearing?”

“I’m not sure you do see,” said Erica, raising her voice. “What were they wearing? I’m not talking about some purse-snatchers. I’m trying to tell you that I saw a man murdered. Murdered!”

“I believe you. But were these men Arabic or European?”

“They were Arab, dressed in galabias. Two of them were filthy, the other appeared considerably better off. My God, to think I came here for a vacation.” Erica shook her head and began to get up.

“Could you recognize them?” asked Yvon calmly. He put his hand on Erica’s shoulder, both to reassure her and to encourage her to remain seated.

“I’m not sure. It happened so fast. Maybe I could recognize the man with the knife. I don’t know. I never did see the face of the man by the door.” Raising her hand, Erica was amazed to see how violently it was trembling. “I’m not sure I believe any of this myself. I was talking with Abdul, who owns the store. In fact, we had been talking for some time, drinking tea. He was full of wit, a real person. God…” Erica ran her fingers through her hair. “And you say there’s no body out there?” Erica pointed through the curtain. “There really was a murder.”

“I believe you,” said Yvon. His hand still rested on Erica’s shoulder, and she felt curiously comforted.

“But why would they take the body, too?” asked Erica.

“What do you mean, too?”

“They took a statue that was right here,” said Erica, pointing. “It was a fabulous statue of an ancient Egyptian pharaoh-”

“Seti I,” interjected Yvon. “That crazy old man had the Seti statue here!” Yvon rolled his eyes in disbelief.

“You knew about the statue?” asked Erica.

“I did. In fact, I was coming here specifically to discuss it with Hamdi. How long ago did all this happen?”

“I’m not sure. Fifteen, twenty minutes. When you came in, I thought you were the killers returning.”

“Merde,” said Yvon, pulling away from Erica to pace the room. He took off his beige jacket and dropped it on one of the cushions. “So close.” He stopped pacing, turning back to Erica. “Did you actually see the statue?”

“Yes, I did. It was unbelievably beautiful, by far the most impressive piece I’ve ever seen. Even the finest of Tutankhamen’s treasures could not compare. It showed the heights that New Kingdom craftsmanship had reached by the nineteenth dynasty.”

“Nineteenth dynasty? How did you know that?”

“I’m an Egyptologist,” said Erica, regaining some of her composure.

“An Egyptologist? You do not look like an Egyptologist.”

“And how is an Egyptologist supposed to look?” asked Erica testily.

“Okay, let us just say that I would not have guessed,” Yvon said. “Was your being an Egyptologist the reason Hamdi showed you the statue?”

“I presume so.”

“Still, it was foolish. Very foolish. I cannot understand why he would be willing to take such risks. Do you have any idea what the value of that statue is?” asked Yvon almost angrily.

“Priceless,” returned Erica. “It is all the more reason to go to the police. That statue is an Egyptian national treasure. As an Egyptologist I am aware of the black market in antiquities, but I had no idea that pieces of such value were involved. Something has to be done!”