They headed southwest out of the bustling center, passing the remains of the old city walls and the magnificent citadel of Saladin. Within the citadel the domes and minarets of the Muhammad Ali mosque soared heavenward in a bold affirmation of the worldly power of Islam. They reached the Nile at the level of the northern tip of the island of Roda. Turning to the right, they headed up the broad avenue that ran along the east bank of the mighty river. The sparkling cool blue of the water, reflecting the afternoon sunlight in a million diamonds, provided a refreshing contrast to the heat and squalor of downtown Cairo. When Erica had first seen the Nile the day before, she had been impressed by its history and the fact that its waters came from distant equatorial Africa. Today she could really understand that Cairo and all of inhabited Egypt could not exist without the river. The oppressive dust and heat proclaimed the power and harshness of the desert that pressed constantly at Cairo ’s back door, threatening like a plague.

Yvon drove directly to the front entrance of the Hilton. Leaving the keys in the car, he managed to beat the turbaned doorman to the passenger side and chivalrously helped Erica out of the car. Erica, who had just witnessed the most violent scenes of her life, smiled at the unexpected gallantry. Coming from America, she was unaccustomed to seeing such an obviously masculine man concerned with the details of courtesy. It was a unique European combination, and one which, even exhausted as she was, Erica could not help but find charming.

“I will wait for you if you would like to go to your room and freshen up before we talk,” said Yvon as they entered the busy lobby. The afternoon international flights had arrived.

“I think I need a drink first,” said Erica without a moment’s hesitation.

The temperature of the air-conditioned cocktail lounge was delicious, like sliding into a pool of crystal water. They sat in a corner booth and ordered. When the drinks came, Erica held the frosted glass of her vodka and tonic to her cheek for a moment to appreciate its coolness.

Looking at Yvon calmly sipping his Pernod, she realized how quickly he could adapt to his environment. He was as comfortable within the depths of the Khan el Khalili as he was in the Hilton. There was the same confidence, the same control. Looking more carefully at his clothes, Erica recognized how fastidiously they were tailored to his body. Comparing their elegance to Richard’s unchanging Brooks Brothers look made her smile, but she knew that Richard was not interested in clothes and that the comparison wasn’t fair.

Erica took a taste of her drink and began to relax. She took another sip, a bigger one, and breathed in deeply before swallowing. “God, what an experience,” she said. She rested her head in her hand and massaged her temples. Yvon remained silent. After a few minutes she sat up and straightened her shoulders. “What are you going to do about the Seti statue?”

“I’m going to try to find it,” said Yvon. “I must find it before it gets out of Egypt. Did Abdul Hamdi say anything to you about where it was going? Anything?”

“Only that it was in the shop for a few hours and it would soon resume its journey. Nothing else.”

“About a year ago, a similar statue appeared and-”

“What do you mean, similar?” asked Erica excitedly.

“It was a gilded statue of Seti I,” said Yvon.

“Did you actually see it, Yvon?”

“No. If I had, it would not be in Houston today. It was bought by an oil man through a bank in Switzerland. I tried to trace it, but Swiss banks are very uncooperative. I got nowhere.”

“Do you know if the Houston statue had hieroglyphics carved in the base?” asked Erica.

Yvon shook his head while lighting a Gauloise. “I haven’t the slightest idea. Why do you ask?”

“Because the statue I saw had hieroglyphics cut into the base,” said Erica, warming to the subject. “And the thing that caught my eye was the fact that there were the names of two pharaohs. Seti I and Tutankhamen!”

Inhaling deeply on his cigarette, Yvon regarded Erica questioningly. His thin lips pressed together tightly as he blew the smoke from his nostrils.

“Hieroglyphics are my specialty,” said Erica defensively.

“It’s impossible for Seti’s and Tutankhamen’s names to be on the same statue,” said Yvon flatly.

“It is strange,” continued Erica, “but there is no doubt in my mind. Unfortunately, I did not have time to translate the rest. My first thought was that the statue was a fake.”

“It was no fake,” said Yvon. “Hamdi would not have been killed for a fake. Couldn’t you have mistaken Tutankhamen’s name for another?”

“Never,” said Erica. She found a pen in her bag, drew the coronation name of Tutankhamen on her cocktail napkin, and pushed it toward Yvon defiantly. “That was carved in the base of the statue I saw.”

Looking at the drawing, Yvon smoked in thoughtful silence. Erica watched him.

“Why was the old man killed?” she said finally. “That’s what seems so senseless. If they wanted the statue, they could have taken it. Hamdi was there by himself.”

“I have no idea,” admitted Yvon, looking up from the drawing of Tutankhamen’s name. “Perhaps it has something to do with the curse of the pharaohs.” He smiled. “About a year ago I’d traced a route for Egyptian antiquities to a middleman in Beirut, who obtained the pieces from Egyptian pilgrims going to Mecca. No sooner had I made the contact than the gentleman was killed. I’m wondering if it has something to do with me!”

“Do you think he was killed for the same reasons as Abdul Hamdi?” asked Erica.

“No. Actually, he was caught between Christian and Muslim bullets. Still, I was on my way to see him when it happened.”

“It is such a senseless tragedy,” said Erica sadly, again thinking of Abdul.

“It is indeed,” agreed Yvon. “But remember, Hamdi was no innocent bystander and he knew the stakes. That statue was priceless, and in the middle of all this poverty, money can move mountains. That’s the real reason it would be a mistake for you to go to the authorities. It’s hard to find someone you can trust under the best of circumstances, and when that kind of money is involved, the police themselves may not act with honesty.”

“I’m not sure what I should do,” said Erica. “But what are your plans, Yvon?”

Taking another draw on his Gauloise, he let his gaze wander around the tastelessly decorated lounge. “Hopefully, there will be some information in Hamdi’s correspondence. It’s not much, but it’s a start. I’ve got to find out who killed him.” Turning back to Erica, his face took on a more serious expression. “I very well might need you to make the final identification. Would you do that?”

“Of course, if I can,” said Erica. “I really didn’t get a very good look at the killers, but I’d really like to help.” Erica thought about what she’d said. The words sounded so trite. But Yvon did not seem to notice. Instead, he reached across and gently grasped her wrist.

“I am very pleased,” he said warmly. “Now I must go. I’m staying at the Meridien Hotel, suite 800. That’s on the island of Roda.” Yvon paused, but his hand still lightly gripped Erica’s wrist. “I would be quite happy if you would agree to have dinner with me tonight. This day must have given you a terrible impression of Cairo, and I would like to show you the other side.”

The unexpected offer flattered Erica. Yvon was unreasonably charming and could probably dine with any one of a thousand women. His interest was obviously the statue, but her own reactions were confusing.

“Thank you, Yvon, but I’m exhausted. I’m still suffering from jet lag, and I didn’t sleep well yesterday. Some other night, perhaps.”

“We could have an early dinner. I’ll have you back here by ten. After your experience today, I just don’t think you should be sitting in your hotel room by yourself.”