“Zakhari!” Trenchard repeated the name curiously, his face alive with interest.

“You know her family?” Pitt said quickly. Perhaps this was going to be easy after all.

“No-but it’s a Coptic name, not Muslim.” He saw Pitt’s lack of understanding. “Christian,” he explained.

Pitt was startled. He had not even considered the question of religion, but now he realized its importance.

Then the moment after, Trenchard added more, his mouth twisted in a slight, wry smile, his eyes meeting Pitt’s steadily. “From what you say, she is something better than a prostitute, perhaps a rather exclusive courtesan. If she were Muslim she would be cut off from her own people for associating with a non-Muslim man in such a way, however discreetly. As a Christian, if she is extremely careful, she can maintain the fiction of acceptability.”

“I don’t know that she’s a courtesan!” Pitt said rather hotly, then felt embarrassed at his own lack of professional detachment as he saw the laughter in Trenchard’s eyes.

Trenchard forbore from comment, even though it was in his expression, not unkindly, simply as the gentle weariness of a man of the world dealing with someone of startling naÏveté. Pitt felt scalded by it. He was a professional policeman with far more knowledge of the darker sides of human nature than this aristocratic diplomat. He controlled his temper with difficulty.

“The only association we know of is with Saville Ryerson,” he said in a chillier tone than he had intended. “Lovat was apparently an ardent admirer when he served here in Alexandria twelve years ago, but we don’t know if he was ever more than that.”

Trenchard folded his hands, completely unperturbed. “And you want to know?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“Presumably your brief is to clear Ryerson?” That was more an invitation to explain his precise needs than a question, but Trenchard was a man whose courtesy never failed. Pitt had the sudden, profound impression that if he were to shoot you, he would do it politely.

There was no point in being abusive; Trenchard would only consider him even more of a fool.

“If possible,” he agreed.

Trenchard saw his hesitation, minute as it had been, and it was reflected in his expression.

“We need to know the truth,” Pitt continued quickly. “Why would she kill Lovat? Why did she come to London in the first place? Was she seeking Ryerson or did she meet him by chance?” He realized as he said it how unlikely it was that a beautiful Egyptian woman merely happened to fall in love with the government minister in charge of cotton exports. And yet history was littered with unlikely meetings that had altered its course irrevocably.

“Yes…” Trenchard said, pursing his lips. “Of course. Puts a different complexion on it. Why is she supposed to have shot this Lovat?” His eyes widened very slightly. “Who is he, anyway?”

“A junior diplomat of no apparent importance,” Pitt replied. He decided to say nothing yet about the possibility of blackmail. “And even if he were pestering her,” he went on, “Ryerson is sufficiently in love with her that he is doing all he can to protect her from a charge of murder, even at the expense of his own reputation. She had no cause to fear that a past lover would turn his affections away from her.”

“Yes, indeed,” Trenchard said softly. “It seems there is something beyond the obvious, and the possibilities are numerous. Your visit here is well advised. I admit, I wondered why Narraway did not simply request someone at the consulate to look into it, but now I see that a detective is required. The answer may be complex, and it may be that there are those who would wish it to remain unknown.” He smiled, a charming, candid gesture. “Are you familiar with Egypt, Mr. Pitt?”

Pitt saw behind Trenchard’s easy manner a glimpse of the passion he had shown before when he spoke of the beauty and antiquity of Egypt, and the brilliance of the culture that had crossed its path, particularly here, where the Nile met the Mediterranean-in a sense, where Africa met Europe.

“Assume I know nothing,” Pitt said with humility. “The little I have learned can be disregarded.”

Trenchard nodded, a flash of approval in his face. “The recorded history of the country goes back not far short of five thousand years before Christ.” His words were momentous, and for all his casual tone, there was awe in his expression. “But for your purposes you can disregard all of it, even the Napoleonic conquest and brief French occupation nearly a century ago. No doubt you are aware of Lord Nelson’s victory at Aboukir, usually known, I believe, as the Battle of the Nile? Yes, I assumed so.” There was an indefinable edge to his voice, an emotion impossible to name. “Egypt is nominally part of the Ottoman Empire, and therefore owes allegiance to the Sultan of Turkey,” he continued. “But in fact for the last fifteen years it has been part of ours, although it would be extremely unwise to make any remark to that effect.” He shrugged elegantly. “Or to the fact that we bombarded Alexandria ten years ago, on Mr. Gladstone’s orders.”

Pitt flinched, but Trenchard took no more than slight notice, just a flicker in his eyes.

“The khedive is the sultan’s vassal,” he continued. “There is an Egyptian prime minister, a parliament, an Egyptian army and an Egyptian flag. The finances are probably of no interest to you except regarding cotton, which is the single exported crop here, and bought entirely by Britain, a fact of no little importance.”

“Yes,” Pitt said grimly. “I was aware of that. And I think finances might be at the heart of the issue. But,” he added hastily, “I do not require a lecture on them at present. What about police?”

Trenchard moved a little in his seat.

“I would forget the entire subject of law and courts, if I were you,” Trenchard said dryly. “Egyptian jurisdiction over foreigners belongs to a whole series of courts, one for each consulate, and the circumlocutory machinations of any of them, let alone all, would confound even Theseus, trailing a thread behind him.” He spread his elegant hands wide. “In effect the British run Egypt, but we do it discreetly. There are hundreds of us, and we all answer to the consul-general, Lord Cromer, who is usually referred to simply as ’the lord.’ And I presume you know what they say about him?”

“I have no idea,” Pitt confessed.

Trenchard raised his eyebrows very slightly, a smile on his lips. “‘It is no good having right on your side if Lord Cromer is against you,’” he quoted. “Better, I think, in this situation, if he never hears of you.”

“I shall certainly work to that end,” Pitt promised. “But I need to know about this woman, who she was before she came to England, and if she is really as impulsive and…”

“Stupid,” Trenchard filled in for him, his eyes wide. “Yes, I can see the necessity. We’ll start among the Copts. I’ll give you a map and mark the most likely areas. I would assume that she comes from a family with a certain amount of money, since she obviously speaks English and has the means to travel.”

“Thank you.” Pitt stood up, finding himself stiff and making an effort to stifle a yawn. It was still extraordinarily warm, his clothes were sticking to his skin, and he was far more tired than he had expected. “Where do I catch the tram for San Stefano?”

“You have piasters?”

“Yes… thank you.”

Trenchard rose to his feet also. “Then if you turn right and walk about a hundred yards you will find the stop on your left, immediately across the street. But I would suggest at this time of evening, while you are unfamiliar with the city, that you take a horse carriage. It should not be more than eight or nine piasters, and worth it when you have a case to carry. Good luck, Pitt.” He held out his hand. “If I can be of assistance, please call me. If I know anything that might help I shall send a note to you at San Stefano.”