I narrowed my eyes.

“There is?” Her voice was sharp again.

I blew out the match and said, “I think we’ve lost the ball.”

“I know this sounds silly, but I suppose you haven’t… any means of identification on you?” I laughed. “Seriously. Please.”

I fished in my back pocket and produced my wallet; then struck three or four matches while she looked at my Greek permis de séjour. It gave my address and profession.

“Thank you. That was kind of you.”

But she was silent; at a loss.

“Well come on. Next development.”

She hesitated; then amazed me again.

“We thought you might be working for Maurice.”

“Working for him!”

A circumspect voice. “Yes. Working for him.”

“Good God.”

“You solemnly swear that you’re not working for him?”

“Of course I’m not.”

“That you never met him before you came here?”

I stood up impatiently. “I feel I’m going mad.”

Her face had grown very serious. She looked away and said, “I can’t tell you anything now. It’s for my sister to decide.”

“Why? And decide what?”

“Because that’s what we’ve agreed. Because she’s seen more of you. And because she’s much closer to Maurice than I am. Much closer.”

“What does that mean?”

“What do you think it means?”

“I’m wondering.”

“She said she felt the other day that you half believed she was his mistress or something. Perhaps you think we both are.”

“Perhaps I do.”

She was cool. “In terms of what at least you must begin to suspect my sister really is… do you honestly think she could ever…

“No.”

“And Maurice. For all his peculiarities, is he that sort of person?” I said nothing, remembering the books, the objects. “Well if he was, would he introduce a young man—and a rather nice-looking young man, into his… harem?”

“That has occurred to me.” I sat down again. “All right. So? She is closer to Maurice than you.”

“She simply doesn’t want to betray him.”

“And you do?”

She answered obliquely. “The only thing we’re all sure of is that we’re all three English. Yes? The only three English people in this fantastic place. And my sister and I are sort of… well, committed to making a fool of you by our contracts—”

She broke off abruptly, hand to mouth, aghast.

“Contracts… contracts?” She leant forward and covered her face in her hands. “What the devil are you? Film stars?”

Her head was shaking. “Please forget I said that.” But after a moment she leant back and said, “Yes. Obviously we thought you must have guessed.”

“Film stars?” My voice was high with incredulity. She raised her finger, as if we must keep quiet.

“No. But there’s only one profession—isn’t there?—where you do kiss strange men with apparent passion. Because it’s part of your job.” She suddenly grimaced. “I’ve just thought of another. I didn’t mean that.”

“You’re trying to tell me you’re both actresses?”

“We’re not even that. Just two girls in desperate need of help.”

“Help?”

“Are there any police on the island?”

I clutched my hair.

“Let me get this straight. First of all you were ghosts. Then you were schizophrenics. Now you are next week’s consignment to Saudi Arabia.”

She smiled. “Sometimes I almost wish we were. It would be simpler.” She turned and put her hand on my knee. “Nicholas, I’m notorious for never taking anything very seriously, and that’s partly why we’re here, and even now it’s fun in a way—but we really are just two English girls who’ve got ourselves into such deep waters these last two or three months that…” she left an eloquent silence.

“But how did he get hold of you? Where were you actresses?”

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow morning we’re all meeting. The three of us.”

“How do you know?”

“Because nothing here happens by chance. It’s all planned in advance.” She touched my sleeve. “You must tell me the time.”

“Including this?”

“Including my meeting you. But not what we’ve said.” She pulled her cloak round her. “Or only some of what we’ve said.” She took my hand and looked at the time. “I must go.”

She stood up.

“I’ll come with you now.”

“No.”

“She told me you live on a yacht.”

“She told me what a terribly good impromptu liar you were.”

I stood up and she put her hands on my shoulders and regarded me with a kind of anxious concern. “Nicholas, let’s be friends. Now we’ve met, I do trust you.”

“That’s hardly the question. Do I trust you?”

I answered “no” in my mind, but I reached up and took her hands; the cloak was open. I could see the white dress, the white throat. What I suspected of Conchis, what she had accused me of, I gave myself to taste: the charms of a ménage a trois; that wild kissing. Who cared about real meaning? I pressed her hands.

“At least tell me your name.”

“Rose.”

I pressed her hands again.

“Come on. Friends.”

“Call me anything you like. You baptize me.”

“No.”

She smiled; a pressure back, the hands withdrawn.

“I must go. I hate all this mystery. But just tonight.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“You can’t.” She had that same slightly desperate urgency Lily had had two weeks before. She moved away a step or two, as if to test me. I stood still.

“I’ll follow you.”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Now.”

She eyed me, then shrugged, with regret.

“Then I’m awfully sorry, but I’ll have to use the emergency exit.”

With her eyes still on mine, she called. Not very loud; to carry thirty or forty yards; as if to a dog.

“Anubis!”

I whipped round. She came and put her arm on mine. “Actually this looks better. He won’t hurt you if you stay here.”

Already I could hear someone coming swiftly down through the trees behind us. I saw a monstrous dark shape. “Rose” stood near me as if to protect me.

“Who is it?”

“Our dearly beloved watchdog.” Her tone was dry; and when I looked at her, she confirmed its dryness.

It was the figure from the death and the niaiden scene of two weeks before. The jackal-head, the “nurse.” Standing against us, in black from head to foot, the long ears pointing stiffly up, the muzzle waiting.

She muttered quickly, “Don’t be afraid.” Then, in a very low whisper, “We had no choice tonight.” I didn’t know whether she meant “you and I,” or “Lily and I.”

She started to walk down past the statue. I looked back up the hill. The figure had not moved. I began to walk after her. Immediately she heard me she stopped. When I came up with her, she gave me a wide-eyed look and then she said again, “Anubis.”

The figure came and stood some six feet away. I could see that behind the macabre disguise was a big, tall man. He moved like a very fit man, too. I would be no match for him physically. I shrugged.

“Force majeure.”

“Just stay here. Please just stay here.” She turned to the figure. Her voice was cold. “And there is absolutely no need for violence. We all know you’re very strong.”

She turned back to me, touched my arm one last time as if to reassure me; then she disappeared down through the trees towards the carob under which the man and the girl had stood.

I spoke.

“I suppose you’re the Reverend Mr. Foulkes.”

He raised his arm and took off the headpiece. I was looking at a Negro. He had on black trousers, a black shirt, black gym shoes; even black gloves. He did not smile, but simply watched me. Poised yet coiled; an athlete, a boxer.

I calculated whether I could risk a dash into the trees. But it was already too late. She had disappeared; and I felt sure that her real destination was in some very different direction.

“Where you from? The West Indies?”

No answer.

“Well what are you supposed to be—the black eunuch or something?”

No answer again; but I thought there was a tiny contraction of the eyes.