Seven Dials Page 0,63

warmly. "Jackson said you asked for me by name?" It was a question that politely required an explanation.

"Mr. Victor Narraway suggested you might be able to give me some advice," Pitt replied.

Trenchard's eyes flashed with understanding. "Indeed," he acknowledged. "Do sit down. You have just arrived in Egypt?"

"Off the steamer docked an hour ago," Pitt acknowledged, accepting the seat gratefully. He had not walked very far, but he had been standing on deck for a long time, too eager and too interested to wait below in his cabin.

"Have you somewhere to stay?" Trenchard asked, but his expression assumed the negative. "I would suggest Casino San Stefano. It's a very good hotel-a hundred rooms, so you'll have no trouble getting one. They are all twenty-five piasters a day, and the food is excellent. If you don't care for Egyptian, they serve French as well. Rather more important than that, you can get there by carriage down the Strada Rossa, or perhaps less expensive and more discreet is an excellent tramway, twenty-four trams a day, and both the Schatz and the Racos end at the San Stefano terminus."

"Thank you," Pitt said sincerely. It was a good beginning, but he was overwhelmed by his ignorance and the feeling of being in a city in which even the smell of the air was foreign to him. He had never felt so fumblingly blind, or so alone. Everything familiar was a thousand miles away.

Trenchard was watching him, waiting for him to continue. He could have enquired for a hotel from anyone. He must explain at least something of his purpose here. He began with what was public knowledge, at least in London. He gave Trenchard the bare facts of the murder of Lovat and the arrest of Ayesha Zakhari.

"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 naivete. 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