I stood very still, trying to calm myself. I was being dramatic, stupid, letting my imagination run away with me. Hadn't Dorcas and Alison said I used to do that and that I would have to stop it.

There was one thing of which I was certain. I was afraid.

I started to run; I touched the pillars as I passed.

I emerged from the shadow of the pillars into the open. The sun hit me like a blow. It sent little chinks of brilliant white light through the weave of my chip straw hat.

I had almost fallen into the arms of Leopold Harding, who was coming towards me.

"Why, Lady Travers, what's wrong?"

"Oh . . . nothing. I didn't see you."

"I saw you come rushing out of the Temple. I was just about to go in."

"Oh ..." I said, "I'm glad you came ..." I was thinking: Perhaps he, that anonymous murderer, heard your arabiya arrive, perhaps that was why he allowed me to escape. I added quickly: "It's worth a second visit."

"A wonderful old place. Are you sure you are all right?"

"I think I was a little overcome by the heat."

"You shouldn't rush about, you know. Would you like to take a walk round with me?"

"Thank you, but I think I'll go back to the palace. My arabiya is waiting for me."

"I shall not allow you to go back alone," he said.

I was glad of his company. It helped to dispel my absurd fears. He talked about practical matters such as how he had succeeded in making his arrangements for the despatching of his goods.

"It has been a very successful trip," he said. "It is not always so. Of course one buys a lot of stuff which we call 'run-of-the-mill.' One makes a small profit and this makes these transactions worth while. But occasionally there are the real finds."

"Have you any this time?"

"I think so ... yes, I think so. But one is never sure, and however fine the piece one has to find the buyer for it. That's business. Here is the palace. Are you all right, Lady Travers?"

"Perfectly, thank you. It was the heat, I think."

"Very trying and exhausting. I'm glad I was there."

"Thank you for your kindness."

"It was a pleasure."

I went to my room and lay on my bed. The fear still hung over me.

Had I been right? Was it a premonition which had set my skin pricking and the goosepimples rising? Had I really been in danger? Was, as the soothsayer would have said, the big black bat hovering over me? Or was I imagining this, because I had discovered that my husband loved another woman and wanted to be rid of me?

I must have been there for ten minutes when there was a knock on my door. I sat up hurriedly while the door opened slowly, stealthily. A pair of dark eyes were watching me.

"Lady would like mint tea? Lady very tired."

Mustapha was regarding me pityingly. I thanked him. He stood for a few moments and then he bowed and left me.

The intense heat of the day was over. I put on my shady straw hat and went out. People were rising from their beds where they had slept behind shutters which kept out the sun. The market square was getting noisy. I heard the weird music of the snake-charmer's pipes. I saw the snake beginning to rise from its basket for the benefit of the little crowd who had assembled to watch.

I paused by the storyteller, cross-legged on his mat, his dark hypnotic eyes dreamy. The faces of his listeners were rapt and attentive; but as I approached they seemed aware of me. In my cotton blouse, my linen skirt, and my big straw hat I was alien. The storyteller even paused in his narrative.

He said in English for my benefit: "And where she had died there grew a fair tree and its flowers were the color of her blood."

I dropped some coins into the bowl as an expression of my appreciation.

"Allah be with you," he murmured; and the people drew back for me to pass.

I went on into the souk. The soothsayer saw me and dropped his eyes to stare down at the mat on which he sat.

On through the narrow streets I went, past the open shops with their now familiar smells; and I was aware of eyes that watched me, furtively almost. I belonged to those who had twice felt the wrath of the dead. I was one of the damned.

I went back to the palace.

During the last few days I had neglected the paper work I did for Tybalt. I did not want him to know that anything was wrong so I decided that everything must be in order as it had been in the past.

There were papers in his bureau which he had left for me to put away. They were notes of the day's progress—each dated; and I had filed them in a sort of briefcase in perfect order so that he could refer to them and find what he wanted without a moment's delay. He had told me that this particular case, which was of very fine sealskin, had belonged to his father. It was lined with a black corded silk.

I had noticed some time before that the stitching of the lining had come apart and I had made up my mind that at some time I should mend it. I decided that I would do it now.

I took out needle and thread, emptied the case of its papers and set to work, but as I thrust my hand inside the lining I realized that there was something there.

At first I thought it was a sort of packing but as it was crumpled I drew it out and to my surprise saw that it was a sheet of paper with writing on it. It was creased and as I smoothed it out, certain words caught my eye. It was part of a letter and it was signed Ralph.

... an expensive project even for you. Yes, I'll subscribe. I wish I could come with you. I would but for this heart of mine. You wouldn't want an invalid on your hands, and the climate would just about finish me. Come round tomorrow. I want to talk to you about that plan of ours. It's something I've set my heart on. Your son and my daughter. He's getting so like you that I could sometimes believe it is you sitting there talking about what you're going to do. Now I'm leaving a tidy sum to your cause on condition that your son marries my daughter. Those are the terms. No marriage no money. I've set my heart on this. I've had the lawyers work on it so that on the day my daughter marries your son the money goes to your cause. Tell the boy what depends on it. A daughter of mine and a son of yours! My dear fellow, your brains and my vitality! What a combination we'll have for the grandchildren. See you tomorrow. Ralph B.

I stared at the letter. The words seemed to dance a mad dance like the dervishes in the market place.

"A daughter of mine and a son of yours." He had meant Theodosia at the time. Tybalt knew the terms of the will. And, of course, when Sir Ralph had become so taken with me and Theodosia had wished to marry Evan, he had offered me as the bride. It was for this reason that he had sent for Tybalt. He would have explained to him. "Judith is my daughter. The will stands if you take her." And Sir Ralph who had loved me had known that I wanted Tybalt. He had given Tybalt to me even though Tybalt had had to be bribed to take me.

It was all becoming clear, heartbreakingly clear.

Theodosia had married for love. Poor Theodosia who had enjoyed married bliss so briefly! And I had married Tybalt and the settlement had been made.

And now that the money was safe in the coffers of the "Profession," Tabitha was free.

Tabitha had always been a strange woman, full of secrets. And Tybalt, what did I know of Tybalt?

I had loved him for years. Yes, as a symbol. I had loved him from the moment I saw him in my foolish, impetuous way. I loved him no less now. But I had had to learn that he was ruthless where his profession was concerned. And where his marriage was concerned too?

What had come over me?

I went to the window and opened the shutters. I could look out beyond the terrace to the river. White-robed men; black-robed women; a train of camels coming into the town; a shepherd leading three sheep, carrying a crook, looking like a picture I had seen in Dorcas's Bible. The river dazzling in the bright sunshine; up in the sky a white blazing light on which none dared gaze; the hot air filling the room.

Then from the minaret the muezzin's cry. The sudden cessation of movement and noise as though everyone and everything down there had been turned to stone.

It is this place, I thought. This land of mystery. Here anything could happen. And I longed then for the green fields of home, the golden gorse, the soft caressing southwest wind; the gentle rain. I wanted to throw myself into the arms of Dorcas and Alison and ask for comfort.

I felt alone here, unprotected; and an ominous shadow was creeping closer.

I was passionate in my emotion. Hadn't Dorcas always said I was too impulsive? "You jump to conclusions." I could hear Alison's voice. "You imagine some dramatic situation and then try to make everything fit it. You should stop that."

Alison was right.

"Look at it squarely," Alison again. "Look it right in the face. See the worst as it really is, not as you're trying to make it and then see what is best to do."

Well, I am jealous, I said. I love Tybalt with a mad possessiveness. I want him all to myself. I do not want to share him even with his profession. I have tried to be proficient in that profession. Ever since I was a child and loved him I have been interested. But I am an amateur and I can't expect to be taken into the confidence of these people who are at the head of their profession. I am jealous because he is at the site more than with me.

That was logical and reasonable. But I was forgetting something.

I had heard Tabitha's voice: "It's too late, Tybalt, too late."