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long since been hastened off to Canada, for safety’s sake; and in the meantime, Stephen Glanville was having one romantic affair after another.
    Stephen did not bother hiding the fact from Agatha, who had become his sole confidant in Max’s absence. He claimed these “flings” meant nothing to him, and were merely to console and comfort him in his family’s absence.
    They had spent many evenings alone together; Agatha often cooked for Glanville. She found the Egyptologist quite good-looking and she remained relieved—and vaguely insulted—that he had never made a play for her.
    “I’m afraid I’m going to have to take the blame,” Stephen whispered.
    “That’s because you’re so frequently guilty,” Agatha whispered back. She detected a frown from Irene, and motioned to Glanville to move a few seats over, so as not to disturb the director. Then: “Blame for what?”
    “I’m afraid the presence of that fresh-faced fan from St. Wood’s Station is my fault… or at least, partly mine.”
    Agatha glanced back at the handsome cadet, whose eyes were on the stage and the latest actress to trample on her words.
    “Oh, he’s quite charming,” Agatha said. “Janet’s a very lucky girl.”
    “Janet could do better than that cabbage,” Stephen said. “But never mind.”
    Agatha turned and looked at her handsome friend. “You arranged for that cadet to have the afternoon off, didn’t you, Stephen?”
    He was a higher-up in the Air Ministry, after all.
    He grinned. “Guilty as charged…. Janet told me the kid was a huge fan of yours. I warned her that you didn’t like being fussed over. But Janet pleaded.”
    “Please tell me you don’t have your sights on—”
    “No! No. We’re just pals, Janet and I. But I don’t mind doing a favor for a pretty lady. One never knows with whom one might wind up stranded on a desert island.”
    Agatha shook her head. “Stephen, no one combines cynicism and romanticism quite so effectively as you. A unique gift, you have there.”
    “Thank you, my dear. That is… darling . We are at the the-ah-tah, you know.”
    She again glanced at the cadet, entranced in the theatrical experience. “Well, I don’t mind meeting a loyal reader… and, anyway, I don’t have ‘fans,’ Stephen, I have readers… customers. I just don’t care for mobs of them. One on one, they can be quite delightful.”
    “He is a good-looking bloke, I’ll give you that.”
    “He’s young enough to be my son.”
    “Ah, but he isn’t. Your son, I mean. So incest isn’t really an issue, is it?”
    She looked sideways at him. “You’re a terrible man, Stephen. A true villain.”
    “Then why do you love me?”
    She shrugged. “There’s no explaining it.”
    “So when do we begin?”
    His voice had naughtiness in it—as if he were finally referring to an affair.
    “Begin what?”
    “Our book! Our Egyptian mystery.”
    “I’ve told you before, Stephen—I never collaborate.”
    “I don’t want to collaborate. I merely want to advise. What a wonderful surprise for Max to return and find you’ve set your latest thriller in ancient Egypt.”
    They’d had this conversation endlessly, since Max departed.
    And it ended as it always did: “We shall see, Stephen.”
    Then she told Stephen about her research project with Sir Bernard Spilsbury.
    “That sounds dangerous,” Stephen said skeptically.
    “Don’t be silly. I may be going to crime scenes, is all—the danger’s long over, by the time the pathologist arrives.”
    “Still… I don’t like it. I doubt Max would like it, either.”
    “He would have the same reaction as you, dear Stephen: a knee jerk of chauvinism; and then I would point out that Sir Bernard’s research is not unlike his own… digging into the past. And that my work, at least as I see it right now, requires a research effort of my own. And I would have Max’s blessing.”
    His dark eyes were tight beneath the dark eyebrows. “I don’t know, Agatha. Do