Play@YSDC

"I don't know what you found in the rooms you searched, Michael, but from the brief description I got, it sounded pretty grisly." Terry turns towards Aswald and continues, his face betraying the fact that he is starting to lose patience with the constant sniping of the Egyptian. "That makes Rawson, despite his being pompous and arrogant beyond belief; one of us. Now we Americans don't like to leave anyone behind unless it is unavoidable, and I'd rather have someone on my side as opposed to on the other side just because we didn't try to get him out at least. So you can either help us or hinder us Aswald - I for one am going to try and get him out if I can!"

Isopel hears the talk--the anti-British sentiment--and decides it best to keep quiet.

"I fall more under the ideology that if you fall behind, your left behind, especially if you fell behind because of your own stupidity. But seeing as I can't get another train back home at least tell until morning and I might still be able to sponge some money out of Rawson for my trouble, I guess I'll tag along for now." Aswald replies, slightly amused by his comrades passionate response.

"Mr. Rawson may be British, but I'll not hold that against him," says Michael. "I know the man, and there's a lot more to him than his nationality. I wouldn't leave a friend behind, and that applies to all of you." He grins at Isopel. "I won't hold your nationality against you either, Isopel. When I look at you, I see a pretty lady, not an Englishwoman." He clears his throat. "Mr. Rawson and I found two bodies in the study. They'd both been poisoned, cyanide by the smell of it. The mantlepiece was gruesome too, but it did spell out a clue: 'Awaken Old Ones. Flooding Nile.' And then there's this journal we found in a stuck drawer right before I left." He shows it to the others.

He grins at Isopel. "I won't hold your nationality against you either, Isopel. When I look at you, I see a pretty lady, not an Englishwoman." He clears his throat

She studies the cracks in the pavement.

"So much death! Were those poor people murdered or was it suicide?" She adds: "Bollacher hanged himself . . .

"As I said before, 'an obsession with watery things,' but I suppose this is Egypt: floods, etc. When we get a chance, I'd be most interested to read that journal, please, Michael."

"Of course, Isopel," says Michael, handing over the journal. "I'd bet the two who were poisoned didn't take it knowingly. Bollancher had a bloody knife in his pocket, so it looks like he topped the others before himself. The journal mentions a keystone that Bollancher found in a crypt. Did anyone come across something like that?"

Isopel delves, again, into the capacious pocket of her army greatcoat, and produces the stone she picked up near to Bollancher. "Did you mean this?" She rubs her shoulder: the weight of the stone she has carried has made it ache.

"Well done!" says Michael, smiling from ear to ear. "That's shaped like a keystone, all right. You want me to carry that for you? That thing looks heavy."

"Yes, please," says Isopel.

"Well said Michael, a friend should never be seen as less than that. As for nationalities - I could care less what he is, it is the man himself and his attitude I was commenting on." Terry says looking slightly abashed that he had come over wrong. "I wanted to get the point that we were going for him come what may ... never mind!" Thrusting his hands deep in his pockets Terry goes off towards the general area of the British Consulate.

"My pleasure," says Michael. He takes the keystone and puts it inside his own coat. He finds it heavy too, but he can manage with it. He follows the others towards the consulate.

The rain has paused, at least for the time being, though thunder still rumbles heavily in the distance.

Rawson, seated between two burly, silent policeman can do little but watch the dimly lit city flit by. His companions trudge in the direction of the consulate, and dawn shows a slim bright crease on the horizon, with the promise of a new day.