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She looked into the stream of people coming their way, all strangers, and tried to determine the quirks that made them English. Allegra seemed to know instinctively which side of the pavement belonged to them and which they must yield to persons coming their way. Just when Jane thought she had it figured out, a man came toward them slipping swiftly through the languid strolling crowd.

His broad shoulders and massive head of shaggy russet hair rose above the crowd so that Jane could see his face clearly. It was a face she recognized instantly, and it stopped her in the middle of the pavement. She did not know the man’s name, but she remembered clearly the parting handshake he had given her father on a street near the docks of Koron. The next day her father had left for his last journey.

The big man bounded up the steps of a small shop with two tall bow windows and passed inside before Jane could blink.

“Jane, what is it?” Allegra tugged on her arm. “You’re standing like a gawk.”

“I’d like to visit that shop.” She read the sign, “Kirby & Sons.”

Allegra gave the shop a doubtful glance. “It’s a chemist’s shop. For gentlemen. I’ve never heard of it. What could you possibly want there?”

“Soap.” It was the first thing that came into her head. “I’ll not be two minutes. Wait for me.” She disengaged her arm from Allegra’s, hurried up the steps, and opened the door. A bell jingled and a remarkably pretty girl in blue looked up from behind the counter. The door closed on Allegra’s protest that she would not be left on the street and she would not wait.

Inside the little shop there was no sign of the big man and nowhere he could be concealed unless he lay on the floor at the girl’s feet. It was as if he had vanished. Jane had assumed that he entered the shop to make a purchase.

“May I help you, Miss?” the girl asked. Her manner was frosty, but her voice was young and common. She gave no sign of having seen a large man enter her premises. Then Jane saw the red velvet curtains behind the counter sway as if disturbed by someone’s passing.

“Soap,” Jane said. She weighed the wisdom of dashing past the girl through the curtains.

“For a gentleman?” the girl asked.

“For a lady. Do you have any?”

“We do.” The girl put aside her stitching and came from behind the counter.

Jane looked around as if the shop itself could explain the mystery. It was quite ordinary and not so packed with items for sale as the stalls of the soap dealers in the souk. Neat rows of bottles and jars lined dark wood shelves, arranged by use. Jane could see men’s tooth powders and boar’s bristle brushes, like the ones her father had given up years ago for fear of giving himself away as an infidel in the East.

The girl turned a key and pulled open a drawer under a counter that ran along one side of the shop. Jane glanced briefly at the curtain and tried to contain her impatience. Nothing would be gained by rushing into the situation without knowing more. She fixed her mind on the key point—a man present on her father’s last day in Koron was here in London a year later, a man who might know something about her father’s plans, a man who might be a friend or a foe. Until she determined which, she should proceed with caution.

She hardly saw the rows of round soaps wrapped in pale tinted papers that filled the open drawer. The girl placed a pink-wrapped soap in Jane’s palm. “Smell. This one is rose-scented. Triple-milled, French.”

Jane inhaled the delicate flowery aroma, like perfume.

“We have soaps in almond, lavender, and verbena as well,” the girl said.

“Do you have an olive oil soap?” Jane asked.

“Olive oil?” The girl shook her head, took the soap from Jane’s hand, and replaced it with another. “Try this one.”

Jane obliged her. The lemony smell was lovely, but it was not the soap of home, not the brown-rimmed bars with the deep green centers of the richest soaps, aged the longest, for which the merchants charged the most. The soap in her palm was pale green like a three-month soap, the kind a woman of Halab would use only for washing her hands. Still Jane would buy it. Allegra must not suspect her of any other reason for entering the shop.

“Thank you,” she told the girl. “I’ll take this one.” The shop name and number on the paper would help her find the place again.

“That will be twelve and six.” The girl took the bar from Jane and stepped back behind her counter.

Jane faced the curtain. Was the big man Kirby, the proprietor of the shop? It made no sense that a London shopkeeper would travel to Koron to meet with her father. She was turning questions over in her mind as she reached for her bag when footsteps from the other side of the curtain made the girl turn eagerly. Jane held her breath and tried to calm herself. The big man would not recognize her. He had never seen her out of her veils. When he spoke with the shopgirl, Jane might learn his identity.

But the big man did not appear. Instead Hazelwood stepped through the curtain in white shirtsleeves and gray trousers, with a dark blue silk waistcoat in his hand. “Miranda,” he said, “a button’s come loose. Could you—”

He broke off as his gaze collided with Jane’s. “You.”

Jane nodded. Her throat had gone very dry. “Hazelwood.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

Jane could feel Miranda’s curious, alert scrutiny directed her way. It was not friendly.

“Buying soap.” She had never seen Hazelwood at a loss.