Muller was standing beside a large table in his shirt sleeves. When he bowed he almost clicked his heels. He smiled. ‘I have something that will interest you. I’ve taken a latex squeeze of an inscription I found in a gorge near Shabwa. Give me your opinion on it.’
Kane examined the long strip of rubber. The professor was using a new method of copying his inscriptions: a latex solution brushed on to the rock, hardened quickly in the sun and peeled away in a long strip carrying with it a perfect copy.
Kane examined the inscription with interest. After a moment he looked up. ‘Quatabanian, isn’t it?’
The German nodded. ‘Yes, I found it on a rock face not far from an ancient camel trail. I haven’t had time to translate it properly, but it seems to refer to a war with the Kingdom of Sheba sometime during the seventh century BC.’
Kane sat on the edge of the table. ‘You know that’s the third time you’ve been in the Shabwa area, to my knowledge, during the past four months. Don’t you think you’re asking for trouble?’
Muller snorted. ‘I have no interest in who runs the country so long as I am left alone. The tribesmen know it and don’t bother me.’
Kane shrugged. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Tell me, have you run across any Europeans in the Shabwa area during the past couple of months?’
Muller looked at him in surprise. ‘Only Jordan, that crazy fellow-countryman of yours. Why do you ask?’
‘There’s a woman in town looking for her husband,’ Kane told him. ‘An archaeologist called Cunningham. He’s supposed to have gone up-country to Shabwa about two months ago. No one’s heard of him since.’
The German threw back his head and laughed harshly.
‘Nor are they likely to, if he went alone. But what did he want at Shabwa?’
Kane shrugged. ‘I understand he was looking for graffiti, like you.’
‘I can do without the competition, thank you.’ Muller got to his feet and walked across to the window, a frown on his face. ‘No, I’m afraid I haven’t come across this man.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s rather strange. I’m sure I would have heard if there was another European in the mountains.’
Kane nodded. ‘Yes, that’s what I can’t understand. Even Skiros hasn’t heard of him, and that’s saying something.’
Muller shrugged. ‘I’m sorry I can’t help you.’
‘That’s all right,’ Kane said. ‘I’m beginning to think the guy never arrived here in the first place.’
The German nodded. ‘It certainly looks like it.’
Kane went back downstairs, and the servant appeared at once from the cool darkness of a rear corridor and escorted him to the door. When it had closed behind him, he stood for a moment in the hot street, thinking about his next move. There was really only one thing left to do for the moment. He could check with Captain Gonzalez. He would certainly remember if a European named Cunningham had landed from the mail boat during the past two months.
He walked back through the town the way he had come, passed the hotel and continued along the waterfront towards the north jetty. The Spaniard’s house was next to it and looked down over the beach. Kane knocked at the door and it was opened almost immediately by a heavily veiled woman.
She showed him into a cool, inner courtyard, where he found Gonzalez stretched comfortably on a divan, a can of beer in one hand, the contents of which he was pouring into a tall glass.
He looked up and said cheerfully, ‘See, you have caught me in the act. Already I am becoming a slave to your American habits. Will you join me?’
Kane shook his head. ‘Not this time if you don’t mind.’
He sat on the end of the divan, pushing his cap to the back of his head, and Gonzalez said, ‘It is not often you honour my humble house with a visit, Captain Kane. Presumably you are in need of my assistance.’
Kane grinned. ‘As a matter of fact I am.’
An expression of complacency appeared on the Spaniard’s face and he leaned back against the cushions with a sigh. ‘Ah, sooner or later everyone comes to me. I trust you will not accuse me of pride if I tell you that few things happen in Dahrein that I do not get to know about sooner or later.’