Free Herring on the Nile by L. C. Tyler

said Elsie, whipping the phone away again. ‘You are not allowed to send me death threats, Ethelred. It’s in your contract. Para 65.2
b.’
    ‘Are you sure it’s in the contract?’
    ‘It’s a standard clause. Ask any agent.’
    ‘But I didn’t send you that message,’ I said.
    ‘Then how come it’s on my phone?’ asked Elsie. She clicked once or twice to reveal the number of the sender. ‘Are you saying that isn’t your phone
number?’
    I sighed. ‘No, that isn’t my number. But that is my phone.’
    Elsie looked blank.
    ‘When you compared phones on the plane, you must have taken the wrong one. I’ve clearly got your phone and you have mine there in your hand. That’s my phone.’
    ‘But . . .’
    ‘Read it again. That message doesn’t mean: I am going to kill you, kind regards, Ethelred. It means: My dearest Ethelred, I am going to kill you. ’
    Elsie looked at the message again, then at me, then at the message again.
    ‘Your phone?’
    ‘Yes,’ I said.
    ‘A message to you?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Not a message to me?’
    ‘No,’ I said.
    ‘So who is the message from ?’ she demanded.
    ‘Nobody you know,’ I said.
    ‘Ethelred, you are a crap liar. Your face gives you away every time.’
    ‘It’s just a joke,’ I said. ‘From a friend.’
    ‘You have weird friends,’ said Elsie.
    ‘Better than weird enemies,’ I said. Though obviously it wasn’t much better.
    Elsie might have taken this conversation further, but there were other more pressing matters on her mind. She had switched to tapping her fingers on the table and looking round the dining room
impatiently.
    ‘So, where are the sensible people?’ she asked, in what would probably prove to be a rhetorical question. ‘Ah, yes – they are all asleep in their beds. That’s why
there are only morons here at present.’
    ‘As far as I can see, it is just the two of us,’ I pointed out, having briefly checked the room. ‘I am sure that the others will all be here in a few minutes, regretting their
tardiness. In the meantime, I am going to get myself a fresh omelette.’
    ‘Ethelred, the normal people won’t be here for another couple of hours. You have time for at least a dozen omelettes, some using eggs from hens as yet unborn, before the first of the
other passengers shows.’
    ‘Since we are to visit the temple at eight, it would be most unwise of them to delay so long.’ I gave a little chuckle at this excellent riposte.
    Elsie showed her contempt by buttering a croissant with slow, sarcastic strokes of her knife.
    ‘In any case,’ I added, ‘I am curious to see what happens next.’
    Elsie nodded, her mouth now full of butter mingled with small quantities of croissant. On this point at least we were in agreement. The conversations that we had overheard established that
Professor Campion and Miss Benson not only knew each other but had some plan of action that they wished to keep quiet for the moment. So would they again opt for different tables? Purbright too was
already acquainted with one of the other passengers, and he had not been pleased to see him – or her. Would a glance or remark give away who it was?
    ‘So, who was Purbright talking to?’ asked Elsie.
    ‘Proctor?’ I suggested. ‘We know that Proctor thinks he is here to guard Purbright. Maybe that was Purbright telling Proctor his services were not needed. He couldn’t
throw him off the boat, but—’
    ‘But Purbright isn’t Raffles,’ said Elsie. ‘The policemen have him down as the man who is planning to kill Raffles. So, he can’t be Proctor’s
employer.’
    ‘They’re not policemen,’ I said.
    ‘Whatever,’ said Elsie. ‘I still say Purbright is acting suspiciously. That conversation up there on deck last night was very odd.’
    ‘Purbright is . . .’ I began. Then I stopped. If Purbright really was MI6, then the last person I should tell was Elsie.
    ‘Purbright is?’ she asked. ‘Ethelred, any sentence from you lacking