"I went to the Winter Palace for a few hours."
"Did you? And hated the crowd, I suppose?"
"I didn't exactly love it."
"You can imagine poor Nigel's horror of it under the circumstances. And then, you know, he hasn't been very well lately. Nothing of any importance—nothing in your line—but he got a touch of the sun. And that, combined with this death, has made him shrink from everybody. I shall try to persuade him, though, to see you later on, in two or three weeks perhaps, when you're dropping down the Nile. You'll stay at the First Cataract, of course?"
"Probably."
"That'll be it, then. As you come down. You can easily find us. Our boat is called the Loulia."
"And so your husband's had a touch of the sun?"
"Yes; digging at Luxor. Of course, I got in a doctor at once, a charming man—Doctor Baring Hartley. Very clever—a specialist from Boston. He has the case in charge."
"Oh, you've got him on board?"
"No. Nigel wouldn't have any one. But he has the case in charge, and has gone up to Assouan to meet us there. Shall you run up to Khartoum?"