The Queen of Crime Fiction was never short on ideas for a new story. The magnificent history of Luxor and a stay at a legendary hotel had supplied a most conducive atmosphere for the creative juices to overflow. Observations of the people at the royal breakfast buffet had provided plenty of character sketches to start with. All that was missing was the tiniest spark of unique inspiration.
She took a turn in the courtyard, waiting for her tour guide to turn up, when she heard these words.
‘Dash it, isn’t that the murder-story woman — what’s-her-name, the frightfully clever one? Quick, Bobbie, pull out that notebook, it’s time to ask for an autograph.’
She turned around and noticed a handsome young man, with somewhat of a schoolboy look, hurrying in her direction. She had him pegged in her character notes in about a second.
It was the young woman with him that caught her attention. That red hair, that face — intelligent, alluring, and something else altogether that you could not put a finger on. Was she to be the heroine of the next adventure, or the beautiful victim midway through another tale of mystery? And what, precisely, was she doing with this earnest young man?
There was an autograph to give. The two youngsters were charming.
“To your young love, my dear Bertram Wooster and Bobbie Wickham,” she wrote, “may you never tire of adventures together. Signed — AC.”
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