Jade c.o.c.ked her head and pursed her lips, studying Sam for a moment. "I'd love to go with you Sam, but you've certainly taken your sweet time asking. What if someone else has already asked me?"

Sam's brows furrowed. "Did someone else-"

"No."

He exhaled loudly. "That's a relief," he mumbled to himself.

Madeline emerged from the inner office at that moment, her sun-browned face looking a shade paler. Both Sam and Neville stood until she returned to her seat. She bowed her head, staring at her hands folded in her lap.

"Maddy?" asked Neville, reaching for one of her hands. Jade saw that her fingertips were stained with blue-black ink.

Madeline looked up and forced a weak smile. "I'm fine, Neville. I'm not supposed to talk about any of this with you." Neville scowled and his wife immediately added, "They just fingerprinted me and asked me a few questions. The inspector was a perfect gentleman. It's only that I find this whole subject of a murder all too distressing."

That seemed to mollify Neville, who relaxed his tense posture. He didn't get a chance to reply, though.

"Mr. Thompson, if you please," said Finch. Neville went through the door Finch indicated. Once again, Finch shut the door behind himself.

Madeline sat staring at or beyond Jade and Sam.

Jade pointed to the newspaper listings and asked Maddy about the upcoming agricultural fair. "Are you entering your flowers," she asked, "or just your garden vegetables and coffee?"

Madeline made a show of studying the listings. Jade could tell by the tense lines around her lips that her friend was distraught, but how much was due to Stokes and how much due to another failed attempt at conceiving, she couldn't tell.

"I have some nice roses I could enter, and some rather large onions and sweet potatoes," Maddy said. "I'd planned on showing my laying hens, but it seems they've cut out the animal exhibits." She dropped the paper on her lap, sighed deeply, and lapsed back into silence.

Jade looked to Sam for help, but he just shrugged. Then she remembered the mail. Jade had stuck Bev's letter to Maddy in her shirt pocket. She reached for it now and held it out. "I almost forgot. There were letters for each of us from Beverly." Jade noted that Maddy didn't immediately open the envelope. Usually, she was thrilled to get "news from the outside," as she termed it, and her uninterest only confirmed Jade's suspicions about her deeper distress.

Silence hung in the air until Jade tried another tactic. "I could use some coffee." She went to the desk and asked the constable if there was any coffee to be had or at least a cup of water. "Or is this part of the interrogation tactic?" she asked, using Sam's term.

"It is not," the young man replied, "but we only have tea." He produced four tin cups, and pointed to a pot on top of a cast-iron stove. Jade made a face. She hated tea, but she wanted something hot. She poured a cup for herself, added six spoonfuls of sugar, tested the tea, and decided it was one step above loathsome. "Maddy? Sam? Anyone else care for a cup?"

Maddy declined, but Sam came over and poured one. Jade filled a cup from a covered water jar and handed it to Madeline. "Drink this," she ordered. Madeline sipped obediently.

Before Madeline had finished, Neville emerged from the inspector's office and Sam was called in. With Neville busily directing his wife's attention to either the fair listings or to Beverly's letter, Jade was not needed. She went to a window, took out her pocket handkerchief, and swiped at the smudges and dried bugs on the gla.s.s. When that didn't clear a spot, she applied some of the tea, revealing the steeples of All Saints and St. Joseph's churches, two and three streets south. Tea is good for something at least. She craned her head to see Government Road.

Europeans, Indians, and native Africans went along the street intent on their business. What was absent from this view was any sense of congeniality. Everyone seemed intent on his task at hand, and Jade saw very few people greet one another beyond a quick nod. Any social intercourse in the city took place a few blocks away, on the more friendly Sixth Avenue with its many stores, or perhaps deep in the Indian bazaars. Across the street, an askari escorted an African wearing wrist cuffs into the Department of Native Affairs building set aside to rule over native shauris, as squabbles or serious discussions of any kind were termed.

What's keeping Sam? She pulled out her pocket watch and verified that he'd been in with the inspector twice as long as the others. A minute later Sam stepped out of the office, his face set in a grim scowl, his lips nearly invisible in a tense, taut line. He spared one glance for Jade and sat down with his arms folded across his chest.

"Miss del Cameron, I believe you are next," said Inspector Finch.

Jade set the mug on the constable's desk with a "Thanks" and went into Finch's office.

"Please be seated, Miss del Cameron," said Finch.

Jade sat down on another hard-backed chair. She crossed her legs, revealing the grime on her duck trousers and her ambulance corps boots. Jade hoped Finch wouldn't take her attire as a sign of disrespect. If anything, it showed the promptness with which she'd answered his summons. Then, with a patiently neutral expression on her face, she waited for him to begin.

"How well did you know Mr. Stokes?" he asked.

"Not at all," said Jade. "It was always Mr. or Mrs. Berryhill who waited on me."

"So you never met Mr. Stokes?"

Jade paused to think. "I saw him once this past December. I was purchasing film-developing chemicals in preparation for my safari to Marsabit. Mrs. Berryhill was filling the order when a man came in from the back. I heard Mr. Berryhill say something like 'Ah, there you are, Stokes.' " Jade leaned forward. "May I ask, sir, why you now suspect he was murdered?"

"In point of fact, our tests indicate that his wound was inflicted postmortem," said Finch. "And he had bruises on his jaw and on the side of his head." Finch looked up sharply from his leather notebook and awaited Jade's reaction to this news.

She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, her eyes wide and mouth partly open, a picture of incredulity and surprise. "Someone beat him to death, then cut him?"

"Possibly." Finch paused to make more notations in the booklet, and Jade stifled her desire to know what he wrote. Probably nothing of importance, but an act designed to make her nervous. She certainly had a feeling of being called before the headmaster. She sat back and mentally told herself to relax. The inspector was only trying to do his job, to solve a crime, and if she was able to help, then fine. She just couldn't figure out what she knew that would shed any light on the situation. And what in the world had he asked Sam to make him so angry?

"How well do you know Mr. Featherstone?"

She hadn't expected that question. "Enough to trust him with my life, sir."

"Please elaborate. Where and how did you meet? What do you know of his previous life?"

Previous life? "I met Sam in January on Mount Marsabit."

"Then he was your safari guide?"

"No, he wasn't part of my safari at all. He-"

"He was poaching then?" The question came rapidly, designed to throw her off.

Jade had decided she would cooperate in the name of justice, but she'd rather be bucked from a bronco than let someone manipulate her. She took a deep breath, smiled a pleasant albeit insincere smile, and answered, "No."

Finch looked up, waiting for her to continue. "No?"

"He was making a motion picture about the elephant herds. Our paths crossed." What she didn't add was that he'd come all the way to the remote volcanic mountain at the urging of the Dunburys just so he could meet her.

"I see," said Finch. "How is it then that you would trust him with your life, as you put it?"

"Because there were poachers on the mountain, Abyssinians by and large, led by a white man. These men tried to kill us, and kidnapped a young friend of mine. Sam went with me into the northern desert to get him back."

"And then he killed these men." It was a statement, not a question.

Jade didn't like the direction this interview was taking. "No, he didn't. He stopped me from killing them."

Finch jerked his head up and stared at Jade. She decided then to destroy any notion the inspector had of Sam being a murderer. "He also saved my life and my mother's in Morocco this past April. And again, he didn't kill anyone to do it."

"Did he stop you again?"

Jade realized that she'd just made herself a suspect. She recalled a similar interrogation a few months ago in Tangier. She didn't like the feeling any better the second time around. "Actually, I never tried that time. Sam taught me on Marsabit that I'm not a killer. I drove an ambulance in the War, Inspector. I save lives. I don't take them."

"But you did shoot that man in Tsavo when you first came here."

"I shot a hyena."

"And the man happened to be inside it?" Finch didn't wait for a reply. "So you and Mr. Featherstone are lovers."

Jade felt her cheeks grow hot and knew she was blushing, something she rarely ever did. "No, we're not. I thought you wanted to know about Sam's past life."

"And you are privy to that?"

"I know he attended Purdue University in the United States, where he studied mechanical engineering. He was a pilot in the American Expeditionary Forces during the war, and he lost his lower right leg as a result of shrapnel in the ankle."

"And you know this how?"

"He told me." As she said it, Jade knew her reply sounded flimsy. If Finch believed Sam had some mysterious past, he certainly wouldn't take her word for the truth. But maybe he'd believe a higher source. "You might cable Lord Avery Dunbury in London. Sam and he are friends. He'll verify all this." As an afterthought she added, "The Dunburys can vouch for me as well."

"I already have," said Finch. "Yesterday afternoon, in fact, but I have not received any such reply, which makes me question that alleged friendship. I must instruct you not to speak of any of this to either of the Thompsons or to Mr. Featherstone." He stood and motioned for her to follow him to a corner table. "I shall need a set of your fingerprints, if you please."

There on the table was a shallow copper tray, thinly inked and smudged. He took a roller and carefully ran it back and forth over the tray, smoothing out the ink film to a uniform layer. "Spread your fingers, if you will." Without asking for her permission, he took her right hand firmly but gently pressed each digit on the tray, then repeated the action, one finger at a time, across a clean page in a notebook. "And now with your left hand," he said. Jade complied. "If you would please sign your name and the date in the corner, then you are excused."

Jade signed the notebook and wiped her fingers on a proffered towel. Why, she wondered, hadn't Avery replied immediately to Finch's inquiry? Normally she would suspect he and Beverly had gone on holiday and weren't reachable, but Beverly was over seven months pregnant; they weren't going anywhere. Had something happened? Jade stepped out of the office. Her gaze immediately sought out and found Sam's. The intensity of his expression told her that they were in more trouble than she cared to admit. What did Finch get him to reveal? Is he worried that he incriminated me or himself? She knew they hadn't committed any crime, but that might not matter if Finch believed they did.

Madeline, on the other hand, seemed much more cheerful than when Jade had entered Finch's office. She stood and hurried to Jade, waving the newspaper in front of her.

"Jade, wonderful news. Neville and I are going to adopt a little baby boy."

CHAPTER 5.

Ask anyone living in Kenya Colony to name the tribe that exemplifies Africa

to them, and most will say the Maasai. This is a tribe of warriors, strong in

their belief that Engai, G.o.d, made them. And then, almost as an afterthought,

He made everyone else.

-The Traveler IT TOOK A minute for Jade's brain to switch from being a murder suspect to Madeline's revelation. "What? Adopt a baby boy?" She looked at Neville, who stood by his wife, a wide smile on his weather-beaten face. "How can you be so certain?"

Madeline held up the newspaper. Jade recognized it as a copy of the Leader of British East Africa by its unmistakable header showing herds of zebra. Maddy turned the page and pointed to a particular notice in the cla.s.sifieds. "Here," she said. "Read this."

Jade read aloud. "Would someone please adopt a four-month-old baby boy of Dutch origin? Reply voucher 975, the Leader."

"And that's it?" asked Sam. "You just claim the child and it's yours?" His tone was skeptical.

"Why not?" asked Maddy. She seemed genuinely confused by Sam's question.

Jade, more familiar with life under rustic conditions back home in New Mexico, hastened to explain to Sam. "It might be different in your Indiana, Sam, but this is still the frontier to some extent. The governing bodies have little time or resources to devote to orphans. Anyone willing to take one is welcome to the child."

Sam scratched his head. "Back home the orphanages all tend to be run by some religious order, like as not. And if you don't have any here-"

Madeline hastened to rea.s.sure Sam that the citizens of Nairobi did care about children. "Lady Northey established a splendid home for the children left without care because of the war, but now it is primarily a place for settlers to board their children while they attend school. But this little boy in the paper needs someone. It's heaven-sent, don't you see?"

Jade looked at Maddy's beaming face and smiled. "That's wonderful, Maddy, Neville. You'll be marvelous parents." Jade handed the paper to Neville. "Makes one wonder what happened."

"I suspect his parents both succ.u.mbed to some illness," said Neville. "We're heading to the Leader office right now to answer the ad."

"If the authorities want any references, be sure to have them apply to the Dunburys. That should secure you," suggested Sam.

"Good idea," said Jade, hoping that Beverly would answer this query at least. "You also have a letter from Beverly with you to prove your friendship." Only don't tell them you know us.

Maddy's smile grew, and her eyes sparkled. "Only just think, Neville, how neatly everything has come together. If we hadn't had to come in this very morning, we might never have seen this advertis.e.m.e.nt in time, and now Jade has delivered our reference to us."

Yes, thought Jade, if Martin Stokes hadn't been murdered and we hadn't been suspects, we might have missed this issue. She kept such macabre thoughts to herself. "Well, then you two had better get a move on."

"Meet us at the New Stanley Hotel at one and we'll have a celebration lunch together," said Maddy. Then she and Neville hurried out the door.

Jade and Sam stepped out of police headquarters and crossed the street. Jade didn't have any particular destination in mind and doubted that Sam did either. She simply wanted to distance herself from Inspector Finch. One glance at her blue-black fingertips told her that would not be easy. She pulled out her handkerchief and wiped them again.

They walked to bustling Sixth Avenue with its Theatre Royale, post office, and the Standard's office with its stationery store. Nairobi had changed so much since the war. The population had increased to an unheard-of three thousand Europeans and another eight thousand Indians. The British tended to live in the fringes in Parklands and m.u.t.h.aiga districts, leaving the inner city by Swamp Road to the Indian population, which first came to build the railroad. Consequently, the colonists were more concerned with ensuring they had better streetlights and traffic signs so that they could drive unimpeded from work to their clubs for their evening scotch-and-soda sundowners, rather than with the overall health of the city. If cases of plague were a problem in the Indian slum, then the general consensus was to keep the Indians in the slum so the plague didn't spread. The colonists cared even less about the few native slums on the southern fringes.

Jade saw the bustling city as a veneer of civilization laid over the old Africa. At times the veneer was so convincing that the citizens forgot that the old Africa still struggled to survive. She wondered what some of the pioneers, like Lord Colridge or Harry Has...o...b.., thought of Nairobi now. Has...o...b.. with his charming smile and less than scrupulous nature now had to take his safari customers farther afield to find game.

"I should see if the new rolls of film I ordered have arrived," Jade said.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "That wouldn't happen to be at Stokes and Berryhill, now would it?" he asked. Jade nodded. "I'll go with you."

Stokes and Berryhill Ltd., purveyors of farm equipment, kitchen needs, and chemical supplies, occupied a two-story stone building on Sixth Avenue, across the avenue and three shops down from the New Stanley Hotel. The first floor looked to Jade like a general store gone berserker, carrying everything farmers could want, as long as they didn't desire fine silk dresses and the latest fripperies. The second floor was home to Winston and Pauline Berryhill and their son, Harley, aged sixteen. The store's truck, a battered black Ford with the words STOKES AND BERRYHILL LTD. painted in red on the sides, was parked in front. Jade wondered who would drive out to all the farms and settlements now that Stokes was dead.

Once inside, Sam and Jade wended past racks of canned goods, bolts of fabric, and cans of boot black. To their left, rakes, hoes, and pitchforks hung against the wall next to bins of nails and racks of saws and hammers. On the right were shelves of men's shirts and work trousers. Behind the shirts, gla.s.s-fronted cases displayed ladies' shirtwaists and handkerchiefs, combs, mirrors, and shelves of toiletries. Jade spied boxes of Eucryl tooth powder, Yardley's hair tonic, and Palm Olive soap. Against the far wall were home remedies and a.s.sorted chemicals, everything needed to cure croup, kill rats, treat livestock, or bolster one's overall vigor. The scents of leather harnesses and sacks of meal collided midway with a recent test spritzing of lavender toilet water.