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I scratched my chin. I hadn't shaved during the past few days and it felt bristly. Maybe I'd grow a beard. I said, 'You'll have to explain that.'

'Strictly speaking, you should have reported at the paste de police at Fort Lapperine as soon as you got into Tarn. Your name will have been on the airplane manifest, so by now the cops will be wondering where you are.'

'Nobody told me that. Specifically, you didn't tell me.'

'You'd have been told if you'd registered at the hotel. Anyway, I just told you.' He pointed to the hill in the distance. That's your alibi – the Tomb of Tin Hinan.' He paused. 'Mine, too.'

'The previous owner of the hotel, I suppose.'

He grinned. 'The legendary ancestress of the Tuareg. I did see a camera in your bag, didn't I?'

'Yes; I have a camera.'

'Then tomorrow we climb up there and you take a whole raft of photographs and we take them into Tarn to be developed. That proves we have been here if anyone gets nosey. I don't want anyone getting the idea we went the other way -up into Atakor. Not immediately, anyway.'

'How long do we stay in Tarn?'

'As long as it takes to satisfy that fat little guy behind the desk that we're on the level – no longer. The story is this; you came into Tam, got talking to me, and asked about the Tomb of Tin Hinan – you'd heard about it – it's famous. I said I'd take you there and we left immediately, and we've been here ever since while you've been rootling around like an archaeologist. But you don't bear down on that too heavily because to do real archaeology you need a licence. Only, tonight I discovered you hadn't registered with the cops so I've brought you back to get things right. Got the story?'

I repeated the gist of it, and Byrne said, 'There's more. The fat little guy will ask you about your future plans, and you tell him you're going south to Agadez – that's in Niger.'

I looked at him blankly. 'Am I?'

'Yeah.' He pointed at Billson. 'We've got to get this guy out of Algeria fast. Clear out of the country.'

I scratched my bristles again. 'I have no Niger visa. First, I didn't have time to get one, and secondly I had no intention of going. Looking at this place from England, I decided that there's a limit to what I could do.'

'You'll get by without a visa if you stick with me.'

Have you got a visa for Niger?'

'Don't need one – I live there. Got a pretty nice place in the Air ou Azbine, to the north of Agadez. I come up to Tam once a year to look after a couple of things for Hesther. She's got interests here.'

Mokhtar served up mint tea. I sat down, feeling comfortably tired after a long day's drive. 'How did you come to know Hesther?' I sipped the tea and found I was coming to like the stuff.

'When she was younger she used to come down to the Ahaggar quite a lot; that was when the French were here. One time she got into trouble in the Tademait – that's about 700 kilometres north of here. Damn place fries your brains out on a hot day. Wasn't bad trouble but could have gotten worse. Anyway, I helped her out of it and she was grateful. Offered me a job in Algiers but I said I wasn't going to the damned Maghreb, so she asked me to help her out in Tam. That went on for a couple of years, then once, when she came down to Tam, we got to talking, and the upshot was that she staked me to my place in the Air, down in Niger.'

'What do you do down there?' I asked curiously. Byrne had to earn a living somehow; he just couldn't go around helping strangers in distress.

'I'm a camel breeder,' he said. 'And I run a few salt caravans across to Bilma.'

I didn't know where Bilma was and a salt caravan sounded improbable, but the camel breeding I could understand. 'How many camels have you got?'

He paused, obviously calculating. 'Pack animals and breeding stock together, I'd say about three hundred. I had more, but the goddamn drought hit me hard. Seven lean years, just like in the Bible. But I'm building up the herd again.'

'Who is looking after them now?'

He smiled. 'If this was Arizona you'd call Mokhtar's brother the ranch foreman. His name is Hamiada.' He stretched. 'Got film for your camera?'

'Yes.'

'That's okay then. I reckon I'll go to sleep.'

'Aren't you going to eat?'

'We'll eat well in Tarn tomorrow. There's just enough chow left to feed Mokhtar and Billson until we come back. Wake me at midnight.' With that he rolled over and was instantly asleep.

So I went hungry that night but I didn't mind. I looked around and saw that Mokhtar was asleep, as was Billson. It seemed as though I had been elected to stand first watch.

At about eleven Billson awoke and was coherent for the first time. He muttered a little, then said clearly, 'It's dark. Why is it dark?'

'It's night time,' I said softly.. 'Who are you?' His voice was weak but quite clear.

'My name is Stafford. Don't worry about it now, Paul; you're quite safe.'

He didn't say anything for some time, then he said, 'He shot me.'

'I know,' I said. 'But you're all right now. Go to sleep and we'll talk tomorrow.'