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I looked around. Whoever designed the room must have had a hospital training all right. It had the bare essentials. Bed, washbasin, chest of drawers, wardrobe, one chair. The window gave onto the entrance front. The blankets on the bed were folded hospital fashion, and a military hospital at that.

Mr. and Mrs. Smith were a young honeymoon couple. This had made them a special object of attention, and even a few ill-judged jokes. They would have done better, Babcock couldn’t help thinking, to have stayed in the hotel on the shores of Galilee and got to know each other properly, rather than trail around Jerusalem, the historical and religious importance of which they couldn’t possibly grasp in their present mood.

“I might have known it,� she said. “I should have guessed. But you had me fooled with your cairns in the wood and all that cover-up.�

“It isn’t a cover-up. I’ve a passion for digging. But I love explosions too.�

That will teach them a lesson, she told herself, that will shake them out of this business of trying to behave so well, of being noble in the face of death, of making out that it’s a merciful release and everything is really for the best. None of them really minding, caring, that someone has gone forever. But ´Ú´Ç°ù±ð±¹±ð°ùâ€�