The threat of a blistering storm off the desert had passed that afternoon, so the Caireans were out and about in the town, and business at the Tamborine was good. Some British sailors, a sprinkling of summer tourists, a couple of guilty-faced natives hiding their drinks. At the back end of the bar sat an American fellow in a wrinkled white suit and last year's panamas shoved back on his head, a newspaper man of sorts named Eddie Harper. With him was a hapless blonde who needed a fresh bottle of peroxide. Rocky had just served them a second round, when things began to happen...