The following yarn dates from the early months of my first marriage in 1923. To have a home of my own was grand fun, but proving unexpectedly expensive, and in those days, as my father was still alive, I was not yet burdened with the responsibilities of a business. In consequence my thoughts turned to writing as a way of augmenting my income. However, in the gay twenties there were so many good parties to go to and little dinners to give in my new home that thinking about writing on an odd Sunday afternoon or one evening in six was pretty well as far as I got. As I was not really hard up I soon dropped the project altogether, and The Secret Sign is the only souvenir I have of that spontaneous but short-lived attempt to earn wealth and fame by the pushing of a pencil. The scene is Cairo; but I fear it lacks the authentic touch that I was able to give years later, after having spent a February in the Egyptian capital, to those many chapters of my long thriller, The Quest of Julian Day, which were set in the same city.
What do You think about Mediterranean Nights (2013)?
