"Four weeks," the woman said.

"Just imagine," Sylvia said, "al those lovely nights ahead of you. I'm jealous."

Mac pul ed the Englishwoman to him and whispered something in her ear.

She let out a laugh.

Sylvia smiled. "Mac can keep going for ages. Shal we try to beat them? I think we can."

She leaned over and nibbled at the man's earlobe. She noticed his eyelids were already drooping. The Englishwoman giggled, a low, confused sound. 4 "Only a minute or so now," Mac said. "We're close now."

Sylvia smiled and slowly undid the man's shirt. She managed to get his shoes and trousers off before he col apsed on the bedspread.

"Clive," the woman slurred. "Clive, I love you forever, you know that…"

Then she, too, fel asleep.

Mac had managed to take al her clothes off – apart from her underwear.

He removed the underpants now, carried her to the bed, and laid her down next to her husband. Her hair, a little shorter than Sylvia's but more or less the same color, spread out like a fan.

Sylvia picked up her purse. She riffled quickly through the credit cards, then looked more closely at the passport.

"Emily Spencer," she read, checking the photo. "This is good, we look similar enough. That makes it easier."

"Do you think she's related to Lady Di?" Mac said, as he pul ed off her wedding ring.

Sylvia gathered together Emily Spencer's clothes, valuables, and other important belongings and stuffed them in her backpack.

Then she opened the bag's outer pocket and pul ed out latex gloves, chlorhexidine, and a stiletto knife.

"Mona Lisa?" she asked.

Mac smiled. "What else? Perfect choice. Help me with the cleaning first, though."

They pul ed on the gloves, got some paper towels from the bathroom, and set about methodical y wiping down everything they had touched in the room, including the two unconscious figures on the bed.