We did not see the children again that evening. When they joined us for breakfast, I was pleased to observe that Ramses looked more rested. He was wearing the uniform shirt and trousers, but with the shirt open and his feet bare, the hated military look was diminished. He was in full agreement with my decision that we might as well abandon our disguises. “I didn’t suppose Mother would stand being confined to the harem for long,” he remarked, selecting a piece of fruit from the tray. “It is too inconvenient,” I explained. “We were running out of excuses for admitting strange men to our quarters. I haven’t spoken with Selim for days, and in my opinion a council of war is imperative. We must plan our next move.” “Next move?” Ramses’s eyebrows tilted up at the corners. “Surely that’s obvious. There’s no point in your staying on here.” The pronoun did not escape me, but I said only, “That is one of the things we must discuss. Let us ask Selim to join us. Perhaps he can find you something else to wear, Ramses. I brought a change of clothing for us, but not for you.” “Oh, I don’t know,” Nefret drawled. “I like those short trousers. You ought to wear them all the time. Father, too.” Emerson does have well-shaped lower limbs, but he is rather shy about it. He coughed and looked away. Ramses, less self-conscious than his father, laughed and said, “I ought to return them to their owner, along with the rest of his things. Never mind that now; let’s have Selim up.” Selim was delighted to accept the invitation. Settling himself comfortably on a cushion, he looked round with an air of approval. “This is good. We have not been able to talk. Now tell me everything. What happened in Gaza, Ramses?” He had known of Ramses’s safe return — had, in fact, been the first to know, for he had recognized him at once. Ramses had not lingered to chat, being anxious to reassure us, so he had to go over the whole business again for Selim. “Ah,” said that young man interestedly. “Is she beautiful?” Everyone laughed, and Ramses repeated what Sahin had said about multiple wives. “I have not found it so,” said Selim, looking a trifle smug. “She is a brave girl, to take the risk of freeing you. I hope she does not suffer for it.” “So do I,” Ramses said briefly. I knew then what I had only suspected before. He meant to go back to Gaza. His mission had not been accomplished, and the fate of that girl would haunt him until he made sure she was safe. Selim was unable to add anything to our own deductions, such as they were, but he was of the opinion that Ismail Pasha must be Sethos. “So what shall we do now?” he inquired. “We will wait a day or two for the news of our presence to spread,” replied Emerson. “If Sethos has not communicated with us by then, we’ll go in after him.” “Father!” Ramses exclaimed. “Now, my boy, don’t waste your breath. You mean to go; don’t deny it. If my — er — if he is being held against his will, he must be freed. If he has turned traitor — which,” Emerson said grimly, “is seeming more and more likely — he must be taken prisoner by us.” “Why do you consider it more likely?” I demanded hotly. “You said before —” “He couldn’t have managed Ramses’s escape if he were a closely guarded prisoner,” Emerson replied, with equal heat. “Don’t try to defend him, Peabody, or I will begin to wonder whether you have got over your —” “Please, Emerson!” “Father has the right idea.” Nefret’s quiet voice reminded both of us that we were in danger of getting off the subject. “Traitor or captive, we must get him out of Gaza.” Ramses turned appalled eyes on her. “What do you mean, we? I admit I didn’t succeed, but that was because Chetwode mucked things up. One person has a better chance than three . . . four . . . five . . . Good God, Father, you can’t —” “I believe I can,” said Emerson. “More safely than you, Ramses. Do you suppose Sahin won’t have everyone in Gaza looking for a man of your description?” “But how —” Emerson held up one hand, demanding silence, and reached with the other into his pocket. “I have another set of papers,” he announced proudly. They were a good deal more impressive than the first set — spattered with blobs of crimson sealing wax, framed in ornate curlicues, and with quite a lot of gilt. The script was equally ornamental; it looked like Arabic, but I could make nothing of it. I handed the papers to Ramses. “Turkish,” he muttered. “Father, do you have any idea what this says?” “No,” said Emerson placidly. “Is there more coffee?” “But — but —” Ramses ran one hand through his tumbled curls and brandished the papers in front of Emerson’s nose. “Were you planning to use these to get into Gaza? For all you knew, it might be a denunciation of you, or — or somebody’s laundry list!” “Is it?” Emerson inquired. Nefret served him and Ramses with fresh cups of the Turkish coffee she brewed so expertly, and Ramses inspected the papers again. “No,” he admitted. “They appear to be in order — so far as I can tell. I’ve never been privileged to see a direct order from the Sublime Porte, signed by the sultan himself.” “Few have,” said Emerson, and sipped his coffee. “Ah — excellent. Thank you, Nefret. I didn’t suppose el-Gharbi would play me false, but the very look of those documents is enough to overawe most people, especially since literacy is —” “El-Gharbi,” Ramses broke in. “I might have known. What did you promise him in return?” “My goodwill,” said Emerson, with an evil smile. Ramses was not quite himself, and the effect of the stunning surprises his father had administered showed on his face, together with evidence of another, equally strong emotion. “So,” he said, trying without complete success to control his voice, “if I had not come back you would have marched up to the Turkish lines with a set of papers you couldn’t read and a broken arm and —” “And your mother,” said Emerson. He was, I believe, attempting to lighten the emotional atmosphere with a touch of humor. His comment did not have that effect. Ramses went pale, and I said firmly, “Quite right. All for one and one for all — that is our motto, is it not? You would have taken equal or greater risks for any of us, Ramses. Now that that is settled, let us get back to business. Are those papers adequate for the purpose your father had in mind?” “Is my name on them?” Selim demanded. “No one else’s name is on them,” Emerson replied. “If an honorable sheikh, a friend of the sultan’s, decides to take his servants —” “And wives,” I said. “Bah,” said Emerson. “He can take anyone he likes, I suppose. Do be quiet, all of you. I haven’t decided yet how to go about this. It might be better to make my way through the lines under cover of darkness.” “With one arm in a cast,” said Ramses under his breath. Emerson inspected the cast irritably. “I don’t see why I need it. My arm itches like fury. Nefret —” “No, Father. Absolutely not.” She moved closer to Ramses, her shoulder against his. “We don’t have to come to a decision immediately. In fact, it would be the height of folly to go rushing into action until we know more. It’s all very well to say that Sethos must be in Gaza because only he could have got Ramses away, but we can’t be certain of that, can we? The most sensible course is to give him a chance to communicate with us, as Father suggested.” And keep Ramses with her a few days longer. “I agree,” I said. “It behooves us, then, to make our presence known. Shall we pay a little visit to the suk, Nefret? Gracious, it will be good to get out of this house.” Ramses’s limited wardrobe, and the fact that he had, as he remarked, seen enough of bloody Khan Yunus, made him agreeable to my suggestion that he remain in the house. Selim stayed with him. We left them deep in conversation, some of which had to do with Sahin’s interesting daughter. Squashed into the tonneau of the motorcar and half-buried in bundles, I had not seen much of the town when we arrived. It had only one structure of artistic interest, a fine thirteenth-century mosque. With a few exceptions the houses were small and mean, and the suk had not much to offer. However, the gardens made up for the general squalor. Some of them were enclosed by the same thick cactus hedges that surrounded the town, very curious in appearance and more effective than any fence or wall. It was a veritable garden spot, where every variety of fruit and vegetable was grown. Fig and almond trees, orange and pomegranate waved leafy branches. We strolled for an hour or so, admiring the luxuriant vegetation, and purchased a few articles of clothing for Ramses in the bazaar. By the time we returned to the house I felt certain our presence had been noted by the entire population of Khan Yunus. Nefret and I were wearing our European garments. Emerson was bareheaded, but he had declined to abandon his comfortable caftan, or his beard. (I meant to attend to the beard in due course.) Our presence occasioned considerable curiosity but less surprise than I had anticipated; and as we crossed the square, Emerson was accosted by a ragged individual who addressed him by name and demanded baksheesh. The fellow was tall for an Arab and well built; I thought for a moment Emerson was going to grab hold of his beard. But then he saw, as did I, that one of the extended arms had no hand, and that the sleeve hung empty from the elbow. “It is too soon to hear from him, Emerson,” I said as we walked away, followed by the loud blessings of the beggar. “No, it isn’t. We might have spared ourselves this little stroll; the word of our presence had already spread. Otherwise,” Emerson added, stroking his beard fondly, “that chap wouldn’t have recognized me.” “But how did it get about?” Nefret demanded, quickening her pace. “Any one, or all, of a number of ways,” I replied. “The servants have been gossiping and speculating about us ever since we arrived. There are undoubtedly informers in Khan Yunus who report to the Turks or the British; some probably sell the same information to both. Lieutenant Chetwode . . . Don’t be in such a rush, my dear; Selim is with Ramses, he won’t let anyone get near him.” Ramses was asleep, curled up like a cat on the cushions of the divan. Squatting by the door, his knife in his hand, Selim was obviously disappointed to see us instead of the assassin he had hoped for. “No one came,” he said regretfully. “But someone might have.” I patted his shoulder. “Thank you, Selim, for guarding him.” “It is my duty and my pleasure,” said Selim. “Now I will go and see what that fool of a cook is doing to our lunch.”

We had several callers that afternoon. All of them wanted to sell us something. Our visit to the suk had aroused the mercenary instincts of every entrepreneur within a twenty-mile radius. It was customary for sellers of choice merchandise to bring it to the house of wealthy individuals, especially to the ladies of the harem. Female brokers are employed for this latter errand, but since we were known to be infidel English persons, we were attended by the merchants themselves, who spread out their silks and jewels, carpets and brassware, for our inspection. One of them, more canny than the rest, had several antiquities for sale, including a fine scarab of Seti I. The area had been in Egyptian hands for a long period of time, Gaza being one of the cities mentioned in documents of the fourteenth century b.c. Arms folded and lips set in a sneer, Emerson refused to violate his rule of never buying from dealers, but I saw the acquisitive gleam in his eyes and bought the scarab and a remarkably well preserved Phoenician vessel. After that I told Selim we would receive no more callers for a while, and Emerson got out the whiskey. We were using the ka’ah of the harem as our sitting room; I had got it in a state of relative cleanliness, which could not be said of other apartments in the house. Ramses had just opened the whiskey when Selim came hurrying into the room. “There is a man,” he panted. “An officer. He asks —” “I’ll do my own asking. Stand out of the way.” The officer had followed him. I recognized the voice and the square, flushed face that peered over Selim’s shoulder. Selim didn’t budge. Emerson took the pipe from his mouth. “Ah. Major Cartright, as I live and breathe. May I remind you that you don’t give the orders here? Ask politely.” Cartright got the word out, though it almost choked him. “Please!” Selim stepped aside, folding his arms. Cartright marched in. Emerson pointed out, in the same mild voice, that there were ladies present and Cartright removed his hat with a muttered apology. “That’s more like it,” said Emerson. He sipped appreciatively at his whiskey. “Well? Don’t stand there gaping, you must have something to say.” Emerson was doing his best to be annoying, and no one can do it better than Emerson. Cartright swallowed several words he knew better than to pronounce, and took a long breath. “Send — that is, will you please send that man away?” “No,” said Emerson. “But I will do my best to prevent him from using his knife on you. You are either very complacent or very courageous to show your face after the filthy trick you played.” Still standing — for no one had invited him to sit — Cartright took out a handkerchief and wiped his perspiring brow. “Mrs. Emerson — I appeal to you. May I be allowed to speak?” He was looking at me, not at Nefret, whose tight lips and crimson cheeks must have told him he could not expect any consideration from her. I nodded. “Are you going to claim you knew nothing about Chetwode’s plan?” “Chetwode is a bloo — — is a young idiot!” his superior exclaimed heatedly. “I didn’t know, Mrs. Emerson, and that is the truth.” Ramses spoke for the first time. “On your word as an officer and a gentleman?” The irony went unnoticed by Cartright. “Yes! I was appalled when I learned what Chetwode had done. He has been relieved of duty and will be punished appropriately. Do you believe me?” “Since you have given your word, we have no choice but to do so,” said Ramses, eyebrows raised and tilted. “Was that the only reason you came, to express your regrets?” “Regrets!” Nefret exclaimed. “That is somewhat inadequate, Major. Do you know what happened to my husband after —” “He doesn’t,” Ramses said, giving her a warning look. “I expect that is why he is here, to find out. I did make my report, Cartright, to General Chetwode.” “I know, he forwarded it immediately, and I . . .” He cast a longing glance at the bottle of whiskey. “My relief, believe me, was inexpressible. But he gave me few details — which was quite in order, quite right of you to tell him no more than was necessary.” “A basic rule of the Service,” said Ramses, in his even, pleasant voice. “You are, I suppose, entitled to know more. In a nutshell, then, I don’t know whether Ismail Pasha is the man you want or not. Chetwode didn’t give me time enough to make a determination. I was taken prisoner, as Chetwode was good enough to inform my family, but I managed to free myself later that night.” Forestalling further questions, he added, “That’s all I can tell you. Chetwode’s futile attack has made it virtually impossible for anyone to get near Ismail Pasha. They will guard him even more closely from now on.” Cartright nodded grudgingly. “We certainly can’t try the same stunt again. Not for a while. I suppose you’ll be returning to Cairo at once, then. I will make the necessary arrangements.” “We will make our own arrangements,” said Emerson. “When we are ready.” The finality of his tone, and the inimical looks Cartright was getting from everyone in the room, should have convinced him that there was nothing more to be said. No one had offered him a whiskey or even a seat. Yet he lingered, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other. “Look here, old boy,” he exclaimed. “This is off the record, you know — but by Gad, that was well done! Chetwode was man enough to admit that you risked yourself to help him escape — and then to break yourself loose from a Turkish prison, and get through their lines . . . It was — confound it, it was deuced well done.” “Oh, you know the Turks,” Ramses said. “Careless beggars.” “All the same, I — er —” Military discipline or an inadequate vocabulary brought him to a stuttering stop. He straightened and snapped off a crisp salute. Ramses did not return it, but he nodded in acknowledgment, the corners of his mouth compressed. “How absurd military persons are,” I remarked, after Cartright had marched stiffly out and Selim had slammed the door. “Don’t underestimate him,” Ramses said softly. “I don’t,” said Emerson. “He was trying to find out how long we mean to remain here. Perhaps I ought to have come up with an excuse for staying on, but I couldn’t think of one offhand; this isn’t the place one would choose for a holiday, and there are no archaeological remains of any interest.” “Good Gad,” I exclaimed indignantly. “Do you think he is still suspicious of us? How insulting!” Ramses laughed and rose, taking my empty glass from my hand. “You ought to consider it a compliment, Mother. ‘Suspicious’ is perhaps too strong a word, but a good intelligence officer doesn’t take chances with people whose behavior is, shall we say, unpredictable. It poses a bit of a problem. If we don’t start making arrangements to leave within the next day or two, he will assume we’re planning something underhanded and place us under surveillance. That’s what I would do.” “Quite,” Emerson agreed. “Damnation! It doesn’t give us much time. Let us hope my — er — Sethos makes his move soon. Since you are on your feet, Ramses, another whiskey here, if you please. How long till dinner, Selim? That refreshing little episode has given me quite an appetite.” “I do not know, Emerson. I have been at the door all afternoon, and the cook —” “Yes, yes, my boy, that is quite all right. See what you can do to hurry him up, eh? You need not stand guard, we won’t have any more visitors tonight.” In that he was mistaken. Not long after Selim had taken himself off, the aged doorman shuffled in to announce that another merchant had called. He had a carpet for sale, a very fine carpet, a silk carpet, a — “Tell him to go away,” said Emerson. “We don’t want any carpets.” The man bowed and wandered out. He was too late and too ineffectual to intercept the seller of carpets, however. The fellow had followed him. He was a tall man with a grizzled beard and a squint. The roll of carpet was slung over his shoulder. Taking hold of the door, he shut it in the doorkeeper’s face, lowered the rug to the floor, seized one end, and heaved. A rich tapestry of crimson and azure and gold unrolled, and from the end rolled a human form — a female form, wearing a rather tasteless and very crumpled frock of bright pink silk. Coughing and choking, it raised dirty hands to its eyes and rubbed them. “Christ Almighty,” said my son in a strangled voice. I was too thunderstruck to object to this expletive, and the others were equally stupefied. Naturally I was the first to recover. I looked from the girl, who seemed to be suffering nothing worse than the effects of being bundled up in a rug smelling of camel, to the merchant, who stood with hands on hips staring at me. “Back again, are you?” I inquired unnecessarily. “Not from the dead this time,” said Sethos. “I have brought you a little gift.” “In a rug?” “It worked for Cleopatra,” said my brother-in-law. The unfortunate female sneezed violently. Automatically I handed her a handkerchief. “I’m leaving her in your care for a few days,” Sethos went on. “Make certain no one gets to her.” Without further ado, he turned and strode toward the door. Emerson made a leap for him, caught him by the arm and spun him round, so vigorously that he staggered. “Not so fast. You have a lot of explaining to do.” Instead of trying to free himself from the hand that gripped his shoulder, Sethos stared at Emerson’s left sleeve, which had fallen back, exposing the cast. “How did that happen?” he asked. “An encounter with a tomb robber in Luxor,” Emerson replied. “One of yours?” “At present I have no business arrangements in Luxor. It’s like you,” he added in exasperation, “to go dashing into a war zone with a broken arm. Just sit tight for a few days, all of you. I can’t explain now; lowly merchants do not linger to chat with customers.” “Then we will meet you elsewhere,” I said firmly. “Later this evening. Where and when?” “For God’s sake, Amelia, be reasonable! There’s a noose round my neck and it’s getting tighter by the minute. If my absence is discovered . . . Oh, very well. I’ll try to meet you tomorrow night. Midnight — romantic, isn’t it? — at the ruined house in Dir el Balah. Ramses knows it.” “What?” Ramses tore his horrified gaze from the “gift.” “Yes, I know it. What the devil —” “Later. You shouldn’t have any trouble for another day or two. Oh — I almost forgot. You owe me four hundred and twenty piastres. That’s four and a half Turkish pounds,” he added helpfully. “Quite a bargain.” After he had bowed himself out, I was at leisure to turn my attention to the young woman. Nefret had led her to the divan and was helping her smooth the tangled strands of her long hair. “Would you like to freshen up a bit before we chat?” I inquired. “For God’s sake, Mother, this isn’t a social encounter!” Ramses burst out. “You let him get away without answering any questions, let’s hear what she has to say.” She raised reproachful black eyes to his face. “Are you angry? I thought you would be happy to see me.” “He is,” said Nefret. A dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth. “He just has an odd way of showing it. Mother, get her something to drink.” “Thank you, I would like that. And something to clean my face and hands.” She had the instincts of a lady, at any rate. The requested objects having been supplied, she wiped her face, and drank deeply of the cold tea. I had to keep telling Ramses to be quiet; he was fairly hopping with annoyance, but we owed the girl a little time to recover from her unusual and uncomfortable trip. “Now,” I said, after she had refreshed herself, “perhaps you can tell us, Miss . . . What is your name? Ramses didn’t mention it.” “We were never properly introduced,” Ramses said through his teeth. “Esin.” “How do you do.” “How do you do,” she repeated. “Are you hismother?” Another one, I thought. Ramses has that effect on susceptible young women. I had suspected as much, even from Ramses’s expurgated version of their encounter; the way she pronounced the masculine pronoun was a dead giveaway. “Yes,” I said. “And this is hisfather, Professor Emerson. And hiswife.” “How do you do,” the girl said, with only the barest nod for Emerson. She examined Nefret carefully, and her dirty face fell. “Anyhow, I am glad to be here,” she said with a sigh. “My father has been very angry since you escaped.” “Did he blame you?” Ramses asked. “No, he thinks I am too stupid and too afraid of him.” She took another sip of tea. “He wanted to blame Ismail Pasha, but he could not, since they were together all that evening, and when Ismail Pasha went to his rooms, my father put guards at the door. To protect him from assassins, he said.” “Then how did he —” Nefret motioned Ramses to be silent. “How well do you know Ismail Pasha?” she asked. “I talked often with him. He is an Englishman, you know. I liked talking to him; he treated me like a person, not a woman, and let me practice my English and told me I was a clever girl.” She finished her tea and leaned back against the cushions. “I’m surprised your father let you talk freely with other men,” Nefret prodded. “He could not stop me.” Her dark eyes flashed. “In Constantinople many women are working now because of the war. I helped with the Red Crescent, rolling bandages. It was wonderful! We talked about sensible things, books and what was in the newspapers, and many new ideas. And we wore corsets and short skirts!” “I heard about that,” Nefret said. “Didn’t the government issue an order demanding that Moslem women lengthen their skirts, discard corsets, and wear thicker veils?” “They had to take back the order,” said this young advocate of women’s rights complacently. “We made them do it. The girls at the telephone company and the post office threatened to strike, and the ladies said they would not work for the Red Crescent anymore. But my father said I was keeping bad company, and made me come to Gaza with him, and it was so dull there. He tried to make me stay in the harem, but I got out whenever I could; it was fun, hiding from the men and exploring places where I was not supposed to be.” “The cellars,” Ramses murmured, visibly chagrined. He had underestimated her, and so had the rest of us. I had a sudden image of Esin face-to-face with Emmeline and Christabel Pankhurst. Emerson had been listening in silence, his mouth ajar. Now he cleared his throat and said, “What about your father, child? He will be worried about you. Did you leave a message for him?” “No, why should I? He doesn’t care about me, I am only a piece of property to him. I have lived in England; I won’t go back to the veil and the harem and the selling of women. When Ismail Pasha told me my father had captured an English spy, I wanted to see him, so I hid myself in the mandarah, hoping they would bring you there — and they did! My father told them to take off your filthy clothing so they would not stain his cushions, and when they did, I saw that you were very beautiful.” Nefret choked. “I’m glad you find this amusing,” Ramses said sourly. “It is not amusing,” the girl insisted. “It is sad and very romantic. I did not know who you were, and when my father said he would give me to you I was happy, because you were so beautiful and so brave, and then — then you said you were already married and my heart cracked in two, because I knew an English gentleman would never be unfaithful —” “That’s quite enough of that,” said Ramses to his wife, who had covered her mouth with her hands in an attempt to muffle her laughter. “Quite,” I said, getting a grip on myself. The conversation had been extraordinary. “Nefret, take the — er — young lady off to the bath chamber and get her some clean clothing. That rug is absolutely filthy.” “Don’t say anything important until I get back,” Nefret ordered. The girl got to her feet. “Are you still angry with me?” she asked Ramses. “Good Lord, no. I — er — I owe you a great deal. More than I realized.” He smiled at her, and a blissful answering smile spread across her face. “You owe me nothing. I will treasure the memory of that kiss forever, even if you can never be mine.” After Nefret had removed the girl, the rest of us sat in silence, reflecting upon what we had learned. We were, in my opinion, becoming somewhat overburdened with strong-minded young women. I fixed a critical gaze upon my son. “The kiss was, perhaps, a mistake.” “It seemed the least I could do, Mother.” I think he was teasing me. One cannot always be sure with Ramses. I trusted he would find Nefret’s comments equally entertaining. “A kindly error, however,” I conceded. “We will not speak of it again.” “Extraordinary young woman,” said Emerson. He added gloomily, “I suppose we’re stuck with her.” “For the time being,” I agreed. “And we certainly cannot complain, considering what we owe her. We were dead wrong about her. She managed the whole business by herself.” “With a few hints from Ismail Pasha,” said Ramses. “Don’t give me that steely stare, Mother. I am not denying her intelligence and her courage, but I would be willing to wager that she went rushing off to her sympathetic English friend as soon as they removed my — er — beautiful self to the cells, and opened her heart to him. That gave him his opening, and no one is better at putting ideas into people’s heads. I can almost hear him, can’t you? ‘The cruelties of war . . . too young to die . . . your father forced against his will to destroy a gallant enemy . . . in his heart he’d be grateful to be relieved of that grim duty . . . ’ ” “She does seem to be a romantic young person,” I said. “And clever enough to work out the details, with, perhaps, a suggestion or two from Sethos. He had probably explored the house, including the cells — ‘just in case.’ Like myself, he believes in anticipating potential dangers. Nor would he have had any difficulty in persuading her to run away with him, to join the individual who had made such an impression on her susceptible heart.” “Now, Mother,” Ramses protested. “She was bored and restless, and annoyed with her father for dragging her off to Gaza, and fascinated by Sethos. It wouldn’t have required more than that.” “Hmm,” I said. “Admittedly hermotives are less important than his. Why did he do it? Surely not to rescue a damsel in distress.” “Not Sethos,” said Emerson — who might have been fool enough to do just that. “He means to use her against her father, somehow or other. It would be confounded embarrassing for Sahin Bey — oh, very well, Pasha — to admit he had lost his daughter to the enemy. What would he be willing to give to get her back?” “We cannot be party to any such scheme,” I declared. “I will not force a young woman against her will, no matter what is offered in exchange.” “Not even Sethos?” Ramses’s eyes were on the unlit cigarette he was rolling between his long fingers. “Oh, good Gad,” I said.

11

The night passed without incident, but in some discomfort. I felt it incumbent upon myself to keep the girl with me. She had been removed suddenly from her home and was in the company of strangers; a motherly presence would comfort her — and prevent her from leaving us, in case she changed her mind. Emerson attempted to convince meto change mymind, declaring that my habit of foreseeing difficulties that never arose had become, as he put it, deuced inconvenient. Unable to prevail, he went off to one of the small sleeping chambers in a considerable state of aggravation. Esin proved to be a noisy companion, breathing heavily through her nose and changing position every few minutes. However, there is a silver lining to every cloud; wakefulness gave me ample time for reflection. The situation had become even more confusing than before, and the possible permutations were manifold. If we did not make preparations to depart, Cartright might decide to place us under house arrest or remove us by force — for our own good, as he would explain. I did not trust him one inch, or believe in his protestations. Heaven only knew what Sethos would do next. I had never believed he was a traitor; I did not believe it now, though his real purpose was still a mystery. He had not exaggerated, however, when he spoke of a noose round his neck; a turncoat is automatically under suspicion, and Sahin, an old hand at the Game, was probably watching his every move. Ramses’s suggestion that Sethos had taken the girl as a possible bargaining counter, in case he was arrested, made a horribly convincing theory; in fact, it was the only reason I could think of why he might have taken that risk. Sahin Pasha was another unpredictable factor. What would he do when he discovered his daughter was missing? By morning I had formulated my plans. I explained them to the others over breakfast. “I am having serious doubts as to the advisability of our remaining here. Let us at least behave as if our departure were imminent.” “Start packing, you mean?” Nefret asked, her brow furrowed. “It would certainly do no harm if each of us made up a little bundle of basic necessities. What I meant, however, was that we should shop for items we would need on a journey and inspect the motorcar to make certain it is in good order.” “It is in good order,” Selim declared, in some indignation. “I am sure it is, Selim. But you could pretend it was not, couldn’t you — that some repairs were needed? That would give us a reasonable excuse to stay on for another day.” “Yes, I could do that,” Selim agreed. His eyes shone in anticipation of an interesting vehicular challenge. “These people know nothing of motorcars. I could take off the —” “No, no, you mustn’t take anything off! I want to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice, if we have to.” “Not having one of your famous premonitions, are you?” Emerson inquired, his eyes narrowing. “Because if you are —” “You don’t want me to tell you about it. I am only trying to anticipate every contingency, Emerson. That is not superstition, it is simply good sense. We must stay here until tomorrow at the earliest, so that we can confer with Sethos, and we don’t want some helpful military person dropping by to inquire into our plans.” “How far do you want to go?” Selim asked. “If it is more than five miles, we will need more petrol.” “What else will we need?” I made a little list. Our guest, who had not spoken except to bid us good morning, said, “Am I to go with you?” I leaned back and gave her my full attention. A bath and a change of clothing, into one of “the favorite’s” silk robes, had improved her appearance considerably, and I had braided her hair myself. One could not have called her pretty, her features were too strong, but she was a handsome girl, in her way. Selim kept sneaking sidelong glances at her. “We aren’t going anywhere just yet,” I replied. “As for taking you back to Cairo with us, that depends on a number of factors that are as yet unknown.” “We can’t do anything else,” said Emerson. “She has placed herself in our hands and we owe her our protection.” Esin’s admiring gaze indicated her appreciation of this noble sentiment, which was, I should add, entirely sincere. It wasn’t that simple, of course; men fix on words like honor and decency and noblesse oblige, and lose sight of the important issues. My chivalrous husband would never consent to an exchange, even if the life at stake was that of his own brother. I had not decided what I would do if the situation arose. We would not be selling the girl into slavery, only returning her to a father who had always treated her indulgently . . . Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, I reminded myself. We must hope that the hard decision did not arise. The likelihood of Sahin’s agreeing to an exchange of any kind was slight, I thought. Pride and duty — two more of those masculine catchwords — would forbid it, and he would not fear for her safety if we were looking after her. “Speaking of that — I refer to my husband’s statement that you placed yourself in our hands,” I said. “Did you? Were you aware that you were being brought to us?” “Oh, yes.” She transferred her admiring gaze to Ramses. “Did you not say you were in my debt — that you would protect me from my father’s wrath?” “Did you?” Nefret inquired sweetly. Ramses’s beleaguered gaze moved from the girl to Nefret and back. “I — uh — to be honest, I don’t remember what the hell I said!” “If you did not say it, you meant it,” Esin declared. “No Englishman would leave a woman to suffer for a service she had done him.” “But you said your father didn’t suspect you,” Ramses protested. “He was beginning to. That is what Ismail Pasha told me.” “Ah,” I said. “So he offered to help you.” Her forehead wrinkled. “I think that is how it was. But I did most of it myself. I had to find my own way out of the house. That was not so hard, I know all the secret passages and cellars, but then I had to go to the place he told me about, the tomb of a saint that is outside the wall of the Serai. It is not far, but I was very frightened, and I had to wait a long time before the rug merchant came with his cart, and then he was stopped at the guard post and I could hear them talking and laughing and I was afraid they would search the cart. But they did not. It was a long bumpy ride and I could not breathe very well, and —” “You were very courageous,” I interrupted, for I had heard enough. The essentials of the story had been told. It sounded as if Ramses had been correct about Sethos’s devious methods. The various schemes I had proposed kept us busy all day. Selim spent a good deal of the time underneath the motorcar, surrounded by a fascinated audience, including the babies and the goats. From time to time he emerged, sweating and oil-stained, to report progress and bask in the admiration of the beholders. We could have got the petrol from an independent businessman — there was a thriving black market on all military items — but Emerson decided that we might just as well ask the authorities for it. It required only four hours for his request to be approved. Clearly, they were anxious to be rid of us. By evening our plans had been completed. I had whiled away the hours exploring the rest of the house. It was like many others I had visited, with nothing of particular interest except for even more secret passages and hidden chambers than usual. Mahmud or one of his ancestors appeared to have had little faith in his government, his associates, and his wives. According to Ramses, we should allow at least an hour to reach the spot Sethos had indicated. When we gathered in the ka’ah for a light evening repast, we discussed who should go. Naturally I intended to make one of the party, and Emerson was set on confronting his infuriating brother. Someone had to stay with the girl, we all agreed to that — Nefret with a caustic “I’m always the one” — but Selim and Ramses could not decide which of them should go and which should remain with the two young women. It lacked half an hour till the time we were to leave, and we were still discussing the matter, when a horrible, ululating howl broke the silence of the quiet night. The mashrabiya screen was ajar and I heard the words quite clearly: “O unbelievers, prepare for death! O ye unrighteous, who walk in darkness pursued by afrits and . . .” The speech ended in an anticlimactic squawk. In a body we rushed to the window and flung the screen open. In the moonlight I saw a dark mass huddled outside the gate, and Selim, his shoulder braced against it. Realizing they had been discovered, the invaders began battering at the gate. I tried, too late, to catch hold of Ramses, who had climbed over the sill. He dropped to the ground and reached Selim as the gate gave way. Selim’s knife flashed. Ramses had snatched up a lever or spanner as he ran past the motorcar; he swung his arm, and a scream from one of the attackers wavered into silence. “Quick!” Emerson exclaimed. “Out the bab-sirr, all of you.” “Be damned to that!” I shrieked, for my blood was up. “ ‘Now who will stand on either hand, And keep the bridge with — ’ ” “Me,” said Emerson. “Curse it, Peabody, get the girls out of here. You know what to do.” He was already halfway out the window, lowering himself by one hand. The fighting instincts of the Peabodys were not easily controlled; but the confidence he had placed in me enabled me to master them. I expected some objection from Nefret, but she made none. Pausing only long enough to collect the bundles we had packed earlier, we fled down the stairs and through the rooms of the ground floor toward the small chamber that contained the secret door. Esin had spoken only once: “Is it my father?” “I don’t know. Be quiet and hurry.” The house was deserted. The servants who lived in had run away or were in hiding. One could hardly blame them for refusing to become involved in the affairs of strangers. No doubt the local authorities, such as they were, felt the same. I hoped the uproar at the gate would attract the attention of the military police, but by the time they arrived it might be too late. Nefret had not spoken at all. We both had our torches; she held the light steady while I searched for the catch Emerson had shown me. It was stiff with disuse, but finally it yielded. The panel swung open, and we all crowded into the space beyond. The passage went through the thick wall of the house. It was ten feet long and less than two feet wide; we had to go single-file, our bundles bumping against the walls. At the end was a wooden door. It was not bolted or locked; one simply pressed a handle to release the latch, which was presumably less visible from the other side. I did not know what lay beyond that door. This was as far as I had gone with Emerson. “Go ahead,” Nefret whispered. “What are you waiting for?” Her face gleamed with perspiration. Esin’s eyes were wide with terror and her breath came in short gasps. I was as anxious as they to get out of that cramped place; it was like standing in an upright coffin, with dust clogging the nostrils and a strange, sour smell. Many generations of rodents must have lived and died in that passage; their bones had crunched under our feet as we walked. “I am waiting for the men to join us,” I replied. “We cannot take the risk of being separated. Since I do not know whether they will follow us through the bab-sirr or come round to the back, we had better remain where we are. Put out the torch, Nefret. I expect they will be along shortly.” My confidence was not assumed. With the aid of Emerson’s strength, they should be able to close and barricade the gate and beat a strategic retreat. However, it is difficult to estimate time in the dark; we waited, breathing with difficulty, for what seemed like hours, before hinges creaked and a square of paler darkness opened before me. “Don’t shoot,” said a familiar voice. I tucked my pistol back into my pocket. “I couldn’t be sure it was you,” I explained. “Are Ramses and Selim —” “All present and accounted for,” said Ramses breathlessly. “We can’t stay here, they’ll be looking for us. Let’s go.” “Where?” I demanded, squeezing through a narrow aperture and a curtain of thorny vines. “We have an appointment at midnight, I believe. I am all the more anxious now to hear what the . . . fellow has to say. Damn these cactuses,” Emerson added. They formed a hedge a few feet away. The wall of the house rose sheer and windowless behind us. Nefret and Esin followed me out and Emerson closed the panel, which was of wood painted to resemble the plastered surface of which it formed a part. “Lead on,” I said. The narrow lane into which we had emerged led back to the square, but it was obvious we could not go that way; from the sounds of it, a full-scale riot was in progress. A tongue of fire shot up. Someone usually sets fire to something during these affairs, which, once started, go on of their own momentum — especially when there are interested parties fanning the flames. As we retreated in the opposite direction, I heard the same high-pitched shriek of “unbelievers.” It was fortunate that we had explored the town earlier. Cactus hedges and high walls formed barricades that had to be got round, and twice the sight of men waving torches forced us to retreat in haste. It was quite exciting. However, we found ourselves at last in the open countryside. The moon shone brightly down on fields of waving grain and groves of orange and fig trees. Moonlight is good for lovers but it is cursed inconvenient for fugitives. We kept to the shadows whenever we could, and once the sound of approaching hoofbeats made us dive for cover in a ditch. After the small troop had galloped past, I said to Emerson, “They were our fellows, Australians and New Zealanders. Perhaps we ought to have stopped them.” “Do you want to explain this evening’s events — and her — to General Chetwode?” Emerson demanded. It was a rhetorical question, and he did not wait for an answer. The distance was less than two miles, but I would never have found the place without a guide. The small hamlet had long been abandoned and the majority of the houses had collapsed into shapeless piles of stone. One or two of them still retained their walls and parts of the roof. There was no sign of life in the half-ruined structure to which Ramses led us. “We are a trifle late,” I whispered. “Perhaps he has left.” “If he isn’t there, I will go to Gaza and drag him out by his collar,” Emerson muttered. He wasn’t there. Ramses, who had insisted on searching the place before we entered, returned to report this fact. “It’s not that late,” he added. “Give him time.” “I suppose we can’t expect punctuality under these circumstances,” Emerson admitted. “This is as good a place as any to rest; we may as well make ourselves comfortable. What have you got in that bundle, Peabody?” “Only the bare necessities, I fear. Water, of course, and my first-aid kit. Did any of you incur injuries that require attention?” “Nothing to speak of,” Emerson said. He let out a soft laugh. “Your quotation was apropos. The damned fools tried to crowd in all at once. ‘In yon straight path a thousand may well be stopped by three,’ as the Lays of Ancient Romeso poetically expresses it. We pushed them back, got the gate closed, and shoved a cart up against it. Then, unlike Horatius and his comrades, we retreated in good order. Selim wanted to stay and fight on, but I dragged him away.” “It was a good fight,” Selim said reminiscently. He reached for the water bottle, which was passing round, and I said with a sigh of exasperation, “All right, Selim, let me see your hand. Why didn’t you tell me you had been wounded?” “It is nothing,” said Selim. “It will heal. I do not need anything on it.” He meant antiseptics. Men are strange creatures; he had taken a cut on the side of his wrist which had bled copiously and must have hurt quite a lot, but I had to speak sternly to him before he let me swab it with alcohol. It was a relief to rest our weary limbs. Esin was half asleep already, stretched out on a patch of ground Selim had gallantly swept clean of pebbles, with her head on one of the bundles. “Biscuit, anyone?” I inquired, extracting the packet from my parcel. Emerson chuckled. “What, no whiskey? My dear girl, packing those bundles was a brilliant thought, but I have come to expect no less of you.” We were sitting side by side in a darkish corner, so he gave me a quick demonstration of approval. “How long can we stay here without being discovered?” I asked. “It’s safe enough,” Ramses replied. “The locals think the place is haunted.” “By you?” Nefret asked. “I encouraged the idea. I wonder . . .” He went to the darkest corner of the place and shifted a few stones. After a moment he said, “No, it’s not here — the pistol I took from Chetwode. He must have collected it on his way back.” “Pity,” said Emerson. “We may want a weapon before the night is over. Ah, well, we usually manage without one.” “Yes, sir,” Ramses agreed. He went back to Nefret and sat down. She leaned her head against his shoulder and he put his arm round her. “Darling, why don’t you stretch out and sleep for a while? It’s beginning to look as if he —” He broke off with a hiss of breath, his head turning alertly, and raised a finger to his lips. Ramses’s acute hearing had prompted one of Daoud’s more memorable sayings: “He can hear a whisper across the Nile.” We froze, holding our breaths. Ramses rose and drifted toward the door, silent as a shadow in his dark galabeeyah. Someone was coming. He walked quietly but not noiselessly. I heard a twig snap and then a form appeared in the ragged moonlit aperture of the door. The silhouette was that of a tall man wearing a turban and a long robe. He leaned forward, peering into the darkness, his arms raised in greeting or defense. One sleeve hung limp from the elbow. Ramses seized the fellow in a tight grip and clapped a hand over his mouth. “Hell and damnation,” Emerson exclaimed, surging to his feet. “Bring him in. Keep him quiet. He must be the bastard who was howling out anathemas against the unbelievers; I thought that voice was familiar! If he’s led that pack of jackals here . . . We need a gag, Peabody. Tear up some extraneous garment or other.” “I do not possess any extraneous garments, Emerson. Hit him over the head.” The prisoner, who had been quiescent until then, was galvanized into frantic movement. He managed to wrench Ramses’s hand from his face. “For God’s sake, don’t be hasty!” The words were English. The accent was refined. The voice was not that of Sethos. Ramses lowered his hand but did not release his hold. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded. “A friend. That is the conventional reply, I believe. I really am, though.” It had been a long time, but the well-bred drawl, with its undercurrent of amusement, struck a chord of memory. “Let him go, Ramses,” I said. “You remember Sir Edward Washington, Sethos’s aide and co-conspirator?” “I am flattered, Mrs. Emerson.” Sir Edward removed himself from Ramses’s loosened grasp and made me an elegant bow. “How very good it is to see you again. And the Professor . . .” Another bow. “Nefret — do forgive the liberty — beautiful as ever . . . Selim, my friend . . . And I see you have the young lady safe. Well done.” Ramses switched on his torch and stared incredulously at the tatterdemalion figure. Sir Edward bowed again, with the mocking grace that was peculiarly his. “By God, it is,” Ramses muttered. “How the devil —” “Never mind that now, Ramses,” I interrupted. “Sir Edward, are you here in lieu of your chief?” “Straight to the point as always, Mrs. Emerson. You are right to remind me we ought not waste time. The answer to your question is no. I have been waiting for him.” “Good Gad,” Emerson exclaimed, recovering from his understandable surprise. “I never expected to see you again, Sir Edward; the last I heard, you were in . . .” He broke off, staring at the empty sleeve. “France,” said Sir Edward coolly. “As you see, I have returned to private life.” “Did you follow us?” I asked. “Only until you were safely out of the metropolis. Didn’t you hear me encouraging the riot? Kept everybody busy and happy and out of your way.” “Oh,” said Emerson. “I came straight on after that,” Sir Edward continued blithely. “It was a safe assumption that you would keep the appointment.” “But hedidn’t,” Emerson said. “Why not?” Sir Edward scratched his side, murmured a genteel apology, and said, “He may have been unable to get away. Sahin’s been watching him closely, especially since Ramses escaped. There’s no use staying here any longer.” “Where shall we go, then?” I inquired. “In my opinion it would be inadvisable for us to return to Khan Yunus until we are apprised of conditions there. Some of Sahin’s men may be lurking. Or were those assertive individuals not his men?” “I assumed they were. Don’t tell me you have another set of enemies after you!” “There would be nothing new in that,” said Ramses. “Have you anyplace in mind, Sir Edward?” Sir Edward hesitated. Under the skillful makeup and the ingrained dirt and the wisps of beard I could see the lines of worry and indecision that marked his face. Then he shrugged, with all his old insouciance. “I know a place, yes. It’s a good ten miles away, too far for the ladies to walk. We’ll need transportation.” “I will go back and get the motorcar,” Selim offered. “Too risky,” Emerson said at once. “And too conspicuous,” Sir Edward added. “We’ll have to borrow a few quadrupeds. Ramses, my lad, have you ever stolen a horse?” “As a matter of fact, he has,” I replied. “I don’t know why I bothered to ask,” Sir Edward muttered. “There’s a picket line a mile south of here. Ramses and Selim — no, Professor, not you. Someone must stay with the ladies.” “This lady is going with you,” Nefret said.

FROM MANUSCRIPT H

There was only one sentry. The enemy wasn’t in the habit of sending out raiding parties, and local horse thieves had learned not to tangle with the men of the Desert Column. Trees and growing crops gave plenty of cover, and the moon was down. They crawled close enough to hear the snores of the men who lay rolled in their blankets beyond the line of horses. Sir Edward brought his mouth against Ramses’s ear. “I’m beginning to think this was a bad idea.” Ramses had been of that opinion from the start. Some of the straitlaced British officers considered the ANZACs an unruly lot, impatient of discipline, who didn’t even know how to ride properly. Personally he would have preferred to have a whole troop of fox-hunting Englishmen after him than a few of these hard-bitten colonials. Bad idea or not, it had to be done. The girl couldn’t manage a ten-mile hike, and he was concerned about his mother, who would drop in her tracks rather than admit the task was beyond her. Anyhow, they had to get under cover before morning. It would take too long for the slower members of the party to walk that distance. They had planned what they had to do, and he thought they could manage it, with a little luck — and Nefret’s help. He had had to overrule Sir Edward, and his own instincts, when she announced she was coming with them; common sense told him that her help would be invaluable. She was an excellent rider, and she had an uncanny knack with animals. Dealing with the sentry was his job. It wasn’t difficult; the poor devil was tired and not expecting trouble. Ramses took him from behind with an arm across his throat, hit him hard in the pit of the stomach, and chopped him across the back of the neck as he toppled forward. By the time he had dragged the limp body under a tree, Nefret was moving down the string of horses, whispering in their ears and stroking their necks. When she reached the last in line, she untied the rope that passed through their bridles. So far there had been no sound except a few soft, interested whickers from the intrigued equines. Now they had to move fast and noisily. Nefret scrambled onto one of the horses while Selim gave Sir Edward a hand up and mounted another. Except for Nefret’s mount, the animals were stirring uneasily. One of the sleeping men sat up. Ramses tossed the dangling reins over the lead horse’s neck and vaulted onto its back. It turned its head to give him an astonished stare. “Wrong man, I know,” Ramses said in a conversational voice. “Think of it as a temporary inconvenience.” There wasn’t time to adjust the stirrups. He dug his bare heels into the animal’s flanks and urged it into a trot. It responded to the touch or the English voice, or both. The entire camp was now awake; shouts and curses echoed through the night, and someone fired a rifle. Someone else let out a stream of oaths directed at the idiot who had fired it. By that time the entire group of horses was in motion, following their leader and urged on by Nefret, who brought up the rear yelling and smacking assorted equine rumps with a leafy branch. Her hair had come loose from its scarf; it streamed out behind her, silvered by starlight. Sir Edward was hanging on, though he didn’t look happy. Selim looked very happy. This was the sort of adventure he had had in mind all along, a wild ride with the enemy in hot pursuit. The pursuit consisted of one trooper, running as fast as his long legs would carry him, waving his arms and calling out. The horses broke into a gallop and the plaintive cries of “Mary! Mary, love, come back!” faded into the night. A real and vindictive pursuit would not be long delayed, however. They did not slacken speed until they were near the ruins where the others were ready and waiting. None of them wasted time in conversation, though Ramses saw the look of resignation on his mother’s face. She was not an enthusiastic horsewoman, and was accustomed to the smooth gait of their Arabians. “Sorry, Mother,” he said, offering his hands to help her mount. “Will you be all right?” “Certainly.” It was the answer he had expected. Esin couldn’t manage it, though. She had ridden only in England, with a proper lady’s saddle. Declining Selim’s eager offer of assistance, Nefret mounted the girl in front of her. “We’re leaving a trail a blind man could follow,” Sir Edward said, as they started off two by two. “And now we’ve got the Australians after us.” “This was your idea,” Ramses pointed out. “So it was. I hope I’ll live long enough to regret it.” The clipped accent sounded odd from that vagabond figure. There hadn’t been time for Ramses to assimilate Sir Edward’s sudden reappearance, and there were a hundred questions he wanted to ask. “What are you doing here? I was under the impression that you had given up a life of crime.” “I can’t imagine what gave you that impression” was Sir Edward’s bland reply. “But my present job isn’t criminal in nature. People give other people medals for doing it.” “Usually after the ‘other people’ are dead.” Sir Edward let that one pass. Ramses tried another tack. “Why is Sethos in Gaza? He’s no traitor, I’m certain of that now, but what the hell is he after?” “You’ll have to ask him that.”

They reached their destination just before dawn. Ramses had expected a tumbledown ruin or a mean little house; instead he saw high walls rising up against the paling sky like those of a castle or a fortress. The heavy gates were closed. Sir Edward called out and after an interval one of the leaves of the gate opened and a man peered out. He let out an exclamation when he saw the group. “They are friends,” Sir Edward said. “Friends of the Master.” He led the way into an open courtyard with a well in the center and a roofed arcade on the right side. It wasa fortress, and a strong one. The walls were twelve feet high and eight feet thick. A small two-storied structure within the enclosure must be the living quarters. “Go ahead into the house,” their host said, indicating this building. “Straight through and up the stairs to the saloon. I’m afraid you’ll find us ill-prepared for guests, but Mustafa and I will see what can be done in the way of food and drink.” He drew the other man aside. Leaving his father to assist his mother, and Selim the girl, Ramses edged toward the pair. He caught only two words: “No message?” and saw Mustafa shake his head. Mustafa looked like the sort of man who would be employed by Sethos — burly, black-bearded as a pirate, and wary. He shot a suspicious look at Ramses, and Sir Edward turned. “This is the notorious — er — famous Brother of Demons, Mustafa,” he said in Arabic. “You have heard of him.” “Ah!” Mustafa held out a hand. “We will shake hands as the English do, eh? It is an honor to meet you. And so the others are . . . ?” “The even more notorious Father of Curses and his family,” Ramses said. “If you will forgive me for failing in courtesy, may I suggest that there are important matters to be dealt with before we exchange additional compliments? The horses, for instance. Their owners will want them back.” Mustafa threw his head back and let out a bellow of laughter. “You stole them? Well done. They will fetch a good price.” “Control your mercantile instincts, Mustafa,” said Sir Edward. “They must be returned eventually. We — er — borrowed them from the Australians.” “Hmmm.” Mustafa stroked his beard. “A pity. But you are right, the Australians are fierce fighters and they love their horses.” Ramses stroked the friendly muzzle that had come to rest on his shoulder. “Take care of them, will you, Mustafa? Rub them down and water them.” “If you have handled that to your satisfaction,” said Sir Edward, “shall we go in? Your mother will be waiting in the saloon for us.” “No, she won’t,” Ramses said.

The saloon was an elegantly appointed apartment at the front of the house. I recognized Sethos’s refined tastes in the furnishings — cushioned divans, carved screens, and low tables of brass and copper — but it was clear at a glance that this was a bachelor establishment. There was a bird’s nest in one of the window embrasures, and dust covered every flat surface. “Dear me,” I said. “This won’t do. Let us see what the rest of the house is like.” “He told us to wait here,” Nefret said. She was supporting Esin, who looked as if she was at the limit of her strength. “I have no intention of waiting for a man to make the necessary arrangements,” I replied. “That girl should be in bed. Let us find one.” Two of the small rooms behind the saloon had obviously been used as sleeping chambers. Various articles of masculine attire hung over chairs and chests. The beds were brass, in the European style, rather at odds with the rest of the furnishings, but with comfortable mattresses and sheets and pillows. Selim and I straightened the crumpled bedding and put Esin on the bed. I did not bother removing her clothing, since it did not appear that the sheets had been changed for several weeks. Sir Edward and Ramses were in the saloon when we returned to that room. “Did you find what you were looking for?” the former inquired politely. “I found a bed — yours, I believe — and got Miss Sahin tucked in. The poor child was worn out. Now, where is the kitchen? A nice hot cup of tea would be just the thing.” “Mustafa is making tea,” Sir Edward said. “Does he know about boiling the water long enough? Perhaps I had better go and —” Sir Edward took the liberty of seizing me by the arm. “He knows. He knows! Mrs. Emerson, please sit down. I can’t until you do, and I am dead on my feet.” “Oh, very well.” I selected one of the divans that did not have evidence of avian activity. Sir Edward collapsed onto another with a long sigh and Ramses took his place next to Nefret. Emerson was still prowling about the room. “Ha!” he exclaimed, opening a cabinet. “My — er — old acquaintance does himself well. Claret, ’pon my word, and an excellent vintage too. It isn’t whiskey, Peabody, but would you care for a drop?” “Not at this time of day,” I replied. “Ah — here is Mustafa with the tea tray. Just put it here, if you please. I will pour.” He had slopped it all over the tray, of course. As he stood back, fixing me with a bold, curious stare, I had one of those moments of utter disorientation: the tea tray, set out in proper English style — that would be Sir Edward’s influence — the black-bearded ruffian who had served it; the filthy, ragged beggar who was Sir Edward; and the rest of us in a motley array of garments, from Nefret’s neat but crumpled trousers and coat to Emerson’s torn silken robes. However, the situation was no more bizarre than many in which we had found ourselves. Mustafa said suddenly, “You are the Sitt Hakim? I have a little sore, here on my —” “Later, my friend,” I said graciously. Nefret hid her face against Ramses’s shoulder and Emerson shouted, “Good Gad! Even here! Curse it, Peabody!” Mustafa retreated, visibly impressed by the volume of Emerson’s voice. I persuaded Emerson to sit down and take out his pipe. It soothed him; it usually did. “I don’t know where you are all going to sleep,” Sir Edward muttered. “At the moment my brain is too active to let me rest, Sir Edward,” I informed him. “We need to know where we stand. First and most important, where is Sethos? Did you expect him to be here?” “I hoped for a message, at least. He usually finds a way to let me know if there is any change in his plans. When I saw him yesterday morning —” “You were in Gaza? Goodness gracious, you all seem to walk in and out of the place as you please.” Whether he would have confided in us under different circumstances I cannot say. It may have been exhaustion that loosened his tongue. “The fortifications are like a sieve for a single man, if he knows where the holes are. Once inside I — and our other couriers — form part of the adoring mob that presses round the holy man asking for his blessing.” “So he can pass messages to you, and you to him,” I prompted. “Something like that,” Sir Edward said evasively. “I knew he planned to get Sahin’s daughter away. I’d have talked him out of it if I could, or at least tried to persuade him not to go back to Gaza. Sahin was bound to suspect he’d had a hand in the business and clamp down on him even more closely. I think that is what has happened.” “Can you send someone to find out?” I asked. Emerson cleared his throat. “My papers —” “No,” Ramses and I said in the same breath. “What papers?” Sir Edward demanded, his eyes widening. Proudly Emerson drew them forth and handed them to Sir Edward. The sun was well up now; the gilt sparkled impressively in the light. “I can’t read Turkish,” Sir Edward said blankly. “Ramses can.” Emerson’s pipe had gone out. He struck a match. “He says they are perfectly in order.” “Yes, very well, but you can’t — you can’t just walk up to the trenches and —” “No, it will take some preparation,” Emerson admitted. “That is quite right,” I said, seeing in my mind’s eye the preparations Emerson was planning. Camels, servants, gold-trimmed robes, and a huge scimitar . . . He would so enjoy it, and sheer effrontery might allow him to carry it off. For a while. “Admirable,” Sir Edward murmured. He sounded more horrified than admiring. “Sir, give me a chance to use our regular channels first.” “An excellent idea,” I said, before Emerson could object. “Sir Edward, I am curious to know how —” “I beg you will excuse the interruption, Mrs. Emerson, but could we postpone the interrogation for a few hours?” Sir Edward rubbed his eyes. “I need to rest, even if you don’t, and there are a few domestic matters I must attend to.” “Certainly. Just show me where you keep the clean sheets.” It was the final straw for poor Sir Edward. “I — Oh, Lord. I don’t know that there are any, Mrs. Emerson.” “If there were, where would they be? Come,” I said in a kindly manner, “let’s just have a look. It won’t take long.” The others declared they would stretch out on the divans, and Sir Edward and I went off on what he clearly believed was a hopeless quest. Eventually we found a cupboard that contained linens of various kinds. I selected a few. Sir Edward, always the gentleman, took the pile from me. I allowed him to do so, though he had a little difficulty getting hold of it. “I was sorry to see that,” I said, with the lightest possible touch of his arm. “It was in France that it happened, I suppose.” “Ypres.” He spoke curtly, avoiding my eyes. Pity he would not accept; acknowledgment of his sacrifice was owed him, and I felt obliged to make it. “It must have been dreadful. I am so sorry.” “What, womanly sympathy from you, Mrs. Emerson? A touch out of character, isn’t it?” “It is sincere.” “I know.” His rigid features relaxed. “I am sorry too, for speaking rudely. It’s not so bad, you know. It got me out of the army, which was all to the good. I had become somewhat disenchanted.” “Can nothing be done about an artificial limb?” “Oh, yes. I’ve got quite a good one. It broadens my repertoire of disguises to a remarkable extent. I’m thinking of attaching a bayonet, or perhaps a hook.” I patted him on the shoulder. “Splendid,” I said heartily. “Or a parasol,” said Sir Edward. His smile was that of the charming debonair gentleman I had known. I was to remember that smile for a long time. When I woke from a brief but refreshing nap, he was gone — from the house and from the grounds and, I feared, back into the powder keg that was Gaza. It took me a while to discover this. I had decided to sleep on one of the divans rather than go to the trouble of making up a bed which, if events continued to unfold, I might never occupy. When I went to look in at Esin, I almost fell over Selim, who was stretched out across her threshold. I left him there, since that was where he had chosen to be, and went back to the saloon. Ramses and Nefret lay side by side, his arm round her and her head on his shoulder. I stood for a moment watching them. One of Ramses’s eyes opened and regarded me quizzically. “All’s well,” I reported, and tiptoed toward the divan where Emerson lay. I did not mean to sleep for more than an hour, but even as I reclined the skies were darkening, and the gentle murmur of rain must have lulled me. It was the sound of heavy footsteps that woke me — the running steps of a person in haste. I sat up with a start and reached into my nearest pocket. It was the wrong pocket. I was fumbling in another, trying to locate my little pistol, when a man burst into the room and came to a stop. He was breathing heavily and water poured from his soaked garments. Emerson was thrashing around and muttering, as he always does when he is suddenly aroused, but Ramses was on his feet, alert and ready. The newcomer, too breathless to speak, held out empty hands in the universal gesture of conciliation. I could not see him clearly, the room was rather dark. I knew him, though. “Ah,” I said. “So here you are at last. It is all right, Ramses.” “No — it — isn’t.” Sethos got it out one word at a time. “Where’s — Edward?” “He isn’t here?” I asked. “No.” Emerson had finally got his wits together. “It’s you, is it?” he demanded, squinting through the gloom. “High bloody time.” “Bloody too late,” said Sethos, beginning to control his breath. “Did Edward tell you where —” “We were not even aware of his departure,” I replied. “Please compose yourself so that we can converse rationally.” “And get out of those wet clothes,” Nefret said. “What, here and now?” Ramses had lighted several of the lamps. Sethos threw his shoulders back and tried to look as if he were in command of the situation, but he was a wretched figure, every garment saturated and even his beard dripping. “A chill can bring on malaria,” Nefret said calmly. “Get them off at once. I’ll ask Mustafa to make tea.” “And something to eat,” I called after her, as she hastened from the room. “And something to wear,” said my brother-in-law resignedly. He pulled off the sodden lump of his turban and the fez round which it had been wrapped. “This is as far as I am prepared to go, Amelia, while you remain in the room.” Anxious as I was to hold the long-delayed discussion — urgent as were the questions to be asked and answered — physical needs took precedence. Sethos had had malaria before. It would be extremely inconvenient if he came down with it again. “Come with me,” I ordered, and led the way out of the room. Selim, still lying romantically across the girl’s threshold, woke instantly when we approached — and no wonder, on that hard floor. He sprang up, reaching for his knife. “He is a friend, Selim,” I said. “Perhaps you would be good enough to help him change his wet clothing.” “I do not require a damned valet,” Sethos snarled. “Selim isn’t a valet. You require assistance, and that is what you are about to get. Follow me, both of you.” A large cupboard in the other bedroom contained an extensive wardrobe, ranging from abas and galabeeyahs to a nice tweed suit that Sethos had borrowed from Ramses the year before. I left them to it, and returned to the saloon. Mustafa had scraped together a rather extraordinary meal — tinned tongue and bread and fruit, and, of course, tea. Before long, Selim and Sethos joined us, the latter in dry garments, his unruly hair still damp. “Well, this is cozy,” said Sethos, with a decidedly sardonic inflection. “A jolly little family gathering. I’ve been chasing you across the countryside all night.” “Were you at the rendezvous?” I asked. “Not until after you’d left. Would you like to know what happened?” “Very much so,” said Emerson, with a snap of his teeth. “I had to make a run for it,” Sethos explained. “I — er — miscalculated a trifle, you see. I didn’t expect Sahin would move so quickly or so decisively. He’s a very efficient man, with a well-organized network of supporters hereabouts. It didn’t take him long to find out you were in Khan Yunus. You weren’t exactly discreet, were you?” “The disclosure of our true identities was unavoidable,” I said. “And if I may say so, criticism from you is unwarranted, under the circumstances.” “Possibly,” Sethos admitted. “If I may continue my narrative?” “Pray do,” I said. “As I was about to say, the disappearance of his daughter hit him hard and he acted instantly. He sent orders to attack your house. There was a chance the girl was with you. If she wasn’t, he hoped to acquire a hostage — one or all of you.” “How do you know all that?” I asked. “He told me.” Sethos had been eating ravenously, between sentences. He swallowed a bite of fruit and went on, “We had one of those friendly little chats — you know what they’re like, Ramses. He explained in detail what he meant to do, and added, more in sorrow than in anger, that he was going to lock me up, since he had been forced to the conclusion that my conversion was not sincere.” He bit into a piece of bread. The pause was for effect, as I knew; the man could not resist making a dramatic story of it. “So you hit him?” Ramses was as intrigued as the rest of us. “What with?” “Not my fist, I assure you. He was waiting for that. I was nibbling daintily on a nectarine. I shoved it in his face. He was trying to claw the pulp out of his eyes and spit it out of his mouth when I broke his water pipe over his head. It made a frightful mess and rather a loud noise, so I didn’t wait to tie him up. I calculated I had about sixty seconds before a servant got nerve enough to investigate, so I started running — straight out of the house and past the guards. If you don’t have time to be cautious, speed and effrontery are your only hope. It was a spectacle dreadful enough to throw most people into a panic,” he added with a grin. “The holy infidel, waving his arms and screaming broken phrases from the Koran. Nobody tried to stop me. Religious frenzy is dangerous. I kept running, divesting myself of my elegant ornaments as I went and scattering them about the streets, to the additional confusion of those I encountered. I presented the last — a very handsome emerald brooch, which I hated to give up — to the officer in command of one of the guard posts. With my blessing. May I have more tea?” Ramses was the first to break the fascinated silence. “I’m a bloody amateur,” he murmured. “Excuse me, Mother.” “You haven’t done so badly,” his uncle conceded. “This last escapade wasn’t well thought out, though. You ought to have had a means of escape arranged before you shot at me.” “You don’t suppose Ramses would do such a thing!” Nefret said indignantly. “Now, now, keep calm. I did not suppose my affectionate nephew really intended to kill me. I credited him with realizing that an attack on me, presumably by my erstwhile employers, would establish me as a bona fide traitor. I didn’t expect he would go so far as to let himself be caught. That was a complication I did not need.” “Accept my apologies,” said Ramses, scowling at his uncle. Sethos did have a gift for turning people against him. “Who was it, then, if it wasn’t you?” “A fellow named Chetwode. He’s the general’s nephew. His superior is a man named Cartright.” “Oh, that lot. How did you —” “Never mind that now,” I interrupted. “If we keep getting off onto side issues we will never make sense of this business. What happened after you left Gaza?” “I decided I had better go to Khan Yunus and warn you.” “You might have thought of that earlier,” Emerson grumbled. “I told you, I didn’t know what Sahim intended to do until he informed me. I barely made it out of the city before his men came boiling out in hot pursuit; I had to lie low in the hills until they tired of looking for me.” He took a cigarette from the tin Ramses offered him and lit it before he went on. “By the time I got to Khan Yunus, all hell had broken loose. The army was on the scene, trying to suppress the riot, without the vaguest idea of who had started it or why. Your place had been broken into, and some of the locals were taking advantage of the confusion to carry off anything they could lay their hands on.” “The motorcar!” Selim exclaimed. “Did they damage it?” “I wasn’t given the opportunity to examine it,” Sethos said dryly. “I hung about trying to look harmless until the military got things more or less under control. You hadn’t shown yourselves, so I could only hope Edward had warned you in time for you to escape. It was after midnight by then. I had the devil of a time getting out of town, since I had to avoid not only soldiers looking for rioters but rioters who might be Sahin’s lads. The whole bloody countryside was aroused — looking for a pack of horse thieves, as the sergeant who collared me explained. I was not in possession of a horse, so he let me go. You people really excel at stirring up trouble! I pushed on and, of course, found the ruined house deserted. You’d been there — you left an empty biscuit tin — and so had several horses. So I came on here. I couldn’t think where else you might have gone. It took a while, since I was on foot.” I observed the faintest tremor in the hand that extinguished his cigarette. It was not the only sign of fatigue; his voice was flat and his face was drawn. “You had better get some sleep,” I said. “We will talk again later.” “As you command, Sitt Hakim.” He got slowly to his feet. “Is someone sleeping in my bed?” “Miss Sahin is in one of the beds. I will make up the other one for you.” “There is no need for that.” “Clearly it is not an amenity to which you are accustomed. I will do it anyhow. Come along.” What I wanted, as the Reader must have surmised, was a private chat. Even Emerson realized the reasonableness of this, though he did not much like it. He had never completely conquered his jealousy of his brother, baseless though it was — on my side, at any rate. “Allow me to give you a little laudanum,” I said. “You won’t sleep without it, you are too tired and too on edge.” “Are you afraid I’ll sneak out of the house?” He watched me unfold one of the sheets and then took hold of the other end. “I have better sense than that. If Edward isn’t back by nightfall, I will have to take steps, but I cannot function efficiently without sleep.” He had tucked the sheet in any which way. I remade that end of the bed. Our eyes met, and he smiled a little; he was thinking, as was I, what an oddly domestic scene this was. “I don’t need your laudanum,” he went on, removing a container from one of the shelves. “How long have you been taking that?” I asked, as he swallowed a small white pill. “Weeks. Months.” He stretched out on the bed. “It works quickly, so if you have any questions — which you undoubtedly do — talk fast.” “I only wanted to ask about Margaret. Have you heard from her?” He hadn’t expected such a harmless subject. “Margaret? No, not for months. I couldn’t very well carry on a frequent correspondence, could I?” “Does she know what you are doing?” “She knows everything about me.” He closed his eyes. “Including —” “Everything.” “You have complete confidence in her, then. Are you going to marry her?” Sethos opened his eyes and clasped his hands behind his head. “You aren’t going to leave me in peace until I invite you into my innermost heart, are you? The question is not whether I am going to marry her, but whether she will consent to marry me. I asked her. I hadn’t intended to, it — er — came into my head at a particularly — er — personal moment. She said no.” “A flat, unconditional no?” “There were conditions. You can guess what they were. She was in the right. I told her — I promised her — this would be my last assignment. As it well may be.” “Not in the way you mean,” I said firmly. “We are here, and on the job! We could be more useful, however, if you would tell me the purpose of your mission. What are you after?” “Sahin.” His eyelids drooped. The sedative had loosened his tongue. “He’s their best man. Their only good man. Once he’s out of the way, we can proceed with . . . He loves the girl. I didn’t know that. I thought he’d go to some lengths to get her back, but I didn’t realize . . . Paternal affection isn’t one of my strong points. I told you about Maryam, didn’t I?” “Who?” I had to repeat the question. He was half asleep, wandering a little in his mind. “Maryam. Molly. That’s the name you knew . . . She’s gone.” “Dead?” I gasped. “Your daughter?” “No. Gone. Left. Ran away. Hates me. Because of her mother. She’s living proof of heredity. Got the worst of both parents. Poor little devil . . . She is, you know. Amelia . . .” “It’s all right,” I said softly, taking the hand that groped for mine. “Everything will be all right. Sleep now.” I sat by him until his hand relaxed and the lines on his face smoothed out. I had intended — oh, I admit it — to take advantage of his drowsy state to wring information out of him, but I had not expected revelations so intimate, so personal, so painful. His daughter had been fourteen years of age when I knew her. She must be sixteen now. Her mother had been Sethos’s lover and partner in crime; but her tigerish affection had turned to jealous hatred when she realized his heart belonged to another. (Me, in fact, or so he claimed.) She tried several times to kill me and succeeded in assassinating one of my dearest friends before she met her end at the hands of those who had been an instant too late to save him. How much of that terrible story did the child know? If she blamed her father for her mother’s death, she could not know the whole truth. He had not even been present when she died, and she had led a life of crime and depravity before she met Sethos. A moralist might hold him guilty of failing to redeem her, but in my opinion even a saint, which Sethos was not, would have found Bertha hard going. I do not believe that the dead hand of heredity is the sole determinant of character. Remembering Molly as I had last seen her, looking even younger than her actual age, the picture of freckled, childish innocence . . . But she hadn’t looked so innocent the day I found her in Ramses’s room with her dress half off — by her own act, I should add. If I had not happened to be passing by — if Ramses had not had the good sense to summon me at once — or if he had been another kind of man, the kind of man she hoped he was — he might have found himself in an extremely interesting situation. That proved nothing. She had not deliberately set out to seduce or shame him; she had been young and foolish and infatuated. My heart swelled with pity, for her and for the man who lay sleeping on the bed, his face pale and drawn with fatigue. He had not known how much he loved her until he lost her, and he blamed himself. How wonderful it would be if I could bring father and child together again! It was a happy thought, but not practical — for the present, at any rate. We had to get through the current difficulty first. With a sigh I slipped my hand from his and tiptoed out of the room. “Well?” Emerson demanded. “You’ve been the devil of a long time. How much were you able to get out of him?” “We were right about him, of course,” I replied, seating myself next to him as his gesture invited. “He is no traitor. His mission was to remove Sahin Bey — Pasha.” “Kill him, you mean?” Ramses asked. “He didn’t say. But surely Sethos would not —” “Sahin is a dangerous enemy and this is wartime. However,” Ramses said thoughtfully, “the same purpose would be served if Sahin Pasha were to be disgraced and removed from his position. In the last week he’s lost me, his daughter, and now Ismail Pasha, whose flight will prove to their satisfaction that he was a British spy. Careless, to say the least!” “More than careless,” Emerson exclaimed. “Highly suspicious, to say the least! With that lot, you are guilty until proven innocent. By Gad, my boy, I believe you are right. It’s like Sethos to concoct such a devious scheme. If the Turks believe, as they well may, that Sahin Pasha has been a double agent all along, they will have to reorganize their entire intelligence network. It could take months.” “And in the meantime they would be without their best and cleverest man,” I added. “Sethos said that once Sahin was out of the way, they could proceed with . . . something.” “What?” “He didn’t say.” “And who is ‘they’?” Nefret asked. “Who is he working for? Not Cartright and ‘that lot’?” “He — er — didn’t say.” Emerson brought his fist down on the table, rattling the crockery. “What did he say? Good Gad, you were with him for almost three quarters of an hour.” “How do you know that?” I demanded. “You haven’t a watch.” This time my attempt to distract him and put him on the defensive did not succeed. “Just answer the question, Peabody. What were you talking about all that while?” “Personal matters. Oh, Emerson, for pity’s sake, don’t grind your teeth. I wanted to make certain he was asleep before I left him. The man is on the edge of nervous collapse. He has been living for months under conditions of intolerable strain. He must not be allowed to return to Gaza.” “He wouldn’t be such a fool,” Emerson muttered. “He would if he believed Sir Edward had gone there to look for him.” “Hewouldn’t be such a fool,” Emerson declared. “He would if he believed his leader was in danger. They have been friends for a long time. I am going to talk to Mustafa; perhaps Sir Edward said something to him. And I promised to treat his sore . . . Ah, there you are, Esin. You had a good long rest.” “Yes.” Rubbing sleepy eyes, she took a seat on the divan next to Ramses. “What has happened? Has my father —” “Nothing has happened. You are perfectly safe. Are you hungry? There must be something left on that tray. Excuse me. I won’t be long.” Ramses accompanied me. I had expected he or his father would do so, and on the whole I preferred Ramses to Emerson. His questions were not likely to be so provocative. “I thought I’d better come along in case Mustafa’s sore is located in a place Father would prefer you didn’t examine,” he explained. “That is highly unlikely.” “I was joking, Mother.” “I know, my dear.” The skies were still overcast but the rain had stopped. It dripped in mournful cadence from the eaves of the arcades around the courtyard. I allowed Ramses to take my arm. “I am of the opinion that you are right about Sethos’s intentions,” I said. “It was clever of you to reason it out.” “Too clever, perhaps? I’d hate to think my mind works along the same lines as his.” “Whatever his original intentions, they have almost certainly had the effect you described. Goodness, but this is a dreary place. There doesn’t seem to be a soul about. Mustafa?” “He’s probably with the horses,” Ramses said. Mustafa heard our voices and emerged from the shed. “I was talking to the horses,” he said. “They are fine animals. Is there something you lack, Sitt Hakim?” “Not at the moment. I want to talk to you, Mustafa. And treat your sore . . . Where is it?” Mustafa sat down on a bench and held out his foot. It was bare and callused and very dirty. “You will have to wash it first,” I said. “Wash?” Mustafa repeated in astonishment. Ramses, who appeared to be enjoying himself very much, fetched a bucket of water and we persuaded Mustafa to put his foot into it. I had brought a bar of Pear’s soap with me, since I knew that commodity is not common in houses of the region. After a vigorous scrubbing the sore was apparent — an infected big toe, which he must have stubbed and then neglected. The alcohol made Mustafa’s eyes pop. “I am going to bandage your foot,” I said, applying gauze and sticking plaster liberally. “But you must keep it clean. Change the bandage every day and wash it.” “Is that all?” Mustafa asked. “That should —” Ramses coughed loudly. “Will you say the proper words, Mother, or shall I?” “Incantations are more in your line than mine,” I replied in English. “Proceed.” Once that essential part of the treatment was completed, Mustafa was satisfied, and I got down to business. “Did Sir Edward tell you where he was going?” “No.” Mustafa held up his foot and studied the bandage. “He took the mule.” “You have a mule?” “Two. He took one.” “Did he say when he would be back?” “No.” Mustafa cogitated, his brow furrowing. “He said . . . what was it? Something about whiskey. That he would bring it to the Father of Curses.” “He’s gone to Khan Yunus,” Ramses said, as we left Mustafa admiring his bandaged foot. “Not to Gaza?” “Father is right, he wouldn’t be such a fool. Not unless he had proof that Sethos was still there.” He took hold of my arm and stopped me. “I don’t believe we want to discuss Sahin Pasha in front of the girl, do we?” “It would be wiser not to, I believe. The feelings of young persons are notoriously changeable. She is angry with him now, but if she believed he was in danger —” “Yes, Mother, that is precisely what I had in mind.” When we returned to the saloon Nefret looked up from the paper on which she was drawing. “Esin wanted to know about the latest fashions,” she explained. “How is Mustafa’s sore . . . whatever?” “His toe,” I replied. “A slight infection. Where is Emerson?” “He said he was going to sit with Sethos.” She chuckled. “I think he’s looking for tobacco. He’s run out.” Emerson did not find any tobacco. He came back looking even more perturbed than deprivation of that unhealthy substance could explain. “Is he still sleeping?” I asked. “Yes. He — er — doesn’t look well.” “He isn’t well.” “Is someone sick?” Esin asked. I realized she was unaware of the latest arrival. “A — er — friend of ours. You know him as Ismail Pasha.” “He is here?” She jumped up and clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Why? Did my father send him? Has he come to take me back?” “Goodness, but you have a one-track mind,” I said. “He is a fugitive too. Your father became suspicious of him and he ran away.” “Oh.” She thought it over and her face brightened. “Then I must thank him. He risked himself for me!” “He is, after all, a gallant Englishman,” Ramses drawled. “Much braver and more chivalrous than I.” “But you are younger and more beautiful,” said Esin. That took care of Ramses. He said no more. The rest of us kept up a desultory conversation and the minutes dragged slowly by. There was much we could not say in Esin’s presence, and I couldn’t think of a reasonable excuse for getting rid of her. Sending her off to bed wouldn’t work; she had slept most of the day. Except for Selim, the rest of us had not. I persuaded Nefret to lie down and took Esin off into a corner so our voices would not disturb her. We found a common interest in women’s rights, and I told her all about the suffrage movement and how I had marched with the suffragists and been seized by a large constable. She declared that she would have done the same, and kicked the constable as well. Emerson sat in brooding silence, smoking Ramses’s cigarettes and slipping out of the room periodically to look in on his brother. Ramses brooded too, over Nefret, sitting quietly beside her with his eyes fixed on her face. After a while I took Esin with me to the kitchen and showed her how to make tea. It was the first time she had ever performed such a menial chore, I believe. She was certainly clumsy enough. However, we got the tray upstairs without disaster. Late in the afternoon the sun made its appearance, and shortly afterward Sethos made his. He was in a vile mood, which I had expected, and he had shaved his beard, which I had not expected. The strange gray-green eyes swept the room in a contemptuous and comprehensive survey. “Everybody here?” he inquired in his most offensive tone. “How nice.” I knew what concerned him most and I hastened to give him the news that would relieve his mind. “We believe Sir Edward has not gone to Gaza but to Khan Yunus.” “Oh?” He rubbed his chin. “Let us hope you are right.” “I am certain of it,” I said. “Tea?” “No.” He flung himself down on the divan. “You had better have some. Take it to him, Esin.” I handed her the cup. “Lemon, no sugar, isn’t that right?” His eyes met mine and his tight mouth turned up at this reminder of the last time we had taken tea together. Unfortunately it reminded Emerson too. He knew what had happened at that meeting, for of course I had confided fully in him. However, he confined his comments to a wordless grumble. “Are you really Ismail Pasha?” the girl asked doubtfully. She stood beside him, the cup held carefully in both hands. Sethos rose and took it from her. A smile transformed his haggard face, and the cultivated charm slipped onto him like a cloak. “Is it the absence of the beard that confused you? I am indeed the same man, and I am relieved to find you well and safe. My friends have looked after you?” The charm was a little tattered, but it was good enough for Esin. “Oh, yes, but I was frightened for a while; there was fighting and we had to run away.” “Tell me about it,” Sethos murmured. Her account was accurate, on the whole, though she made a thrilling tale of it. Sethos listened attentively, his mobile countenance expressing admiration, astonishment, and distress at appropriate intervals, but I could tell she had not his complete attention. He was listening and waiting — as were we all. The sunlight deepened to amber and then faded into gray, and there was still no sign of Sir Edward. Ramses lighted the lamps. I was about to suggest we do something about supper when the long-awaited sound of footsteps was heard and Sir Edward came into the room. In that first moment he had eyes only for his chief. Had I doubted the warmth of their friendship, the looks of relief on both faces would have proved it. Being English, they did not express their feelings. “It’s good to see you, sir,” Sir Edward said coolly. “Mustafa told me you were here.” “Youought to have been here” was the equally cool reply. “Sit down and have a cup of tea.” “It’s cold,” I said, inspecting the sad dregs. “I’ll take it anyhow.” Sir Edward dropped heavily onto the divan next to Emerson. “Sorry, Professor, I wasn’t able to get your whiskey. The house —” “Then we will have to settle for claret,” said Sethos, going to the wine cabinet. “My supplies have become somewhat depleted. Amelia?” “Yes,” I said, answering both the spoken question and the unspoken order. “Esin, I suggest you — er — go to your room and rest.” “I don’t need to rest,” said the young person. “I am not tired.” “Then help Selim find us something to eat.” I gave Selim a wink and a nod. As a rule this was all Selim needed, but this time I had to give him a little poke, for he was not looking at me. His intent black eyes were fixed on Sethos. “Your pardon, Sitt Hakim,” he said, starting. I repeated the suggestion. He nodded obediently, and got Esin to go with him by requesting the details of her daring escape from her father’s house. “Such courage,” I heard him say, as they left the room. “Such cleverness!” Sethos turned from the cabinet, the bottle in one hand and the corkscrew in the other. “Report,” he said curtly. “The town’s quiet,” Sir Edward said. “Less damage than I had expected. The house is guarded by several soldiers and they’re scouring the countryside looking for you people. According to the worthy citizens of Khan Yunus, you simply vanished into thin air, like the djinn you are reputed to be. The military hasn’t accepted that, though.” He took the glass Sethos handed him and went on, “They haven’t made up their minds whether you were abducted by force or went off on your own, for purposes of your own. Either way, they want you.” Ramses took the bottle from Sethos, who had neglected the rest of us in his concern for his aide, and poured wine for Nefret and me. “What about Gaza?” Sethos asked. “The place is shut up tighter than a prison.” Sir Edward sipped his wine appreciatively. “I made contact with one of our lads — Hassan. He’d just got back from an attempt to enter the city by his usual route, but what he saw made him veer off. They’re stopping everyone.” “Shutting the barn door after the horse is stolen,” I said with a smile. “Ha,” said Emerson, motioning Ramses to fill his glass. “Any news of Sahin Pasha?” Sir Edward shook his head, and Sethos said, “It will take them a while to decide how to deal with him. The most sensible course of action would be to execute him and announce he’d been assassinated by the vile British.” “That was your plan, then,” I said. “To make him appear guilty of treason.” “I didn’t have a plan when I started out,” Sethos said snappishly. “My orders were to remove him — pleasant little euphemism, isn’t it? One learns to take advantage of unexpected events. We were damned lucky. All of us.” “It took more than luck,” Ramses said grudgingly. His uncle gave him a mocking bow. “Selim can’t keep the girl away for long,” I said. “And I certainly don’t want her to know her father may be under arrest and facing death. We must decide what we are going to do with her.” “Quite right, Amelia,” said my brother-in-law. “You’ll have to take her back to Cairo, and the sooner, the better. The sooner you are all back in Cairo, the better.” “What about you?” I asked. “And Sir Edward?” “Don’t concern yourself about us. As soon as it’s light I want you all to return to Khan Yunus. That will stop them searching the whole damned neighborhood and finding this place, which wouldn’t be convenient for me. Make your preparations to leave Khan Yunus and get the hell away. You’ll have to come up with some story to explain the girl. The military mustn’t know who she is, or take her from you.” “As if I would leave a girl of eighteen with a troop of soldiers,” I said with a sniff. “What do we do with her when we reach Cairo?” “Take her to an address I will give you.” He glanced at Ramses. “Memorize it; don’t write it down.” “That’s it, then,” said Emerson, hearing Selim and Esin returning. “You have nothing more to tell us?” Sethos made sure we had no chance to ask for more. After a scratch meal he went off with Sir Edward, instructing us to get our gear together and be ready for an early departure. We did not see him again until morning. It was still dark when we gathered in the courtyard, with only the light of our torches to guide our steps. The horses were waiting. “Good-bye,” said Sethos. “A safe journey.” He shook Emerson’s hand and mine. “When will we see you again?” I asked. “When you least expect me, Amelia dear. That’s my trademark.” He smiled at me. “You’ll hear from me soon, I promise. Good-bye, Nefret. Try and keep Ramses out of mischief.” “I always do.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. “Take care of yourself. Sir Edward, try and keep him out of mischief.” “Don’t I get a kiss?” that gentleman inquired. She laughed at him, and gave him her hand. “Good luck. And thank you.” We reached Khan Yunus by midmorning and went at once to the house, followed by a throng of idlers. The gate was closed, and there were two soldiers guarding it. They snapped to attention, rifles raised, when they saw us, and then one of them exclaimed, “It’s them!” “Grammar, young man,” I said. “It is indeed we. Let us pass, if you please.” Selim went at once to his beloved motorcar. “They have stolen two of the tires!” he cried in anguished tones. “That’s easily remedied,” said Emerson, helping me to dismount. “Come along, Selim, you can play with the motorcar later.” A quick inspection assured us that the house was deserted and that a good many items were missing, including the best part of “the favorite’s” elegant wardrobe. “Can’t be helped,” said Emerson. “Lucky we had everything we needed with us. Let us go to the mak’ad. I expect we will be receiving a visit soon.” “Yes, our arrival will have been reported,” I agreed. “Esin, I want you to stay here in the harem.” “Why?” she demanded. “You are an enemy alien,” Nefret said. “If the soldiers find out you are here, they will take you away.” I hadn’t intended to be quite so blunt about it, but the warning had the desired effect. Esin’s rounded cheeks paled. “We won’t let them take you,” Ramses said quickly. “Just stay out of sight and keep quiet.” “I would very much like a bath,” I said. “But that will have to wait until we round up a few of the servants. In the meantime, what about a nice hot cup of tea?”

The inefficiency of the military was disappointing. It took them an hour to react to the news that we had returned. The open arches of the mak’ad constituted an excellent observation post; we were sipping a second cup of tea when he burst into the courtyard, kicked an unfortunate chicken out of his path, and came to a stop, staring. Emerson leaned over the rail and called to him. “Up here, Cartright. Join us.” “We ought to have expected it would be he,” I remarked. “He appears to be in quite an unhappy frame of mind.” Cartright took the stairs two at a time. His face was flushed and his mustache looked as if he had been chewing on it. “You’re here,” he gasped. “All of you.” “Obviously,” I replied. “Nefret, is there more hot water? I believe Major Cartright could do with a cup of tea. Do sit down, Major.” The young man collapsed onto a chair and passed a handkerchief over his face. “Where have you been? We’ve been searching for days.” “Not that long, surely,” I said. “Drink your tea. We have decided to take advantage of your kind offer to facilitate our return to Cairo. We will need petrol, water, food, and two new tires. Is there anything else, Emerson?” Leaning against the wall, arms folded and lips twitching, Emerson shook his head. “Not that I know of. Continue, Peabody, you seem to have the situation well in hand.” “We would like to leave tomorrow morning,” I explained. “You seem to have frightened our servants away. Persuade — persuade, I said — them to return. We have clothing to be washed and meals to be prepared.” “Mrs. Emerson . . . please.” Cartright waved away the cup I had offered. “Just stop talking, will you? Professor, I want to know where the devil —” “Language, language,” said Emerson. “There are ladies present. As for answering your questions, sir, I am not subject to your orders.” “General Chetwode —” “Nor his. I will report to whom I see fit and when I see fit. In Cairo, to be precise. Are you going to get us the supplies we need or must I go over your head?” “I . . . yes. That is, I will get them. And go with you.” “There won’t be room in the motorcar,” said Emerson with finality. “Oh — I almost forgot. The horses. Fine animals. They are in the stable.” Cartright sat bolt upright. “Then it was you who . . . One of the troopers swore there was a woman in the party, but —” “Me,” said Nefret with a smile. “The poor boy wants his Mary back, I expect. Tell him she has been well cared for and that I thank him for the loan.” “That is all you have to say?” His frowning visage turned from Nefret to Emerson. “It is all any of us have to say,” Emerson assured him. “When may we expect those supplies?” Major Cartright’s countenance underwent a series of contortions. He had been sorely tried, but knew perfectly well that any attempt to detain Emerson against his will would result in an uproar that would reverberate through every level of British officialdom. “I’m not certain I can obtain everything you need today,” he muttered. “Oh, I think you can,” said Emerson, showing his teeth. “Yes, sir. Then . . . I will see you in Cairo?” He looked at Ramses, who had remained silent. “No doubt,” said Ramses. “You are the one he would like to question,” I said, after Cartright had taken his departure. “I expect he will go haring off to General Chetwode and demand we be held here.” “Chetwode has no authority to detain us,” said Emerson. He rubbed irritably at the cast, which was looking somewhat the worse for wear. “Nefret, can’t I have this cursed thing off?” “Not yet, Father. As soon as we get to Cairo I’ll have a look at it.” Selim returned from his inspection of the motorcar to report that everything seemed to be in order, and went off to commandeer some household assistance, since I did not suppose Major Cartright would consider that matter worthy of his attention. It had begun to rain, so we retreated into the room behind the open mak’ad, where we had left our baggage. “We may as well unpack our bundles,” I said. “What with all our comings and goings, I have lost track of precisely what we still have. I gave my bar of soap to Mustafa, but here is my medical kit and my parasol —” “You won’t need that, Mrs. Emerson. You will not be leaving the house just yet.” I had missed one of the secret rooms. Unlike the makhba under the floor of the harem, this was a small hidden chamber whose door resembled that of a wall cupboard. He looked much the same as he had when I had seen him before, a big man with a grizzled beard and shoulders almost as impressive as those of Emerson. He had a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other. “Sahin Pasha, I presume,” I said, after a slight catch of breath. “We ought to have anticipated that a clever man would comprehend the gravity of his predicament and escape before he could be apprehended. On the run, are you?” “One might call it that. Now, if you don’t mind —” “Coming here was also a clever move,” I mused. “There is a saying that the safest place for a criminal is in the police station.” “Is there? No, my young friend, don’t take another step. I want all of you close together.” Ramses stopped. “You daren’t use that gun,” he said. “The sound of a shot will bring the servants and a dozen soldiers.” “If I am forced to fire, there will be more than one shot and by the time your assistants arrive it will be too late for some of you. There is no need for that. All I want is my daughter.” “Let us discuss this calmly,” I said. “How do you propose to get her away from here, against her will, without killing all of us, which is, as you must see, impractical?” A rather jolly rumble of laughter emerged from his parted lips. “Mrs. Emerson, it is a pleasure to meet you at last. I know you are hoping that your fascinating conversation will distract me. It won’t. But since you ask, I have already dealt with Esin. She is lying bound and gagged on the divan in the ka’ah. I found this hiding place last night. As soon as I have persuaded you to enter it, I will take her and go.” “Go where?” I demanded. “Back into the lion’s den? You are being unrealistic if you believe you can convince your erstwhile friends that you are still to be trusted.” The man’s strong jaw hardened. “I will prove my good faith by returning, with my daughter.” It would require more than that. He knew it, and so did I. But if he could recapture the prisoner he had let escape . . . If he could herd us one by one into the secret room, leaving Ramses till last . . . “Go on,” Sahin said, gesturing with the pistol. “You first, Mrs. Emerson.” “No,” I exclaimed. “Emerson, do you see what —” “It’s all right, Mother,” Ramses said quietly. “I think he’s bluffing. I wonder how many bullets are left in that pistol? Enough to stop all of us?” “A good point.” Emerson nodded. “I call your bluff, sir. We are not sheep, to be herded into a pen. The girl stays with us, but we will give you . . . oh, let us say an hour . . . to get away.” They measured one another, two men of commanding presence and stature. The Turk said slowly, “You would do that?” “As the lesser of two evils. Your usefulness to your government has been destroyed. This way no one will be injured. You can trust us to look after the child, and when the war is over you may be reunited with her.” “The word of an Englishman?” Sahin Pasha murmured. “Don’t be foolish,” Ramses said urgently. “There are two — four, I mean — of us. Hand over the gun.” Sahin smiled wryly. “Four? Ah well, it seems I have no choice. You were correct. The gun isn’t loaded. I had to fight my way out of Gaza.” “Drop it, then,” Ramses said. He took a step forward and held out his hand. “Or give it to me.” His eyes were fixed on the pistol. It might be a double bluff; we could not be certain, with a man so crafty. Sahin held it out — and then the knife flashed and Ramses stumbled back and fell, blood spurting from his side. Nefret flung herself down beside him. “You never learn, do you?” Sahin shook his head regretfully. “You really ought to give up this line of work, my boy.” Emerson had not stirred. “Nefret?” he asked softly. Her quick surgeon’s hands had slowed the flow of blood. “It’s . . . not too bad,” she said. “But now, you see, there are only three of you,” Sahin said. “And I lied when I said the gun was not loaded. Do I take the ladies on next?” “Yes,” I said, and swung my parasol. It was one of my better efforts, if I do say so. The gun flew out of Sahin’s hand and fell with a clatter onto the tiled floor. “Ah,” Emerson breathed. “Well done, Peabody. Get the gun.” “Take my parasol, then.” I pulled out the little sword and forced the weapon into Emerson’s hand. Sahin Pasha let out a guffaw. Emerson swore, but he got the blade up just in time to parry a wicked cut at his good arm. “I lied again,” said the Turk, grinning. “The gun is empty.” “We will see about that,” I replied. I pointed the weapon out the window and squeezed the trigger. There was no explosion, only a click. “Curse it,” I remarked. “This is so entertaining I hate to end it,” said Sahin Pasha. “Professor, I admire you, I respect you, and I do not want to injure you. Anyhow, my reputation would never be the same if I overcame a man armed with a parasol who has only one serviceable arm. I accept your offer. Put down the . . .” A gurgle of amusement escaped him. “The umbrella.” “Oh, come, don’t insult my intelligence,” said Emerson in exasperation. “You have no intention of giving yourself up, and I have no intention of allowing you to take my son prisoner again. I cannot imagine how you could accomplish it, but I do not underestimate you. En garde.” Ramses pulled himself to a sitting position. “Be careful, Father. He doesn’t —” “Fight like a gentleman? Well, well. Neither do I.” He bent his knee and lunged. A cry of alarm escaped me. It was almost certainly the most ineffective move he could have made. The blade of the sword was only three inches longer than that of Sahin’s knife. The Turk didn’t even bother to parry it. One quick step backward took him out of range, and as Emerson straightened, staggering a little, the Turk’s knife drove at his side. It sank with a crunch into the plaster encasing Emerson’s raised forearm and stuck, just long enough. Emerson dropped the parasol and hit the other man in the stomach. Rather below the stomach, to be accurate. “Oh, Emerson,” I gasped. “Oh, my dear! That was magnificent!” “Most ungentlemanly,” said my husband, contemplating the writhing, wheezing form of his foe. “But I was never much good with a parasol.”

The capture of the chief of the Turkish secret service ended any doubts the military might have entertained about letting us leave. General Chetwode himself called to congratulate us, accompanied by several of his staff. We had quite a time getting rid of them. “Medals again,” Emerson grumbled. “They seem to think we intended this all along.” “You encouraged them to think so,” Ramses said. At Nefret’s insistence he was reclining on one of the divans. She had had to put a few stitches into the cut, which had bled copiously. “It was inspired lying, Father.” “At least we got a bottle of whiskey out of them,” Emerson said complacently. “Much more useful than medals. Here, my boy, this will put a little color into your face.” “I would like some too,” said Esin. “Spirits are not suitable for young ladies,” I said, sipping my own whiskey appreciatively. It had been quite a busy day, what with one thing and another, and I was not in a good humor with the girl. After we freed her she carried on quite extravagantly, and she had accepted the news of her father’s capture with unbecoming equanimity. “Aren’t you at all concerned about your father?” I asked. “What will happen to him?” “He is a prisoner of war,” Emerson said. “Do you want to see him before we leave? I can probably arrange that.” “No.” She shivered. “He tried to take me away. He says he loves me, but he will not allow me to do what I want. Is that love?” “Sometimes,” Nefret said. The silence that followed was broken by a penetrating shriek from outside the house. I could not make out all the words, but there were references to the will of Allah and the blessings of various prophets, up to and including the greatest, that is, Mohammed. When Sir Edward had arrived on the scene, I did not know, but he must have seen the military go off with their prisoner. This was his farewell to us, and none of us doubted that his chief would soon be informed of the news. Emerson smiled. “Clever beggar, isn’t he?” Selim, who had missed all the excitement and was still brooding about it, said under his breath, “Beggar. Yes. He is a clever man. And so is —” He broke off, with a glance at me. “We will talk about it later, Selim,” I said, as softly as he had done. “As you say, Sitt. So — it is over?” “Yes. It is over.”

PART THREE

The Handof the God

12

Sped on by every assistance the military could provide, we reached Cairo in less than two days. Selim left us off at Shepheard’s just in time for tea. He was to take the motorcar on to a prearranged location and leave it. What would become of it after that I did not know and did not ask; I was only happy to be rid of the thing, for I had feared Emerson — and Selim — would want to keep it. They did want to, very badly; but Emerson admitted it might be a trifle difficult to explain how we had acquired it. The terrace was crowded, and our appearance aroused a certain amount of ill-bred attention, even from acquaintances who ought not have been surprised at anything we did. I heard Mrs. Pettigrew’s trumpeting voice address her husband: “There are the Emersons again, Hector, looking even more disreputable than usual. It is positively embarrassing to be acquainted with them.” I waved my parasol at her in a conspicuous manner. There was some justice in her description; two days’ motoring on military roads does not improve an individual’s appearance, and our wardrobes had been deficient to start with. However, Ramses and Emerson in Arab dress, Nefret and I in sadly crumpled European attire, and Esin, enveloped in veils, as Nefret’s maidservant, occasioned no comment from the well-trained staff of Shepheard’s, and I was not surprised to learn our old rooms had been reserved for us. The luggage we had left was brought to us, so for the first time in days we were able to clean up and dress in proper clothing. There were a number of messages, most of them from Cyrus or Katherine, asking when we would return to Luxor. They had no news to report, except that Jumana was still sulking (Katherine’s word) or grieving (Cyrus’s). “We had better take the train tomorrow night,” I said. Emerson grunted. He had not found the message he hoped for. “What’s your hurry, Peabody? I thought you’d want to shop and do your usual social round.” “Replenishment of certain supplies would be expedient,” I agreed. “But I can accomplish that tomorrow. What do you say, Nefret? Do you want to spend some time at the hospital?” Nefret was watching Ramses, who had taken up the latest issue of the Egyptian Gazette. “I may run in for an hour or so, Mother, but I would just as soon go on to Luxor at once. Ramses?” “I am ready whenever you are” was the reply. “Is Ramses concealing something?” Emerson asked, when he and I were alone. “I expected he would be anxious to get back to work, but he sounded almost indifferent.” “I am pleased to find you more sensitive to your son’s feelings, Emerson. In this case I can interpret them for you.” “Pray do,” said Emerson coldly. “He was only exhibiting his usual consideration for the opinions of others, particularly those of Nefret. In fact I believe he would like to put this whole business behind him. You know,” I continued, sorting garments that required washing, “that when he is in the thick of the action, he rather enjoys it. He doesn’t have time to think about what he is doing. Later, when there is leisure for introspection, his overly active conscience reproaches him for employing and even enjoying violence. He is —” “I’m sorry I asked,” Emerson snarled. “I might have known you’d start talking psychology. When are you going to deliver the girl? I’m not sure I like that part of it. How do we know those bastards won’t bully or mistreat her?” “That is another thing that is bothering Ramses,” I said. “And do not berate me for talking psychology — you are as sentimental about the girl as he is. As for me, I shall be glad to be rid of the responsibility. You may rest assured, however, that I will not leave her until I am certain she will be treated kindly. I will take her to Ismailiya first thing tomorrow morning.” Emerson did not accompany us. He was afraid Esin would cry and plead. I thought she might too, so I did not attempt to change his mind. I could not dissuade Ramses from coming, however. He had that stubborn set to his mouth. Esin was wearing one of Nefret’s frocks. She was somewhat stouter than Nefret, but this dress had a loose fit and an adjustable belt. It did not become her. I had not told her what was in store for her, in part because I do not believe in anticipating trouble and in part because I wasn’t certain myself. It all depended on what, and whom, we found at that address in Ismailiya. It looked respectable, at any rate — a house set in its own gardens, built in the European style of the previous century. Esin let Ramses help her out of the cab and looked admiringly at the house. “It is very modern. Are we paying a visit?” “Yes,” I said. The door was opened by a manservant, who led us into a nicely furnished sitting room. We were expected, it seemed; he had not asked our names, and we had only been waiting a few minutes before a lady entered the room — the lady Smith had introduced as his sister. “Mrs. Bayes!” I exclaimed. “So you are —” “Very pleased to see you again,” the lady cut in smoothly. “Mr. Emerson, a pleasure. And this is Miss Sahin? Welcome, my dear. Did Mrs. Emerson tell you you are to stay with me for a while?” “Am I? Must I?” She gave Ramses an imploring look. “Am I a prisoner of war too?” “Not in the least,” Mrs. Bayes said heartily. “You are an honored guest. Come along and I will show you your room. I think you will like it. I know you came away in a hurry, so perhaps later we can shop for some new clothes. There are many fine shops in the Muski.” “I saw them,” Esin said slowly. She looked from Mrs. Bayes, who was holding out her hand and smiling sweetly, to me — I bared my teeth, not nearly so sweetly — and then to Ramses. “I am to go with her? Will I see you again?” He had known it would be easier for her, and for me, if he was there to reassure her. I saw him brace himself for a round of comforting clichés. “You must have known you could not stay with us, Esin. Mrs. Bayes will take good care of you, and one day . . . one day . . . uh . . .” “We will meet again? You will not forget me?” “Never,” Ramses assured her. “I will never forget you.” She extended her hand at an awkward angle. Resignedly, Ramses kissed it. “One never knows what the future will bring, Esin,” he said. “We will think of you often, and if you ever need our help, you have only to ask.” Her black eyes took on a dreamy look. “I read a book, an English book, where the lady sent a red rose to the man she loved, the man she had given up for duty. If I send you a rose, will you come?” Ramses gathered himself for a final, valiant effort. “From the ends of the earth, Esin.” Mrs. Bayes had followed the exchange with poorly concealed amusement. “Well done,” she murmured, and put a friendly arm round Esin. “Do not prolong the pain of farewell, my dear. Will you two wait here, please? Someone wishes to speak with you.” She led the girl out. Ramses blew out his breath. “Is it all right, do you think? Mrs. Bayes seems kind.” “And she has a sense of humor. That is a good sign. You did splendidly, Ramses.” The servant entered with a tray and poured coffee. “Very conventional,” I said, accepting the cup he handed me. “Do you want to guess the identity of the person who wishes to speak to us?” “No need to guess,” Ramses said. “He’s been behind this all along.” It was indeed the Honorable Algernon Bracegirdle-Boisdragon whom the servant ushered in. He came straight to me, his hands extended, his thin lips stretched in a smile. “Mrs. Emerson. What can I say?” “A great deal, I trust. I do not know that I care to take your hand.” “I cannot say I blame you.” He turned to Ramses, who had risen, and his smile faded. “Sit down, please. I heard of your injury. You may not want to take my hand either, but I must express my thanks and admiration. You accomplished everything we hoped, and more.” “It wasn’t I, as you are well aware,” Ramses said. “You knew when you sent me after Ismail Pasha that he was no traitor. He was acting with your knowledge and under your orders.” “The danger to him was real,” the other man said soberly. “Military intelligence knew nothing of our plans. Call it interservice rivalry if you like, but they can’t be trusted, and they disapprove of what they consider our unorthodox methods.” “So,” I said, “your group is distinct from all those departments with confusing initials and meaningless numbers?” “They are confusing, aren’t they?” Smith agreed with a sardonic smile. “MO, EMSIB, MIa, b, and c . . . We don’t go in for that sort of thing, Mrs. Emerson. Ours is a long and honorable history, going all the way to the sixteenth century. Cardinal Wolsey and Thomas Cromwell —” “The Tudors, of course,” I said with a sniff. “They wouldbe the ones to foster spying and subterfuge. Spare us the history lesson, please.” “As you like. You are correct in assuming that our mutual friend was following our agenda. He had several purposes; removing Sahin Pasha was only one of them. Another was to investigate the network in Constantinople. We had warned Ml that the man running that group was a double agent. They didn’t believe us. Sethos got rid of the fellow by persuading the Turks that he had betrayed them — which was true. The trouble with him is that he plays his roles too well! I learned that my bumble-headed counterparts in military intelligence were planning to assassinate him. The only way of preventing that was to persuade you to go after him. If I had told them who he was and what he was doing, the word would have spread, and sooner or later it would have reached the ears of the enemy.” Ramses shook his head doubtfully. “Your solution was somewhat chancy. What if they hadn’t accepted me?” Smith leaned forward, his hands clasped. “You continue to astonish me. Surely you know that your reputation is second only to that of your — that of Sethos. There’s not an intelligence officer in Egypt who wouldn’t give his right hand to enlist you. Cartright is an ass — military to the core, and he’s held a grudge against you since you fooled him several years ago, but he knew you were the only man who could get into Gaza undetected.” “And get Lieutenant Chetwode in. I did wonder,” Ramses said deliberately, “whether the whole point of that operation was to convince the Turks of the genuineness of Ismail’s conversion.” Under his steady gaze, Smith shifted uncomfortably. “You don’t trust any of us, do you? The only way that scheme could have succeeded was to have the Turks identify you and/or Chetwode as British agents. Believe it or not, we don’t risk our people so callously.” “Not when they are as valuable as my son,” I said. “Touché, Mrs. Emerson. You are correct, of course. Cartright’s group isn’t especially subtle; they wanted Ismail dead, and they were willing to hazard two men to accomplish it. To do them justice, none of them has the least idea of the difficulties involved in operating behind enemy lines; they still think of Johnny Turk as incompetent and cowardly.” “But you knew,” I snapped. “And you let them send Ramses —” “I had every confidence in his ability to get in and out undetected.” “I’m flattered,” said Ramses, his lip curling. “Easy for me to say, you mean? You have every right to feel that way. But the last I heard, Cartright had agreed to your proposal of a reconnaissance and nothing more. It never occurred to me that even Cartright would be stupid enough to go ahead with his little assassination attempt. And, naturally, I assumed you would come back with information that would prove Ismail wasn’t Sethos, even if you had to invent it. The last thing we wanted was to have you fall into the hands of the Turks — particularly those of Sahin. He’d been suspicious of Ismail from the start, and he hoped that Ismail would betray himself by trying to free you.” Ramses’s tight lips relaxed into a faint smile. “He’s a clever man, but trying to stay one step ahead of Sethos is a hopeless job. Using the girl was brilliant.” “If that hadn’t worked, he’d have got you out some other way,” Smith said brusquely. “Whatever it took.” “He told you that?” I asked. “He didn’t have to tell me. I know him rather well. So. Is there anything else you want to know?” He had already said more than he had meant to say, and Ramses was looking decidedly uncomfortable. I rose. “Only your assurance that the young woman will be treated well.” “We don’t war on women, Mrs. Emerson. She’ll be questioned courteously but intensively, and I expect we will get quite a lot out of her; she’s an inquisitive creature, I understand. I imagine she’ll enjoy being the center of attention.” After a moment he added, “I cannot insist that you refrain from mentioning her to Ml — or any of those other confusing numbers — but I assure you she will be happier with us than she would be with them.” “They will find out eventually, won’t they? Her father knows she is with us.” “If Sahin Pasha is as intelligent a man as I believe him to be, he will not volunteer any more information than is necessary to keep them from hanging him.” He added, with a rather attractive smile, “With any luck, he should be able to hold them off until the war is over.” “May that day be soon in coming,” I said with a sigh. “Amen,” said Mr. Smith. “One more thing,” I said, drawing on my gloves. “Yes, of course. He asked me to give you his regards and tell you he will ‘turn up,’ as he put it, before long.” “Thank you.” “Not at all.” He himself showed us to the door. “If there is ever anything I can do for you, or any member of your family —” “The kindest thing you can do for us is leave us strictly alone.” I swept past him in my best style. “All the same,” I said to Ramses, when we were again in the cab, “I don’t think as badly of him as I do of some of the others. Cartright lied to us. Chetwode did not act without his authorization, did he?” “Chetwode is another military pedant; he wouldn’t dare act without orders. They don’t think of it as lying, you know. Expediency, necessity, ‘whatever it takes to get the job done.’ Chetwode fooled me, though,” Ramses added, in chagrin. “That air of inept innocence was put on. He couldn’t have escaped from Gaza so handily if he had been as incompetent as he seemed.” “He counted on your sense of decency and loyalty to assist him,” I said. “Naïveté, rather. Sahin was right, I’ll never get the hang of the business.” I took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Decency and loyalty have not prevented you from succeeding.” Ramses shrugged the compliment away. “It’s over, anyhow, thank God. I’m looking forward to seeing the family again.” “There is one thing I didn’t ask,” I said. “Only one? And what is that?” “Sethos’s real name. Bracegirdle-Boisdragon must know.” The lines furrowing Ramses’s brow disappeared. “I suppose he must, he admitted having examined various records, which would presumably include a birth certificate. I hadn’t given the matter much thought.” “Hadn’t you wondered at all? I have. It couldn’t be Thomas, could it? After his father?” “It doesn’t suit him.” “Well, but when one gives a newborn infant a name, one cannot predict how it will turn out.” Ramses gave me a curious look. “As in my case,” he suggested. “Walter doesn’t suit you,” I agreed. “But no one ever calls you that. William? Frederick? Albert?” “Robert,” said Ramses, entering into the spirit of the thing. “No, something more distinctive. Perhaps his mother was fond of poetry. Byron? Wordsworth?” The subject entertained us for the rest of the drive. I was happy to see I had got Ramses’s mind off the recent unpleasantness. He had done his duty with regard to Esin, not even flinching at that appalling promise — “from the ends of the earth” indeed! — and was more at ease about her. Getting back to Luxor and to the dig would complete the cure. When we returned to the hotel we found both Nefret and Emerson missing. She had left a message for Ramses, telling him she had gone to the hospital and promising to be back in time for luncheon. There was no message from Emerson. “Where do you suppose he has gone?” I asked, in considerable irritation. “To the railroad station, perhaps,” Ramses suggested. “I believe he wants to take the train this evening.” “I trust that is agreeable to you and Nefret, Ramses. Did he do you the courtesy of asking?” “So far as I am concerned, the sooner we leave Cairo, the better.” True to her word, Nefret turned up in good time, to report that all was well at the hospital and that she was perfectly agreeable to a departure that evening. I suspected her motives were the same as mine; I wanted no more encounters with General Murray or any of his lot. We had done our duty and more, we had handed over a very important prisoner to the military, and we had reported (some of) our activities to General Chetwode. They could ask no more of us; but they probably would, if we stayed in Cairo. “Isn’t Father back yet?” she asked. “I made him go with me to the hospital so that I could X-ray his arm and replace the cast, but that was hours ago.” Another hour passed with no sign of Emerson. Nefret suggested we order coffee and biscuits, adding with a rueful smile, “My appetite has become outrageous since Gaza. I suppose it’s because we ate such peculiar things at such peculiar hours.” “No doubt,” I said. The minutes dragged by. Finally I heard the unmistakable thud of Emerson’s heavy steps, and the door was flung open. A cry of indignation burst from my lips. “Emerson, how many times must I tell you not to use that cast like a battering ram? And why aren’t you wearing your coat? And your cravat? And —” Emerson glanced in mild surprise at his arm. “Forgot,” he said, tossing his crumpled coat onto the floor. “Coffee? Good. How did it go?” “How did what . . . ? Oh, Esin. It is all settled and she is in good hands. Where the devil have you been?” Emerson sipped his coffee. Ramses leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. “Shall I hazard a guess?” “If you like,” said Emerson, rolling his eyes at me. “Hilmiya.” “Oh, Emerson, you didn’t!” I cried. “I had to, didn’t I? What the devil, the crafty bastard did me a favor — two favors, in fact.” “How did you get into the camp?” Ramses asked curiously. “Walked up to the gate and announced myself,” said his father, holding out his cup for me to refill it. “El-Gharbi was not surprised to see me — he had heard of our return. He seems to hear everything. He wanted me to pay him for the damage to the motorcar.” “Did you?” Nefret asked, torn between amusement and disgust. “No. His people had stolen the thing, hadn’t they? I assured him,” said Emerson, with another wary glance at me, “that I would speak on his behalf. Exile, to his village in Upper Egypt, would satisfy him and settle my debt.” “Oh, dear,” I murmured. “Well, Emerson, you acted according to your lights, I suppose. Go and clean up, it is past time for luncheon.” I followed him into our room, for I knew that if I did not assist his ablutions he would get the cast wet. “I trust el-Gharbi was properly appreciative,” I said, assisting him to remove his shirt. “In his fashion. He said something rather strange.” “What? Let me do that, Emerson.” I took the dripping washcloth from his hand. “ ‘The young serpent also has poisoned fangs.’ ” “I beg your pardon, Emerson?” “Those were his precise words, Peabody. I haven’t the vaguest idea what they mean, but it has the ring of a warning, doesn’t it?” “Hmm. Perhaps he was referring to Jamil.” I put the washcloth down and picked up a towel. “The warning comes a bit late,” said Emerson. “But that is how soothsayers and fortune-tellers and such individuals make their reputations, by predicting what has already happened. The devil with it, and el-Gharbi. I stopped by the railroad station and made reservations. We will take the train tonight.”

I did not wire ahead. We would probably arrive before the telegram was delivered, and Fatima always kept the house in perfect order. The happy surprise I had planned for her and the others was spoiled, however, by the network of gossip that encompasses Luxor. By the time we reached the house, the whole family was on the veranda waiting for us. Sennia darted at Ramses, shouting, “See how much taller and stronger I am?” Before any of us could stop her, she had thrown her arms round him in one of her gigantic hugs. We always pretended to be left breathless by her strength, but she knew at once that his gasp of pain was not feigned, and began fussing and apologizing. She made him sit down and lifted both his feet onto a stool. “You’ve been and got yourselves into trouble again,” said Gargery sternly. “Was it that Master Criminal chap? I trust, sir and madam, that he isn’t going to turn up here. We’ve got enough problems without that.” “What sort of problems?” I asked. “There is no trouble, Sitt,” said Fatima, with a reproachful glance at Gargery. “Rest and I will bring tea.” Gargery would not be silenced. “It’s mostly these young women, madam. That girl that was working for Miss Nefret has been round saying you promised to find her a husband. She’s got a chap in mind and wants you to pin him down before he can get away.” We all laughed except Sennia, who was still fussing over Ramses. “She didn’t put it that way, surely,” Nefret said. “She keeps coming round,” said Gargery gloomily. “And then there’s Jumana. Won’t eat, won’t talk, won’t work. It puts a person off, madam, just seeing that gloomy face. And Mrs. Vandergelt —” “Enough, Gargery,” Emerson snarled. “Can’t we have a single day of peace and quiet? No one is desperately ill, no one is dead, no one is missing? Good. Mrs. Emerson will deal with these minor difficulties in due time.” “Thank you, my dear,” I said. The sarcasm was wasted on Emerson. “Good to be back,” he declared with great satisfaction. “No use asking Gargery how things are going at Deir el Medina, but I expect Vandergelt will be here before long, with his own list of complaints. Never a dull moment, eh? Sennia, you haven’t given me a kiss. My arm is bothering me quite a lot.” Cyrus was courteous enough not to disturb us for the greater part of the day. We were sitting on the veranda admiring the lovely sunset colors, as the calls of the muezzins drifted across the desert in a melodious medley, when he turned up, riding Queenie. “Figured I’d arrive in time for drinks,” he remarked, handing the reins to the stableman. “Sure good to have you folks back. I hear Ramses has had another little — er — accident. I don’t suppose I should ask where you’ve been and what you’ve been up to.” “No,” said Emerson. He handed Cyrus a glass. It was the answer Cyrus had expected. He accepted it, and the glass of whiskey, with a smile. “Sure have missed you. Maybe you can do something with Jumana. She’s just wasting away, poor little girl.” “No, she is not,” I assured him. “Nefret and I both examined her this afternoon. She is somewhat off-color, since she hasn’t left the house for days, but she hasn’t lost an ounce.” “But Fatima said —” “She has only picked at her meals. That means she is eating on the sly. I prescribed a particularly nasty-tasting tonic.” “She’s been putting it on?” Cyrus demanded. “It’s not that simple, Cyrus,” Nefret said thoughtfully. “Her unhappiness is genuine. She isn’t deliberately deceiving us, but I think — and Heaven knows I am no expert — that her natural youthful optimism is engaged in a mental struggle with her sense of guilt. I honestly don’t know whether to slap her or coddle her.” “Put her to work,”said Emerson. “Always the best medicine. How are things going at Deir el Medina, Vandergelt?” “ ’Bout the same. Found two more tombs. Empty.” “You haven’t broken your promise to me, I hope,” I said. “I haven’t been in the southwest wadis, if that’s what you mean. But if you think I’ve forgotten what that young villain said, you’re wrong. I haven’t been able to sleep, wondering what he meant. ‘The hand of the god.’ What god? Where?” Cyrus held out his empty glass. In silent sympathy, Emerson refilled it. He had no patience with psychology, but this distress he could understand. Cyrus went on, in mounting passion, “I even went back into that darned shrine — the one where we found the statue of Amon last year. Well, he’s a god, isn’t he? Bertie and I examined every inch of the darned room. The walls and floor are solid.” “Bah,” said Emerson. “Stop wasting time on fantasies, Vandergelt.” “Don’t be a hypocrite, Emerson,” I said. “We have all been speculating and guessing and theorizing. It is a pretty little problem. Supposing Jamil was not trying to mislead or tantalize us, which may well have been the case, there are a good many gods shown on a good many wall surfaces in Thebes. Deir el Bahri, Medinet Habu, every tomb on the West Bank — What is it, Cyrus?” “Excuse me, Amelia, I didn’t mean to interrupt. You just reminded me. This little piece of news ought to get your attention, Emerson,” he added, with a grimace at my husband. “Give you three guesses who has started an excavation in the Valley of the Kings.” Emerson’s look of lofty indifference turned to a scowl. “Without official permission? Confound it, Vandergelt —” “Not the Albions?” I exclaimed. “Might have known you’d hit it on the head first time,” said Cyrus. “You’re both right. It’s Joe and his family, and they don’t have official permission.” “And you let them?” Emerson demanded. “I notified Cairo. That was all I could do, as Joe gleefully pointed out to me. I haven’t got the authority to stop them.” “Where in the Valley?” Ramses asked. “In that southern branch of the wadi near Number Twenty — Hatshepsut’s tomb.” “Why there, I wonder?” Ramses said. “Dunno. It’s off the regular tourist track, so maybe they hoped they wouldn’t be spotted right away. Can’t think of any other reason why they would pick that area.” “Damnation,” muttered Emerson. “I had intended to start work first thing tomorrow morning. Now I will have to waste several hours expelling the Albions.” “How do you propose to do that?” I inquired. “You haven’t the authority either, and if you lay violent hands on any one of them — especially Mrs. Albion —” “Good Gad, Peabody, have you ever known me to lay violent hands on a woman? There are ways,” said Emerson, stroking his chin. “There are ways.” “Well, I sure don’t want to miss that,” Cyrus declared. “I’ll be waiting for you in the morning. You’ll all dine with us tomorrow evening, I hope. Katherine is anxious to see you.” Ramses and Nefret decided they did not want to miss it either. I went along to make certain Emerson behaved himself. Jumana went along because I insisted. Nefret’s diagnosis might be correct — it was in keeping with the principles of psychology I favored — but she had confessed herself uncertain as to the appropriate treatment. I had my own ideas on that subject. If my methods were not effective, at least they could do no harm. Jumana ate very little at breakfast, but I had checked the larder before retiring and again when I arose, and was not surprised to find that half a loaf of bread and a chicken breast had disappeared overnight. It was no wonder Fatima had not noticed anything amiss. The larder was open to everyone in the house, and Sennia had an appetite quite out of proportion to her little frame. Cyrus and Bertie had been looking out for us and joined us at the end of the track that led up to the Castle. It was a bright, beautiful morning with clear skies; after the fog of Cairo and the rainy weather of Palestine, I appreciated Luxor even more. “How well you look, Bertie,” I said. “The foot is completely healed?” “Yes, ma’am, thank you. I need not ask if you are in good health; you are blooming, as usual. We had heard that Ramses —” “The reports were exaggerated,” Ramses said with a smile. “As you can see.” “And your arm, Professor?” Bertie asked. “A confounded nuisance,” said Emerson. “Can we get on now? I want to finish this little job, so I can start work.” Bertie was not given the opportunity to ask after the person who interested him most. Jumana had not spoken to him or to Cyrus. She sat slumped in the saddle, her head bowed and her pretty mouth twisted. The taste of the medicine I had insisted she take lingered on the tongue. We left the horses in the donkey park and proceeded on foot, along paths long familiar to us. I should explain that the Valley of the Kings is not a single long canyon. From above it resembles a lobed leaf, like that of an oak or maple, with side wadis branching off to left and right. The tomb of Hatshepsut was at the far end of one of these branches. We had worked in that area before and knew it well. The tourists had come early to the Valley in order to avoid the heat of midday. We were not so early as Emerson would have liked, but in part it was his own fault; he had wasted some time playing with the Great Cat of Re, who had come to breakfast with Ramses and Nefret. It had grown quite fat, through overfeeding (by Sennia — she claimed to have been training it, to do what I could not imagine). She had also combed and brushed it every day, so that its fur had become long and silky. Emerson was highly entertained by its antics. As it leaped at the bit of chicken he dangled above it, it looked like a bouncing ball of fluff. (Horus’s look of contempt as he watched this degrading performance was equally entertaining.) However, when we left the house it declined to ride on his shoulder and climbed onto that of Ramses. “Must we take it?” he asked. “You rather overdid the grooming, Sennia, its fur is all over my face.” “His,” said Sennia. “Yes, you must take him. What if you were attacked by a snake? I am coming too.” So that caused another delay. I did not want her to see — or hear — Emerson evicting the Albions. He was bound to lose his temper and employ bad language. We pacified her by promising to stop back at the house and take her to Deir el Medina, and distracted her by asking her to help Fatima prepare a very elaborate picnic basket. Draped over Ramses’s shoulder, with his tail hanging down behind, the Great Cat of Re resembled a luxuriant fur piece. Several ladies wanted to stroke him; several gentlemen stared and laughed. Among the latter was Mr. Lubancic, whom I had met at Cyrus’s soiree. “Still here, are you?” I called, as we passed. “Yes, ma’am. What on earth —” “Another time.” I waved. Emerson had not slowed his pace. The signs of energetic activity were visible some distance off; a cloud of dust blurred the brilliant blue of the sky, and voices rose in one of the chants with which Egyptians lighten their work. The sight we beheld when we reached the spot was unusual enough to bring us all to a halt. In the background a group of men were digging and hauling away debris. In the foreground, some distance from the dust and racket, was a little kiosk, a sturdy wooden frame with a roof and sides of canvas. Two of the canvas side pieces had been rolled up, and under the canopy, comfortably seated in armchairs, were the three Albions. Oriental rugs covered the ground; a table was spread with various articles of food and drink, over which a turbaned servant stood guard with a fly whisk. Another servant waved a fan over Mrs. Albion. She wore a frock that would have been suitable for tea at Buckingham Palace, and a hat wreathed with chiffon veiling. Mr. Albion had adopted what he believed to be proper archaeologist’s attire: riding breeches and boots, a tweed coat, and a very large solar topee. His son was similarly attired, but since he was a good deal taller than Mr. Albion, he did not so closely resemble a mushroom. One of the workmen came trotting up to Mr. Albion with a bit of stone in his hand. Albion took it, glanced at it, and tossed it away. He then condescended to notice us. “Morning, folks. Out bright and early, are you?” “Not so early as you,” said Emerson, advancing with shoulders squared and brows thunderous. “You have been told, I believe, that you are in violation of Lord Carnarvon’s firman. Close down your excavation at once.” “Who’s gonna make us?” Mr. Albion inquired. He looked even more cherubic, his eyes twinkling and his lips pursed. “You?” “Yes,” said Emerson. “Oh, yes.” “Father, if I may?” Sebastian Albion had got to his feet. “Not everyone appreciates your sense of humor. Won’t you sit down, ladies and gentlemen, and discuss the situation? Mrs. Emerson, please take my chair. I’m afraid the rest of you will have to — er —” “Squat,” said Nefret, doing so. “Let’s hear what they have to say, Father. It won’t cause much of a delay and it might be amusing.” “I agree,” said Ramses, subsiding with boneless ease onto the rug beside Nefret and crossing his legs. “Amusing,” Mr. Albion repeated. “Yes, sirree, that’s our aim in life, to amuse people and be polite. Here, young lady, take my chair. We heard you’ve been ailing.” Jumana started, and so, I believe, did we all. Such gallantry was not only unexpected but was, in my opinion, highly suspicious. “No, thank you,” she stammered. “Sir.” “I insist.” He was on his feet, his face wreathed in smiles. “Sebastian, you persuade her.” “With pleasure.” The young man offered his hand. Jumana blushed and ducked her head. “Sit down, Jumana,” I ordered. “Since Mr. Albion is kind enough to offer.” Mrs. Albion ignored this little byplay. She was leaning forward with the first sign of amiable interest I had seen her display. “What a beautiful cat. What is its name?” “The Great Cat of Re,” I replied. “You would call it Fluffy, I suppose.” Mr. Albion chuckled. “No, she gives her cats names like Grand Duchess Olga of Albion. Fond of the creatures. I put up with ‘em because she’s fond of ’em.” “Now see here,” Emerson exclaimed. “I will be cursed if I will spend the morning talking about cats. What do you people think you are doing?” Sebastian Albion removed his eyeglasses, wiped them on a handkerchief, and replaced them. “As you have no doubt observed, sir, we are clearing the tomb of Prince Mentuherkhepshef. It was found by Belzoni and reexamined in 1905 by —” “Don’t tell me facts I know better than you,” Emerson interrupted. Curiosity had weakened his wrath, however; the Albions were so blandly outrageous, it was difficult to remain angry with them. And Sebastian had pronounced the prince’s name correctly. He knew more about Egyptology than we had supposed. “What do you hope to find?” Emerson went on. “The tomb is empty. Ayrton, who was here in 1905, found only a few scraps. The paintings . . . oh, good Gad!” He whirled round and ran toward the workmen. A stentorian bellow stopped diggers and basket men, and as the cloud of dust subsided, Emerson vanished into the dark opening of the tomb. He was out again in ten seconds, waving his fists. “Someone has been hacking at the walls. There was a painting of the prince offering to Khonsu —” “Defaced or missing?” Ramses asked. “Missing. Completely cut out, leaving a great hole. Probably in pieces. Curse it!” “We didn’t do it,” Sebastian hastened to say. “We haven’t touched the paintings.” “You aren’t doing them any good,” Emerson retorted furiously. “All that dust and debris floating about . . . My patience is at an end. Stop work at once.” “What are you going to do, carry us out of here bodily?” Mr. Albion inquired. “There’s nothing to stop us from coming back.” “Your workmen won’t come back. I am about to put a curse on the place. They won’t dare go near it after that, and neither will any of the other men on the West Bank.” “You better listen, Joe,” Cyrus advised. “The Professor’s curses are famous around here.” “That so?” Mr. Albion’s eyes narrowed until they virtually disappeared. Then they resumed their normal appearance and a smile fattened his cheeks. “Well, I guess we know how to give in gracefully, eh, Sebastian? It’s a shame about those fellows, they really need the work.” That aspect of the matter had not occurred to Emerson. It did not affect his decision, but I could see he was moved by it. He stood for a moment in thought, fingering the cleft in his chin. “It’s a new tomb you’re after, I presume? That’s what every dilettante wants. There are one or two areas I’ve been meaning to explore for some time. Very promising sites.” Mrs. Albion had been stroking the Great Cat of Re, who politely permitted the liberty. (I had hoped it would hiss or scratch.) She looked up at Emerson. “Where are these sites, Professor?” We delayed long enough to see the men begin to dismantle the comfortable little tent, and Mrs. Albion lifted, armchair and all, onto the shoulders of the servants. She was extremely gracious, though not to me; she thanked Emerson for his advice, spared a frosty smile for Jumana, and shook a playful finger at Ramses when he rose and settled the Great Cat of Re more securely onto his shoulder. “You really ought to select a more appropriate name for that charming creature, Mr. Emerson. The name of a lovely Egyptian goddess, perhaps? Hathor or Isis.” “I fear that would not be appropriate, ma’am,” Ramses replied. “The cat is not of the female sex — uh — gender.” “I may have been mistaken about Mrs. Albion,” I admitted, as we walked away. “Cats are generally good judges of character. Playfulness does not become her, however. What on earth were you thinking of, Emerson, proposing other sites for them? You have no right to do anything of the sort.” “Good Gad, Peabody, I expected you would approve of my mild methods.” Striding along, hands in his pockets, Emerson glanced at me in feigned surprise. “I am familiar with men of Albion’s character; if I had not offered them alternatives, they would simply have moved to some other forbidden area. I can’t put curses on every site on the West Bank.” “But the southwest wadis? The Valley of the Queens?” “The entrance to the Valley of the Queens,” Emerson corrected. “There’s nothing of interest there. If they mount an expedition to the southwest wadis I will be surprised; it’s too far and too uncomfortable. Besides, you heard my condition. They will hire Soleiman Hassan as their reis. I will make sure he reports to me the instant they find anything — which is, in my opinion, unlikely. Why are you looking so glum, Vandergelt?” “I kinda hoped for more fireworks,” Cyrus admitted. “Don’t count on Joe doing what you told him, Emerson. He holds a grudge against people who try to order him around.” “Bah,” said Emerson. “They were very polite,” Jumana murmured. “Yes,” I said thoughtfully. We collected Sennia and the picnic basket — and a reluctant but dogged Gargery — and went on to Deir el Medina, where we were forced to listen to another lecture, this one from Daoud. Selim had regaled him and a select audience with an edited version of our recent adventures, and Daoud was vibrating with indignation. We had to apologize for leaving him behind and promise never to do it again. “So Daoud knows all about it,” Cyrus remarked. His voice was mild but his expression was severe. The same look of reproach marked Bertie’s features. “You promised me, ma’am,” he began. “My dear boy, you must not take it personally. We don’t plan these things, you know; most of them just — well, they just happen.” “This one didn’t,” Cyrus said. “You were in the war zone, I got that much from what Daoud said. Do you have less confidence in us than you do in him?” “My sentiments exactly, ma’am,” said Bertie. “Of course not,” I said heartily. “We will tell you all about it this evening; how’s that?” “Precisely what are we going to tell them?” demanded Emerson, after he had succeeded in drawing me aside. I had had a little chat with Selim before we left Cairo. I knew Ramses had told him part of the story, and I felt fairly certain he had worked the rest of it out. He had known Sir Edward Washington; he had known a great deal about Sethos; he had been present on several occasions when we had discussed matters that would enable a clever man, which Selim was, to put the pieces together. So I took him into my confidence, holding nothing back. If any man deserved that confidence, it was he. “Ah,” said Selim, unsurprised. “I knew when I saw him clean-shaven that he must be a kinsman of the Father of Curses. They are very much alike. We do not speak of this to others, Sitt?” “Except for Ramses and Nefret, you are the only one who knows. We do not speak of it, even to Vandergelt Effendi.” His face brightened with gratified pride. “You can trust me, Sitt Hakim.” “I am sure I can. But now we must work out what we are to tell the others, including Daoud.” I repeated the conversation to Emerson, adding, “You may be sure Selim produced a thrilling narrative without giving anything important away. Anyhow, I am tired of all this confounded secrecy. The more tight-lipped and mysterious we are, the more suspicious people will be. A partial truth will put them off the track far better than silence.” “You may be right,” Emerson agreed. “I will leave it to you, then, my dear. What have you done with my field notes?” I found his notebook in the pile of papers he had brought, and set about erecting my little shelter. “I must say it looks rather pitiful compared with the Albions’s arrangement,” I remarked to Nefret, who was helping me. Nefret chuckled. “Did you ever see anything more ridiculous than Mrs. Albion in her armchair being hoisted aloft by those two poor fellows? God help either of them if he stumbles and spills her out. Mr. Albion would probably have him beheaded.” “What did you think of their excessive courtesy to Jumana? That young man is not still under the impression that he can — er — win her over, surely.” “Surely not,” Nefret said. “They were only trying to ingratiate themselves with us, Mother. And they succeeded. I’m like Cyrus; I was rather hoping Father would blow them to bits and perform one of his famous curses.” “Oh, were you?” said Emerson, appearing upon the scene. “I cannot imagine why everyone in this family is under the false impression that I am a violent and unreasonable man. Bring the camera, Nefret; we are about to start on a new section.”

FROM MANUSCRIPT H

Emerson stood staring up at the hillside, his hand shading his eyes. He was, as usual, without a hat. “May I have a moment of your time, Father?” Ramses asked. “What the devil is Bertie doing up there?” “Continuing his survey, I suppose. May I —” “Certainly, my boy, certainly. Something about that new section?” “No, sir. Something about the Albions. I would be happy to assist in whatever you’re planning, if you care to let me in on it.” Emerson’s eyes shifted warily from side to side, around, and behind. “Promise you won’t tell your mother?” “I’ll try not to. But you know how she —” “Yes, yes, I do know. But this time, by Gad, I think I’m one step ahead of her. Come over here where she can’t hear us.” His mother was two hundred feet away but Ramses let his father draw him aside. “Well, sir?” Emerson took out his pipe. “It struck me as somewhat strange that the Albions would select that particular part of the valley. There is no more reason to expect a big find there than anywhere else. Unless they had a hint from someone.” He lit a match and puffed. “A hint such as the fragment of wall painting?” Ramses asked. “Khonsu. He is a god and he has human hands.” “As do many other gods,” Emerson said. “But the Albions, for all Sebastian’s book learning, haven’t much experience, and at the moment they are at a loss as to where to look.” “For Jamil’s tomb?” “I see the idea does not surprise you. What made you think of it?” “I don’t like the Albions,” Ramses said. “Any of them.” “I am glad to see you are beginning to trust your instincts,” his father said approvingly. “As Mother would say —” Emerson’s scowl made him abandon that thought. “I don’t like their behavior toward Jumana,” Ramses elaborated. “Their attitude toward Egyptians is characteristic of their class and nationality — bigoted and prejudiced, in other words. After his initial blunder Sebastian has leaned over backward to be polite to her. Nefret thinks it is because they hope to ingratiate themselves with us, but there could be another reason.” His father nodded. “Go on.” “Let’s go at it from another direction. Jamil was getting financial support from someone. We assumed it was Yusuf, but there were those interesting items of European manufacture among his supplies. The Albions asked you to introduce them to a few tomb robbers. I don’t believe it was a joke. They had been asking around Gurneh, and Albion mentioned that ‘Mohammed’ had put them on to someone. What if that someone was Jamil?” “Mohassib’s first name is Mohammed,” Emerson said. “It might have been Mohassib, or Mohammed Hassan — or any one of several other Mohammeds. Those two are the most likely, however. Both had spoken with Jamil, both were afraid of him. What better way of conciliating him than to introduce him to a wealthy patron? Then Jamil was inconsiderate enough to get himself killed before he disclosed the location of the tomb. The Albions believe there’s a chance he confided in Jumana. An outside chance, but that’s what they have been reduced to.” “And Jamil promised that in exchange for their support he would sell them the objects from the tomb once he’d cleared it. My thought exactly.” “If I know Albion, he’d insist on more than promises,” Ramses said. “Oh, well done,” Emerson said approvingly. “Yes, he’d want proof of the find, and — a little something on account? Something as fine as the cosmetic jar?” “Possibly. It’s all conjecture, and we can’t . . . Father, no!” “Can’t do what?” said Emerson, fumbling with his pipe. He was too late; his face had betrayed him. “Search their rooms. Don’t deny it, Father, that is what you were thinking.” “You thought of it, too, or you wouldn’t have been so quick to read my mind.” The accusation was accurate, the grin conspiratorial, but Ramses tried to look stern. “That sort of thing is more in Mother’s line.” “We can’t have her doing something like that,” Emerson said. “It’s against the law.” Ramses couldn’t resist the grin. He began to laugh. “It’s a tempting thought, but not really practical. Even if we found illegal antiquities, we couldn’t confiscate them or prove where they came from. Jamil may have dropped enticing hints to the Albions, but they don’t seem to know any more than we do.” His father’s abstracted expression told him he hadn’t got the point across. “This is all conjecture,” he insisted. “Logical and consistent, but without substantiating evidence. We can’t even be certain that Jamil told the Albions about the hand of the god. It may have been pure coincidence that they chose to dig in that spot.” “Well, we will soon find out.” “Ah. Those alternate sites you suggested?” “Mmmm.” Emerson sucked on his pipe. “None of them has any connection with a divine representation. If the Albions are solely interested in excavation —” “Ramses!” His mother’s voice had considerable carrying power. Emerson twitched guiltily and Ramses turned. She was on her feet, waving some object at him. It appeared to be a large piece of pottery — an ostracon. Ramses waved back. “We may as well stop for lunch,” he said. “Sennia has told me twice already that she’s faint with hunger.” “Where is she?” Emerson turned, scanning the terrain. “Probably in the shelter, investigating the basket, which would explain why the Great Cat of Re has also abandoned us. I must speak to her about overfeeding the creature, it’s getting absolutely obese.” “He,” Emerson corrected. Sennia, and the cat, were where he expected. The others joined them in time to save most of the chicken. Ramses’s lecture was not as forceful as he had intended it to be; the hurt looks he got from two pairs of eyes, one pair big and black, the other pair round and clear-green as peridots, had a softening effect. Apologetically he offered the cat a piece of chicken. Sennia had collected a few ostraca too, but the one his mother had found was outstanding — larger than most, the hieratic clearly preserved. He was touched to see how her face brightened when he expressed his appreciation. “Was this in the fill?” he asked, holding it carefully by the edges. “I’m surprised that any of our fellows would overlook something so large.” “Curse it, Peabody,” Emerson mumbled through a bite of cheese, “have you been digging illicitly?” “How could you suppose I would do such a thing, Emerson? Ali brought it to me. It has been properly recorded.” “Oh. All right, then.” “What does it say?” Nefret asked, leaning over Ramses’s shoulder. A loosened lock of hair brushed his cheek. He twisted it around his finger and smiled at her. “It appears to be a prayer — to Hathor, Divine Mother, Lady of Fragrance.” “You can translate it later,” Emerson declared, wiping his fingers on his trousers. “I want to finish that section today.” “I trust you have not forgotten we are dining with Cyrus this evening,” his wife reminded him. Emerson groaned. Cyrus grinned. “I asked Selim too,” he said significantly. “Hmmm,” said Ramses’s mother. “Hmph,” said Emerson. “Bertie, you haven’t told me how you are getting on. Not that I have any right to ask, I suppose.” “Don’t be a dog in the manger,” his wife said. “You have every right to ask, sir,” Bertie said earnestly. “It’s going well, I think. I’ve got most of the known tombs located now. This is a working copy, of course; I keep the master copy at home and add to it every night.” “Well done.” Emerson slapped him on the back. “Now — back to work, eh?” Not until later that day was Ramses able to arrange a private conversation with his mother. “Do you really intend to tell Cyrus about Khan Yunus? You know, Mother, that the Official Secrets Act —” “I do not consider myself bound by any document to which I did not agree in advance,” said his mother. Her chin protruded even more than usual. “We must tell Cyrus something. It isn’t fair to him to keep him wholly in the dark. Ramses . . . dear . . .” She put her hand on his shoulder. “I know you would rather not talk or think of the affair again, but if you will brace yourself, one more time . . . You have my word that Selim’s narrative will not get me in trouble with the War Office!” “All right, Mother. Dear,” he added, with a smile that brought a faint flush to her cheeks. It had taken Katherine Vandergelt a while to become comfortable with their Egyptian friends. She had had to come to terms with her prejudices, or at least conceal them — his mother hadn’t left her any choice! No one but a boor could have treated Selim with less than the courtesy his fine manners and inherent dignity deserved; Katherine’s greeting was warm and friendly. She displayed even more warmth toward Jumana, whose pallor and morose expression obviously shocked her, and kept pressing delicacies on her. Jumana, who had not wanted to come, but had been made to, pushed the food around her plate and looked wistful. Cyrus’s majordomo had outdone himself — “to welcome them home.” The table glittered with crystal, and the silverware shone. After dinner they retired to the sitting room for coffee. Selim knew what was on the agenda. He had been perfectly at ease up till that time; now he began to fidget and tug at his beard. Stage fright? Or fear that he would forget the lines in which he had been coached by the great Sitt Hakim? “All right now, Amelia, we’re ready,” Cyrus said, settling himself comfortably in a deep armchair. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.” She smiled complacently and sipped her coffee. “Selim will tell it. Go ahead, Selim.” All eyes turned toward Selim, completing his discomfiture. As he confessed later to Ramses, he would rather have faced a horde of assailants, armed to the teeth, than those focused stares. He cleared his throat. “I am no storyteller,” he began in a voice several tones higher than his usual baritone. “Not like Daoud.” “All the better,” Cyrus said with a smile. “We know Daoud’s tendency to — er — embroider.” “Start with the motorcar,” Emerson suggested, seeing that Selim needed encouragement. “It was a fine motorcar, and you drove magnificently.” Once launched, Selim described the charms of the motorcar in loving detail and dwelled with excessive but pardonable enthusiasm on the perils of the long journey and his skill as a driver. “Khan Yunus is an ugly town, not like Luxor,” he declared. “There were many soldiers. The house of the friend of the Father of Curses was where we stayed; it was very dirty. It was there that the real adventure began!” “About time,” muttered Cyrus. “Khan Yunus, eh? What did you go there for?” Selim glanced at Ramses’s mother, who gave him an encouraging nod. He had got over his self-consciousness and was enjoying himself — as well he might, Ramses thought. Never, not even from his mother or Daoud, had he heard such a wild story. They had been summoned to Khan Yunus to rescue a beautiful maiden — the daughter of a Bedouin sheikh, their friend and ally — from the evil old man who had carried her off, with designs on her fortune and her virtue. It was Ramses who had gone after the maiden and succeeded, after many dangers, in rescuing her. Selim described some of the dangers, which included a duel with scimitars. Ramses covered his face with his hand. “He does not like to have his courage praised,” said Selim. “But it was not over. The evil old man sent men to take her back, and we had to fight them off and escape, in the night, with enemies pursuing us and the town in flames. We stole horses from under the very noses of the Australians! But I have not told you about the ragged beggar, who was a policeman in disguise — and a good disguise it was; he had fleas and smelled bad. The evil old man was a thief, you see, who had stolen jewels from many rich ladies and important antiquities from the Cairo Museum. The beggar was trying to catch him and bring him to justice, but in the end it was not he who captured the villain, it was Ramses.” “It was not,” Ramses exclaimed, driven beyond endurance. “It was Father, with —” “Hmph,” said Emerson loudly. “Very well told, Selim. You see, Vandergelt, it was just another of our attempts to assist the police. It is the duty of every citizen.” “How about the maiden?” Cyrus inquired. “You didn’t bring her home with you?” Selim sighed and looked soulful. “The — er — policeman took her away,” Ramses said. He’d had as much as he could stand. “He was her lover, I think,” Selim added. “Oh, I see. You mind if I ask a few questions, Selim?” Selim had enjoyed himself, once he got well under way, but he knew better than to risk an interrogation by Cyrus Vandergelt. He got hastily to his feet. “I must go. It is late. Thank you for your kind hospitality.” “Now see here, Amelia,” Cyrus exclaimed. “We mustn’t detain him, Cyrus, he has other responsibilities. Jumana, you are excused as well. Selim will take you home.” “But I want —” “You have been ill. You need your rest.” “I feel much better!” She looked almost her old self, eyes bright, cheeks pink. The eyes were fixed on Ramses, with an expression that made him want to run for cover. His mother snapped, “Do as you are told.” Ramses went to the door with Selim while Jumana was collecting her wrap. “I owe you for that, Selim,” he murmured. “I only said what the Sitt Hakim told me to. But why are you angry? I know what you did, and if I had done such things I would tell everyone. But,” Selim said, struck by a new idea, “we do it to make the men fear us and the women admire us, yes? All men fear the Brother of Demons, and you have won the heart of the only woman you want. When Nur Misur looks at you, it is as if the sun were shining in her eyes.” “I’m not angry, Selim.” Ramses embraced him in the Egyptian manner. “You are a good friend — and a shameless romantic.” “And what is wrong with that?” Selim’s grin faded into a scowl when Jumana came out of the house. He mounted his horse and hauled her up in front of him with no more ceremony than if she had been a sack of grain. Ramses heard them exchanging insults as they rode off. Serves them both right, he thought. When he returned to the drawing room, his mother had taken charge of the proceedings. “Unbelievable or not, that story is what Selim told Daoud. By the time Daoud finishes embellishing it, it will bear little resemblance to fact.” “And I’ll sound like even more of a posturing ass,” Ramses said sourly. “Stop complaining,” his mother said. “Goodness gracious, I did the best I could! It was necessary to account for our absence in some way. Our friends at Atiyeh saw the motorcar and realized we were preparing for a long desert trip. By the time we left Khan Yunus, everyone knew who we were; they will pass the story on, and sooner or later our activities will be gossiped about throughout Egypt and Palestine.” “It was a pretty good yarn,” Cyrus admitted. He lit one of his cheroots and leaned back. “And no wilder than a lot of your adventures. I’m sorry, though, I can’t believe in the beautiful maiden. Khan Yunus is only ten miles from Gaza. Need I say more?” His knowing smile brought a responsive twinkle to her eyes. “Oddly enough, Cyrus, the beautiful maiden is one of the true facts. However, there is no use denying that our mission involved more serious matters. You’ve known for some time that we have had dealings with the secret service, haven’t you?” “A fellow would have to be pretty durned stupid not to have strong suspicions, Amelia. With a war on, and the way you keep appearing and disappearing without explanation, and your expertise in certain areas . . .” His eyes moved to Ramses. “Well, I’m not asking for details. I just hope to God the filthy business is over soon. You can’t keep on taking chances without something bad happening, and we couldn’t spare you. Any of you.” “Amen,” Katherine said. “Er — quite,” Bertie added. “It is over,” declared Emerson, squirming a little in the warm flood of friendship. “A bloo — — excuse me, Katherine — a blooming nuisance too. Now we can —” “Just one more question,” Cyrus interrupted. “You don’t have to answer it, but I’m real curious. Was that so-called beggar anybody I know?” Caught off-guard and at a loss as to how to answer, Emerson turned for help to his wife. “You have met the gentleman,” she said smoothly. “And he’s on our side now?” “Oh, yes. Cyrus, would you think me rude if I asked for a whiskey and soda?” She looked so smug, her son had to fight to keep from laughing. Trust his mother — she never lied “unless it was absolutely necessary,” and this time she had spoken the literal truth. Cyrus had been well acquainted with Sir Edward Washington, but it had not been that gentleman he meant.

Naturally, Emerson felt obliged to criticize me for encouraging Selim to tell a pack of lies and, with typical inconsistency, for telling Cyrus more than he deemed advisable. We had quite a refreshing little argument about it on the drive home. I had always felt somewhat guilty about keeping Cyrus in the dark — if he was in the dark. He was too intelligent and he knew us too well to overlook certain happenings. I had told him no more than he already suspected, and it pleased him to be taken into our confidence. He was even happier next day, when he found a new tomb. It wasn’t much of a tomb; the offering chapel had been completely destroyed and the burial chamber was empty of all but scraps, but there were several well-preserved paintings. “That will keep him out of mischief for a while,” remarked Emerson to me. “It will take several days to carry out a meticulous excavation and make plans. He can have Jumana to help him.” “Kind of you,” I said. “She gets on your nerves, doesn’t she?” “She talks too much. I almost preferred her moping. What did you do to get her out of it?” “Nothing — unless it was that nasty medicine. I hope there is not a sinister —” “Sinister, bah! There you go again, borrowing trouble.” “You are right, Emerson,” I admitted. “I am so accustomed to having some worry on my mind that it is difficult to realize our enemies have been vanquished and our problems solved.” “Except for one,” Emerson muttered. “ ‘The hand of the god.’ What god? Where?” Sennia joined us for tea that afternoon, so full of exciting news, she neglected the biscuits. “The Great Cat of Re has caught a snake!” We all looked at the cat, who had assumed one of those Yoga-like positions necessary for the proper cleaning of feline underparts. It looked so silly, with one leg in the air and the other behind its ear, we all burst out laughing. “A very large snake?” Emerson inquired. “No larger than this,” said Fatima, measuring approximately five inches with finger and thumb. “But it was still alive, Father of Curses, and I do not know whether there will be any dinner tonight, because it is still somewhere in the kitchen and Maaman says —” “It has probably escaped long ago,” Emerson said comfortably. “Then youtell Maaman,” said Fatima, thumping the teapot down on the table. “He says he will not cook.” “Oh, curse it,” said Emerson. “I suppose I’ll have to do something or we won’t get any dinner.” “Take the Great Cat of Re,” Sennia suggested. “Not a bad idea,” said Emerson, scooping the cat up. Sennia crammed two biscuits into her mouth and went with them. “Let’s go and watch,” Nefret suggested. “Jumana, have you ever seen the Father of Curses perform an exorcism? It will be even more entertaining if he works the cat into it.” Jumana shuddered. “I am afraid of snakes. I hope it does not go into my room.” I also declined the treat. I am not afraid of snakes, but I see no point in cultivating them. One of the men had gone to the post office that morning, so there was quite a stack of letters and messages and newspapers. By the time the others came back I had had a nice leisurely time, sorting the mail and reading the more interesting missives. “Did you find it?” I inquired. “Yes, as a matter of fact,” Emerson said. He deposited the cat on the floor, where it resumed its interrupted bath. “I hadn’t supposed we would, and was preparing an exorcism specifically designed for serpents, but the cat fished it out almost at once from behind one of the water jars. A perfectly harmless Clifford’s snake. Ramses took it outside and let it loose.” “I told you I have been training the Great Cat of Re,” Sennia said triumphantly. “Someday it will catch an even bigger snake and save Ramses’s life at the last second.” “Pure chance,” said Emerson — but he said it under his breath. “Anything in the post, Peabody?” “A nice long letter from Evelyn, and one for Nefret from Lia, and one for Ramses from David . . .” I distributed the missives as I spoke. “What about me?” Sennia demanded. “Three for you.” They were from the family. They knew she loved getting mail. “Nothing else?” I handed Emerson the rest of his letters. “Two telegrams from Cairo. I took the liberty —” “Yes, of course you did,” Emerson muttered. “Well, what do you think of that? Wingate and General Murray request my presence at my earliest convenience.” “I presume it will not be convenient early orlate,” I said. Emerson emitted a wicked chuckle. “Why do you suppose I made a quick departure from Cairo? We reported to General Chetwode, handed over our prisoner, and assured him and his intelligence staff that they’d seen the last of Ismail Pasha — which is true, since Sethos won’t use that disguise again. If they have any further questions they can come to us, but they will get damned few answers. Nothing from Carter or — er —” I shook my head. “Here is an interesting invitation, however. The Albions are giving a dinner party and dance on Friday. The honor of our presence is requested. There is a little note penned by Mrs. Albion herself, hoping that Jumana will also honor her.” “Me?” Jumana’s eyes opened very wide. “Her?” Emerson exclaimed. “What the devil for?” “She is one of the family,” Nefret said. “I expect they are trying to make up for . . . for any inadvertent rudeness in the past.” “They have not been rude,” Jumana said. “They sent me flowers, when I was sick.” “They did? You didn’t tell me.” “Many people sent me presents,” Jumana said proudly. “Bertie, and Mr. Vandergelt, and Daoud, and an American gentleman I met at Mr. Vandergelt’s party. Will we go? There will be dancing. I like to dance.” “I believe not,” I said. “Why not?” Emerson inquired. “It should be a — er — enjoyable outing.” “Emerson!” I exclaimed. “What are you up to now?” Emerson’s sapphirine-blue eyes met my own with a wholly unconvincing look of candor. “I only wish to give you pleasure, my dear. You like such things. It is the least a fellow can do.”

FROM MANUSCRIPT H

Ramses knew perfectly well what his father was “up to.” Deny it as he might, he was as obsessed as Cyrus with Jamil’s tomb. In a way, Ramses couldn’t blame him. The words ran through his own head like a litany: The hand of the god. What god? Where? It was beginning to interfere with his personal life. Nefret shook him awake that night, complaining that he had been muttering the words in his sleep. “If you must talk in your sleep, you might at least mumble about me!” After he had apologized by reciting the epithets of Hathor — “Golden One, Lady of Fragrance, Mistress of All the Gods” — and acted upon them — she settled down with her head on his shoulder and admitted she couldn’t get that enigmatic clue out of her head either. “I’ve been wondering whether we ought not question Jumana again,” she said. “She has a fantastic memory and almost total recall, even for accents. Wasn’t it enchanting to hear her imitate Cyrus?” “It was rather uncanny hearing her imitate Jamil the day we found Mother and Father,” Ramses said. “Are you suggesting that if we asked the right questions she might remember something Jamil said about the tomb?” “That’s how her memory seems to operate.” “It’s worth a try, I suppose. We might even be able to talk Father out of breaking into the Albions’ suite.” “You’re joking. No, damn it, you aren’t!” He had told her of his conversation with Emerson. She had scoffed at the time, but now . . . “That’s why he agreed to go to their party!” she groaned. “What are we going to do?” “Make sure they don’t catch him in the act. He’s dead set on this, Nefret. I’ve been thinking about it and I don’t believe it will do any harm.” She relaxed against him and let out a breath of laughter. “Well, maybe not. Even if the worst happened — if someone found him in their rooms — he’d talk his way out of it.” “Shout, not talk,” Ramses corrected. “What could they do to him, after all? There isn’t a man in Luxor who would dare interfere with him.” All the same, he was a little on edge the night of the party. His father had readily admitted he meant to search the Albions’ rooms; he had raised the subject himself, overruling Ramses’s half-hearted protests and requesting his assistance. “I will signal you when I’m ready to act. Keep an eye on the Albions. If one of them starts to leave the ballroom — well, you will know what to do.” “Start a fight with Sebastian, for example? All right, Father, I’ll think of something. I hope. You will be in disguise, I suppose.” His father grinned happily. “Just the usual, my boy, just the usual. Er — might I borrow a beard? Your mother must have done something with mine, I can’t find it. Oh, and if she asks where I am, put her off somehow.” It wouldn’t be easy, keeping tabs on three people and fending his mother off, but Ramses thought he could manage it with Nefret’s assistance. He only hoped his mother didn’t have ideas of her own. She looked very handsome that evening, in a gown of her favorite crimson, the diamonds in her ears sparkling. Nefret was radiant in amber satin, and Jumana looked like any young girl on her way to a dance — eyes shining, cheeks flushed. The Albions had hired the entire hotel, or at least the public rooms, including the dining saloon. That presented no problem to the management, since the convalescent officers who occupied part of the hotel had all been invited. Everyone in Luxor seemed to be there, including the Vandergelts. Mr. Albion’s money and his wife’s good taste made it quite a splendid affair; the wine flowed freely and the food was excellent. After dinner, when the dancing was about to begin, Ramses edged up to his father. “Is there any way I can persuade you not to do this?” “Now, now, my boy, it will be all right, you’ll see.” Emerson plucked irritably at his tie. It looked wilted. “I am going to dance with your mother and Katherine, and then give our hostess a whirl, and after that I will quietly steal away.” “Have you asked Mrs. Albion? The ladies have dance cards. You’re supposed to put your name down for a particular dance.” “Absurd. Dancing should be spontaneous. Joie de vivre and that sort of thing.” He strolled away, his hands in his pockets. Ramses also approved of joie de vivre, but he had been lectured by his mother and his wife about proper procedure. He’d never been able to see the point of the little cards — appointment slips, one might call them — unless it was to give popular ladies a sense of power, and make unpopular ladies squirm when they saw all the blank spaces. Jumana was loving every moment of it — the flowers, the fancy dresses, the little booklet and pencil attached to her slim wrist by a golden cord. When Ramses asked for a dance she presented the booklet with an air of great importance and an irrepressible giggle. He needn’t have worried about her being neglected; Bertie and Cyrus had signed on, and so had both the Albions. There were several other names Ramses didn’t know. She had attracted quite a lot of attention, with her exotic looks and exquisite little figure. He had allowed himself the pleasure of engaging his wife for the second dance; as they circled the floor, he warned her of his father’s intentions. Emerson was waltzing with Katherine, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “How are we supposed to watch three people at once?” Nefret grumbled. “With everything else that’s going on? I promised Mother I’d make sure Jumana is enjoying herself.” “Obviously she is.” White skirts flaring, Jumana was light as thistledown in the respectful grasp of a tall American Ramses remembered having met at Cyrus’s soiree. “Mr. Lubancic,” Nefret said, following his gaze. “He’s very nice. I’ve got Mr. Albion for the third dance and you for the fourth; suppose I corner Sebastian for that one instead, and you ask Mrs. Albion.” “I suppose I can’t very well dance with Mr. Albion. We’ll just have to be prepared for emergency action. Be ready to faint or pretend you’ve seen a mouse if I give a distress signal.” She laughed and nestled closer. The third dance ended only too soon. As he had promised, Emerson had got hold of his hostess, whose frozen features kept cracking in pain as he spun her vigorously round in waltz time. (The tune was a fox-trot.) When the music ended he led her, limping, to a chair and then turned to give Ramses an exaggerated wink and nod. Mrs. Albion declined Ramses’s invitation to dance. She looked as if she did not intend to move for some time. Nefret had worked her wiles on Sebastian, so Ramses went in search of Albion senior. He found him in one of the alcoves talking to Jumana. “Don’t ask her to dance, this one is mine,” Albion said, with one of his jolly laughs. “I can’t prance around with the young folks, but we’re having a nice time talking Egyptology. She’s a clever girl.” “She is,” Ramses agreed, glancing at the glass she held. “That isn’t champagne, is it?” “Soda water,” Albion said. “You don’t think I’d ply a young lady with alcohol, do you?” The answer to that was a resounding “Yes, if you hoped to gain something by it.” Since courtesy forbade honesty, Ramses said, “I’ll join you, if I may. What were you talking about?” “Those sites your pa told me about” was the prompt reply. “We’ve just about decided not to do any more digging. The young lady agrees with me that it’s a waste of time.” “The western wadis are too far away and too dangerous,” Jumana explained. “And there is nothing in that part of the Valley of the Queens.” “Father will be glad to hear that,” Ramses said. The music ended. Jumana looked at her dance card. “The next one is Bertie,” she announced importantly. “Will you excuse me, sir?” “Why, sure. You go right ahead.” Trying to watch all three Albions and fulfill his social obligations kept Ramses fully occupied for a while. Mr. Albion wouldn’t stay put; he wandered around the room, talking to his wife and to various other people. Seeing Mrs. Albion head purposefully for the door of the ballroom, Ramses caught Nefret’s eye, gestured, and trod on Katherine’s toe. Nefret went in pursuit, abandoning her partner. “I beg your pardon, Katherine,” Ramses said. “Quite all right, my dear. Is your injury bothering you? Perhaps we should sit down.” “What? Oh, that. Well, yes, a little. Not much. It’s all right.” He’d lost sight of Sebastian too. What was taking his father so long? Mrs. Albion came back, followed by Nefret. Her nod and smile reassured him; they must have gone to the ladies’ parlor. He was still scanning the room, trying to locate Sebastian, when he caught sight of his father. He let his breath out in a sigh that ruffled Katherine’s hair. “Let’s do sit down, Ramses,” she said. “Did I tread on your foot again?” “No, dear, but the music has stopped.” Her husband claimed her for the next dance, and Ramses headed straight for his father. Emerson’s appearance would have roused his wife’s direst suspicions. His hair was standing on end, his tie had come undone, and his smile was reminiscent of that of the Great Cat of Re after a tasty meal. Ramses drew him aside. “Here, let me fix your tie before Mother sees you.” “What’s wrong with it? Oh.” Emerson glanced down. “Thank you, my boy.” “Well?” Ramses demanded. “It went off without a hitch. What did you expect?” “Did you find anything?” “Oh, yes.” “Don’t do this to me, Father.” He jerked the knot tight. “I can’t tell you about it now,” Emerson said reproachfully. “But in a word — Oh, curse it. Hullo, Bertie. Were you looking for me? I just stepped out into the garden for —” “No, sir. That is — did you see Jumana?” “In the garden? Er — no.” “Is something wrong, Bertie?” Ramses asked. Bertie passed his hand over his hair. “It’s just that this is my dance, and I can’t find her. She was with Sebastian, and he doesn’t seem to be in the room either.” “They must be around somewhere,” Emerson said vaguely. “Damn! There’s your mother. Your mother, I mean, Ramses. Am I supposed to be dancing with her?” “I’ve no idea,” Ramses said. His mother was advancing on them with a firm stride and a look in her eyes that boded ill for Emerson. “You had better report to her, she probably noticed you were conspicuous by your absence.” “Jumana —” Bertie began. “Yes, right. I expect she’s gone to the ladies’ parlor. Let’s ask Nefret.” Nefret had just returned from the ladies’ parlor. “Mrs. Albion has gone there three times! She keeps taking off her gloves and washing her hands. I hate to speculate about why. Is Father —” “Dancing with Mother,” Ramses said. “Thank goodness!” “Yes, but Jumana has gone missing,” Ramses said. “She wasn’t in the ladies’ parlor?” “Sebastian’s not here either,” Bertie said. “Oh, dear. I’m sorry, I rather lost track of her, what with . . . one thing and another. Perhaps she stepped out into the garden for a breath of fresh air.” “The Professor just came in from the garden. He said he hadn’t seen her. But he wouldn’t have, would he, if they were off in a dark corner somewhere.” “There is no reason to suppose they are together, Bertie,” Nefret said. “But we’ll have a look round.” The gardens were one of the showplaces of Luxor, planted with exotic trees and shrubs. They, too, had been decorated for the occasion; colorful lanterns hung from the branches, and benches and chairs were scattered about. A number of the guests were enjoying the cool air and the scent of night blossoms. Winding paths led in and out of the shrubbery. “You go that way,” Bertie said. “I’ll go the other.” Nefret would have been the first to admit she had been remiss, but she couldn’t believe there was any real danger to Jumana. Not here, in the public gardens, with so many people about. If the girl had let Sebastian bring her here, she was guilty of nothing worse than indiscretion. Nefret had a sinking feeling she wasn’t going to convince Bertie of that. His jaw was set. “I’m coming with you,” she said. “Wait for me.” He had already plunged into the nearest path. She picked up her skirts and ran after him. They had almost reached the end of the path, where it curved back toward the hotel, before Nefret heard a man’s voice, low and intimate, the words indistinguishable; and Jumana’s reply, high-pitched and quavering. “No, I am not afraid, but I want to go back now.” Sebastian laughed softly. “Not yet.” Nefret filled her lungs and shouted, “Jumana!” Jumana came flying out of the shadows. Bertie went flying into them. He dragged Sebastian out into the light and raised his fist. “Stop them,” Nefret exclaimed. “They’re going to fight!” “It looks that way,” said Ramses, behind her. “Go ahead, Bertie, give him a good one.” Bertie let go of Sebastian’s lapel and stepped back. “He’s wearing eyeglasses. I can’t hit a chap who —” Sebastian’s fist connected neatly and scientifically with Bertie’s jaw, knocking him over backward.

13

“Really,” I said in exasperation, “I cannot decide which of this evening’s outlandish activities to discuss first.” “I can,” said Emerson. “Good Gad, Bertie, don’t you know better than to fight like a gentleman?” We had left the party somewhat precipitately. I had known the moment I set eyes on him that Emerson had been up to something, but before I could interrogate him Nefret had run in to tell me Jumana was in hysterics and Bertie was nursing a lump on his jaw and a bump on his head and that Ramses was chasing Sebastian Albion through the gardens and that — in short, we had better go at once. We collected the others, including Ramses, who had cooled off enough to be tractable, and took them away. Since our house was nearer than the Castle, we had all gone there. Having removed coat, waistcoat, and tie, with a glass of whiskey and soda in his hand, Emerson felt in a proper frame of mind to lecture. “Bear in mind, my boy,” he went on, “that there is no purpose in fighting unless you mean to win. Never mind all that nonsense about fair play.” “I’ll remember that next time, sir,” Bertie said. “I sincerely hope there will not be a next time,” Katherine exclaimed. “Nefret, are you certain he doesn’t have a concussion, or a fractured skull, or —” “He did not fall very hard,” said Jumana. We all turned to look at her. She had wept on Nefret’s shoulder — Ramses having refused to offer his — all the way back, but whether from distress or pure excitement I would have hesitated to say. “I am sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean . . . But why is everyone angry with me? Why did Bertie want to fight with Sebastian? He was very polite, he only —” “Kept you there after you had said you wanted to go,” Nefret cut in. “Would he have continued to be polite, do you think, if we hadn’t arrived when we did?” Jumana’s lips trembled. “It wasn’t her fault,” Bertie muttered. “She didn’t understand.” “Well, perhaps she didn’t,” I conceded. “I assumed . . . So I neglected to give her my little lecture. You remember the one, Nefret?” “Very well,” said Nefret, her tight lips relaxing. “I gave her the same lecture less than an hour ago. Evidently it didn’t make an impression.” She went to Jumana and lifted her out of her chair by her shoulders. “Have I your full attention now, Jumana? Bertie behaved tonight as any decent man would, coming to the assistance of an inexperienced young girl who is about to be . . .” She glanced at me, and went on, “. . . taken advantage of by an unscrupulous scoundrel. He’d have done it for any girl, Jumana, so don’t preen yourself! The only mistake he made was in playing by the rules and expecting Sebastian to do the same. Now go to your room and think about what I’ve said, unless you want to apologize to Bertie and thank him.” Red-faced and stuttering, Bertie exclaimed, “Oh, I say, she doesn’t owe me an apology. It was — well, it was — what one does, you know. Only I didn’t do it awfully well. I mean —” Jumana burst into tears and ran out of the room. Bertie smiled apologetically. “I seem to have mucked it up, as usual. Shouldn’t have lost my temper.” “You weren’t the only one,” Ramses said. He had also divested himself of his extraneous garments and was sitting on the floor by Nefret’s chair. “I made an even greater fool of myself, crashing through the shrubbery after him. I’ll probably get a bill from the hotel tomorrow for damaged plants.” “One good thing has come of it,” I declared. “We now understand the reason for the Albions’ politeness to Jumana. That disgusting young man still had — er — designs on her. Your warning to him, Ramses, only spurred him on. Some men, I believe, would consider an innocent girl a challenge.” “And safer than the brothels,” Ramses murmured. “Please, Ramses.” “I beg your pardon, Mother. I wouldn’t deny that one of Sebastian’s motives was seduction, but isn’t it somewhat strange that his father and mother would conspire with him? Especially his mother.” “Bah,” Emerson declared. “She thinks the Albions, father and son, are entitled to use any means possible to get anything they want. They want Jamil’s tomb. They believe Jumana can help them find it. It isn’t difficult to understand why they are so keen. Jamil gave them enough to whet their appetites.” He smiled provocatively at me. “So that is where you were tonight,” I said. “I suspected as much.” “No, Peabody, you didn’t suspect a cursed thing, or you would have insisted on going with me, and you’d have been caught in the act, as I almost was.” “Tell us all about it,” said Nefret, her dimples showing. “I have every intention of doing so, if the rest of you have finished chattering. It wasn’t my fault that I was almost caught,” Emerson went on. “One of the cursed sufragis turned up while I was trying my skeleton keys in the lock. He recognized me, of course, so I sent him on his way with a fistful of money and a few small curses. Once inside, I assumed my disguise.” He paused — ostensibly to sip his whiskey. I didn’t ask why he had bothered with a disguise. A disguise is its own excuse as far as Emerson is concerned. “You may well ask,” Emerson continued, smirking at me, “why I bothered with a disguise. It was a necessary precaution. If I had been found inside the room, by one of the Albions or a servant, the individual would only have caught a glimpse of a bearded Egyptian before I made my getaway, through the window or out the door. In fact, I was not disturbed. I had ample time to search all the rooms, which were interconnected. The loot, if I may so express it, was in Albion’s room. He and his wife occupy separate bedchambers.” “That is an extraneous fact, Emerson,” I said. “And none of our business.” “One never knows what may be relevant, Peabody. It is possible, though not probable, that she is unaware of Albion’s dealings with Jamil. He had a boxful of artifacts, including some fragments of the painting of Khonsu. Jamil must have sold him those and hinted that they were a meaningful clue. The lad had quite a sense of humor. As for the rest . . . Here’s the list, as nearly as I can remember. First, another cosmetic jar like the one you purchased, with the cartouche intact. It was, as Ramses deduced, that of the God’s Wife Shepenwepet. Second and third, two ushebtis inscribed for the same woman, approximately eight inches high, of blue-green faience. Fourth, and most remarkable, a sistrum of bronze inlaid with gold.” He took a sheet of paper from the table beside him. “I did this while you were all fussing over Bertie,” he explained. “My artistic skills are not as good as David’s, but I wanted to capture the details while I remembered them.” We gathered round to inspect the drawing. The sistrum was a musical instrument, rather like a rattle, played before various gods. It was dedicated to Hathor, goddess of music, whose image appeared here as the head of a woman with long curling locks and the characteristic cow’s ears. From this sculptured head rose a long loop of copper wire threaded with rods which were strung with beads, so that when the sistrum was held by its handle — this one in the shape of a lotus column — and shaken, it produced a pleasing if somewhat monotonous sound. All the elements I have described were present in Emerson’s sketch, which meant that this object was truly unusual, undamaged, and intact. “Couldn’t get the face right,” Emerson admitted. “It’s very beautiful. Obviously from a royal workshop.” “And made for a royal woman,” Ramses said. “I admire your forbearance, Father, I’d have been strongly tempted to take this. It ought to be in a museum.” “It will be,” Emerson assured him, with a snap of his teeth. “We’ll give the Albions plenty of rope, before we pull the noose tight. There can be no doubt; Jamil’s tomb is that of one of the Divine Wives of Amon, and if these small objects are representative of the contents, Heaven only knows what else may be there.” Cyrus let out a low moan. “I’d sell my soul for a find like that. And if Joe Albion gets to it first, I’ll strangle him with my bare hands.”

Next day I penned a courteous note to Mrs. Albion thanking her for her delightful party. It was somewhat hypocritical, as Emerson was quick to point out, but in my opinion a certain amount of hypocrisy is necessary in maintaining the social amenities. If everyone said exactly what he or she thought of everyone else, there would be no social amenities. “Anyhow,” I added, folding the note, “breaking off relations with the Albions would be a serious error until we get the goods on them.” We went to work as usual, but did not accomplish a great deal. Emerson’s discovery of the artifacts had whetted his appetite and stimulated his imagination. He tried to concentrate on the work at hand, but he would stop from time to time and stare off into space, mumbling to himself. How well I understood! The broken mud-brick walls of Deir el Medina were so pitiful in comparison to golden dreams of a royal tomb. Jumana had come late to breakfast, looking so woebegone and red around the eyes that Sennia demanded to know where it hurt and what she could do to make it better. Nefret distracted the child by describing the decorations of the ballroom and the lavish menu, and the Great Cat of Re provided an additional diversion by appearing with an agitated mouse in its mouth. With Sennia’s assistance Ramses managed to pry the cat’s jaws apart and remove the mouse, which he carried outside and released, to the utter disgust of Horus. I hoped that the presentation of unharmed, living prey was not becoming a habit with the confounded cat. Horus at least had the decency to dispose of his in private. I decided to say no more to Jumana. She had been punished by our combined disapproval and Nefret’s tongue-lashing, and after all, she had not committed a serious misdemeanor, only an error in judgment understandable in a young girl. After having been raised in one society she had had to learn the ways of another; and since she had only been acquainted with men whose moral sensibilities were irreproachable, it was not surprising that she should have misunderstood the despicable intentions of Sebastian Albion. She accepted the tedious task of sifting the fill without complaint and worked steadily all morning. When we stopped for luncheon she sat to one side, her eyes downcast, and Cyrus, kindhearted individual that he was, made an attempt to cheer her up. “How about helping me this afternoon?” he asked. “You’ve been at that rubbish dump all morning. That all right with you, Emerson?” “Certainly, certainly,” said my equally tenderhearted husband. “You were asking the other day about the theodolite,” Bertie said. “I’ll show you how to use it, if you like.” It was the first remark he had addressed to her, for she had kept out of his way. Her expressive face brightened. “Thank you. You are very kind.” By the end of the day she had recovered her good spirits. Whether she had had the decency to apologize to Bertie I did not know, but she was painstakingly polite to him and he responded like the nice lad he was, with no evidence of hard feelings. Several days passed without our hearing a word from the Albions, to the disappointment of Emerson, who had rather hoped they would notice that the stolen objects had been disturbed. If they questioned the sufragi who had found him trying to open the lock they would know the identity of the intruder. “The sufragi wouldn’t betray the Father of Curses,” said Ramses. “You ought to have left your card.” Emerson curled his lip in acknowledgment of this touch of humor. “Why stir them up?” Nefret asked. “They’ve abandoned their plans to excavate. Perhaps they’ve given up on finding the tomb.” “No, they have not,” Emerson grumbled. “Selim says they have hired that rascal Mohammed Hammad as their dragoman. He came back from wherever he was as soon as he got the word that Jamil was dead. He’s no more a dragoman than I am an opera singer.” “He’s a thief,” I agreed. “But you may be sure he doesn’t know any more about Jamil’s tomb than we do. He’d have been looting it before this if he did.” The weather had turned unusually hot for that time of year. Even the nights were still and warm. We were all affected by it to some extent, except for Emerson, who never feels the heat and who can sleep through an earthquake. Never would I relinquish the comfort of my husband’s presence, but I must say that lying next to him was rather like being in close proximity to an oven. After several restless nights, I had just got to sleep — or so it felt — when he mumbled loudly in my ear. It was the too-familiar refrain: “Hand of the god . . . what . . . where?” I gave him a rather sharp poke. He rolled over, shoving me to the edge of the bed. Wide awake and somewhat vexed, I abandoned any hope of repose. I went to the window and leaned out. The room was still dark but there was a freshness in the air that betokened the coming of dawn. It cooled my warm cheeks, and my temper. I had been standing there for several minutes when I heard the creak of an opening door. It was the door at the far end of the courtyard. I had been meaning to have Ali oil the hinges. It was light enough by now for me to see dim shapes. There were two of them in the doorway, huddled close together. A whisper reached my ears; one form vanished, the other moved slyly and quietly toward the house. I saw no need to wake Emerson; it is a laborious process at best, and I preferred to deal with this myself. I waited until she had almost reached her window before I climbed out of mine. She let out a stifled shriek and turned to flee, but I was too quick for her. “Where have you been?” I demanded, seizing her in a firm grip. “I — I —” Invention failed; she gasped, “Oh, Sitt Hakim, you frightened me!” “Where have you been, Jumana?” “Only for a walk. It was hot. I could not sleep.” “You were with a man. Don’t lie, I saw him.” “I did nothing wrong. Please believe me!” “So you have said before. What precisely did you do?” “I — I promised I would not tell. I gave my word!” Exasperation had caused me to raise my voice, and defiance, as I thought it, had caused her to raise hers. A grumble and a thrashing of bedclothes told me that we had wakened Emerson. These sounds were followed by a shout: “Peabody!” He always shouts when he reaches out and finds I am not beside him. “Here,” I called. Emerson stumbled to the window and looked out. “Is that . . . Oh, good Gad!” Only the upper half of his body was visible, but Emerson is a modest man; he retreated, cursing, and began looking for his clothes. I knew it would take him a while, so I pushed Jumana toward her window. “Go in. You are to remain in your room. If you leave the house without my permission, you need never come back.” She obeyed without resistance, verbal or physical. I thought I heard a little sob. It did not soften my heart. When I climbed back in my own window, Emerson was still searching for his trousers. “Never mind that, Emerson,” I said. “You may as well bathe and dress properly, it is almost morning. We have a serious problem on our hands. Jumana has been creeping out at night — possibly for several nights — and she was with a man. I am afraid it was Sebastian Albion.” “Damnation,” Emerson murmured. He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, pushing it back from his face. “Are you sure?” “Who else would it be? Unless,” I added bitterly, “she has a whole string of them. How could I have been so deceived in her character? I am sadly disappointed, Emerson.” “Now, Peabody, don’t jump to conclusions.” He sat on the side of the bed and pulled me down next to him. “There may be an innocent explanation. Have you given her a chance to explain?” “She refused to answer my questions. She said she had given her word. Her word! To a vile deceiver like that!” “Give her another chance.” A horrible idea struck him. In quavering tones he asked, “You don’t want me to question her, do you?” “No, Emerson, you are hopeless about such matters. I will give her another chance to confess, naturally. I will leave her locked in her room today and speak to her again this evening, after she has had time to repent.” “And you have had time to cool off,” said Emerson, putting an arm round my shoulders. “My dear, I don’t blame you for being hurt and disappointed, but — er — you aren’t going to starve her, I hope?” “Certainly not. I will take her breakfast to her myself. Later.” I felt calmer after a nice long bath, but I was not ready to face Jumana. I would be the first to admit that my maternal instincts are not well developed — they had been stunted, I believe, by the raising of Ramses — but I had become rather attached to Jumana. I had had such high hopes for her. To find that she was a sneak and a liar and — and worse, perhaps — had left me not only disappointed, but hurt. Yes, Emerson was right about that. I had believed she had become equally attached to us. When I went to breakfast, the Great Cat of Re was sitting on my chair, its chin on the table, its large green eyes fixed on the platter of bacon. “This is beginning to be like the house of the Three Bears,” I said. “It sits on our chairs, it sleeps on our beds, and now it is about to eat my porridge.” Sennia found this very witty, but nobody else did, including the cat. Ramses’s keen black eyes detected the perturbation behind my attempt at normalcy; brow furrowing, he started to speak, glanced at Sennia, and remained silent. It was Sennia who asked about Jumana. I explained that she was not feeling well and would spend the day in bed. “You are not to go in her room,” I added. “She needs to rest. Do you understand?” “Shall I take her a tray?” Fatima asked. “I will see to that,” I replied. “Later. Thank you, Fatima. Where is Gargery? It is time Sennia left for her lessons.” Gargery entered at that moment to announce we had guests. “Mr. Bertie and Mr. Cyrus. You didn’t tell us they were expected for breakfast, madam.” “Stop trying to put me in the wrong, Gargery,” I said somewhat snappishly. “They were not expected.” “But we are always glad to see them,” Fatima said, adding plates and cups and silverware to the table, and bustling out for more food. “Sorry to disturb you folks,” Cyrus said. He did not look at all sorry. Bliss — delight — happiness . . . The words are too weak for the emotion that transformed his face. The only other time I had seen that glow was on the day he and Katherine were wed. “What is it, Cyrus?” I cried, jumping to my feet. “It’s for Bertie to make the announcement,” Cyrus replied. He was puffed with pride. Bertie looked round the table. “Where’s Jumana? She should be here.” “Oh my goodness,” I gasped. “You aren’t . . . you two aren’t engaged?” Bertie’s boyish laugh rang out. “Better than that, Mrs. Emerson. We’ve found it, Jumana and I. Jamil’s tomb.”

Pandemonium ensued. Even Gargery, who had only the vaguest notion of what Bertie meant, clapped his hands and joined in the cries of excitement and congratulation. As the others gathered round Bertie, all talking at once, I slipped out of the room. Jumana was sitting on her bed, her hands folded and her face smeared with dried tears. Now that I got a good look at her, I realized she was not dressed for a romantic rendezvous. Her shirt and trousers were torn and dusty, her boots were scuffed, and her hair straggled over her face. “Bertie is here,” I said. She jumped up. “Then it’s all right? He told you? I promised I would not, it was to be a surprise, his surprise. May I go now?” She let out a peal of laughter. “I am very hungry!” Ah, the resilience of youth! From despair to delight in the twinkling of an eye! I could have let her go without further delay; I was tempted to do so, but justice compelled me to make what amends I could. “First, I must apologize,” I said. “Apologize? To me? Why?” “For misjudging you. I was wrong, and you were right to keep your promise to Bertie. I deeply regret the injustice I did you and I hope you will forgive me.” I held out my hand. She would have fainted with sheer surprise if I had attempted to embrace her, and anyhow, she was very grubby. “Forgive? You?” She stared wide-eyed at my offered hand. “I did you an injustice,” I repeated. “Shake hands, if you will, and then go to the others.” She did not shake my hand. She kissed it, fervently and damply, gave me a radiant smile, and ran out of the room. I would not have blamed her for taking advantage of her role as heroine — misjudged, falsely accused heroine at that! Instead she insisted that all the credit belonged to Bertie. It was he and he alone who had deduced where the tomb must be. “But where is it?” Emerson shouted, tugging at his hair. “Bertie won’t say. Jumana, where —” “We want to show you,” Bertie explained. “You’ll never believe it otherwise.” “They’re entitled,” Ramses said, smiling in sympathy. “Lead the way, Bertie.” He led us to Deir el Medina. Our men were there, waiting to begin the day’s work. Ramses called them to gather round, explaining that Bertie had an important announcement to make. The truth had begun to dawn on Emerson by then. “It can’t be,” he mumbled. “I don’t believe it. Damnation!” “Father, if you please,” Ramses said. “Bertie, you have the floor.” He added, with a grin, “Make the most of it.” “Oh, well,” Bertie said, blushing. “It was an accident, really, you know. I sat here for days with my foot up and nothing much to do but stare at the scenery. I got to know it pretty well. Look up there.” He pointed. Straight ahead, the walls of the temple occupied the opening of the little valley, with the fields and the river stretching out to the north and the cliffs rising up on either side. The ruined tombs of the workers were scattered along the western slope. Bertie’s extended arm indicated the highest point, to the left of the temple. We stared in silent bewilderment for a time. We were all looking for a sculpture — the figure of a god, weathered by time, shaped by the hand of man. A divinity had shaped it — nature herself. As I have had occasion to mention, the rock formations of the western mountains assume bizarre forms. This might have been a giant fist, gripping the crest of the hill — four regular, rounded, parallel shapes, with a small spur of rock next to them like the end of a thumb. It was a prominent landmark, rising high above the lower, less precipitous part of the hillside, and once the eye had defined it the resemblance was unmistakable. “There!” I exclaimed in wonderment. “Emerson, do you see?” Emerson removed his pith helmet and flung it onto the ground. I gave him a warning frown and a little poke. It was sufficient; his better nature triumphed over envy. “Well, well,” he said hoarsely. “Hmph. That is — congratulations, Vandergelt.” Cyrus slapped him on the back. “It belongs to both of us, old pal. All of us, I should say.” “No, no.” Emerson drew himself up. “We made an agreement, Vandergelt. The tombs of Deir el Medina are yours, and it was Bertie who found this one. Congratulations, I say.” Never had I admired my dear Emerson more. He looked so noble, his shoulders thrown back and his tanned face wearing a strained smile, it was all I could do not to embrace him. Cyrus was equally moved. He took out his handkerchief and blew his nose. “That’s darned decent of you, Emerson. But no more than I expected.” “And no less than you deserve,” Emerson said gruffly. “So where is the damned tomb?” “In that crack between the first and second fingers,” Bertie said. “It took us several days — nights, I should say — to find it. Fortunately the moon has been full. We haven’t been inside. We thought Cyrus ought to have the privilege,” he added, wincing as Cyrus seized his hand and wrung it vigorously. “Are you sure the passage is open?” I asked. “I know Jamil has been in and out of the place, but he is — was — slightly built and agile and foolhardy.” Naturally the men ignored this sensible comment. Emerson’s eyes glittered like sapphires. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!” We restrained Emerson while we discussed the best way to proceed. Bertie explained how he and Jumana had managed it, scaling the cliff and lowering themselves from above by means of a rope. Emerson was pleased to approve this plan, though if I had not kept hold of him he would have started straight up the sheerest part of the cliff. We all went, of course, including Selim and Daoud. Their assistance was invaluable, for it was a tricky climb. When we stood atop the rounded “finger” looking down, I addressed Jumana, who had stuck to me like a burr. “You did this at night? Really, my dear, was that wise? You ought to have told the Professor, or Cyrus, of your theory.” Bertie overheard. “It was my fault, Mrs. Emerson. I wanted to be sure before I told anyone. I didn’t mean to tell Jumana either, but I asked too many questions — about the terrain here, and whether Jamil had explored this area — and she wrung it out of me.” He turned to respond to Emerson, and Jumana said in a low voice, “He would have searched alone. It was too dangerous.” “It certainly would have been,” I agreed. “I am surprised he allowed you to accompany him.” “He said I could not. So,” said Jumana coolly, “I told him that you and Nefret do not let Ramses and the Professor stop you from doing what you want, and I was trying to be like you. But you see why I could not speak before. He trusted me, and I had — I had been unkind and unfair to him.” “Ah,” I said somewhat uneasily. “So you think well of him, do you?” She met my eyes directly and with no sign of self-consciousness. “He is a good man. We are friends, I hope.” I hoped so too.

Watching Daoud knot the rope round Cyrus’s waist, I issued a final order. “Cyrus, stop at once and come back if the passage becomes too narrow or the ceiling looks unstable or —” “Sure, Amelia. Lower away, Daoud.” “You shouldn’t have allowed him to go first, Emerson,” I scolded, as Cyrus’s body disappeared into the crevice. “My dear Peabody, how could I deprive him of a moment he has waited for his whole life? If he died in the attempt, he would die happy. That,” Emerson added quickly, “was only a figure of speech. Nothing is going to happen. But — er — well, perhaps I ought to follow him.” “Not with one arm, Emerson!” “They will have to lower me, that’s all,” said Emerson, his chin protruding in a manner that made remonstrance useless. “We’ve another rope, haven’t we?” “It will be a tight fit,” Bertie warned. “There’s a roughish platform, about five feet square, with the passage going off into the cliff at a right angle. It’s partially filled with —” “Plenty of room,” said Emerson, tossing one end of the rope to Selim and trying to knot the other end round his waist. I said, “Oh, curse it,” and tied the knot myself. Then I lay flat on the ground peering down into the crevice as Emerson was lowered. With the rope anchored and held by both Selim and Ramses, I was not afraid Emerson would fall. I was afraid he would try to crawl into the narrow passage and get stuck like a cork in a bottle. It was quite dark down there except for the limited light of Emerson’s torch. I could see very little, and the auditory sense was not of much help either, thanks to the echoes that distorted every sound. The rope went loose and Emerson yelled something, and I let out a small exclamation. “It’s all right, Mother,” Ramses said. “He’s reached the platform.” “He won’t be able to get through the passage,” I muttered. “He’s twice the size of Jamil.” “He’ll get through,” Ramses said, passing his sleeve over his perspiring face. “If he has to dig the fill out with his bare hands. Onebare hand.” I could hear him doing it. Loose rock began falling from the bottom of the cleft, rattling down the hillside. It slowed and stopped. After that there was nothing but silence, until a call from Cyrus brought us all to our feet. Daoud seized the rope and pulled with all his might. As soon as Cyrus’s head appeared we fell on him and dragged him out. “Well?” I cried. Cyrus shook his head. His lips moved, but no words emerged. Tears ran down his face. His eyes were red-rimmed. “Dust,” said my practical son. He handed Cyrus the water bottle, and then leaped for the other rope as it tightened. With Daoud’s help they soon had Emerson up; he hadn’t even bothered tying the rope round his body, but was holding on with one hand. We hauled him over the edge and he staggered to his feet, blinking bloodshot eyes. “There are four coffins,” he gasped. “Four. Four of everything, packed into that room from floor to ceiling and side to side. Four sets of canopic jars, four gold-inlaid boxes, four funerary papyri, four hundred ushebtis, four thousand —” Cyrus began jumping up and down and waving his arms. “The God’s Wives,” he bellowed. “Four! I never thought I’d live to see this day! If I were struck dead tonight, I’d be the happiest man alive.” “No, you wouldn’t,” I said, catching hold of him. “You would be dead. And you will be, if you fall off the cliff.” I wanted to take Emerson home; he had ruined another shirt squeezing through those tight spaces, and banged his head, and scraped most of the skin off both hands and cracked the cast. Cyrus was in little better case, but neither of them heard a word I said; they kept shouting enthusiastically at each other and shaking hands. I consigned them both to the devil (they didn’t hear that either) and concluded I was entitled to satisfy my own curiosity. We went down in turn, two at a time for safety’s sake: Jumana and Bertie, Ramses and I, Selim and Daoud. Emerson offered to take Nefret, but she said she believed she would wait. The procedure was somewhat uncomfortable — crawling on hands and knees over rough fragments of stone, with dust choking one’s mouth and an occasional bat squeaking past overhead, but the sight was so incredible I would not have wanted to miss it. The opening of the chamber had been closed with mortared blocks. Jamil had removed the upper layers, stacking the stones along the passage, which made the last few feet something of a squeeze. Looking in, I saw at first only a dazzle of gold. It was the end of an anthropoid coffin, inlaid with glass and semiprecious stones. Packed all around it were smaller objects: woven baskets, caskets of ebony and cedar, tattered fragments of papyrus and linen. Jamil had rummaged through the smaller boxes, dragging out anything he could reach. Cyrus’s long patient wait had been rewarded at last. This was another cache, like that of the royal mummies; loyal followers of the Adorers of the God had rescued them and their funerary goods from tomb robbers, and hidden them away in this remote spot. Time and careless handling had destroyed some of the artifacts, but it was still one of the richest finds ever made in Egypt. We could not even begin excavating the tomb chamber that day. The passage and the platform had to be completely cleared first and a method of stabilizing and removing the objects determined upon. Needless to say, all work came to a standstill; the men danced and sang and cheered and Daoud told them all extravagant lies about the treasures in the chamber. It was necessary to make arrangements for guards, by day and by night, for the news would spread like wildfire. “We might stop at Gurneh and have a word with Mohammed Hassan,” I suggested. “A curse or two, perhaps?” Emerson chuckled. “He will probably cry like a baby. Yes, I will point out the moral advantages of honesty. If he had not cheated Jamil, he’d have had a chance at this tomb.” “It would have been a bit tricky,” Ramses said. “Even if they worked only at night, they would have left traces of their activities, and we might have observed those signs. That was why Jamil tried to lure us out into the western wadis. He wanted everyone away from Deir el Medina.” Since the tomb must not be left unguarded for an instant, Daoud and several of the other men volunteered to stay until evening, when they would be relieved. “I suppose you plan to sleep here every night,” I said to Cyrus. “Every night and every day till we can get a steel door in place. Jumping Jehoshaphat, Amelia, you don’t know what this means to me! Katherine! I’ve got to tell Katherine. She’ll be so durned proud of this boy! And then,” Cyrus went on, grinning fiendishly, “maybe I’ll just run over to Luxor and break the news to Joe Albion. I want to see his face when he hears.” We sent Selim off with a list of the equipment we would need, and dismissed the men for the day. A celebration was definitely in order; Cyrus had promised the greatest fantasia ever seen in Luxor, but that would have to wait. Excitement and exertion had left everyone weary, and Bertie and Jumana both showed the effects of several sleepless nights. I instructed Bertie to go home and rest. We had an early night too. Tea and biscuits and Sennia’s excited questions revived Jumana temporarily, but I sent her off to bed immediately after dinner. Sennia would not go to bed until Emerson promised to take her into the tomb. “Emerson, I absolutely forbid it,” I exclaimed, after she had gone dancing off with Horus in her arms. “Oh, come, Peabody, don’t be a spoilsport. Ramses was in and out of worse places when he was her age. I won’t take her until we’ve made sure it’s safe.” He threw his napkin on the table and stood up. “I’m late. Vandergelt will be there already.” “Emerson,” I said. “This is Cyrus’s tomb. He is in charge, not you.” Emerson looked uncomfortable. “I suppose I am allowed to offer my expert advice?” “Not unless he asks for it. He is generously allowing you to participate, which is more than you ever did for him!” “Hmph,” said Emerson, stroking his chin. “You might quite properly offer him the assistance of your staff,” Ramses suggested. “Oh. Hmmm. Certainly. Including myself?” He gave me a questioning look. I pretended to consider. Emerson had really behaved quite well, for him. “If he asks you,” I conceded. “He asked me to stand guard with him tonight.” “Then you may go.” Emerson burst out laughing and gave me a bruising hug. “Thank you for giving me permission, my dear. Ramses, are you coming?” “No,” I said, before Ramses could reply. “He won’t be needed. Nefret, you might have another look at his injury. In my opinion he overdid it today.”

FROM MANUSCRIPT H