VI

DESPITE the best efforts of my noble steed, the stars were blossoming upon the blue velvet of the sky before I reached Dahshoor. The afterglow washed the sloping sides of the pyramids in an eerie pinkish light, but the desert floor was veiled in twilight; long before I made out his form, I heard the well-loved voice: ‘Peabody! Peabody, is that you? Answer me, curse it!’

I urged my horse into a gallop. Emerson came running to meet me, and before long I was held in his tender embrace.

‘What the devil do you mean being so late?’ he demanded. ‘I was about to send a search party after you.’

‘Please, Emerson. If you must shout, wait until your lips are farther from my ear.’

Emerson mumbled something unintelligible into the orifice in question. Eventually the little mare politely requested the attention she well deserved by nudging me with her velvety nose, and I suggested to Emerson that we save further demonstrations of welcome for a more suitable time and place.

‘Yes, quite,’ said Emerson. ‘Come and see our new sleeping quarters, Peabody.’

‘The tents have been delivered, then? I particularly requested Ali to send them out immediately.’

‘I don’t know whether he sent them immediately, but they arrived a few hours ago. I had Nemo put up our tent–’

‘Nemo!’

‘Yes, and he did it very deftly, too. What do you think?’

From what I could see in the gloaming, the structure appeared to be properly constructed. I accepted Emerson’s pressing invitation to inspect the interior, and it was only after a somewhat lengthy and thoroughly satisfactory interval that I was able to turn my attention to a matter I had meant to pursue immediately upon my arrival. Emerson politely held the tent flap aside for me, and as we walked hand in hand toward the house I asked, ‘When did Nemo leave, Emerson?’

‘Why, not at all, Peabody, unless he has taken to his heels within the past half hour. I left him with Ramses… . What did you say, Peabody?’

‘I only uttered a brief ejaculation, fearing for a moment that I was in danger of tripping over a stone.’

‘Oh,’ said Emerson. ‘What were we talking about?’

‘I was about to say you should have had Mr Nemo erect both tents.’

‘Amelia, I do not intend that Ramses shall sleep in a tent.’

‘It is not for Ramses, it is for Miss Marshall.’

‘Oh curse it, Amelia, why the devil–’

‘I told you, Emerson. It is not suitable–’

He interrupted me, of course. We continued our discussion as we walked to the house. The inevitable conclusion having been reached, Emerson shook himself and said calmly, ‘It is good having you back, my dear Peabody. The place is just not the same without you. I only hope I have not made a mistake in taking that young woman on my staff. Can you believe she kept to her room all day? I am afraid she is not up to the work. I am afraid she is sickly. Night air is bad for sickly persons–’

‘The night air is just what she needs to complete her cure. I promise you, she will be ready for work tomorrow.’

‘Humph,’ said Emerson.

Before we left England, Ramses had informed me that he had decided to write an introductory Egyptian grammar, the volumes available being, in his opinion, completely inadequate. I agreed with his evaluation, but I would have encouraged the endeavour in any case, since I hoped it would help to keep him out of mischief. I was pleased, that evening, to find him busily scribbling, with the cat Bastet sitting on the table acting as a paperweight.

‘Where is Mr Nemo?’ I asked, after greetings had been exchanged.

‘In his room. I presume,’ said Ramses, picking up the pen he had laid aside upon my entrance, ‘that he is smoking opium. I asked him if I might participate, but he–’

‘Ramses!’ I exclaimed. ‘You are not to take opium!’

‘I don’t recall that you ever told me I must not, Mama.’

‘You are right. I neglected to make that observation. Consider it made now. Whatever put such an idea into your head?’

Ramses fixed me with his wide, serious gaze. ‘It is a question of scientific experiment, Mama. A scholar should not depend upon descriptions of results; in order fully to assess them he must have a firsthand acquaintance with–’

‘Never mind; I should have known better than to ask. Ramses, if you … You are strictly forbidden … Oh, good Gad, I have no time to counter your Machiavellian arguments. I must see how Miss Marshall is getting on. But please bear in mind … Emerson, I leave you to talk to Ramses.’

‘Listen to Ramses’ was more like it; the boy launched into a long speech, in which Emerson’s feeble ‘But, my boy–’ was swallowed up like a scrap of paper in a whirlpool. At least I was confident that while the discussion continued, I could talk to Enid without being overheard.

She was lying on the cot when I entered, her face turned to the wall; but when she saw who it was she leaped up with the energy and grace of a tigress.

‘I am going mad with boredom,’ she hissed. ‘I would prefer a prison cell to this solitude – this suspense – and that abominable child popping in to ask me questions about the funerary monuments of the Fourth Dynasty–’

‘I hope you didn’t attempt to answer them?’

‘How could I? I didn’t understand one word in ten.’ After a moment, the fiery rage on her face faded and she collapsed onto the thin mattress, her face crumpling like that of a frightened child. ‘Forgive me, Mrs Emerson. I owe you so much – but inactivity and ignorance of what is happening prey on my mind.’

‘I would feel much the same. Your inactivity is at an end. Tomorrow you will join us on the dig. Don’t worry about betraying your ignorance. You will be acting as my assistant, and I will make sure you are in no difficulty. If Emerson asks you a question you cannot answer, simply say, ‘Mr Petrie is of the opinion …’ You won’t get any further. Emerson will either interrupt you or stalk off in a rage. If Ramses questions you – which he almost certainly will – you need only ask him what he thinks. The only difficulty then will be to get him to stop talking. Have you any questions?’

‘Any? I have a hundred.’ Her eyes flashed. ‘You went to Cairo today. What has happened? Have the police–’

‘The police are idiots. You must remain here until I have solved the case and made it possible for you to resume your rightful position.’

‘You said you knew–’

‘I said I knew who the murderer of Kalenischeff is. I spoke no more than the truth, Miss Marshall. The only trouble is, I don’t know who he … Let me rephrase that. I know who he is; but I do not know … Good Gad, this is more complex than I realized. The murderer is the leader of a criminal network of which Kalenischeff was a member. You follow me so far? Good. Unfortunately, although I have met the individual in question, I don’t know his true identity. He is a master of disguise.’

Enid looked doubtfully at me. ‘Do I understand you correctly, Mrs Emerson? Are you saying that the murderer is a sort of Master Criminal?’

‘Excellent,’ I cried. ‘I applaud your intelligence, Miss Marshall. I knew from the first that you and I would be in accord.’

‘Thank you, ma’am. Forgive me if I do not appear to be encouraged by the information. From what I have heard about master criminals, they are geniuses of crime and are not easily brought to justice.’

‘Quite true. However, you may be sure that this genius of crime will be brought to justice and by me. It may take a little while, though, so you must be patient. Here are a few personal items I purchased for you in Cairo.’ I handed her the parcel. ‘I apologize for the poor quality of the garments; ready-made clothing is not of the best, but I did not feel I could march into Shepheard’s and collect your luggage.’

‘You are more than kind,’ she murmured, her head bent over the parcel.

‘Not at all. I have the bill and expect you will reimburse me as soon as you are able.’

Enid looked up with a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye, as the poet has it. All at once she flung her arm around my neck and hid her face against my shoulder. ‘Now I begin to understand why people speak of you as they do,’ she murmured. ‘My own mother could have done no more for me…’

My heart went out to the girl, but I knew that an overt expression of sympathy would bring on the flood of tears she was trying valiantly to repress. I therefore attempted to relieve the situation with one of my little jokes. Patting her hand, I remarked with a smile, ‘I doubt that even your dear mama could have been as useful in the present situation; a lady so well bred as she would not have had my extensive acquaintance with hardened criminals and their habits. Now, now, my dear, cheer up. I have a question for you. Why didn’t you tell me you were engaged to be married?’

She raised her head, astonishment writ large upon her features. ‘But I am not. Whoever told you that?’

‘Mr Baehler, the manager of Shepheard’s Hotel. Your affianced husband is in Cairo, burning to assist you.’

‘I cannot understand … Oh. Oh, heavens. It must be Ronald. I should have known?’

‘You owe me an explanation, my dear girl. Who the dev – who is Ronald?’

‘The Honourable Ronald Fraser. We grew up together, Ronald and I and …’ Her lips closed. She sat for a moment in silence, as if thinking how best to explain. Then she said slowly, ‘Ronald is my second cousin – the only kin I have now. He has no other claim on me.’

‘Why would he call himself your fiancé, then? Or did Mr Baehler misunderstand?’

Enid tossed her head. ‘He asked me to marry him. I refused. But it would be like Ronald to assume I would change my mind. He has a habit of believing what he wants to believe.’

‘Ah, I see. Thank you for your confidence, Miss Marshall. And now I think you had better put on the dress I brought you and join us for a cup of tea and a little conversation. Afterwards we will retire to our tents. Did I mention you will be sleeping in a tent tonight? I am sure you will enjoy it. Much more pleasant than this stuffy room.’

When I returned to the sitting room, Emerson was still trying to explain to Ramses about the horrors of opium addiction. He did not appear to have made much headway. Ramses remarked, ‘May I say, Papa, that the poignant description you have just delivered verges on the classic? However, you will permit me to point out that there is no danger whatever that I would succumb to the temptations you have so eloquently described, since mental lethargy is not one of my–’

Emerson shot me a look of agonized appeal. ‘Ramses,’ I said, ‘you are not, under any circumstances whatever, to smoke, eat, or imbibe any form of opium.’

‘Yes, Mama,’ Ramses said resignedly.

I then went to have a look at Mr Nemo. I did not expect to find him indulging in the occupation Ramses so longed to experience, since I had his supply of opium and did not suppose he had money to buy more. I found him undrugged, and in a very bad temper. He looked up from the book he was holding and glared at me.

‘I am glad to see you improving your mind, Mr Nemo,’ I said encouragingly.

Nemo tossed the book aside. ‘I don’t want to improve my mind. I had no choice. Haven’t you anything to read except books on Egyptology?’

‘You should have asked Ramses. He has brought along some of his favourite thrillers – a surprisingly low taste for a person of his erudition. Never mind that now, I have a task for you. The moon is still bright; can you see well enough to put up the other tent? I intend the young lady to sleep there tonight.’

‘I would work in total darkness if it would get her away from the house,’ Nemo said gruffly. ‘What is she doing here? How long is she going to stay?’

‘She is an archaeologist, Mr Nemo. She has come to help with the digging.’

‘Is that what she told you?’ Nemo laughed harshly. ‘She has taken you in, Mrs Emerson – you, of all people! She knows nothing of archaeology.’

‘Are you acquainted with the young lady?’

Nemo averted his eyes. ‘I saw her in Cairo – another vain, empty-headed society girl. Everyone knew who she was. Everyone saw her with that vile – that contemptible –’

‘Language, Mr Nemo. Language.’

‘I was not going to finish the sentence. I don’t care … I don’t care about anything. I only want to be left alone. You took my opium, didn’t you? I don’t blame you; you had every right. But the moment I get my hands on any money, I will buy more. I cannot trust myself. You cannot trust me. Let me go back to the gutter from which you took me.’

I was not moved by his appeal, though I knew it came from the heart. The young do take themselves so seriously, poor things, and they tend to express themselves in theatrical parlance.

I sat down on the cot beside him. ‘Mr Nemo, you are in deeper trouble than you know. If you return to your gutter, you will be removed from it forthwith, by the police. Are you honestly ignorant of the fact that the vile – that Kalenischeff was murdered the night before last, and that you are one of the prime suspects?’

Nemo’s reaction ended my suspicions of him once and for all. His look of abject astonishment might have been feigned, but the dark blood that flooded his haggard cheeks was a symptom beyond the skill of the most accomplished thespian.

‘I know you didn’t kill him,’ I said. ‘I am going to take you into my confidence, Mr Nemo. I am going to share with you a secret unbeknownst even to my husband and – and, I hope, my son, although with Ramses one can never be certain.’

With a mighty effort Mr Nemo got control of himself. ‘I am deeply honoured, madam. To tell me something even the professor does not know–’

‘I really have no choice, Mr Nemo, since you already know it – the young lady’s true identity. The murdered man was found in her room. Fortunately for her, she fled before the police could apprehend her, but she is also a suspect. I have reason to believe she may be in even greater danger from another source. Until I can find the real murderer, she must remain incognito and in concealment. Admittedly her relationship with Kalenischeff was indiscreet, but I am convinced it was no worse than that. She needs your help; she does not deserve your scorn. Well?’

‘I am in a daze of disbelief,’ Nemo exclaimed. ‘I knew nothing of this! I was at the hotel that night. I followed – that is to say – I followed my own inclinations … But I had every intention of keeping my appointment for that morning. However, after – after a while I changed my mind again. That is not atypical of drug users, you know. There seemed to be no sense in waiting there for hours, and I had some notion of showing my independence by making my own way to Dahshoor… . But if I told that story to the police–’

‘It would sound very suspicious,’ I assured him.

‘I suppose so.’ Nemo brushed a lock of shining copper hair from his brow. ‘Yet it seemed reasonable at the time. I swear to you, Mrs Emerson, I did not kill the rascal! And how anyone could suppose that she – a girl like that – why, she is incapable of stepping on a beetle, much less murdering a man in cold blood!’

‘Your incoherent exclamations testify to your good heart but are not of much assistance otherwise,’ I said, rising. ‘Our task is to capture the real murderer of Kalenischeff, thus freeing both you and Miss Debenham from suspicion. He is the genius of crime of whom we spoke earlier – the man known as Sethos. Are you with me?’

‘Every step of the way!’ His fists clenched, his eyes glowed. ‘Wherever it may take us. Into danger, into death–’

‘I don’t intend to let it take us that far. First I want you to set up that tent for Miss Marshall, as she has chosen to be called.’

Mr Nemo wilted. ‘I dare not leave my room,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t want her to see me. Not like this …’

‘Then I suggest you creep up the stairs to the roof and lower yourself to the ground. It should be easy for a healthy young man. Once we have left the house, you can safely return. Remember, I am counting on you to watch over Ramses tonight. I doubt that our adversaries would dare enter the compound, but Ramses is apt to take it into his head to go exploring while his papa and I are out of the way. I have brought you a suit of clothing. Bathe, shave, brush your hair (the necessary implements are in this parcel), and let me see you tomorrow looking like an English gentleman.’

I left him looking like a blooming idiot, as Emerson might have said (though Emerson would probably have employed a more colourful adjective). I have found that people are often struck dumb with amazement at the quickness of my intellect. However, I was confident that he would do as I had asked. By appealing to his gallantry in assisting a lady in distress I had struck at the deepest chords in an Englishman’s nature, and I did not doubt he would rise to the occasion.

Enid wisely waited until she heard my voice before drawing the curtain aside and joining us in the sitting room. Emerson greeted her with hearty good will.

‘I am glad to see you on your feet again, Miss Marshall. If you feel any signs of recurrence, you must tell Mrs Emerson at once so she can pump you full of ipecacuanha. First thing tomorrow we will begin excavating at the base of the pyramid. Perhaps you can tell me–’

I thought it wise to intervene. ‘First, Emerson, tell me what progress you made today. Have you discovered any traces of the causeway?’

Emerson scowled. ‘Nothing but a few bricks, I don’t doubt that the causeway once ran along that line, but the local looters have removed every scrap of stone. It is a waste of time to go on. Instead I will begin at the pyramid and work out from there. I want Miss Marshall to take charge of one group of diggers and–’

Consternation ruffled the serenity of the girl’s brow, and again I came to her rescue. ‘I think it would be better for her to work with me for a few days, Emerson – to get the hang of our methods, if you will excuse the slang. I propose to have a look at the subsidiary pyramid. It shouldn’t take long to determine whether there is anything left in the burial chamber. If necessary, we can hire a few more men.’

‘I don’t know, Peabody,’ Emerson began. But I did not hear his objections; for, out of the corner of my eye, I had seen Ramses close his mouth. His mouth was usually open, speaking or attempting to speak; the sudden compression of his lips would have passed unnoticed by a casual observer, but years of experience had taught me not to ignore the slightest change in that impassive though juvenile countenance. I promised myself I would have a word with Master Ramses. He knew something about the small pyramid, possibly from the illicit digging he had done at Dahshoor the year before.

‘Well then, that is settled,’ Emerson said. ‘Er – it is getting late, don’t you think?’

‘No, not really,’ I said absently, for I was still thinking about the duplicity of my son. ‘Where are the rest of the things I bought today?’

Emerson indicated an untidy heap in the corner of the room. ‘Well,’ I said with a sigh, ‘we had better sort them out. Some will have to be taken to the tents. I also brought a few small items with me in the saddle bags. Where …’

Eventually I found them on the mastaba outside, where Abdullah had dumped them before returning the mare to her owner. Shaking my head, I carried them inside. My poor little nosegay had been crushed by Abdullah’s careless handling. Emerson glanced at it as I put it to one side. ‘Buying yourself posies, Amelia?’

‘No indeed. It was a gift from a gentleman,’ I said jestingly. Not that I wanted to arouse Emerson’s jealousy, for such tricks are unworthy of an affectionate spouse. However, a little stirring up never hurts a husband.

Emerson only grunted. ‘Baehler, I suppose. These Frenchmen–’

‘He is not French, Emerson. He is Swiss.’

‘It is the same thing.’

‘In fact, I am not certain of the identity of the kind giver. The flowers were handed to me by a vendor as I left the hotel. Poor things, they were so pretty… . Here, Emerson, smell the fragrance.’

I thrust them at him with playful impetuosity, so that the lower part of his face was quite smothered by the fading blossoms. Emerson’s eyes bulged. With a cry he struck at my hand. The flowers fell to the floor, and Emerson began jumping up and down on them.

Miss Marshall leaped from her chair and retreated to the farthest corner of the room, staring. Knowing Emerson, I did not share her alarm, but I considered his reaction exaggerated, and I did not hesitate to say so. ‘Emerson, Mr Baehler only meant to make a gallant gesture. You really must–’

‘Gallant?’ Emerson glared at me, and with a start of horror I saw that his brown cheek was disfigured by a creeping trail of blood. ‘A gallant gesture, upon my word,’ he cried. ‘Inserting a poisoned insect or an asp into a bouquet!’ He resumed jumping up and down on the flowers. If a beaten earth floor could have reverberated, this one would have done so. ‘When my face – thump – turns – black – thump – remember – thump – I gave my life – thump – for you!’

‘Emerson, my dearest Emerson!’ I rushed to his side and attempted to lay hold of him. ‘Do stop jumping; violent physical activity will increase the rapidity of the movement of the poison through your veins!’

‘Hmmmm,’ said Emerson, standing still. ‘That is a good point, Peabody.’

My heart pounded in profound agitation as I turned his face to the light. The wound was no more than a scratch, and it had already stopped bleeding. Shallow and uneven, it did not in the least resemble the bite of a venomous reptile or insect. Yet my tender anxiety was not entirely assuaged until I heard Ramses remark calmly, ‘There is no animal life of any kind here, Papa. I believe this bit of metal must have scratched you. It seems exceedingly unlikely–’

Emerson flung himself at Ramses. ‘Drop it at once, my boy!’

Ramses eluded him with eel-like sinuosity. ‘I am confident there is no danger, Papa. The object is – or was, until you trampled it underfoot – a trinket of some kind. The material appears to be gold.’

Gold! How often in the course of human history has that word trembled through the air, rousing the strongest of passions! Even we, who had learned in the course of our archaeological endeavours that the smallest scrap of broken pottery may be more important than jewelled treasures – even we, I say, felt our pulses quicken.

Ramses held the scrap near the lamp. The sensuous shimmer of light along its surface proved him right.

‘I don’t like you holding it, my boy,’ Emerson said nervously. ‘Give it to Papa.’

Ramses obeyed, remarking as he did so, ‘Your fears for my well-being are, I assure you, Papa, without foundation. Mysterious poisons unknown to science are rare indeed; in fact, I believe I am safe in asserting that they exist only in sensational fiction. Even the most virulent substances in the pharmacopoeia require dosages of several milligrams in order to ensure a fatal result, and if you will stop and consider the matter for a moment, you will agree that it would be impossible for a bit of metal this size to contain enough–’

‘You have made your point, Ramses,’ I said.

Emerson turned the twisted metal over in his fingers. ‘It appears to be a ring,’ he said in a quiet voice.

‘I do believe you are correct, Emerson. How very odd! Wait – turn it this way, I caught a glimpse of something–’

‘There are a few hieroglyphic signs still decipherable,’ said the shrill voice of my infuriating offspring. ‘They were stamped upon the bezel of the ring, which had the shape of the cartouche used to enclose royal names. The alphabetic hieroglyph for n was at the bottom; above it you will see the form of an animal-headed god, followed by two reed signs. The name is unquestionably that of Sethos, either the first or the second pharaoh of that name, and I would surmise–’

‘Sethos!’ I cried. ‘Good Gad – can it be – but it must be! That he would dare – that he would show such consummate – such incredible effrontery – that – that –’

Emerson took me by the shoulders and shook me so vigorously that quantities of hairpins flew from my head. ‘You are hysterical, Peabody,’ he shouted. ‘Calm yourself – be still – stop shouting! What are you talking about? Who the devil is Sethos?’

I realized that Emerson had not been present when Mr Nemo told me of this pseudonym. As soon as I could persuade him to leave off shaking me, I rendered the necessary explanations. The effect of my statement upon my husband was terrible to behold. The alteration of his normally handsome features was so dreadful that Enid fled into the night and Ramses was moved to exclaim, ‘Such engorgement of the blood vessels may betoken a seizure, Mama. Some cold water dashed in Papa’s face–’

I was unable to prevent the application of this remedy, for Ramses acted upon it even as he spoke, and I must admit that it had a salubrious effect. Emerson sputtered and swore, but his fiery complexion subsided by gradual degrees and his acute intelligence triumphed over his choler. He stood in silence for a moment, dripping. Then he said quietly, ‘Nemo is certain of the name.’

‘It is hardly a name he would invent, Emerson. He knows nothing of Egyptology. And what name could be more appropriate? For Set, as we know, was the evil adversary of the noble Osiris, and might be termed the Egyptian Satan. Though it appears that during some period of history, he was well enough regarded to act as patron of a royal house. The name Sethos means ‘man of Set,’ or ‘follower of Set.’ You remember, I am sure, the Kadesh inscription of Ramses the Second, which exalts the pharaoh by comparing his powers to those of the god:

‘Lord of fear, great of fame,
In the hearts of all the lands.
Great of awe, rich in glory,
As is Set upon his mountain …
Like a wild lion in a valley of goats!

‘How admirably does this same comparison suit the enigmatic person who has assumed the sobriquet of Sethos! Ranging at will among his helpless victims, like the king of beasts–’

‘Yes, yes,’ Emerson said. ‘But the name has another significance which seems to have eluded you.’

‘Sethos the First was the father of Ramses the Second,’ squeaked our son of the same name.

His father gave him a look of pure dislike – one of the few times I had seen Emerson regard the boy with disfavour.

‘What the devil does that have to do with anything?’ he demanded.

‘Nothing at all,’ I said. ‘What are you getting at, Emerson?’

‘Have you forgotten, Peabody, that Set was a red-headed god?’

There could be no doubt, even in the sceptical mind of my husband, that the token of flowers and jewel had come from that villain, the Master Criminal. Only he would have thought to taunt me by presenting me with one of the antique treasures he had stolen from a royal tomb – for, as I hardly need say, golden rings with a kingly cartouche are not easy to come by.

Emerson and I were still discussing the matter as we strolled across the silvery desert toward the Bent Pyramid. Miss Marshall trailed timidly in our wake, encumbered as we were by toilet articles, blankets, and so on. Knowing the poor girl must be utterly mystified, I requested Emerson to render a brief statement of our encounter with the Master Criminal during the previous season. He declined with a degree of acerbity even greater than the mention of this person’s name generally produced, so I took the task on myself.

‘You know, of course, Miss Marshall, about the deplorable trade in illicit antiquities. Owing to the vast number of buried tombs and cities, it is impossible for the Department of Antiquities to guard all of them, especially since the locations of many are not known. Untrained diggers, both native and foreign, lured by the high prices such antiques command, carry out digs of their own, often neglecting to keep the careful records that are essential if we–’

‘If she already knows it, why are you telling her about it?’ Emerson demanded. ‘The facts are known to every school-child, much less a trained excavator like Miss Marshall.’

I laughed lightly. ‘Quite right, Emerson. I have delivered the lecture so often to tourists and other ignoramuses that I forgot myself.

‘At any rate, Miss Marshall, we discovered that the illicit trade had increased a hundredfold, and deduced that some genius of crime had taken charge of the business. These deductions were triumphantly confirmed when we encountered the mastermind himself. Our investigations – the details of which I will not tell you at the present time, though they were fraught with interesting incidents – put a spoke in the wheel of this man; he had us abducted and imprisoned in a pyramid, from which we escaped by the skin of our teeth just in time to stop the genius of crime–’

‘On the whole, Amelia,’ said Emerson in a reflective voice, ‘I believe I prefer even the atrocious term Master Criminal to genius of crime.’

‘Very well, Emerson, it is of small concern to me. As I was saying, Miss Marshall, we robbed Sethos of his ill-gotten gains, but unfortunately he made good his escape. He is out there somewhere, lurking in the shadows of the underworld and, I do not doubt, burning for revenge. The flowers were a reminder that his unseen eyes are upon us and his unseen hand may at any moment descend.’

Miss Marshall drew a long breath of amazement. ‘You quite take my breath away, Mrs Emerson. What a thrilling tale!’

I thanked her, and Emerson growled, ‘Mrs Emerson’s rhetorical style, I fear, is influenced by her taste for third-rate romances. You left out all the important details, Amelia. Ramses’ daring rescue–’

‘I will elaborate at another time, Emerson. Here we are, at our little camp; I do hope, Miss Marshall, that you will be comfortable.’

Emerson cheered up when he saw that the second, smaller tent had been placed some distance from our own. ‘Out of hearing range’ was, I believe, his precise phrase. I got the girl settled nicely and returned to my spouse, who had already retired. The interior of the tent was quite dark; but when I asked Emerson to relight the lamp, he refused in such terms that I decided not to pursue the subject.

‘I cannot see a thing, Emerson,’ I said, edging toward the spot where I believed he must be.

‘I can’t see you either, but I can hear you jingling,’ said Emerson’s voice. A hand closed over the folds of my trousers and drew me down.

‘You see?’ said Emerson, after a while. ‘The visual sense is not necessary for the activities I had planned for this evening. One might even argue that it is an interference.’

‘Quite right, my dear Emerson. Only, if you don’t mind, I would prefer to remove the net and combs and pins from my hair myself. You have just put your finger in my eye.’

When these and other encumbrances to conjugal fraternization had been removed, Emerson drew me into his strong arms. Not wishing to discourage the sensations of intense affection that had begun to develop, I unobtrusively freed one hand long enough to draw a blanket over us. Once the sun goes down, the desert nights are chilly. Also, I had not closed the flap of the tent. However, I felt sure Miss Marshall had closed hers; Emerson had mentioned at least four times that she must be sure and do so, for fear of the night air.

As I have had occasion to remark earlier in the pages of this journal, I do not share the prudish attitude of some self-appointed guardians of righteousness concerning the relationship of marriage persons. I rejoice – nay, I glory in – the depth of the regard Emerson and I have for one another. The fact that Emerson is as attracted by my physical characteristics as he is by my character and my spiritual qualities should, in my opinion, be a source of pride rather than embarrassment.

I will therefore state, candidly and without reserve, that I sensed a subtle change in his behaviour that night. It was more tempestuous and at the same time oddly tentative. This may sound contradictory. It was contradictory. I cannot account for it, I can only say that such was the case.

Sometime later, after we had settled into our usual sleeping positions – Emerson flat on his back with his arms folded across his breast like a mummified Egyptian pharaoh, I on my side with my head against his shoulder – I heard him sigh.

‘Peabody.’

‘Yes, my dear Emerson?’

‘There is, if I am not mistaken, a foolish convention known as the language of flowers.’

‘I believe you are not mistaken, Emerson.’

‘What do red roses mean in the language of flowers, Peabody?’

‘I have no idea, Emerson. Like yourself, I am sublimely indifferent to foolish conventions.’

‘I think I can guess, though,’ Emerson muttered.

‘Emerson, I cannot imagine why you should concern yourself about such trivial and meaningless matter when we have so many other important issues to discuss. Several things happened today that I want to tell you about. I met a gentleman – a very interesting and attractive individual –’

Emerson rolled over and seized me in a fierce embrace. ‘Don’t talk to me about interesting gentlemen, Peabody. Don’t talk at all!’

And he proceeded to make it difficult, if not impossible, for me to do so, even if I had been so inclined, which at that particular moment I was not.

VII

WHEN we returned to the house next day, we found another group of would-be workers patiently waiting outside the gates. Ramses advanced purposefully on Enid, and she fled into her room. Nemo was nowhere to be seen; but I had observed the flutter of a ragged robe in the doorway of the donkey shed, so I went after him.

Since part of the roof was missing, I had no trouble noticing that Nemo had obeyed only part of my orders. He was cleanshaven, and smelled of Pears soap; his hair had been combed and flattened down with water, though drying strands curled around his neck and brow. I reminded myself I must not forget to give him a hair-cut.

I asked why he had not put on his new suit. Instead of answering he countered with another question. ‘Is there any reason why I should not wear native costume, Mrs Emerson? I am used to it now, and it is much more comfortable.’

‘You can wear anything you like, so long as it is clean. I do not tolerate slovenliness on my expeditions. Is that your only robe? Well, then, we will wash it this evening, and while it dries I will cut your hair.’

Mr Nemo made a face, like a little boy about to be given medicine, but he had learned the futility of arguing with me. ‘I wonder if I might ask you for a pair of blue spectacles, Mrs Emerson. The blazing sun is hard on my eyes.’

‘Don’t try to deceive me, Mr Nemo. I know why you want the spectacles – you will find a pair in the third box on the second shelf in the sitting room. You are ashamed of having the young lady see you. Childish, Mr Nemo. Very childish. You will have to face her sooner or later.’

‘Not if I can help it,’ Nemo muttered. ‘Mrs Emerson, all this fuss about washing and cutting hair is a waste of time. Shouldn’t we be bending all our efforts to finding the criminal you mentioned? Surely we would have a better chance of spotting him in Cairo. I could return to my old haunts, and–’

‘No, no, Mr Nemo. You have not the faintest idea of how to proceed. Leave that to me, and follow my orders implicitly. Was there any disturbance last night?’

‘No, all was quiet. But that news seems to disappoint you, Mrs Emerson. Were you hoping for another attack on your son?’

‘I am disappointed; I was hoping for an attack – though not necessarily on Ramses. Do you not see, Mr Nemo, that we have not a hope of finding the man we want among the teeming thousands of Cairo? The fellow is a master of disguise; he might be anyone. Our best hope is to wait for him to come to us.’

‘You mean we must sit and wait – indefinitely?’

‘Not indefinitely. Not long, in fact. Sooner or later he will visit us; he has made his interest plain; and I have a few ideas as to how to attract his attention. No, do not ask me what they are; just leave it to me. Now I must be going. Remember – watch Ramses!’

‘With all respect, Mrs Emerson, I cannot imagine why you talk about the boy as if he were some sort of monster. He seems a decent little chap – frightfully long-winded – I don’t believe I have ever heard anyone use so many confounded polysyllabic words. Aside from that, he appears normal enough. Is there something you haven’t told me? Does he suffer from – forgive me – fits of hereditary madness?’

‘I would hate to think it is hereditary,’ I said. ‘No, Mr Nemo, Ramses is quite sane – cold-bloodedly, terrifyingly sane. That is why he is so dangerous. Let me give you a brief summary … No, I have not the time. Even a brief summary would take too long. Just watch him!’

When we set out for the dig a short time later, Nemo mingled with the men. We had taken on an additional dozen or so diggers and a like number of basket children, who were to work with me. We separated our forces, Emerson leading his crew to the Bent Pyramid, and I proceeding toward the smaller one.

This structure was some sixty yards south of its larger neighbour and was obviously part of the same complex. The precise function of the subsidiary pyramids was still being debated. There were three of them attached to the Great Pyramid of Giza, and others at other sites. For my part, I felt certain they had been built for the principal consorts of the kings who were buried in the large pyramids. If I could find a mark or inscription mentioning a royal lady’s name, I could prove my thesis.

I studied the charming little ruin, trying to decide where to begin. I could not determine its height, for not only was the drifting sand piled high around its base, but the removal of the casing stones which had once covered its surface like frosting on a cake had allowed it to slump like an overweight lady after she has removed her corsets. The first thing was to remove the sand and clear the four sides down to ground level.

Enid trailed after me like a dog who is afraid to lose his master. As I proceeded, I explained to her what I was doing and why. ‘I have decided to begin with the north face, since it is more likely that the funerary chapel would be on the side closest to the principal monument. That hollow to the west will be our dump site. We don’t want to cover up any other tombs, and I see no evidence of such a thing there. Here, on this plan, which has been mapped and surveyed, I am indicating the area we will be excavating. It is marked out in squares of ten feet by ten… . Miss Marshall, you are not paying attention. You will give yourself away sooner or later if you don’t learn to make noises like an Egyptologist.’

‘Why not sooner, then? This is hopeless, Mrs Emerson. Perhaps the best thing for me to do is to turn myself in. What good am I doing here?’

‘Faint heart never won … anything, my dear,’ I said, amending the quotation as the situation demanded. ‘I am surprised to see you give up so soon.’

‘But it is hopeless!’

‘Not at all. Kalenischeff – did I mention this? – was a member of the Master Criminal’s gang. He was murdered, if not by that man’s hand, by his orders. All we have to do–’

‘Is find this man – who, by your own admission, is a master of disguise and whose identity is unknown even to you – and force him to confess! You have your own duties, Mrs Emerson – your husband, your child, your work–’

‘My dear Miss Marshall, you underestimate me if you think I cannot carry on two or more activities simultaneously. It is true that I am looking forward to solving the mystery of this little pyramid, but that does not mean I cannot at the same time put my mind to solving a mystery of another kind. I have several schemes in mind–’

‘What?’

It was the second time someone had asked me that question, and I had to admit it was a good question. ‘The less you know, the safer you will be,’ I said. ‘Trust me.’

‘But Mrs Emerson–’

‘You had better call me Amelia. Formality is absurd under these circumstances.’

‘My name is Enid. It is my real name,’ she added, with a rueful smile. ‘When I chose my nom de guerre, I took the chance of retaining my true first name. It is hard to respond, with instinctive ease, to one that is unfamiliar.’

‘Good thinking. You see, you have a talent for deception that is worth cultivating. But please don’t employ it when you tell me about your cousin.’

Enid started violently. ‘Who?’

‘Your kinsman. Ronald – I forget his other name. Is he the sort of person who could help us in our investigation?’

‘Ronald! I beg your pardon; I never think of him as a cousin, since the relationship is so distant. No. Ronald is the last person on whom I would depend in time of trouble. He is an amiable, empty-headed young man who has never done a useful day’s work in his life, or employed his brain for anything more demanding than totalling up his gambling debts.’

‘He sounds a most unattractive person.’

‘No,’ Enid said. ‘Physically he is quite handsome; he has an engaging manner and can be the most amusing companion in the world.’

‘But you don’t want me to tell him where you are – reassure him as to your safety?’

‘Heavens, no. I am sure Ronald is concerned about me – in so far as he is capable of being concerned about anyone but himself. But I am equally certain he didn’t put himself out hurrying to Cairo. He has been in Egypt for some weeks, on – on business – which he abandoned in order to go hunting in the Sudan.’

An indefinable but unmistakable change in her voice and look made me suspect she was holding something back. As later events proved, I was correct, but I will frankly admit – since candour is a quality I prize, and since my errors in judgment are so infrequent as to be worthy of mention – that I was mistaken as to the cause of her reticence. Young ladies often abuse a gentleman in whom they have an intense personal interest. I assumed Miss Debenham was in love with her cousin and was ashamed to admit it because she considered him unworthy of her affection.

Delicacy, therefore, prevented me from pressing the subject, and Enid made it even more difficult for me to do so by reminding me that the men were waiting for my command to begin digging.

After several hours we halted for refreshment. Sitting before our tents, we applied ourselves to eggs and tea, and fresh bread from the village, with good appetite. Emerson’s humour had improved, thanks to the discovery of some blocks of cut stone which betokened the presence of some sort of structure.

Ramses, of course, had to express his evaluation. ‘In my opinion, Papa, we have found signs of two distinct building periods. Since the cult of Sneferu the Good was popular in Ptolemaic times, it is probable–’

‘Ramses, your papa is perfectly well aware of that,’ I said testily.

‘I only wished to suggest that extreme care must be taken in order to discover–’

‘Again, Ramses, let me remind you that there is no excavator in the field today whose skill equals that of your papa.’

‘Thank you, my dear,’ said Emerson, beaming. ‘Are you having a good time with your little pyramid?’

‘Yes, thank you, Emerson.’

Before I could draw breath to continue, Ramses addressed Enid, requesting her opinion on what we had accomplished thus far. It might have been only a courteous attempt to draw her into the conversation. But I doubted that it was.

Enid distracted him by seizing the cat, who was sniffing around her ankles. I was surprised the aristocratic creature permitted the liberty. She was on good terms with me and had a certain tolerant affection for Emerson, but Ramses was the only person whose caresses she actively encouraged.

The distraction proved effective, for Ramses then asked about Enid’s pets – having deduced, as he explained at length, that she must have owned a cat or she would not know the precise spots to scratch. When Enid replied that she had several dogs and a dozen cats, most of whom had been abandoned by cruel owners, Ramses’ countenance took on quite a pleasant look of approval. As he sat cross-legged beside her, his curly head tipped to one side and his black eyes bright with interest, one might have taken him for a normal little boy – so long as he kept his mouth closed.

All at once, Emerson leaped to his feet, dropping his bread and butter (buttered side down, of course) onto the rug. He shielded his eyes with his hands and looked east, toward the rising sun. ‘Upon my word, Amelia, I believe it is a group of cursed tourists. And they are coming this way.’

‘That is hardly surprising, Emerson,’ I replied, trying to scrape the butter off the rug, which was a handsome old Bokhara. ‘You know that is one of the disadvantages of working at Dahshoor. Though not so popular as Giza and Sakkara, it is mentioned in the guidebooks.’

‘Did you ever see such absurd figures?’ Emerson demanded. ‘Green umbrellas, flaps of cloth about their heads …’

Compared to Emerson, they did look ridiculous. Hatless, his bronzed throat and arms bared, he was in tune with his surroundings as few foreigners in Egypt could be. But then Emerson is a remarkable man. He has never suffered from sunstroke or sunburn or even from catarrh, though he absolutely refuses to wear a flannel belt, which, as every physician knows, is the only certain preventative for that common affliction.

The little caravan approached us. None of the riders was accustomed to donkeyback; they bounced up and down like jumping jacks on strings. Emerson pushed his sleeves to his shoulders. ‘I will just go and run them off.’

‘Wait, Emerson…’ But I was too late. Emerson’s long legs carried him swiftly toward the enemy.

His raised hand brought the procession to a halt. One stout gentleman fell off his donkey and was hauled to his feet by a pair of grinning donkey boys. A lively discussion ensued. I could not make out the words, except for an occasional expletive from Emerson, but the gestures of the participants left no doubt as to their state of mind.

Enid chuckled. ‘I am reminded of Aunt Betsy, in Dickens’ charming novel,’ she said.

‘Like Aunt Betsy, Emerson will prevail,’ I said, buttering another bit of bread.

Sure enough, after a while the caravan turned away, heading for the North Pyramid, and Emerson returned, refreshed and exhilarated by the encounter. We all went back to work except for the cat Bastet, who yawned and sauntered into the tent to take a nap.

I did not expect the discoveries of that first day to be momentous, and they were not – only the usual pottery shards and fragments of funerary objects. The whole area was one vast cemetery – a city of the dead whose population far exceeded that of any metropolis, modern or ancient. I showed Enid the proper procedure for dealing with such finds, for we kept scrupulously accurate records of every object, no matter how undistinguished.

There was little going on to occupy my mind, so I was able to devote part of my attention to working out an answer to the question people kept asking me. How indeed to attract the attention of the Master Criminal? I sympathized with Mr Nemo’s disinclination to sit with folded hands until that gentleman decided to make his next move. Tactically and psychologically it would be to our advantage to take the initiative and encourage an attack. What I needed was a treasure – a cache of royal jewellery like the one that had attracted the M.C.’s interest the year before. Ramses had found one such cache at Dashoor. (In fact, I was fairly certain he had found two; the treasure of Princess Khnumit, which M. de Morgan had produced with such fanfare at the end of the season, might have been his reward for promising to yield the site to us. I had not questioned Ramses about the matter and I had no intention of doing so, since confirmation of my suspicion would raise delicate ethical questions I was not prepared to deal with.)

Nor had I any intention of going, hat in hand, to my own son and asking him to help me find antiquities. I had even rejected the idea of interrogating the boy about the subsidiary pyramid. I meant to carry out my excavation according to the strictest scientific principles – but what I really wanted to find was the entrance. I yearned to squirm into that entrance and search for the burial chamber, and it would not have surprised me in the slightest to learn that Ramses knew precisely where it was located. He had a diabolical instinct for such things. However, great as would be the pleasure of entering the pyramid, the pleasure of finding it without Ramses’ assistance would be even greater, and as the morning passed, with no sign of an opening, I began to think I had overestimated the boy. The men were still digging out sand, and not even Ramses – surely, not even Ramses? – could have located a hidden entrance buried under tons of debris.

The thought of pyramids had distracted me. I turned my thoughts back to the other problem. In lieu of a treasure, what would attract the Master Criminal? An answer soon came to me; but although I had every confidence in Ramses’ ability to get himself out of ordinary scrapes, it did not seem quite right to use him as a lure to capture a murderer. There was another way, just as effective and less open to criticism on the grounds of maternal affection.

The sun climbed higher and the temperature climbed with it. Occupied with my work and my schemes, I did not notice the passage of time or feel the heat until, glancing at Enid, I saw she was flushed and aglow with perspiration.

‘You had better join Bastet in the tent,’ I said, taking the notebook and pencil from her. ‘I forgot you are not accustomed to the sun.’

Courageously she asserted her willingness to remain on duty, but I overcame her scruples. She went off, and I was about to resume my labours when I saw a cloud of sand on the northern horizon. Another group of cursed tourists! Coming from the direction of Sakkara this time, and on horseback. The younger and more adventurous visitors preferred this approach.

When I saw that the riders did not halt at the North Pyramid but were coming straight toward us, I left Selim in charge of the diggers and hastened to Emerson. He had once bodily removed from a tomb a little old lady who turned out to be the former Empress of the French. The ensuing international furore had taken quite a while to die down.

He was rolling up his sleeves. I took firm hold of him and awaited the event. Before long I recognized, in the party of mounted men, the same young Englishmen I had seen at Shepheard’s the day before.

They were still wearing the fantastical and inappropriate bits of Arabic costume they had purchased in the bazaars. However, they were expert horsemen – not surprising in persons who have few occupations in life other than sport and idle amusement. The guns slung from the saddles or carried over their arms were of the latest and most expensive design.

Whooping and laughing, they drew up beside the tent, and the young man in the lead prepared to dismount. Seeing me, he stopped midway, one foot still in the stirrup, the other lifted over the horse’s back. The horse chose that moment to curl its lips back, and the resemblance to its rider, whose teeth were almost as prominent, was so absurd I had to stifle a laugh.

‘’Pon my word, it’s a lady,’ the young man exclaimed. ‘Look here, you chaps. What the devil d’you suppose she’s doing out here in the middle of nowhere? How de do, ma’am.’

He whipped off his turban. Emerson was not appeased by the gesture. He growled. ‘Watch your language, young man. Mrs Emerson is not accustomed to vulgarity.’

‘Mrs Emerson? Then you must be Mr Emerson.’ The fellow grinned as if proud of this brilliant deduction.

‘Professor Emerson,’ I corrected. ‘And you, sir?’

One of his companions hastened to his side. ‘Allow me to present his lordship Viscount Everly.’

Emerson grunted. ‘Now that you have presented him, you may take him away. This is an archaeological expedition, not a club for wealthy idlers.’

‘Archaeology! Is that so? ’Pon my word! I say, Professor, you can just show us round a bit. Or better, let your better half do it, eh? Always take a pretty woman when you can get one, isn’t that right, old chap?’ He clapped Emerson on the shoulder and bared so many of his teeth, I was afraid they would fall out of his mouth.

I did not hear Emerson’s reply, which is just as well. I had seen something that drew my attention and roused my most intense detectival instincts.

Another of the viscount’s entourage had come forward. When he removed his headgear, a turban of astonishing height and breadth, his head looked as if it had caught fire. The features below the copper locks were hardly less astonishing. It took a second look to convince me that they were not those of Mr Nemo. Further examination indicated the resemblance was not, in fact, as close as I had supposed; it was the unusual hair colour shared by both that gave a misleading impression. This man – undoubtedly the same person I had seen at the Administration Building – was slighter and softer, from his delicately cut features to his plump, manicured hands.

Feeling my fixed stare, the young man shifted from one booted foot to the other and smiled uneasily. ‘Good morning, madam.’

In my surprise I had forgotten my duty to my irate husband, but fortunately Ramses had intervened in time to save the viscount from bodily harm. Apparently he had admired the latter’s horse, for when I returned my attention to the others, I was in time to hear Everly giggle foolishly and remark, ‘Yes, young feller, he’s a dazzler, all right. Want to try him out?’

‘Ramses,’ I cried. ‘I absolutely forbid–’

But Ramses was already in the saddle, and if he heard me, which I rather think he did, he pretended not to.

Ramses was not an unskilled equestrian, but he looked very small perched atop the great white stallion. Emerson stood watching with a foolish look, half smile of pride, half frown of exasperation, as the boy put the animal to a walk. I caught his arm. ‘Emerson, stop him. Order him to dismount.’

‘Don’t fret yourself ma’am,’ said his lordship, with another imbecilic giggle. ‘Caesar is as gentle as a kitten.’

Our men had gathered around to watch. They were grinning proudly, and Abdullah said in Arabic, ‘He will take no harm, sitt. He could ride a lion if he chose.’

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when a gun went off, practically in my ear. The stallion reared and bolted. Ramses stuck to his back like a cocklebur, but I knew he must fall; his feet were a good eight inches above the swinging stirrups, and his arms had not the strength to hold the reins.

Deafened by the sound of the shot and dazed by horror, we stood frozen for several seconds. Emerson was the first to move. I have never seen a man run so fast. It was a splendid effort, but of course quite senseless, since a man on foot could never hope to catch up with a galloping horse.

His lordship reacted more quickly than I would have expected. ‘Don’t worry, ma’am, I’ll save the lad,’ he cried, and ran toward the other horses, which were standing some distance away with a pair of grooms in attendance. Before he reached them, however, a flying form cannoned into him and sent him sprawling. The newcomer vaulted into the nearest saddle. With a shout, and an answering neigh, they were off, man and equine moving as one. The flying robes of the rider blew out behind him like great wings.

Our men started running after Emerson, shouting and waving their arms. After some confusion, the viscount and his followers mounted and galloped off in pursuit. The two grooms looked at one another, shrugged, and sat down on the ground to watch.

Whether by accident or because Ramses had managed to regain some control over the horse, it had swung in a wide circle. If this was indeed designed by Ramses, it was a serious error on his part; for the steed was rapidly approaching one of the wadis, or canyons, that cut through the western desert. I could not see how deep it was, but it appeared to be a good ten feet across. The horse might be able to jump it. However, I felt reasonably certain Ramses would not be able to stay on it if it did.

As the Reader may suppose, my state of mind was not so calm and collected as the above description implies; in fact, ‘frozen with horror’ would be a trite but relatively accurate description of my condition at that time. However, I could do absolutely nothing except watch. There were already enough people running and riding wildly across the countryside.

His lordship had outstripped his men. Whatever his other failings – and I felt sure they were extensive – he rode like a centaur. Even so, he was far behind the first pursuer, who was rapidly closing in on the large horse and its small rider.

As one might have expected, Emerson was a considerable distance behind, with the rest of our men strung out behind him like runners in a race.

The unknown rider – of whose identity, however, I had no doubt; it could only be Nemo – in a sudden burst of speed cut in front of the runaway horse and turned him, on the very edge of the wadi. For a few heart-stopping moments the two steeds thundered on side by side; Nemo’s appeared to be galloping on thin air, so close were its hooves to the crumbling rim of the ravine. Then the courageous effort of the rescuer bore fruit. Ramses’ mount turned and slowed and finally came to a stop. Ramses fell off the horse, or was plucked off, I could not tell which; for he was immediately enveloped in the billowing folds of Nemo’s robe. From that distance it was hard to see whether Nemo was embracing the boy in a frenzy of relief or shaking him violently in another kind of frenzy.

By this time the other pursuers were spread out all over the terrain, in their efforts to follow the changing course of the runaway. It must have been Emerson’s strong paternal instincts that led him to be first upon the scene, for no one could possibly have predicted where the animal would eventually halt. The others all converged on the spot, and before long the protagonists in the drama were swallowed up by a crowd of screaming supernumeraries and hidden by agitated blue and white draperies.

Not until that moment did I feel the hand that had gripped my shoulder, though its pressure was hard enough to leave (as I later discovered) visible bruises. The grip relaxed and I turned in time to catch Enid as, with a tremulous moan, she sank fainting to the ground.

I dragged the girl into the tent and left her there. The intensity of the drama was sufficient excuse for her reaction, but I knew Emerson would be annoyed if he discovered she had succumbed. He had a poor opinion of swooning females.

The viscount and his entourage were the first to return. Most of them kept their distance, but his lordship summoned courage enough to face me. However, he was prudent enough to remain on horseback as he made his stammering apologies.

I cut them short. ‘I don’t hold you wholly accountable, since Ramses has a habit of getting into scrapes; however, I think you had better take yourself off before Professor Emerson gets here. I refuse to be responsible for his actions when he is under extreme emotional stress, as I suppose him to be at this time.’

The gentlemen took my advice. They were in full retreat when Emerson staggered up, with Ramses clasped to his bosom. After Ramses had finally convinced his father he was capable of standing, Emerson ran after the riders, cursing and demanding that they come back and fight like men. Having expected a demonstration of that sort, I was able to trip him up, and by the time he had resumed an upright position and brushed the sand from his perspiring countenance, he was relatively calm.

‘No harm done,’ he said grittily. ‘But if that idiot ever shows his face here again–’

I handed him my water flask, for it was evident that his speech was encumbered by sand. ‘Perhaps we had better stop for the day,’ I suggested. ‘It is after noon, and everyone is tired from all that running around.’

‘Stop work?’ Emerson stared at me in amazement. ‘What are you thinking of, Peabody?’

So we returned to our labours. The diggers went at it with renewed vigour; I heard one of them remark to another that he always enjoyed working for the Father of Curses, since there was sure to be something amusing going on.

Naturally we looked for Nemo in order to express our appreciation and admiration, but he was nowhere to be found. Since he was still wearing his Egyptian robes and turban, it was not difficult for him to hide among the fifty-odd diggers; and even after we had finished work and returned to the house, I was unable to locate him. I need not tell the Reader that my reasons for wishing to speak to him were not solely those of parental gratitude. I had a number of questions to ask that young man, and this time I was determined to get answers.

I had, of course, explained to Ramses that his behaviour was wholly inexcusable. Not all the blame for the incident could be attributed to him, since the accidental discharge of the firearm had startled the horse into bolting. However, if Ramses had not been on the horse, the danger would not have occurred.

Remarkably, Ramses made no attempt to defend himself, but listened in silence, his narrow countenance even more inscrutable than usual. Upon the conclusion of the lecture I ordered him to his room – not much of a punishment, since he usually spent the hottest part of the day there working on his grammar.

Emerson and I had never succumbed to the lazy habit of afternoon rest which is common in the East. There is always a great deal to do on an archaeological expedition, aside from the digging itself. I knew Emerson would be busy that afternoon, for as he admitted, the stratification of the ruined buildings at the base of the pyramid was complex in the extreme. His copious notes and sketches would have to be sorted and copied in more permanent form.

He was frowning and muttering over this task when I began to set in motion the scheme I had contrived that morning.

I found Enid lying on her cot. She was not asleep; her wide eyes stared unseeingly at the ceiling and she did not turn her head when I entered, after giving the emphatic cough that was the only possible substitute for a knock – there being, as the Reader may recall, no door on which to knock.

I understood the cause of her lethargy, and the despair of which it was the outward sign, and I was tempted to mitigate it by assuring her that I was about to take action. I decided I could not risk it; she might have tried to dissuade me from the course I contemplated. Subterfuge was necessary, and although I deplore in the strongest possible terms the slightest deviation from straightforward behaviour, there are occasions upon which moral good must yield to expediency.

‘I have brought you something to read,’ I said cheerfully. ‘It will, I hope, beguile the hours more effectively than Meyer’s Geschichte des Altertums.’ For such was the volume she had tossed aside.

A slight show of animation warmed her pale cheeks, though I fancied it was politeness rather than genuine interest. She took the books and examined the titles curiously. ‘Why, Amelia,’ she said, with a little laugh. ‘I would not have suspected you of such deplorable taste in literature.’

‘Only the book by Mr Haggard is mine,’ I explained, taking a seat on the packing case. ‘The others belong to Ramses – a collection of what are called, I believe, detective stories.

‘They are very popular stories. You don’t care for them?’

‘No; for in my opinion they strain the credulity of the reader to an unreasonable degree.’

I was pleased to see that our little literary discussion had cheered the girl: her eyes twinkled as she said, ‘To a more unreasonable degree than the romances of Mr Haggard? I believe his plots include such devices as the lost diamond mines of King Solomon, and beautiful women thousands of years old–’

‘You give yourself away, Enid. You would not be so familiar with the plots if you had not read the books!’

Her smile faded. ‘I know – I knew – someone who enjoyed them.’

Her cousin Ronald? He had not struck me, from what I had heard of him, as a reading man. I was tempted to inquire why the memory brought such a look of sorrow to her face, but decided I must postpone further questions, since I had only a limited time in which to put my scheme into effect.

‘Mr Haggard’s stories,’ I explained, ‘are pure fantasy and do not pretend to be anything else. However rational the mind – and mine is extremely rational – it requires periods of rest, when the aery winds of fancy may ruffle the still waters of thought and encourage those softer and more spiritual musings without which no individual can be at his or her best. These so-called detective stories, on the other hand, pretend to exhibit the strictly intellectual qualities of the protagonist. In fact, they do nothing of the sort; for in the few I have read, the detective arrived at his solutions, not by means of the inexorable progress of true reasoning, but by wild guesses which turned out to be correct only because of the author’s construction of his plot.’

Enid’s abstracted murmur proved that I had lost her attention; and since the books had been only the pretext for my visit, I was quite content to change the subject to one which might appear – as I trusted it would – even more frivolous than that of literature, but which was, in fact, at the root of my scheme.

I began by telling her how much I had admired her grey-green afternoon frock, and asking where she had obtained it. Emerson has been heard to assert that the discussion of fashion will distract any woman from any other subject whatsoever, including her own imminent demise. Without subscribing to this exaggerated assessment, I am bound to admit that there is some truth in it, and this was proved by Enid’s response. We discussed fashion houses and fabrics and the frightful expense of dressmaking; and then I subtly closed in upon my purpose.

‘The costume you were wearing the day you arrived quite intrigued me,’ I said.

‘Oh, but it is the latest mode,’ Enid explained. ‘It is called a bicycling dress. Have you not heard of them? I was sure you had, since your own costume is similar in design – if not in colour.’

‘Oh yes, quite; I try to keep au courant with the latest styles, although practicality is a greater consideration than beauty here. That was what surprised me – that a young lady of fashion would include such a garment in her travel wardrobe.’

‘I am not as frivolous as my recent conduct may have led you to believe,’ Enid said with a wry smile. ‘I took it for granted that boots and short skirts would be useful for exploring ruins and descending into tombs. And indeed they were, though not in the sense I had expected. When I woke from my sleep or swoon that awful morning, my first thought was to get away. I knew what people were saying; I knew what the police would believe if I were found with the dead body of my supposed lover. To make matters worse, we had quarrelled the evening before, and several of the hotel employees could have testified to the fact.’

I had intended to inquire into the details of Enid’s flight at another time. Here she was confiding in me voluntarily, without the firm interrogation I had thought might be necessary. The moment was not the one I would have chosen, but I feared I would lose her confidence if I put her off; so I settled myself, with a degree of interest the Reader may well imagine, to hear her story.

She continued in an abstracted tone, as if she were speaking to herself and exorcizing the anxiety of that dreadful experience by reliving it in memory. ‘I find it hard to believe I could have acted so quickly and coolly. Shock, I am told, does sometimes have that effect. I dressed myself, selecting a costume suited to the physical hardships I expected I would have to endure. It had the additional advantage of being one I had not worn before, so it would not be recognized. I left the room by means of the balcony outside my window, descending a stout vine that had twined up the wall. A few tourists had assembled before the hotel, though it was scarcely daybreak. Hiring a carriage, I asked to be taken to Mena House, for some of the others were going to Giza. By the time I reached the hotel, the reaction had set in; I was sick and trembling and had no idea what to do next. I knew I could not remain undiscovered for long, since an unaccompanied woman would provoke questions and – and worse.

‘I was having breakfast in the dining room when a gentleman asked if I was one of the archaeologists working in the area. That gave me the idea, and also reminded me of your letter. I had no one else to turn to, and I determined to make my way to you. It was a council of desperation–’

‘Not at all. It was a sensible decision. But how did you remain undiscovered that night and throughout the following day?’

‘It was not easy. For, as you know, the archaeological sites are infested with guides, beggars, and the like, who follow one like a cloud of flies. I finally realized that the only persons who pass unnoticed are Arab women of the poorest class. I purchased a robe from one of them, assumed it in the privacy of an unoccupied tomb, and began walking. No one paid the least attention to me, and I spent the night huddled in a cleft in the rock somewhere between here and Sakkara. I cannot say I slept well … When I reached here the next afternoon, I was on the verge of collapse. I had only strength enough to remove my disguise and conceal it with the few small articles I had brought away with me before I made myself known to you and the professor.’

‘Well,’ I said judiciously, ‘allow me to say, Enid, that you displayed a tenacity and inventiveness that do you credit. I take it that the coat to your bicycling dress was among the objects you hid?’

‘Yes. The notion of disguising myself as a lady archaeologist was still in my mind; when, from concealment, I saw you talking with the professor, I tried to adjust my dress to match yours. You were not wearing your coat, so I removed mine. I had decided to attempt to deceive you as well–’

‘You need not apologize, my dear. I would have done the same. I had better retrieve your belongings for you. Can you describe the place where you hid them?’

She did so, with such accuracy that I felt sure I could find the place. ‘I meant to get them last night,’ she went on. ‘But when I looked out the flap of the tent, the desert was so cold and eerie … And I heard strange noises, Amelia – soft cries and moans –’

‘Jackals, Enid. Jackals. However,’ I added thoughtfully, ‘you must promise me you will not leave your tent at night, whatever you may hear.’

When I left her, I took with me the skirt of her bicycling costume, explaining that I would have it cleaned and brushed. Emerson was still doggedly drawing plans. There was a great spatter of ink on the wall, so I deduced he had encountered a stumbling block and had got over it, as he often did, by hurling his pen across the room.

I said encouragingly, ‘Persevere, Emerson; persevere, my dear.’ Then I went up the stairs to the roof.

Behind the shelter of the screen I changed into Enid’s divided skirt, and removed my belt. It cost me a pang to leave it and its useful tools behind, and to abandon my parasol; but I knew I could never be mistaken for another while I had them. After I had put on tinted spectacles and fastened a pith helmet on my head, I had done all I could to complete the resemblance. Rather than pass through the parlour and prompt questions from Emerson, I descended from the roof by means of the holes and crevices in the wall.

Though the sun was sinking, the village yet drowsed in the somnolence of the afternoon nap. I crossed my arms casually across my chest – the dimensions of that region being the most obvious difference between Enid’s figure and mine – and emulated her slower, swaying walk.

I had not gone a hundred yards from the compound before I felt eyes upon me. Nothing moved on the broken expanse of the desert slope ahead; no living creature could be seen, save the eternal vultures swinging in slow graceful circles down the sky. Yet I knew I was being observed – knew it with the certain instinct described so well by Mr Haggard and other writers of fiction. It is a sense developed by those who are often the object of pursuit by enemies; and certainly no one had been pursued more often than I.

I went on at a steady pace, but the hairs at the back of my neck were bristling. (Emerson would probably have claimed the sensation was produced by perspiration, and I admit that the pith helmet was cursed hot. However, Emerson would have been mistaken.) The sensation of steady, watching eyes increased until I could bear the suspense no longer. I spun round.

The cat Bastet sat down and returned my look with one of amiable interest.

‘What are you doing here?’ I inquired.

Naturally she did not reply. I continued, ‘Return to the house at once, if you please.’ She continued to stare at me, so I repeated the request in Arabic, whereupon the cat rose in a leisurely fashion, applied her hind foot to her ear, and walked away.

The prickling at the back of my neck did not lessen as I went forward. Though I raked the landscape with keen eyes, turning from time to time to look behind me, I saw no living form. Bastet had abandoned her pursuit; it had not been her eyes I felt fixed upon me. As I had told Emerson, I felt certain that Sethos had kept and did keep us under constant observation. That he would strike again I felt certain; that he had selected Enid as the scapegoat for his hideous crime and would endeavour to deliver her to the police I was equally certain. Cheered and encouraged by the confirmation of my suspicions, in the form of that significant prickling sensation, I proceeded on my way.

It was not difficult to find the place where Enid had concealed her belongings. She had not buried them deep, and in fact a fold of black fabric protruded from the sand like a sable banner.

I dug up the parcel, glancing furtively round as I thought Enid might do under those circumstances, and hoping the assailant I expected would make his move without delay. There were many places nearby where such a person might be concealed, for, as I believe I have mentioned, the rocky plateau was marked by innumerable ridges and crevices.

Nothing happened, however. Continuing my role, I gathered the bundle in my arms and returned with it to Enid’s tent, where I could examine it at leisure.

The worn black tob and burko (face veil) were of the poorest quality, and sadly worn – worn often and continuously, to judge by the odour that pervaded them. They would have to be washed – boiled, in fact – before they could be worn again, but I put the garments aside. One never knows when a disguise may be useful.

The robe had been wrapped around a small handbag within which was a pitiful collection of odds and ends, obviously snatched up at random in the panic of that fearful morning. A little box of pearl powder and a pot of lip paint, an ivory-handled brush and a dainty handkerchief were objects she might have had already in the bag. Crammed on top were a few pieces of jewellery, including a gold watch and a locket of the same precious metal, adorned with pearls. The most interesting item, however, was a large roll of banknotes. The total came to over five hundred pounds.

The girl had been described as an heiress, and the names of the couturiers she had mentioned bore out the assumption that she had ample wealth at her command. Yet this was an astonishing amount for a young woman to carry on her person. Thoughtfully I returned the money and the watch to the bag. There were unplumbed depths in that young person; they might or might not have bearing on her present dilemma, but I was determined to know the facts so that I might decide for myself. To that end I permitted myself another violation of propriety. I opened the locket.

It was with a sense of inevitability that I saw a familiar face enshrined there. The frame of the locket cut off the lower part of the chin, and the colour of the hair was reduced to sober grey. I knew the colour, though, as I knew the features.

Was the photograph that of Nemo or of the other man who so nearly resembled him? Was one, or both, Enid’s cousin Ronald? And if one was Ronald, which one? And which, if either, was Sethos?

I confess that for a moment my thoughts were in a whirl. But was I distracted from my purpose by this startling development? Never believe it, Reader! I hung the locket round my neck. I shook out Enid’s coat, which had been wrapped around the bag. It was quite snug across my chest – in fact, the buttons would not fasten. That was all to the good, however, for I wanted the locket to be seen.

Setting myself atop a promontory some distance from the tents, I prepared to wait. I had no assurance that anything interesting would occur that day, but sooner or later my efforts must bear fruit. Nothing escaped the notice of that unknown genius of crime; he must know of Enid’s presence at Dahshoor. He would not have been deceived by her masquerade any more than I had been. All things come to him who waits, as the saying goes, and I did not doubt that assault and/or abduction would come to me.

I felt horridly undressed without my belt and my parasol. However, the pressure of my pistol, in the pocket of the trousers, was reassuring, if uncomfortable. Once I thought I saw something move, behind a rock some distance away, and with hope rising high in my heart, I deliberately turned my back. But no one came.

I was not bored. An active mind can never be bored, and I had a great deal to think about. In between musing on the possible location of my pyramid’s entrance and my plans for washing Nemo’s robe (and Nemo) that evening. I considered means of keeping Enid safe that night. I was forced to admit that my initial plan, of having Enid sleep in a tent near our own, was unsatisfactory. I had neglected to consider the fact that my marital obligation (which is also, let me hasten to add, my pleasure) would distract me to such an extent that I would be unable to hear, much less prevent, an attack on the girl’s person should such occur. At last I concluded that it would be better for Enid to remain at the house that night. Proper chaperonage, though important, had to yield in this case to more vital matters, such as Enid’s survival and Emerson’s and my conjugal felicity.

As the sun sank in the west, the changes of light along the sloping sides of the pyramid produced fascinating aesthetic alterations, and I found myself musing about the long-dead monarch whose mummified remains had once rested in the now desolate burial chamber. With what pomp and circumstance had he been carried to his tomb; with what glitter of gold and glow of precious stones had his petrified form been adorned! A natural progression of ideas led me to recall another Pharaoh – the one whose name had been taken by the terrible man whose emissaries I awaited even now. The tomb of the great Sethos, Pharaoh of Egypt, lay far to the south in the Valley of the Kings at Thebes. It had been discovered in 1817 and it was still among the leading attractions of the area. The magnificent carvings and paintings of that most splendid of all royal tombs suggest that Sethos’ funerary equipment must have excelled all others; yet alas for human vanity! Thousands of years ago, the monarch had been robbed of his treasures and his mortal remains had been ignominiously thrust into a humble hole in the cliffs, with others of his peers, to save them from destruction. The cache of royal mummies had been found a few years before, and the remains now rested in Cairo, where I had seen them. Sethos’ withered features still retained the stamp of royalty and the pride of race. In his day he was a leader of men and a remarkably handsome individual – like his son Ramses, a lion in a valley of goats. I wondered if the modern-day Sethos had ever contemplated the shrunken yet noble features of his ancient namesake. Was it that mummy that had prompted him to select his nom de guerre? Not too fanciful an idea for a man who had already demonstrated a poetic imagination and considerable intellectual ability. I felt a certain unwilling kinship for him, for I have the same qualities myself.

The lengthening shadows reminded me that the afternoon was almost spent and that Emerson would be wanting his tea. I decided to wait five more minutes, and shifted my position so that I faced the northeast. I could see the green of the cultivated fields and the trees that half-concealed the minaret of the village mosque. A haze of smoke from the cooking fires hung over the town like a grey mist.

A rumbling crash behind me brought me to my feet. Turning, I saw a cloud of dust and sand rise from the base of the small pyramid. Apparently our excavations that afternoon had weakened the crumbling stone, and part of the north face had given way.

Mercifully it had not happened when our men were working underneath. That was my first thought. My next reaction was one of excitement. Surely there was something visible on the northern face that I had not seen before – a square shadow too regular to be anything but man-made. Had the fortuitous accident disclosed the hidden entrance?

Forgetting detectival duties and marital responsibilities, I started eagerly down the slope. In the surge of archaeological fever I had forgotten my reason for being there. A herd of antelope could have swept down upon me without my noticing them.

The person who attacked me made far less noise. I was unaware of his presence until an arm, sinewy as braided leather, lifted me off my feet. A folded cloth, reeking of an odour that set my senses reeling, was pressed to my face. I fought to extract my pistol from my pocket. I could feel it against my body, but I could not reach the cursed thing. The voluminous size of the trousers defeated the attempt. However, Amelia P. Emerson does not cease struggling until comatose, and I continued to fumble through endless folds of brown velvet, though my eyes were dimming and my fingers were numb.

VIII

SUDDENLY there was a violent upheaval. I found myself on hands and knees, staring dizzily at what seemed to be twenty or thirty feet dancing briskly around me. A few inhalations of blessed ozone cleared my brain; the feet reduced themselves to four.

When I had gained strength enough to sit up, the combatants were locked in a close embrace. In their flowing robes they looked absurdly like two ladies performing a polite social ritual. Only the looks of agonized strain on their faces betrayed the ferocity of the struggle. One of them was Nemo. His turban had been displaced, and his bare head blazed in the rays of the setting sun. The other was a man I had never seen before. The darkness of his complexion suggested that he was a native of southern Egypt.

In a frantic flurry of fabric the men broke apart. Neither held a weapon. The hand of the Egyptian moved in a bewildering blur of motion. Nemo grunted and staggered back, his hands pressed to his midsection. It was a foul blow; but my defender was not daunted. Recovering, he knocked his opponent down with a shrewd uppercut to the jaw, and fell upon him.

The struggle was horrible to behold. I can only excuse my delay in halting it by pointing out that the fumes of the drug still clouded my mind, and that I was still trying to find my pocket. By the time I did so, Nemo was definitely in need of assistance. His assailant had both hands around his throat, and his face was turning black.

In my excitement I forgot myself, and shouted a phrase I had learned from an American friend: ‘Hands up, you varmint!’ I doubt that the miscreant understood, but the tone of my voice was vehement enough to attract his attention, and when he glanced at me the sight of the pistol I held had the desired effect.

Slowly he rose from Nemo’s prostrate form. The fury of battle had faded from his face, to be replaced by a look of quiet resignation, as lacking in character as a mummy’s papier-mâché mask. There was nothing distinctive about his features or his faded cotton robe; they were similar to those of thousands of his fellow countrymen.

Nemo rolled over and staggered to his feet. He was panting heavily, in contrast to his opponent, whose breast was as still as that of a man in prayer. White patches which would shortly be bruises marked Nemo’s face, and a bright stain on his torn sleeve told me the violence of the struggle had reopened his wound. He edged toward me, circling to keep out of the line of fire. ‘Splendid, Mrs E., splendid,’ he gasped. ‘Why don’t you give me the pistol now?’

‘And risk this fellow escaping while we made the exchange? No, Mr Nemo. You may question my willingness to fire at a fellow human being – and my ability to hit him if I did – but I’ll wager he has no doubts. You know me now, don’t you, my friend? You made a mistake. I am not the lady you took me for, but the Sitt Hakim, wife to the great magician Emerson, Father of Curses, and no less dangerous to evildoers than Emerson himself. My eye is as keen as those of the vultures overhead, and like them I lie in wait for criminals.’

I had, of course, addressed the man in Arabic. It is a language that lends itself to vainglorious self-applause, which is indeed a style Egyptians rather admire. The little speech had its effect. In the same tongue the man said softly, ‘I know you, sitt.’

‘Then you know I would not hesitate to use this weapon – not to kill, only to wound. I want you to live, my friend – to live and talk to us.’ Unable to control my excitement any longer, I added in English, ‘Good Gad, Nemo, do you realize who this man is? He is the first of the Master Criminal’s associates I have managed to capture. Through him we may reach his dread master. Would you approach him – carefully, if you please – and bind his arms with your turban. Are you too badly injured to do that?’

‘No, of course not,’ Nemo said.

The man raised his hand. There was such dignity in the gesture that Nemo halted. The Egyptian said quietly, ‘I have failed my master. There is only one fate for those who fail him; but I feel no shame at losing to the Sitt Hakim, who is not a mere woman, but one who has the heart of a man, as I was told. I salute you, sitt.’ And he moved his hand from breast to brow to lips, in the respectful gesture of his people.

I was about to respond to this graceful compliment when a dreadful change came over the man’s face. His lips drew back in a hideous grin; his eyes rolled up until only the blank white of the eyeballs showed. His hands flew to his throat. He fell over backward and lay still.

Nemo rushed to him. ‘Its no use,’ I said, lowering my pistol. ‘He was dead before he struck the ground. Prussic acid, I suspect.’

‘You are right. There is a distinct odour of bitter almonds.’ Nemo straightened, white to the lips. ‘What sort of people are these? He took the poison rather than …’

‘Allow himself to be questioned. Curse it! I should have taken steps to bind his hands immediately. Well, I will know better next time.’

‘Next time?’ Nemo raised a trembling hand to his brow. His sleeve was drenched with blood and I said, recalling myself from my chagrin. ‘You are not yourself, Mr Nemo. Loss of blood has weakened you, and we must tend your injuries without delay.’

Dazed and shaken, Nemo allowed me to bind his arm with a strip torn from the hem of his robe. ‘That will stop the bleeding,’ I said. ‘But the wound requires to be cleaned and bandaged. Let us return to the house at once.’

‘What about–’ Nemo gestured.

I looked at the dead man. His empty eyes seemed to stare intently at the darkening vault of heaven. Already the vultures were gathering.

‘Turn him over,’ I said brusquely.

Nemo glanced from me to the birds circling overhead. Silently he did as I asked.

When we got back, the gates were open and Abdullah was standing outside. ‘Sitt,’ he began, as soon as we were within hearing range, ‘Emerson has been asking–’

‘So I imagine.’ I could hear Emerson rampaging around the house, yelling my name. I had nurtured the fond hope he might still be absorbed in his work; but now there was nothing for it but to admit at least part of the truth.

‘There has been an accident,’ I explained to Abdullah, who was staring at Nemo’s bloody sleeve. ‘Please take Ali or Hassan and go at once to the ridge behind the tents. You will find a dead body there. Carry it here.’

Abdullah clapped his hand to his brow. ‘Not a dead man, sitt. Not another dead man …’ A flicker of reviving hope returned to his stricken face. ‘Is it a mummy you mean, sitt? An old dead man?’

‘I am afraid this one is rather fresh,’ I admitted. ‘You had better fashion a litter or something of that sort with which to carry him. Get on with it, if you please; I cannot stand here fahddling with you, can’t you see Mr Nemo needs medical attention?’

Abdullah staggered off, wringing his hands and muttering. A few words were intelligible: ‘Another dead body. Every year it is the same. Every year, another dead body …’

‘Am I to understand you make it a habit to discover dead bodies?’ Nemo asked.

I drew him towards the house. ‘Certainly not, Mr Nemo. I don’t look for such things; they come upon me, so to speak. Now let me do the talking, if you will. Emerson is not going to like this.’

‘Before we reached the door, Emerson came bursting out. He stopped short at the sight of us. The blood rushed to his face. ‘Not again!’ he shouted. ‘I warned you, Amelia–’

‘Sssh.’ I put my finger to my lips, ‘There is no need to make such a fuss, Emerson. You will alarm–’

‘A fuss? A fuss?’ Emerson’s voice rose to a pitch I had seldom heard, even from him. ‘What the devil have you been up to? You disappear for hours and then return dishevelled and sandy, accompanied by a bloody–’

‘Emerson! Language!’

‘The adjective was meant literally,’ Emerson explained. ‘Mr Nemo, am I to understand that once again I have to thank you for saving a member of my immediate family from doom and destruction?’

‘It will be explained to you, Emerson,’ I said soothingly. ‘Mr Nemo does indeed deserve your thanks, and the first expression of our gratitude ought to be the tending of the wounds he courageously incurred in our service. Will you be so good as to fetch my medical equipment? I believe I will operate in the open air, where the light is better, and he won’t drip blood on my carpets.’

Silently, ominously, Emerson did as he was asked, and I led Nemo to the back of the house, where I had set up a primitive but efficient area of ablution. It was even possible to bathe behind a modest arrangement of woven screens, for a ditch served as a drain to carry off the water. Emerson and Ramses did so daily, Emerson of his own free will, Ramses because he was made to; but since the exercise involved having a servant pour jars of water over one from above, I did not consider it suitable for me to emulate them.

When Emerson joined me, I had persuaded Nemo to remove his tattered robe. It was beyond repair, and I directed one of the men, who had gathered round, to fetch one of his, promising, of course, to replace it. Under his robe Nemo wore the usual cotton drawers, reaching to his knees and tied around the waist with a drawstring. The bright flush of embarrassment that suffused even his bare breast assured me he had not lost as much blood as I feared.

I hastened to set him at ease. ‘I assure you, Mr Nemo, bare skin is no novelty to me. I have tended many wounds and seen many naked breasts – and yours is nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, your pectoral development is quite admirable.’

A growling sound reminded me of the presence of my irate spouse, and I hastened to add, ‘Though not as admirable as Emerson’s. Now, Emerson, as I work I will inform you of the latest occurrence–’

But that offer had to be delayed. Through the ring of interested onlookers burst a slight form, wild-eyed and agitated. Nemo made a violent movement as if to turn, but stopped himself.

For a moment they confronted one another in a silence fraught with emotion, their faces matching one another’s in snowy pallor. Enid raised a delicate hand to her throat. ‘You,’ she choked. ‘You …’

I said sharply, ‘Do not for a moment entertain any notion of fainting, Enid. I cannot attend to both of you.’

‘Fainting?’ The hot colour rushed back into her face. She darted forward. She raised her hand – and struck Nemo full across the face! ‘You bloody idiot!’ she cried.

Even I was taken aback. Such behaviour and such improper language from a young lady left me momentarily incapable of speech. It was my dear Emerson who rose to the occasion as only he can. Enid turned and ran, her hands over her face. The men gave way before her, but not Emerson; his mighty arm swept out and wound round her waist, lifting her clean off her feet. As she hung in his grasp, kicking and – I regret to say – swearing, he remarked calmly, ‘This has gone far enough. I have resigned myself to being the pawn of those vast impersonal powers who guide the destinies of humanity; but I am cursed if I will submit to being manipulated by mere mortals, and kept in ignorance even by that individual whom I believed united to me by the strongest bonds of faith and affection, not to mention trust.’

The eloquence of his speech – aye, and the justice of his complaint – brought an unaccustomed flush to my cheeks. Before I could respond, Emerson went on in a less literary vein. ‘Sit down,’ he bellowed. ‘You too, young lady–’ And he deposited Enid onto the nearest stool with a thump that made two combs and a number of hairpins fly into the air. ‘No one is moving from this spot until I have received a full account of this astonishing affair.’

‘You are quite right, Emerson,’ I murmured. ‘And I will sit down – I really will – the instant I have finished washing–’

‘You can wash him just as easily in a sitting position,’ thundered Emerson.

I sat.

Appeased by this gesture of compliance, Emerson lowered his voice to a fairly endurable level. ‘Pray confine your attentions to the young man’s injury, Amelia. If the rest of him requires washing, he can do it himself.’

‘Oh, quite, Emerson, I was only–’

‘Enough, Amelia.’ Emerson folded his arms and surveyed us with a masterful air. The men had collapsed onto the ground at the instant of his command, and now formed a fascinated audience, mouths ajar and eyes wide. Enid clutched the sides of the stool with both hands, as if she were expecting to be plucked off it; Nemo sat with bowed head, the mark of the girl’s fingers printed crimson on his cheek.

‘Ha,’ said Emerson, with satisfaction. ‘That is better. Now, young lady, you had better begin. I address you in that manner since I am certain your name is not Marshall.’

I could not but admire my husband’s cleverness; for his statement was admirably composed so as not to give away the fact that – as I firmly believed, and believe to this day – he was still ignorant of her true identity. Only the briefest flicker of his lashes betrayed his surprise when she admitted who she was, and repeated the narrative she had told me.

‘Most interesting,’ said Emerson. ‘Of course I recognized you immediately, Miss Debenham. I was merely – er – biding my time before challenging you.’

He fixed his stern gaze on me, where I sat next to Mr Nemo. I started to speak, but thought better of it.

‘Ha,’ Emerson said again. ‘However, Miss Debenham, you have omitted something from your most interesting story. You have, in fact, omitted everything of importance. I assume you are intimately acquainted with Mr Nemo here, or you would not have addressed him so informally. Who is he? What is your relationship?’

Nemo rose to his feet. ‘I can answer those questions and others. If I can spare Enid – Miss Debenham – that shame, in recounting a history replete with–’

‘Never mind the rhetoric,’ Emerson snapped. ‘I am a patient man, but there are limits to my patience. What the devil is your name?’

‘My name is Donald Fraser.’

I started up. ‘Ronald Fraser?’

‘No, Donald Fraser.’

‘But Ronald Fraser–’

The vibration of the dimple in Emerson’s chin warned me that he was about to roar. I stopped, therefore, and Emerson said, with the most exquisite courtesy, ‘I would be grateful, Mrs Emerson, if you would refrain from any comment whatever – refrain, if possible, even from breathing loudly – until this gentleman has finished. Begin at the beginning, Mr Fraser – for of your surname at least I feel fairly confident – and do not stop until you have reached the end.’

Thus directed, the young man began the following narrative. ‘My name is Donald Fraser. Ronald is my younger brother. Our family is old and honourable; never, until recently, did a blot of shame darken the name of Fraser–’

‘Humph,’ said Emerson sceptically. ‘I take leave to doubt that. The ancient Scot was a bloodthirsty fellow; wasn’t there some tale about an ancestor of yours serving up the severed head of an enemy to the widow of the deceased at a dinner party?’

I coughed gently. Emerson glanced at me. ‘Quite right, Amelia. I did not mean to interrupt. Continue, Mr Donald Fraser.’

‘It will not take much time, Professor. The story is only too familiar, I fear.’ With an attempt at insouciance, the young man started to cross his arms, but winced and let the injured member fall back. For an instant the girl’s face mirrored the pain on his and she made as if to rise. Almost immediately she sank back onto the stool. Ha, I thought, but did not speak aloud.

Donald – as I shall call him, in order to prevent confusion with his brother – proceeded. ‘Being the elder, I was the heir to the estate upon the death of our parents a few years ago. Our family was not rich, but thanks to my father’s prudent management, we were left with enough to maintain us in modest comfort. I say we, because morally, if not legally, half of what I had inherited was Ronald’s.

‘My father had purchased a commission for me in – in a regiment of the line… . There is no need, I believe, to mention which one. After his death my brother nobly offered to take over the management of the estate so that I might pursue my military career. I had … I incurred debts. Allow me the favour of refusing to be specific about their nature; they were … They were not the sort one likes to mention, especially before …’

He gazed at Enid. I was as intrigued by the silent interchange between them as by his halting speech. She never looked at him, he never took his eyes off her; and the air between them fairly crackled with emotion. When his voice faltered, she started to her feet. Her cheeks were flaming.

‘You lie!’ she cried. ‘Despicably, stupidly–’

Emerson put one big brown hand on her shoulder and gently but inexorably returned her to her seat. ‘Be silent, Miss Debenham. You will have your chance at rebuttal. Sir – finish your story.’

‘It is quickly told,’ Donald muttered. ‘The regiment was gazetted to Egypt. Being in need of funds, I had forged a signature on a bill. My crime was discovered. The person I had attempted to defraud, a fellow officer, was generous. I was given the choice of resigning my commission and – and disappearing. I did so. That is all.’

He had come to the end, but so abruptly, that Emerson and I were both left staring. Assuming my husband’s prohibition ceased to have effect at that time, I exclaimed, ‘Upon my word, Mr Fraser, that is a rather curt narrative. I think, though, that I can fill in some of the details you have omitted. Your brother is in Egypt–’

‘I know. I saw him yesterday.’

‘I presume he came to find you and extend a brother’s hand in forgiveness and affection.’

Nemo’s drooping head sank lower. From Enid, squirming under Emerson’s hand, came a scornful laugh. I turned to her. ‘And you, Miss Debenham, also came here on an errand of mercy and redemption, to save your old playfellow?’

‘I came to tell him what I thought of him,’ the girl cried. She twisted away from Emerson’s grasp and jumped to her feet. ‘He is a stupid fool who deserves everything that has happened to him!’

‘No doubt,’ said Emerson, studying her with interest. ‘But if you will forgive me, Miss Debenham, I am determined to push doggedly onward – against the opposition of everyone present – to some understanding of the facts themselves. Is that how you became involved with Kalenischeff? For I do you the credit to assume you would have better taste than to take up with such a villain for his own sake.’

‘You are quite right,’ Enid said. ‘I had not been in Cairo two days before Kalenischeff approached me. He offered his assistance – for a price, of course – in finding Donald, who, Kalenischeff assured me, had slunk off like a whipped cur and hidden himself in Cairo’s foul underworld.’

Donald winced and covered his face with his hand. Enid went on remorselessly, ‘Alone I had no hope of entering that disgusting ambiance or approaching its denizens. Kalenischeff persuaded me that we should pretend to be – to be interested in one another in order to conceal my true purpose and lull Donald and his criminal associates–’

‘That was rather credulous of you,’ Emerson said critically. ‘But never mind; I take it you did not, in fact, murder the rascal in a fit of pique or in defence of your virtue? No, no, don’t lose your temper; a simple shake of the head will suffice. I never believed a woman could strike such a blow, penetrating the muscles of the chest and entering the heart–’

‘Emerson, how can you!’ I cried indignantly. ‘You told me–’

‘You misunderstood,’ said Emerson, with such sublime indifference to truth that I was struck dumb with indignation. He compounded the insult by continuing, ‘Well, well, we are in a confused situation here, but that is nothing new; and at least the story these two young idiots – excuse me, young people – have produced puts an end to your theory that Sethos was responsible for Kalenischeff’s death. There is no evidence–’

‘But there soon will be,’ I assured him. ‘Abdullah and Hassan are bringing it – the body of one of the Master Criminal’s henchmen, dead by his own hand after he had failed his dread master in the assignment of abducting me. That is to say, he did not know it was me; I was disguised as Enid, and he–’

‘You were disguised,’ Emerson repeated slowly, ‘as Miss Debenham?’

I explained. Emerson listened without interrupting once. Then he turned to Nemo – or Donald, as I must call him.

‘You, sir, were present, when these remarkable events occurred?’

‘Emerson, do you doubt my word?’ I demanded.

‘Not at all, Amelia. The only thing I doubt is that anyone could mistake you for Miss Debenham.’

‘Donald did,’ I declared triumphantly. ‘Is that not true, Donald? You followed me, believing I was Enid. No doubt you were trying to work up courage enough to reveal yourself.’

But the untenability of this assumption was apparent as soon as I voiced it, for Nemo had remained in concealment for an hour and a half without making his presence known. The deep flush of shame that dyed his manly cheeks betrayed his true motive. He loved her – deeply, hopelessly, desperately – and his only joy was to worship her dainty form (or what he believed to be hers) from afar.

Tactfully I turned the subject. ‘The evidence will soon be forthcoming, Emerson. I believe I hear Abdullah coming now.’

It was indeed Abdullah, with Hassan close on his heels.

‘Where have you put the body?’ I asked.

Abdullah shook his head. ‘There was no body, sitt. We found the spot you described; there were signs of a struggle, and bloodstains upon the ground. We searched far and wide, thinking the man might have recovered and crawled away–’

‘Recovered from being dead?’ I exclaimed. ‘Abdullah, do you think I don’t know a corpse when I see one?’

‘No, sitt. But dead or alive, he was gone. No doubt he was dead, as you say, for we heard his ghost calling in a high, thin voice, as spirits do.’

Hassan nodded in emphatic confirmation. ‘We ran away then, sitt, for we did not want the dead man to mistake us for his murderers.’

‘Oh, good Gad,’ I said disgustedly. ‘That was not a ghost you heard, you foolish men. There are no such things. It must have been a bird, or a – or a –’

‘Never mind, Peabody, I will conduct my usual exorcism,’ said Emerson. The use of that name instead of ‘Amelia’ indicated that he had forgotten his annoyance with me in the pleasurable anticipation of the theatrical performance to which he had referred. Emerson had often been called upon to perform exorcisms, Egypt being, in the opinion of its citizens, a particularly demon-ridden country. He has quite a reputation as a magician and is deservedly proud of it.

‘Emerson,’ I said, interrupting his description of how he meant to go about the ritual. ‘Emerson – where is Ramses?’

We looked in Ramses’ room, purely as a matter of form; I knew, as did Emerson, that if he had been anywhere about, he would have come to see what the commotion was, talking and interrupting and asking questions and making comments.

We set out en masse for the Bent Pyramid. Emerson soon outstripped the rest of us, but Donald was not far behind him. The young man’s look of haggard remorse was so poignant I had not the heart to reproach him for neglecting his duty. Love, as I reflected philosophically, has a corrosive effect on the brain and the organs of moral responsibility.

Since I had not mentioned to Emerson the collapse of the subsidiary pyramid, he had no idea where to start looking; when I arrived on the scene he was rushing around like a dog on a scent and making the evening hideous with his stentorian repetitions of Ramses’ name.

‘Be silent a moment,’ I begged. ‘How can you hear him reply if you keep shouting?’

Emerson nodded. Then he turned like a tiger on poor Abdullah and clutched him by the throat of his robe. ‘From what direction did the cry you heard come?’

Abdullah gestured helplessly and rolled his eyes, finding speech impossible because of the constriction of the cloth around his throat.

‘If you will forgive me, Emerson, that was a foolish question,’ I said. ‘You know how difficult it is to determine the origin of a faint, muffled cry in this barren region. I have, I believe, more pertinent information which I will produce as soon as you are calm enough to hear it. Look there, Emerson. Look at the small pyramid.’

One glance was all that trained eye required. His hand fell in nerveless horror from the throat of our devoted reis; his eyes moved with mingled dread and deliberation over the new-fallen debris at the base of the small structure. None knew better than the dangers of a careless attack on the unstable mass.

It was young Selim who gave a heartbreaking cry and flung himself onto the debris, where he began digging frantically. Emerson dodged a perfect rain of broken stone and lifted Selim up by the scruff of his neck. ‘That won’t do, my lad,’ he said in a kindly voice. ‘You will bring the rest of the heap down on your head if you aren’t careful.’

Contrary to popular opinion, Arabs are very soft-hearted people and feel no shame in displaying emotion. Selim’s face was wet with tears, which mingled horribly with the sand to form a muddy mask. I patted him on the shoulder and offered him my handkerchief. ‘I don’t think he is under there, Selim,’ I said. ‘Emerson, do call again. Just once, my dear, and then wait for an answer.’

No sooner had the echoes of Emerson’s poignant cry died into silence than there was an answer, high and faint and far away, quite easily mistaken by superstitious persons for the wailing of a lost spirit. Abdullah started. ‘That was it, O Father of Curses. That was the voice we heard!’

‘Ramses,’ I said, sighing. ‘He has found the entrance, curse – I mean, bless him. Emerson, do you see that shadow ten feet above the debris and slightly to the right of centre?’

A brief and, on my part, rational discussion of the situation resulted in the conclusion that the opening might indeed be the long-concealed entrance, and that it would be possible for us to reach it if we exhibited a reasonable amount of care. Emerson kept interrupting me with whoops of ‘Ramses!’ and Ramses kept answering, in that uncanny wail. I finally put an end to the procedure by reminding Emerson that shouting used oxygen, a commodity of which Ramses might be in short supply if indeed, as one could only assume, he was shut into a place from which he could not extricate himself unaided. Emerson at once agreed, and I must say I found it much easier to cogitate without him bellowing.

Like the larger stone pyramids, this smaller version had been built of blocks that ascended like a giant, four-sided staircase. However, this structure was – as we had evidence – much less stable than its neighbour; it would be necessary to ascend with extreme caution, testing each block before putting one’s weight upon it. Emerson insisted upon leading the way. As he correctly (but, I thought, depressingly) pointed out, if the block would not hold his weight, I would know if it was not safe to step on it.

At last we reached the level of the opening and discovered that it was indeed the entrance – or, at least, an entrance – to the interior. Nothing but blackness showed within. Emerson took a deep breath. I stopped him with a soft reminder. ‘Even the vibrations of a loud shout …’

‘Hmmm,’ said Emerson. ‘True, Peabody. Do you think he is in there?’

‘I am certain of it.’

‘Then I am going in.’

But he could not. The narrow opening would not admit the breadth of his shoulders, twist and turn them as he might. I waited until he had exhausted himself before I mentioned the obvious. ‘My turn, Emerson.’

‘Bah,’ said Emerson; but he said no more. An exclamation of distress came from quite another quarter. Donald had followed us; I had observed the skill with which he moved on the uneven surface, and deduced that he must have done some climbing. Now he said softly, ‘Professor, surely you don’t intend to let her–’

‘Let her?’ Emerson repeated. ‘I never let Mrs Emerson do anything, young man. I occasionally attempt to prevent her from carrying out her more harebrained suggestions, but I have never yet succeeded in doing so.’

‘I am narrower through the shoulders than you,’ Donald persisted. ‘Surely I am the one–’

‘Balderdash,’ Emerson said brusquely. ‘You have had no experience. Mrs Emerson has an affinity for pyramids.’

While they were discussing the matter, I removed my coat and lighted a candle. After discovering that Ramses was not in his room (and before leaving the house) I had dashed to the roof to retrieve my belt and my parasol. The latter I had of necessity left below, but the belt and its accoutrements had again proved their utility.

‘A bientôt, Emerson,’ I said, and wriggled head-first into the hole.

There was no reply, but a surreptitious caress upon the portion of my body yet exposed was sufficient evidence of his emotions.

I found myself in a narrow passageway lined with stone. It was high enough for me to stand erect, but in view of the steep angle at which it descended I considered it better to proceed in a crawling position. I had not gone far before I saw something unusual. The darkness ahead was broken by an irregular patch of brightness. The light strengthened as I moved slowly forward, and I found that it streamed through a narrow gap in a huge fall of stone and brick which had blocked the passage. Cautiously I assumed an upright position and applied my eye to the gap.

Seated on a large block of stone, his back against the wall of the passage, was Ramses. He had stuck a candle onto the stone with its own grease, and he was scribbling busily on a notepad. Though I knew he must have heard my involuntary gasp of relief at finding him unharmed, he did not stop writing until he had finished the sentence and ended it with an emphatic jab of his pen. Then he looked up.

‘Good evening, Mama. Is Papa with you, or have you come alone?’

No, dear Reader, the break in the narrative at this point is not intended to keep from your ears (or eyes) the words I spoke to my son. I did not dare shout at him for fear of disturbing the delicate balance of the stones around me. In fact, it was Ramses who spoke, describing in wearisome detail the method by which we ought to remove the fallen rubble in order to free him. He was still talking when I left.

My head had scarcely emerged from the entrance hole when it was seized by Emerson. In between raining kisses on my face, more or less at random, he asked questions I could not hear owing to the fact that his hands were covering my ears.

I was pleased but surprised; Emerson’s demonstrations of affection, though extravagant in private, are not often displayed before an audience. And indeed, if he had seen Donald Fraser’s grin, he would have desisted at once.

Having solved the auditory problem, I explained the situation. ‘I cannot shift the stones, Emerson; they are too heavy for me. I think we will have to take advantage of Mr Fraser’s offer after all.’

‘Is Ramses all right? Is the dear boy injured?’ Emerson inquired anxiously.

‘He is working on a manuscript which I presume to be his Egyptian grammar,’ I replied curtly. ‘Mr Fraser, if you will?’

Donald followed me into the passageway. At the sight of the obstruction he let out a soft whistle. In the dim flame of the candle I held, he resembled one of the ancient workmen crouching on hands and knees before the burial chamber in which he had left his royal master hidden (as he vainly hoped) for all eternity.

I said softly, ‘Study the situation, Mr Fraser, I pray, before you touch any of the stones. A careless move–’

‘I understand,’ Donald said.

Then we heard a thin, high voice. ‘I suggest, Mr Nemo – or Mr Fraser, as the case may be – that you endeavour to locate the pivotal point on which the relative mass of the rockfall is balanced; for according to my calculations the total weight of the portion of the pyramid over our heads is approximately eighteen and one-third tons, give or take a hundred weight…’

I find myself quite incapable of recording the rest of Ramses’ lecture. It was accompanied by a monotonous undercurrent of profanity from Donald Fraser, for which, I must say, I could hardly blame him. He performed well, particularly under those somewhat exasperating circumstances, and soon succeeded in enlarging the hole through which I had first seen the light of Ramses’ candle. As soon as it was big enough, Ramses’ face appeared in the opening, hideously shadowed by the candle he held. His thin face looked alarmingly like the mummy of his namesake, and he was still offering suggestions. ‘Mr Nemo – if you will permit me to continue the use of that pseudonym until I am formally introduced to you under your proper name – I strongly request that you do not remove anything to the left – your right, it would be – of the present gap. My appraisal of the situation–’

The speech ended in a squawk as Donald, driven beyond endurance, snatched his charge by the throat and dragged him through the opening. It was a chancey thing to do, but it had no ill effect except on the nether portion of Ramses’ anatomy, which, as I later discovered, was violently scored by the rough edges of the rocks as he passed rapidly under them.

‘Precede me, Ramses, if you please,’ I said coldly.

‘Yes, Mama. I would rather do that in any case, since I have the distinct impression, from the strength of Mr Nemo’s grip, that he is in a state of emotional excitation that makes me prefer to have some obstacle between myself and his–’

I gave Ramses a push. He said later that I had struck him, but that is not correct. I simply pushed him in order to hasten his progress. It certainly had that effect.

Our return to the house was effected in utter silence. When we arrived it was completely dark, and Hamid the cook informed us indignantly that dinner was burned to a crisp because we had not told him we would be late.

After the required repairs to our physical and sartorial deficiencies had been effected, and a distinctly inferior meal had been consumed, we gathered in the sitting room for a council of war.

Feeling that repairs to shattered nerves were also required, I offered whisky all round, except to Ramses, of course. He and the cat had milk and Enid chose a cup of tea. The genial beverage (I refer in this instance to the whisky) had the desired effect, though in Emerson’s case the improvement of his sprits was due in large part to the relief of recovering his son more or less unscarred, and to the fact that I was about to admit him to my confidence. As he put it, during a brief moment of privacy, while I was removing my (or Enid’s) dishevelled costume, ‘Much as I deplore your insane escapades, Peabody, I resent even more being excluded from them.’

Yet, as I explained once we had settled around the table in the sitting room, there was very little he did not know, now that the identities of the two young persons had been disclosed. He could not blame me for failing to inform him of Enid’s real name, since he claimed to have recognized her from the start.

Ramses, of course, also maintained he had penetrated Enid’s disguise. ‘The bone structure is unmistakable. A student of physiognomy is never misled by superficial changes in appearance such as are wrought by clothing, ornaments or cosmetics. Which reminds me, Miss Debenham, that at some future time I would like to discuss with you the devices ladies employ in order to change their natural appearance – for the better, as they no doubt assume, or they would not resort to such things. The colouring of the lips and cheeks reminds me of the Amazulu people, who often paint broad stripes–’

We stifled Ramses, figuratively speaking – though Donald looked as if he would like to have done so literally. He had already informed me that he was beginning to understand my warnings concerning Ramses. ‘The boy doesn’t need a bodyguard, Mrs Emerson, he needs a guardian angel – or possibly a squad of them.’

The young man was wearing his new shirt and trousers, and for the first time resembled the English gentleman I knew him to be. He sat with eyes downcast and lips pressed tightly together. Enid was also silent. The concerted effort both made to avoid touching or looking at one another was in my opinion highly significant.

Emerson was the first to break the silence. ‘It seems that whether I will or not, I have become involved in the little matter of Kalenischeff’s murder. Let me say at the outset that I cannot help but believe there is some connection between that event and the domestic matters Mr Fraser has outlined. It is too much of a coincidence that a third party should have decided to do away with the villain – much as he deserved it – at the precise time when Miss Debenham had hired him to help find her missing kinsman.’

‘Coincidences do occur, Emerson,’ I said. ‘I know you would rather eliminate from consideration that individual whose name I refrain from mentioning–’

‘Oh, the devil,’ Emerson growled. ‘You cannot mention his name, Amelia, for you don’t know what it is. Call him whatever you like, so long as it is pejorative.’

‘Whatever we call him, it would be folly to deny that he is involved. He has favoured us with communications on no fewer than four occasions. First, the attempted abduction of Ramses; second, the return of the stolen communion vessels; third, the presentation of the flowers and the ring; and last, today’s attack. Only a mind hopelessly and irrevocably prejudiced’ – I carefully refrained from looking at Emerson, but I heard him snarl– ‘would deny that all four events bear the signature of Sethos.’

‘I beg your pardon, Mama,’ Ramses said. ‘I concur with your conclusions regarding the last three incidents, but in the first case–’

‘Who else would want to abduct you, Ramses?’

‘A great number of people, I should think,’ said Emerson. ‘Ordinarily I would agree with your premise, Peabody – that there cannot be many individuals in Egypt who yearn to make off with Ramses – but as I have learned to my sorrow, we seem to attract criminals as a dog attracts fleas. I should feel hurt if we had fewer than five or six murderers after us.’

‘He is speaking ironically,’ I explained to Donald, whose bewildered expression betokened his failure to comprehend. ‘However, there is some truth in his statement. We do attract criminals, for the simple reason that we threaten to destroy them and their vile activities.’

‘Yes, but curse it, we aren’t threatening anyone now,’ Emerson cried. ‘At least … Ramses! Look Papa straight in the eye and answer truthfully. Are you threatening any criminals at this time?’

‘To the best of my knowledge, Papa–’

‘Just answer yes or no, my son.’

‘No, Papa.’

‘Have you unearthed any buried treasures or antiquities you neglected to mention to your mama and me?’

‘No, Papa. If you would allow me–’

‘No, Ramses, I will not allow you to elaborate. For once in my life I intend to direct the course of a family discussion and decide upon a sensible course of action.

‘To return, then, to the subject of the murder. I find it difficult to believe that the police really consider Miss Debenham a serious suspect. If she were to surrender herself–’

Donald started up from his chair. ‘Never!’ he exclaimed. ‘Even if she were to be cleared of the crime, the shame – the notoriety –’

‘Be still a moment,’ I said. ‘Emerson, I think you underestimate the strength of the case against her. Let me play devil’s advocate and state the facts as they will appear to the police. Item: Miss Debenham and Kalenischeff were intimately acquainted – lovers, to put it bluntly. (Donald, I insist that you be quiet.) They quarrelled on the night of the murder. He was found dead in her bed, and she was with him in the room when the dastardly deed was done. Alone with him, mark you, and in her nightclothes. Her story of a midnight intruder who rendered her helpless by means of a drug will be dismissed as not a very clever invention. You may be sure no one else saw a sign of the fellow.’

‘Kalenischeff’s shady reputation – his criminal connections–’ Emerson began.

‘His criminal connections are no more than suspicions in so far as the police are concerned. As for his reputation – don’t you see, Emerson, that might work against Miss Debenham? To put it as nicely as possible, Kalenischeff was a ladies’ man. Is not jealousy a motive for murder?’

Emerson looked grave. ‘Is there no other suspect?’

‘Er – yes,’ I said. ‘As a matter of fact, there are two.’

Emerson brightened. ‘Who?’

‘Both,’ I said, ‘are in this room.’

Emerson’s eyes moved, quite involuntarily, I am sure, to Ramses.

‘Oh, come, Emerson,’ I said impatiently. ‘If a woman could not strike such a blow, how could an eight-year-old boy? No! Who is the man with thews of steel and a formidable temper, who has been heard on numerous occasions to describe Kalenischeff as a villain and a rascal and has stated that his very presence was an affront to any decent woman?’

A modest smile spread across Emerson’s face. ‘Me,’ he said.

‘Grammar, Emerson, if you please. But you are correct. You are the person I meant.’

‘On my word, Peabody, that is cursed ingenious,’ Emerson exclaimed. ‘If I didn’t know I hadn’t done it, I would suspect myself. Well, but who is the other suspect?’

‘She is referring to me, Professor,’ said Donald, carefully avoiding the grammatical error Emerson had committed. ‘I was at the hotel that night. You had told me to meet you there–’

‘But you didn’t,’ Emerson said.

‘No. I – I was in a strange state of mind. Appreciating your trust and yet resenting your interference … I wandered half the night trying to decide what to do.’

‘I believe I can understand, Mr Fraser. But the fact that you were in the motley crowd outside the hotel doesn’t make you a suspect. You were there other evenings, you and dozens of other nondescript Egyptians. I assume you did not enter the hotel?’

‘How could I?’ Donald asked with a wry smile. ‘A ragged beggar like myself would not be admitted to those precincts.

‘Then I fail to see how you can fall under suspicion.’

Ramses had been trying for some time to get a word in. ‘Papa – were Mr Fraser’s true identity known –’

‘Just what I was about to say,’ I remarked, frowning at Ramses. ‘Mr Donald Fraser might have a motive for killing Kalenischeff that a ragged beggar would not. Furthermore, I know for a fact that he is suspected.’

‘Who told you?’ Emerson demanded. ‘Baehler?’

‘No, it was–’

‘You went to police headquarters the day you were in Cairo,’ Emerson said accusingly. ‘You misled me, Amelia. You promised–’

‘I made no promise, Emerson. And in fact the police were of little assistance. I cannot think why our friend Sir Eldon has such incompetent people as his aides. Major Ramsay is a perfect fool, and he has no manners besides. The person I was about to mention is a well-known private investigator. I started to tell you about him last night before you – before we–’

‘Please continue with your narrative, Amelia,’ said Emerson, glowering.

‘Certainly, Emerson. I only mentioned the – er – interruption because I don’t want you to accuse me of concealing information from you.’

‘Your explanation is noted and accepted, Peabody.’

‘Thank you, Emerson. As I was saying, I happened to meet this gentleman outside the Administration Building. He recognized me and addressed me – most courteously, I might add – and it was he who informed me that a certain beggar in a saffron turban was under suspicion. His name is Tobias Gregson. He has solved such well-known cases as the Camberwell poisoning–’

I was not allowed to proceed. Every member of the group – with the exception of the cat Bastet, who only blinked her wide golden eyes – jumped up and attempted to speak. Enid cried, ‘Ronald is behind this? How could he …’ Donald declared his intention of turning himself in at once. Emerson made incoherent remarks about the moral turpitude of private detectives and told me I ought to know better than to speak to strange men. Ramses kept exclaiming, ‘But, Mama – but, Mama – Gregson is – Gregson is –’ like a parrot that has been taught only a few phrases.

By speaking all at once, each defeated his (or her) purpose, and as the hubbub died, I seized the opportunity to go on. ‘Never mind Mr Gregson; we won’t speak of him since he has aroused such a storm. It is out of the question for Donald and Enid to give themselves up. Donald’s case is as desperate as Enid’s – indeed, it may be worse, for I am sure the authorities would prefer to arrest a man rather than a young lady. No; we must sit pat, as one of my American friends once said – in regard, I believe, to some sort of card game. Our game is a dangerous one, and we must hold our cards close to our persons. I have made one attempt to lure Sethos out of hiding; I propose to continue that method tomorrow–’

Another outcry silenced me, punctuated, like the monotonous tolling of a bell, by Ramses’ reiterated ‘But Mama.’ Emerson won over the rest this time, by sheer volume.

‘Rather than allow you to repeat that imbecile and hazardous experiment, Amelia, I will bind you hand and foot. Why must you take these things on yourself? Can’t you leave it to me to smoke out the villain?’

‘I cannot because I am the only one who can pass for Enid. Or do you propose to assume women’s clothing and walk with her dainty, tripping steps?’

The very idea outraged Emerson so thoroughly that he was momentarily mute. It was Enid who said timidly, ‘But, Amelia – are you absolutely certain it was I the man wanted? Perhaps you were the intended victim all along.’

‘By Gad,’ Emerson exclaimed. ‘Out of the mouths of babes and … Hem. Excuse me, Miss Debenham. Precisely the point I would have made had I been permitted to speak without these constant interruptions.’

‘Nonsense,’ I said. ‘My disguise was perfect. Donald here was deceived–’

‘I was not,’ Ramses said quickly. ‘I knew it was you. Mama, there is something I must–’

‘There, you see,’ Emerson exclaimed triumphantly.

‘The eyes of true love cannot be deceived,’ Enid said. Donald glanced at her and glanced quickly away.

Emerson’s lips tightened. ‘That,’ he said, ‘is what I am afraid of.’

Emerson refused to explain this enigmatic remark; nor, in fact, did any of us ask him to explain, for we had more important matters to resolve. We finally decided to wait upon events for another day or two, in the hope that something would turn up. I should say, ‘Emerson decided,’ for I was opposed to the idea. He promised me, however, that if nothing happened in the next two days, we would go together to Cairo in an effort to obtain information.

‘Let me work for a brief time without distraction,’ he groaned piteously. ‘The stratification of the structure next to the pyramid is not clear in my mind as yet.’

I knew what Emerson was up to. He had no more intention than I did of sitting with folded hands awaiting Sethos’ next move. He was deceiving me, the sly fellow – trying to get the jump on me in another of our amiable competitions in criminology. Well, I thought, smiling to myself – two can play that game, Professor Radcliffe Emerson! I had a few cards up my own sleeve.

‘Very well,’ I said pleasantly. ‘That will give me a chance to explore the interior of the subsidiary pyramid.’

‘It will prove a wasted effort, Mama,’ said Ramses. ‘The burial chamber is empty. Indeed, I suspect it was never used for a burial, since its dimensions are only seven feet by–’

‘Ramses,’ I said.

‘Yes, Mama?’

‘Did I not, on an earlier occasion, forbid you to go inside a pyramid without permission?’

Ramses pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘Indeed you did, Mama, and I assure you I have not forgotten. I might claim that since you were present, though at some little distance, I was not violating the literal sense of the command. However, that would be disingenuous. In fact, my position was on the very edge of the entrance opening – technically neither in nor out – and I had every intention of remaining there, and would have done so, but for the fact that a careless move on my part caused me to lose my footing and slide down the passage, which, if you recall, had a slope of perhaps forty-five degrees fifteen minutes. It was my body striking the wall that disturbed the delicate equilibrium of the structure, whose stones had already been–’

‘Ramses.’

‘Yes, Mama. I will endeavour to be brief. Once the passage was blocked and I realized that my strength was inadequate for the purpose of freeing myself, I took advantage of my position to explore the rest of the interior, knowing it would be some time before my absence was noted and a rescue party–’

‘I think, my son,’ said Emerson uneasily, ‘that your mama will excuse you now. You had better go to bed.’

‘Yes, Papa. But first there is a matter I feel obliged to bring to Mama’s attention. Gregson is–’

‘I will hear no more, wretched boy,’ I exclaimed, rising to my feet. ‘I am thoroughly out of sorts with you, Ramses. Take yourself off at once.’

‘But, Mama–’

I started toward Ramses, my arm upraised – not indeed to strike, for I do not believe in corporal punishment for the young except in cases of extreme provocation – but to grasp him and take him bodily to his room. Misinterpreting my intentions, the cat Bastet rose in fluid haste and wrapped her heavy body around my forearm, sinking her teeth and claws into my sleeve. Emerson persuaded the cat of her error and removed her – claw by claw – but instead of apologizing, she chose to be offended. She and Ramses marched off side by side, both radiating offended hauteur, the cat by means of her stiff stride and switching tail, Ramses by neglecting to offer his usual formula of nightly farewell. I daresay they would have slammed the door if there had been one to slam.

Emerson then suggested we retire. ‘After such a day, Peabody, you must be exhausted.’

‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘I am ready to go on talking for hours if you like.’

Emerson declined this offer, however, and after gathering our belongings we started for our tent. I was uneasy about leaving the others, but we had taken all possible precautions, requesting Abdullah to close and bar the gates and to set a guard. I felt sure I could rely on Donald, not only to watch over both his charges, but to maintain a respectful distance from one of them. Poor boy, he was so in awe of the girl, he hardly dared speak to her, much less approach her.

I promised myself I would have a little talk with him on that subject. For in my opinion (which is based on considerable experience), there is nothing that annoys a woman so much as fawning, servile devotion. It brings out the worst in women – and in men, let me add, for a tendency to bully the meek is not restricted to my sex, despite the claims of misogynists. If someone lies down and invites you to trample him, you are a remarkable person if you decline the invitation.

I told Emerson this as we strolled side by side through the starlit night. I half-expected him to sneer, for he takes a poor view of my interest in the romantic affairs of young people; instead he said thoughtfully, ‘So you recommend the Neanderthal approach, do you?’

‘Hardly. What I recommend is that all couples follow our example of marital equality.’

I reached for his hand. It lay lax in my grasp for a moment; then his strong fingers twined around mine and he said, ‘Yet you seem to be saying that a certain degree of physical and moral force–’

‘Do you remember remarking on one occasion that you had been tempted to snatch me up onto a horse and ride with me into the desert?’ I laughed. Emerson did not; in fact, his look was strangely wistful as he replied, ‘I do remember saying it. Are you suggesting I ought to have done so?’

‘No, for I would have resisted the attempt with all the strength at my disposal,’ I replied cheerfully. ‘No woman wants to be carried off against her will; she only wants a man to want to do it! Of course, for old married folk like us, such extravagance would be out of place.’

‘No doubt,’ Emerson said morosely.

‘I admit that a proper compromise between tender devotion and manly strength is difficult to achieve. But Donald has gone too far in one direction, and I intend to tell him so at the earliest possible opportunity. He adores her; and I rather think she reciprocates, or would, if he went about wooing her in the proper manner. She would not say such cruel cutting things to him if she did not–’

We had reached the tent. Emerson swept me up into his arms and carried me inside.

IX

NEITHER of us slept well that night. My lecture had obviously made a deep impression on Emerson, in a sense I had not at all anticipated but to which I had no objection.

Even after the time for slumber had arrived, Emerson was unusually restless. He kept starting up at the slightest sound; several times his abrupt departure from the nuptial couch woke me, and I would see him crouched at the entrance to the tent with a heavy stick in his hands.

All the sounds were false alarms – the far-off cries of jackals prowling the desert waste, or the surreptitious movements of small nocturnal animals emerging from their lairs in the relative safety of darkness to seek refreshment and exercise. I myself was not troubled by such noises, which I had long since learned to know and recognize. But I dreamed a great deal, which is not usual with me. The details of the dreams fled as soon as I woke, leaving only a vague sense of something troubling my mind.

Despite his disturbed night Emerson was in an excellent mood the following morning. As he stretched and yawned outside the tent, his stalwart frame stood out in magnificent outline against the first rays of dawn. We had brought a spiritlamp and supplies of food and water, so we were able to make a scanty morning meal. As we waited for the workmen to arrive, Emerson said, ‘You were restless last night, Peabody.’

‘So would you have been had you been wakened hourly, as I was, by someone prowling round the tent.’

‘You talked in your sleep.’

‘Nonsense, Emerson. I never talk in my sleep. It is a sign of mental instability. What did I say?’

‘I could not quite make out the words, Peabody.’

The arrival of the crew put an end to the discussion and I thought no more about it. Ramses was in the van, of course, with Donald close beside him. The young man assured me there had been no trouble during the night. ‘Except,’ he added, scowling at Ramses – who returned the scowl, with interest – ‘I caught this young man halfway up the stairs to the roof shortly after midnight. He refused to tell me where he was going.’

‘I could not go out the door because Hassan was on guard there,’ Ramses said – as if this were an acceptable excuse for his attempt to creep out of the house.

‘Never mind,’ I said, sighing. ‘Ramses, in case I neglected to mention it, I forbid you to leave the house at night.’

‘Is that a wholesale prohibition, Mama? For instance, should the house catch fire, or be invaded by burglars, or should the roof of my room appear in imminent danger of falling–’

‘Obviously you must use your discretion in such cases,’ said Emerson.

I abandoned the lecture. Ramses could always find a way to do what he wanted, if he had to burn the house down in order to justify it.

‘Where is Enid?’ I asked.

Then I saw her standing some distance away, her back turned. ‘She wanted to stay at the house,’ Donald said. ‘But I insisted she come with us.’

‘Quite right. She must not be left alone for an instant.’

‘Besides, I need every pair of hands,’ Emerson announced. ‘Listen to me, all of you. I intend to work without interruption this day. If all the powers of hell were to choose this spot on which to wage the final battle of Armageddon, I would not be distracted. If one of you feels a mortal illness come over him, pray go off and die at a distance. Come along, Ramses. You too, Fraser.’

And he marched off, shouting for Abdullah.

‘Well!’ I said to Enid, who had approached me. ‘He is in a temper today! We had better humour him, my dear. I have a great treat for you – we are going to explore the interior of the pyramid!’

Instead of mirroring the enthusiasm I expected, the girl’s face lengthened. ‘But Ramses said–’

‘My dear girl I hope you are not suggesting that a mere infant has my expertise in archaeology? There may be many important signs Ramses has missed.’

I set the men to work clearing away the debris and enlarging the entrance. A closer examination of the ceiling of the descending passageway convinced me there was no danger of further collapse except in the section immediately adjoining the one that had already fallen. A few stout timbers were arranged to brace this; the fallen stones were removed; and I allowed myself the pleasure of being the first to penetrate the interior. We disturbed the usual number of bats, and the advent of these harmless creatures, squeaking and flapping, had a deleterious effect on Enid’s nerves. She absolutely refused to accompany me any farther, so I went on alone.

At the end of a series of passages and corridors was a small chamber some seven and a half feet square, with a fine corbelled roof. It was entirely empty. A brief search through the debris on the floor disclosed nothing of interest, and, leaving Selim to sift through the dust to make sure nothing had been overlooked, I returned to the open air, heroically concealing my disappointment.

I found Enid outside, perched on one of the blocks on the side of the pyramid. Chin on her hands, the breeze ruffling her hair, she watched the others gather for the midmorning break. I indicated I was ready to join them, and as we scrambled down the steplike stones I remarked, ‘It won’t do, you know. You cannot go on forever treating him like a leper.’

‘I can and will,’ Enid said hotly. ‘Unless he comes to his senses and confesses the truth.’

‘He has already confessed to such a staggering variety of sins, I can’t imagine what he could be concealing,’ I remarked. ‘Unless you believe he is the killer.’

‘You misunderstand me.’ We reached the ground and she turned to face me. ‘It was Ronald,’ she blurted. ‘Not Donald at all. He took the blame for Ronald’s fault, as he has always done.’

‘Losing his commission, his honour, and his fortune? Come, Enid, I can’t believe any man (even a man) would be so foolish. Nobility and self-sacrifice are the highest qualities of which humanity is capable, but when carried to excess, they are not so much admirable as idiotic.’

‘I quite agree,’ Enid said, with a bitter laugh. ‘But you don’t know Donald. Quixotic is too mild a word for him. Ronald was always his mother’s darling – the younger and smaller and weaker of the two.’

‘The runt of the litter,’ I said musingly.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘It is a slang expression, and a very pithy one. How often have I seen a mother cherish some pitiful crippled infant, to the neglect of the other children in the family. Weakness brings out the best in us, Enid, and I must say–’

‘Yes, I have no doubt that in the abstract it is a noble quality. But in this case it resulted in terrible harm to both brothers. Ronald was never at fault, he was never punished. Instead of resenting this unfair treatment, Donald tried to win his mother’s approval by appointing himself Ronald’s defender and whipping boy. When Ronald did something wrong, he blamed Donald, and Donald took the beating. When Ronald taunted a hulking bully, Donald did the fighting. Their mother’s last words to Donald were, “Always love and protect your brother.” And he has done exactly that.’

‘In childhood, perhaps. But how can you be certain Donald took the blame for his brother this time? A beating is one thing; to admit responsibility for a debt one has not incurred–’

‘It would not be the first time,’ Enid said. ‘Donald has paid a number of Ronald’s debts in the past. This time the situation was more serious. Ronald would have been publicly disgraced and perhaps sent to prison if the gentleman whose signature had been forged had decided to press the matter. He was willing to let Donald off more lightly because of the respect and affection felt for Donald by all who know him – a consideration that would assuredly not have been extended to Ronald. For that reason Donald agreed to take the blame on himself. I am as certain of that fact as I am that we are standing here, but I cannot prove it. The only ones who know the truth are the brothers themselves. Ronald won’t betray himself, and if Donald is determined to play the martyr … That was why I had to come to Egypt. Ronald had already set out, ostensibly to find Donald and bring him home. I knew he would not press the search, and of course I was right. When I reached Cairo I learned the Ronald had gone off on some pleasure trip. It was up to me to locate Donald and beg him – threaten him–’

‘Bribe him?’ I inquired delicately.

A deep flush stained the girl’s rounded cheeks. ‘He has never given the slightest indication that an offer of the sort to which you refer would influence him.’

‘I see. Well, men are strange creatures, Enid; it requires experience like mine, which extends over many nations and two separate continents, to understand their foibles. Did it ever occur to you that Ronald might have taken steps to prevent you from finding Donald?’

‘Such a suspicion did enter my mind,’ Enid murmured. ‘I even wondered whether Kalenischeff might not have been sent to lead me astray. But I cannot believe that, even of Ronald …’

‘Believe it,’ I said firmly. ‘Kalenischeff was up to something; he told me he intended to leave Egypt, and he would never abandon a lucrative scheme until he had collected every possible penny first. He meant to betray someone, I am certain of that. The only question is – who? Well, my dear, you have raised several interesting and suggestive issues, which I must mull over. Now we had better join the others. I believe I hear Emerson calling me.’

There was no doubt about it, in fact. Emerson’s voice, as I have had occasion to remark, is notable for its carrying quality.

Ramses was the first to greet us. He asked whether I had found anything interesting inside the pyramid.

I changed the subject.

We had almost finished our repast when the sound of voices from afar warned us that another party of tourists was approaching. The absurd little caravan came trotting toward us, and after one look at the formidable figure leading the procession, Emerson dived headlong into the trench that had been dug. After the episode with the empress, he was wary of old ladies.

I sent the others back to work and advanced to meet the intruders, hoping I could head them off and spare my poor Emerson. The rider on the lead donkey looked familiar, and I realized that it was indeed the elderly American lady I had seen at Shepheard’s. Her voluminous black skirts practically swallowed up the little donkey. Nevertheless, he proceeded at a brisk trot, which caused the old lady to roll perilously from side to side. Two donkey boys took turns shoving her back into the saddle.

Seeing me, she changed course. ‘I know you,’ she said, in a piercing nasal voice. ‘Saw you at the hotel. Friend of Baehler’s? Most improper, a lady dining alone.’

‘I was not dining, I was lunching,’ I reminded her, and then introduced myself.

‘Huh,’ said the old lady. ‘And who’s that, then?’

She pointed with her parasol. I turned. ‘Allow me to present my son,’ I said. ‘Ramses, go back–’

‘Ramses?’ The old lady trumpeted. ‘What kind of name is that? Sickly-looking child. Not long for this world.’

‘Thank you for your concern, madam,’ I said with frigid courtesy. ‘I assure you it is unwarranted. Ramses, will you please–’

The old lady distracted me by dismounting. Indeed, the process would have seriously alarmed someone of a nervous temperament, accompanied as it was by infuriated screams and wild waving of her parasol. I thought she was going to topple over onto one of the small donkey boys and mash him flat. However, the action was eventually completed and the old lady, straightening her skirts and her black veil, addressed me again.

‘Show me the pyramid, ma’am. I came a long way to see it, and see it I will. Mrs Axhammer of Des Moines, Iowa, don’t do things by halves. I’ve got a list …’ She plucked it from her pocket and waved it like a flag. ‘And I’m not going home till I’ve seen everything that’s writ down here.’

‘What about your companions?’ I asked. Both had dismounted. The pale young man leaned weakly against his donkey, mopping his brow. The woman had collapsed onto the ground, her face as green as the palms in the background.

Mrs Axhammer of Des Moines, Iowa (wherever that barbaric location may be), emitted the evillest laugh I had ever heard. ‘Let ‘em sit. Poor weak critters, they can’t keep up with me – and I’m sixty-eight years old, ma’am, not a day less. That’s my nephew – Jonah’s his name – I brung him along so he could tend to things, but he ain’t worth a plugged nickel. Thinks he’ll get cut out of my will if he ain’t nice to me. Doesn’t know he’s already cut out of it. I hired that fool woman for a companion, but she ain’t holding up either. A lady’s got to have a chaperone, though. What’s that boy staring at me for? Ain’t you taught him any manners?’

‘I venture to say,’ said Ramses, in his most pedantic manner, ‘that most people would forget their manners when confronted with someone as remarkable in appearance as yourself. However, I do not wish any opprobrium to attach to my mama. She has endeavoured to correct my behaviour, and if the result is not as it should be, the blame is mine, not hers.’

It was difficult to assess the effect of this speech on Mrs Axhammer, for the veil blurred her features. Personally, I thought it rather a handsome effort. Ramses advanced and held out his hand. ‘May I escort you, madam?’ he asked.

The old lady brandished her parasol. ‘Get away, get away, you young rascal. I know boys; trip you up, boys do, and put spiders on you.’

Ramses began, ‘Madam, rest assured I had no intention–’

‘Now how could you be any use to me?’ the old lady demanded irascibly. ‘Puny little critter like you. . . Here, ma’am, I’ll take your arm. You’re short, but you look strong.’

She caught me by the shoulder. She was wearing dainty black lace mittens, but there was nothing delicate about her hand, which was as heavy as a man’s. I permitted the liberty, however. Courtesy to the elderly is a trait I endeavour to instil in my son – and the lady’s grip was too strong to be easily dislodged.

As we walked slowly toward the pyramid, Mrs Axhammer subjected me to a searching and impertinent interrogation. She asked how old I was, how long I had been married, how many children I had, and how I liked my husband. I returned the compliment as soon as I could get a word in, asking her how she liked Egypt.

After a long diatribe about the heathen customs and unsanitary habits of the modern Egyptian, she added in an equally vitriolic tone, ‘Not that civilized folks act much better, ma’am. The scandals I heard in Cairo would make a lady blush, I do assure you. Why, there was a young English lady murdered her inamorato a few days ago; cut his throat ear to ear, they say, in her very room.’

‘I had heard of it,’ I said. ‘I cannot believe any young lady would do such a thing.’

A gust of wind blew Mrs Axhammer’s veil askew, just as she bared a set of large white teeth whose very perfection betrayed their falsity. ‘There’s no doubt in my mind,’ she snapped. ‘Women are dangerous, ma’am, much more dangerous than the male. I see you’ve got one out here with you. Don’t approve of women taking work away from men. Ought to stay at home and tend to the house.’

Realizing I would get no more out of the malicious old creature except ignorant maledictions about her own sex, I determined to finish my duties and get rid of her. She paid no attention to my lecture, which, if I may say so, was of admirable quality, and resisted my efforts to lead her away from the excavations.

‘There’s a white man down there with all them natives,’ she exclaimed indignantly. ‘Is that your husband? Ain’t he got no sense of dignity? Hi, there, you–’ And she made as if to jab Emerson, whose back was turned, with her parasol.

Like lightning I brought my own parasol into play, striking up the shaft of Mrs Axhammer’s with a skill worthy of a master swordsman. The ring of steel on steel made Emerson jump, but he did not turn round.

The old lady burst out laughing and feinted playfully at me with her parasol. ‘Useful instruments, ain’t they? Never travel without one. Hey, there–’

She spun round; and as her flailing draperies settled, I saw to my consternation that they had concealed a small kneeling form.

‘Ramses!’ I exclaimed. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Looking up my skirts,’ the old lady howled. ‘Let me at him, ma’am, let me at the little rascal. You’ve been too soft on him, ma’am; he needs a good thrashing, and Mrs Axhammer of Des Moines, Iowa, is the one to give it to him.’

While I engaged the agitated old person in a spirited exchange of thrusts and parries, Ramses skipped hastily away. ‘I was merely examining your feet, madam,’ he said indignantly. ‘They are very large, you know.’

This remark may have been intended to soften Mrs Axhammer’s anger, but as might have been predicted, it had precisely the opposite effect. She set off after Ramses, and, seeing he was having no difficulty in keeping a safe distance from her, I followed at a more leisurely pace. At least Ramses’ dreadful lapse of manners had succeeded in drawing Mrs Axhammer away from Emerson, and I fondly hoped that once away, she would not return.

Such proved to be the case. Shaking with indignation, Mrs Axhammer mounted her donkey and the caravan trotted off.

When we returned to the house that afternoon, Emerson expressed himself as satisfied with the morning’s work. ‘I think I have it clear in my mind now, Peabody. There are traces of at least three occupation levels, the latest addition having probably been made in Ptolemaic times. The plan is complex, however, and I would appreciate your assistance, if you are finished messing about with your pyramid.’

Overlooking the derogatory tone, I assured him that I was at his disposal. ‘There is nothing inside, Emerson. I doubt that it was ever used for a burial.’

‘That is what I said, Mama,’ remarked Ramses.

After luncheon, Enid retired to her room with her book of detective stories. She had not spoken a word to Donald, and his gloomy look testified to his depressed spirits. I was about to suggest we have a little talk when Emerson said, ‘What would you think about a ride to Mazghunah this afternoon, Peabody? The communion vessels ought to be returned to the church.’

‘An excellent idea, Emerson,’ I replied, wondering what was behind this suggestion.

‘Shall we take Ramses?’

‘I would rather not,’ I said truthfully.

‘And I,’ said Ramses, ‘would prefer to take a little mild exercise, in the form of a stroll around the village and its environs.’

‘Mild exercise indeed,’ I exclaimed. ‘You have had a great deal of exercise already, being chased by infuriated old ladies. Stay here and work on your grammar.’

‘Never mind, Peabody,’ Emerson said with a smile. ‘We cannot keep an active lad like Ramses shut up in the house all the time. There is no harm in his taking a stroll so long as Mr Fraser accompanies him.’

Neither Ramses nor Donald appeared to care for that idea. ‘Such an arrangement would leave the young lady unprotected,’ Ramses protested. Donald nodded vigorous agreement.

‘She has stout walls and strong men to protect her,’ Emerson replied. ‘It is broad daylight, and we won’t be long. Mazghunah is only ten kilometres from here, and our business will be easily concluded.’

So it was arranged. Taking two of the donkeys, Emerson and I rode southward. We saw no one, for at that time of day tourists and natives alike retire into the shade. I hardly need say that Emerson and I are never deterred from the path of duty by climatic conditions, and I, for one, enjoyed the ride.

The path, scarcely discernible to any but a trained eye, led across the rocky waste of the plateau, past the tumbled remains of the three brick pyramids of Dahshoor. They had been built a thousand years after their great stone neighbours, but the shorter passage of time had not dealt kindly with them. Once faced with stone, in imitation of the older and larger tombs, they had crumbled into shapeless masses of brick as soon as the facing stones were removed.

Dominating the other ruins was the great bulk of the Black Pyramid, the tomb of Amenemhat of the Twelfth Dynasty. Because of its location on the highest part of the plateau, it appears from some vantage points to be even taller than its stone neighbours to the north, and its ominous reputation is justified by its appearance. I knew the interior of that monstrous structure only too well, for it was into its sunken and flooded burial chamber that Emerson and I had been flung by the villain who assumed we would never emerge alive. Only the most heroic exploits on both our parts (with a little assistance from Ramses) had enabled us to escape from perils which would have destroyed lesser beings.

Although I would have liked to explore the Black Pyramid again, and visit the ruined monastery we had occupied the year before, we had no time for nostalgia that day. We went directly to the village.

By comparison to Mazghunah, Menyat Dahshoor is a veritable metropolis. The former village is primarily inhabited by Copts (Egyptian Christians) but except for the characteristic indigo turbans, the inhabitants are indistinguishable in appearance from other Egyptians, and the wretched little houses are like those of any Moslem village. Ancient Coptic, the last remnant of the tongue of the pharaohs, is no longer spoken except in a few remote hamlets to the south, but it survives in the ritual of the Coptic Church.

The village looked deserted. Even the dogs had sought shelter from the sun, and nothing moved except a few chickens pecking at bugs. Strangers are such a rarity in these primitive places, however, that our advent was soon acknowledged, and people began trickling out of their houses. We drew up near the well, which is the centre of communal activity. Facing us was the church, with the house of the priest next to it.

The men gathered around Emerson, calling out greetings and inquiries. The women approached me, many carrying sickly babies. I had expected this and had come prepared; opening my medical kit, I began dispensing ipecacuanha and eyewash.

The Sheikh El Beled (mayor of the village) had of course noted our arrival as soon as the others, but dignity demanded that he delay awhile before presenting himself. Eventually, he made his appearance; when Emerson informed him that the lost communion vessels were about to be restored to him, tears filled the little man’s eyes, and he dropped to his knees, kissing Emerson’s feet and babbling thanks.

‘Humph,’ said Emerson, not looking at me. Honesty demanded that we decline to take credit for something we had not achieved; but on the other hand, there was no need to explain a situation that was inexplicable even to us.

As the news spread through the crowd, a scene of utter pandemonium broke out. People wept, shouted, sang, and embraced one another. They also embraced Emerson, a favour he endured without enthusiasm. ‘Ridiculous,’ he grunted at me over the head of a very fat lady, whose veiled face was pressed against his chest. She was, I believe, raining kisses on that region, while holding him in a grip he could not escape.

‘You see, Peabody,’ he went on, ‘the degrading effect of superstition. These people are carrying on as if we had conferred health and immortality upon them instead of fetching back a few tarnished pots. I will never understand – er – awk –’ He broke off, sputtering, as the lady raised herself on tiptoe and planted a fervent kiss upon his chin.

Eventually we quieted the crowd and, escorted by the mayor, proceeded to the church. On the step, hands raised in thanksgiving, was the priest, and very odd it seemed to behold his stout figure and genial face in the place of the great (in all but the moral sense) Father Girgis. Everybody trooped into the church, including the donkeys, and when the precious vessels had been restored to the altar, such a shout broke out that the very rafters shook – which was not surprising, since they were extremely old and brittle. Tears of joy streaming down his face, the priest announced there would be a service of thanks the following day. He then invited us and the mayor to join him in his house.

So again we entered the edifice where once we had been welcomed by the Master Criminal himself. So pervasive were the presence and the memory of that great and evil man that I half-expected to see him in the shadows, stroking his enormous black beard and smiling his enigmatic smile. It is a strange and disquieting fact that evil can sometimes appear more impressive than virtue. Certainly the Master Criminal had made a more imposing man of God than his successor. Father Todorus was a foot shorter and several feet wider round the middle; his beard was scanty, and streaked with grey.

He was a pleasant host, however. We settled ourselves on the divan with its faded chintz cushions, and the priest offered us refreshment, which of course we accepted, for to refuse would have been rude in the extreme. I was expecting the thick, sweet coffee which is the common drink; imagine my surprise when the priest returned from an inner room with a tray on which rested a glass bottle and several clay cups. After Emerson had taken a cautious sip of the liquid his eyebrows soared.

I followed suit. ‘It is French cognac,’ I exclaimed.

‘The best French cognac,’ Emerson said. ‘Father, where did you get this?’

The priest had already emptied his cup. He poured another generous measure and replied innocently, ‘It was here in my house when I returned.’

‘We have been anxious to hear of your adventure, Father,’ Emerson said. ‘How well I recall the anger of my distinguished chief wife, the Sitt Hakim here, upon learning that the priest of Dronkeh was not who he pretended to be. “What have you done with the real priest, you son of a camel?” she cried. “If you have injured that good, that excellent man, I will cut out your heart!”’

Emerson’s version was not a very accurate rendering of what I had said, but I had indeed inquired about the missing priest, and well I remembered the M.C.’s cynical reply: ‘He is enjoying the worldly pleasures he has eschewed, and the only danger is to his soul.’

After thanking me for my concern, Father Todorus launched into his story. It was clear that he had only been waiting for us to ask, and that constant repetition had shaped his account into a well-rehearsed narrative of the sort to which Egyptians can listen over and over again. Unfortunately, there was less information than stylistic elegance in the long, rambling tale; stripped of unnecessary verbiage, it could have been told in a few sentences.

Father Todorus had gone to bed one night as usual, and had awakened in a strange place, with no notion of how he had arrived there. The room was elegantly, indeed luxuriously furnished (the description of its silken curtains and soft couch, its tinkling fountain and marble floors occupied the bulk of the speech). But he saw no one save the attendants who brought him rich food and rare liquors at frequent intervals, and since the windows were barred and shuttered, he could see nothing that would give him the slightest clue as to his whereabouts.

His return was accomplished in the same eerie fashion; he awoke one morning in the same narrow cot from which he had been spirited away, and at first he could hardly believe the entire episode had not been a long and vivid dream. The astonished cries of his parishioners upon his reappearance, and the accounts they gave him of what had transpired during his absence, proved that his experience had been real. But the innocent man frankly admitted he was inclined to attribute the whole thing to evil spirits, who were known to torture holy men by tempting them with the goods of this world.

‘So you were tempted, were you?’ Emerson asked. ‘With rich food and fine wines and liquors–’

‘They are not forbidden by our faith,’ Father Todorus hastened to remark.

‘No, but other temptations are forbidden, at least to the clergy. Were the attendants who waited upon your reverence men or women?’

The guilt on the poor man’s face was answer enough. Emerson, chuckling, would have pursued the subject had I not intervened. ‘It would be more to the point, Emerson, were we to ask Father Todorus for a more detailed description of the place in which he was imprisoned. He may have heard or seen something that would give us a hint as to its location.’

I spoke in English, and Emerson answered in the same language. ‘If that swine Sethos is as clever as you seem to think he is, he will have abandoned that place long ago. Oh, very well, it will do no harm to ask.’

Father Todorus was visibly relieved when, instead of returning to the awkward subject of his temptations, Emerson asked about his prison. Like so many people, the priest was a poor observer; specific questions brought out facts he had suppressed, not intentionally but because he had never thought about them. He had not been able to see out the windows, but he had heard sounds, though muffled and faraway. When added one to another, the noises he mentioned made it evident that he had been, not in a village or isolated villa, but in the heart of a city.

‘Cairo, Emerson,’ I cried.

‘I assumed that from the first,’ said Emerson repressively. ‘But where in that teeming hive of humanity?’

Further questioning failed to answer that important question. When we rose to take our leave, we were hardly wiser than when we had come. Father Todorus, who had consumed two cups of brandy, accompanied us to the door, reiterating his thanks and assuring us he would mention us in his prayers – a compliment Emerson received with a grimace and a growl.

As we walked toward the donkeys I said, ‘Father Todorus is certainly generous with his cognac. I suppose Sethos left in such haste, he could not carry away the comforts with which he had provided himself, but to judge from the rate at which it is being consumed he must have left a considerable quantity.’

Emerson came to a stop. ‘Ha!’ he cried. ‘I knew some detail was nagging at my mind, but I could not imagine what it was. Good thinking, Peabody.’

Whereupon he ran back to the priest’s house, with, I hardly need say, me following. When Father Todorus responded to his peremptory knock, he was still holding his cup. Seeing Emerson, he smiled beatifically. ‘You have returned, O Father of Curses. Come in, with the honoured sitt your wife, and have – hic! – more brandy.’

‘I would not deprive you, Father,’ said Emerson with a grin. ‘For surely your supply must be limited.’

The little man’s face lengthened. One might have thought Emerson had accused him of robbery and worse, and Emerson said aside, in English, ‘Really, Peabody, it is too easy to confound this fellow; he has no more talent for dissimulation than a child.’

‘Less,’ I said meaningfully, ‘than some children.’

‘Humph,’ said Emerson. Returning to Arabic, he addressed the priest. ‘Your supply has been replenished, Father – is that not true? How often and in what manner?’

The priest groaned. He started to wring his hands; remembering that he still held the cup, he quickly drained it. With a glance at the curious onlookers, he muttered, ‘It was the devils, O Father of Curses. I beg you will not let these people know; they might appeal to the patriarch for help against the powers of evil, and I assure you, I swear to you, that I can conquer the devils, I am constantly at prayer–’

Emerson reassured him and the little man found courage to speak. There had been two deliveries of cognac by the demons since his miraculous return from imprisonment. On both occasions he had found the boxes at his bedside when he woke in the morning. He had not bothered to look for signs of intrusion, since it was well known that devils, being bodiless, do not leave footprints.

With further assurances of our good will, we took our leave. The priest disappeared into his house, no doubt in order to rid himself of the demonic gift in the most appropriate manner.

‘What a curious thing,’ I exclaimed, as we trotted out of the village. ‘This man, this unknown genius of crime, is a strange mixture of cruelty and compassion. Cases of French cognac would not be my notion of apology and compensation for such rude handling, but–’

‘Oh, do use your head, Peabody,’ Emerson shouted, his face reddening. ‘Apology and compensation indeed! I never heard such balderdash.’

‘Why else would he–’

‘To complete the corruption of the priest, of course. A bizarre and evil sense of humour, not compassion, is the motive for these gifts.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I had not thought of that, Emerson. Good Gad, it is no wonder, such consummate depths of depravity are beyond the comprehension of any normal person.’

‘They are not beyond my comprehension,’ said Emerson, with a vicious snap of his teeth. ‘Ordinary assault, abduction, and attempted murder I can put up with; but this villain has gone too far.’

‘I quite agree, Emerson. To play such a trick on poor Father Todorus–’

‘Grr,’ said Emerson, ‘Peabody, you astonish me.’

‘I don’t know what you mean, Emerson. Do you think there is any hope of waylaying the deliverers of the cognac?’

‘No, I do not. Sethos may tire of his joke and stop delivery, and if he continues, we have no idea when the next visit will take place. It would be a waste of time to keep the priest’s house under observation, if that is what you were about to propose.’

‘I was not. I had reached the same conclusion.’

‘I am happy to hear it, Peabody.’

We reached the house at teatime, and I at once set about preparing that repast, assisted by Enid. Ramses and Donald had not returned; I caught myself listening for sounds of riot and furious pursuit, such as often accompanied Ramses’ departure from home. Aside from the normal noises of awakening village life, however, the only untoward sounds were those of distant gunshots. Even these were not unusual, for shooting was a favourite amusement of the more ignorant tourists, and the swampy areas between the canal and the river harboured great flocks of unfortunate birds whom these ‘sportsmen’ liked to massacre.

The shadows lengthened, and still the wanderers had not returned. Emerson was pacing up and down the courtyard glancing alternately at his watch and at the closed gates, when at last a shout announced the long-awaited event. Abdullah opened the gates and they rode into the compound, Donald close behind Ramses.

Ramses immediately slid off his donkey and started for the back of the house, trying, I suppose, to appear as if he were anxious to wash. Donald’s hand shot out and caught him by the collar. Holding him by that uncomfortable but convenient handle, he marched the boy toward us.

‘Professor and Mrs Emerson, I deliver to you your son. He has achieved a degree of dirtiness I once thought impossible, even after my own youthful experiments along that line, but he is intact, as I received him. I assure you that to keep him in that condition was no small feat.’

It was evident that they had been near the river, for the substance that covered Ramses was dried mud. Parts of it had flaked off, giving him a peculiarly antique appearance, like a rotted mummy.

‘I will wash immediately, Mama,’ he wheezed. ‘If you will be so good as to direct this – this person to unhand me.’

But by that time I had observed the little detail Ramses was so intent on concealing from me. It was little indeed – a hole a half inch in diameter drilled neatly into the side of his pith helmet. Moving a step to the side, I observed a second hole, slightly larger, opposite the first.

Emerson observed these unusual features at the same time, and, with a shout of consternation, he snatched the hat off Ramses’ head. He threw it to the ground and began running his fingers through the boy’s hair, completing the total dishevelment of that area.

‘It is the mark of a bullet, Peabody,’ he cried. ‘A bullet has gone completely through Ramses’ hat! Ramses, dear boy, where are you wounded?’

‘Oh, do stop it, Emerson,’ I said. ‘If Ramses had been wearing the hat when the shot was fired, the bullet would have gone straight through his cranium and you would have no difficulty in noting the result.’

‘He was not wearing the hat,’ Donald said. ‘He was holding it in his hand. That may relieve your apprehension, Professor, but in my opinion it still calls for punishment. If this young man were my son, I would turn him over my knee and give him a good hiding.’

Ramses slowly turned his head and gave Donald a look that would have made a wiser man retract his threat. The boy’s raven curls stood up in a bush like that of a Masai warrior, and his expression was no more affable.

Emerson ignored Donald’s remark – it was not the first time he had heard suggestions of that nature – but Enid gave an indignant cry. ‘I am not surprised at hearing so cruel a sentiment from that source,’ she exclaimed, putting a protective arm around Ramses. ‘Poor child! After such a frightening experience, to be manhandled and cursed–’

‘Confound it, Enid, I didn’t swear,’ Donald protested. ‘I was tempted to, but I didn’t.’

Enid turned her back on him and pulled Ramses close to her. ‘Come with Enid, poor lad; she will tidy you and protect you from this bully.’

Ramses’ face was pressed against her impeccable shirtwaist – impeccable, I mean to say, until that moment – but I could see his cheek and one corner of his mouth. The latter feature was curved in an insufferable smirk. He allowed himself to be led away, with every appearance of enjoying the sort of embrace he would ordinarily have protested.

Displaying hands almost as filthy as those of Ramses, Donald also went to wash. If he hoped to plead his case with Enid, he was given no opportunity, for she came back almost at once, clasping Ramses’ hand. His face and hands at least were clean, and realizing that only total immersion would restore him to a semblance of decency, I allowed him to take his tea with us, providing he sat some distance from the table. Owing to the nutrients contained in it, Nile mud has a particularly pungent and pervasive smell.

Nor did Donald linger over his toilette. He had been wearing Arab dress over his shirt and trousers; the removal of the robe removed the worst of the mud and he had taken time to pass a brush over his waving locks. After he had joined us I invited him to tell us what had happened and to provide us with the name of the person who had attempted to assassinate Ramses.

‘As you must know, from your calm tone, Mrs Emerson, it was an accident,’ he replied. ‘Brought on in large part by Master Ramses himself. We had gone down to the canal and were talking with the women who were washing clothes – at least Ramses was. By the way, your son has an appalling familiarity with certain Arabic idioms … While we were there, we heard gunfire some little distance off. Before I could stop him, Ramses had mounted his donkey and was going hell-bent for leather – I beg your pardon – riding rapidly in the direction from which the shots had come. I caught up with him after a while and explained that it was ill-advised to blunder into a shooting blind. We had a little discussion. He persuaded me – fool that I am! – to go closer, in order to observe the shooting. We – er – we had made quite a lot of noise, and I did not doubt the hunters knew we were there, but in order to be perfectly safe I called out again. A great flock of pigeons was wheeling and preparing to settle; it was clear that the rifles would be aimed in that direction, and since we were approaching from the west, I thought I had taken every possible precaution–’

‘It sounds as if you had,’ I observed, pouring him another cup of tea. ‘I presume Ramses ran out into the line of fire.’

Donald nodded. ‘Shouting at the top of his lungs and waving his hat. Naturally the birds took alarm and flew off–’

‘Which was precisely my intention,’ exclaimed Ramses. ‘You know my sentiments about blood sports, Mama; killing for food or in self-defence is one thing, but the slaughter of helpless fauna for the sake of simply counting the number of the slain is a process I cannot–’

‘Your sentiments on that subject are known to me, Ramses,’ said Emerson. ‘But, dear boy–’

‘Don’t scold him,’ Enid begged. ‘The gallant little fellow was not thinking of his own safety. His action was reckless but noble! I might have done the same thing had I been there, for I share his abhorrence of men who find a perverse pleasure in killing.’

This statement was obviously directed at Donald who flushed painfully. He got no chance to defend himself, for Enid continued to praise and admire Ramses whose smug expression was really enough to try the patience of a saint. In a typical Ramesesian effort to show appreciation for her spirited defence, he offered to give her a lesson in hieroglyphic – the highest compliment in his power – and they went into the house, hand in hand.

Donald slammed his cup into his saucer with such force that it cracked. ‘I resign my position, Mrs Emerson. I have faced armed foes and fierce savages, but Ramses has defeated me.’

‘Ramses? You mean Enid, don’t you? Have more bread and butter, Donald.’

‘I don’t want any cursed … Forgive me, Mrs E. I only want to be left alone.’

‘Alone with your pipe and your opium?’ said Emerson. ‘Give it up, my boy. You won’t elude Mrs Emerson; she has made up her mind to reform you, and reform you she will, whether you like it or not. Excuse me; I believe I will go in and work on my notes.’

‘Emerson is so tactful,’ I said, as my husband’s stalwart form vanished into the house. ‘He knows I wanted a confidential chat with you, Ronald – I beg your pardon, Donald. No, don’t go, for if you do, I will have Abdullah bring you back and sit on you until I am finished. Goodness, the stubbornness of the male sex! Enid has told me everything, Donald.’

The young man sank back into his chair, ‘Everything?’

‘Well, almost everything. She did not say in so many words that she loves you, but it was not difficult for me to see it. I am constantly astonished–’

Donald leaped to his feet. ‘Loves me?’

‘–at the inability of men to see what is right under their noses. And you love her–’

‘Love her? Love her!’

‘You sound like a parrot. Do sit down and stop shouting, or you will have everyone coming round to see what is wrong.’

Slowly Donald subsided into his chair, like a man whose limbs will no longer support him. His eyes, wide as saucers, and blue as the best Egyptian turquoise, were fixed on my face.

I continued. ‘Why else would she pursue you and attempt to persuade you to defend yourself? Why would she submit to the disgusting attentions of a man like Kalenischeff, if not to aid you? Why is she so furious with you? Mark my words, a woman does not go to such lengths for the sake of old friendship. She loves you! But she despises you too, and with reason. You do your brother no favour to take his punishment on yourself, and if you are foolish enough to submit to shame and disgrace for the sake of some absurd notion of gallantry, you have no right to make those who love you suffer. Proclaim your innocence and your brother’s guilt; take the position that is rightly yours, and claim your bride!’

‘I can’t believe you,’ Donald muttered. ‘She despises me. She–’

‘Well, of course she does. That has nothing to do with her loving you. Now listen to me, Donald. You cannot desert us. I am unable to explain this to Emerson, for he is becoming so unreasonable about the Master Criminal that the mere mention of the name starts him shouting, but you, I dare hope, will understand. Enid is in grave danger, not from the police, but from that mysterious genius of crime. He meant her to be charged and convicted for the murder of Kalenischeff. Why else would he have selected her room as the scene of slaughter?’

‘Possibly,’ Donald suggested, ‘because Kalenischeff was on his guard at all other times and was only vulnerable to attack when he believed he had been summoned to a romantic rendezvous.’

‘My question was rhetorical,’ I said sharply. ‘Take my word for it; Enid is not safe. Who knows, she may have seen or heard something on that terrible night that would endanger Sethos, could she but recall it. Let her abuse you and insult you, but do not abandon her when she needs you. And, while I am on the subject of insults and abuses, let me inform you that your abject acceptance of Enid’s contumely is not going to improve her opinion of you. I would be happy to give you one or two suggestions–’

Again Donald started up, so impetuously that his chair toppled over. ‘I beg you, Mrs Emerson – spare me. Your arguments have won me over; I will never desert Miss Debenham so long as she is in need of protection. But I cannot – I cannot endure – oh, God!’

Whereupon he rushed into the house.

X

ABDULLAH had neglected to close the gates. I sat in rare and pleasurable solitude, listening to the distant voices of Ramses and Enid discussing ancient Egyptian (or rather, the voice of Ramses lecturing Enid about ancient Egyptian) and enjoying the splendour of the sunset. The grand palette of the heavens was streaked with colours no earthly painter could achieve, savage-glowing bronze and gleaming crimson, indigo and rose and soft blue-grey. I knew the lurid beauty of the sky was due to the amount of sand in the atmosphere, and hoped we were not in for a storm.

One of the paths from the village passed in front of the gates, and my vigil was further enlivened by the forms of fellahin returning home from the fields, donkeys loaded with wood for the cookfires, women muffled in black and carrying heavy water jars on their heads. The procession of eternal Egypt, I thought to myself – for poetic fancies come to me at such times.

An alien shape broke into the slow-moving parade, the very speed of its approach an intrusion. The shape was that of a mounted man, who rode straight through the open gates. Seeing me, he dismounted, sweeping off his hat.

‘Mrs Emerson, I am Ronald Fraser. We met the other day–’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘Are you by chance the person who put a hole in my son’s hat this afternoon?’

‘No, indeed! At least I hope not.’ His smile made him look so much like his brother, I glanced involuntarily over my shoulder. Donald was nowhere in sight, but Emerson was. His broad shoulders filled the open doorway and a scowl darkened his face.

‘You hope not,’ he repeated ironically. ‘I hope not too, young man; for if you were the one who committed that little error, you would have to answer to me.’

‘It is in order to explain and apologize for the incident that I do myself the honour to call on you and your charming lady,’ Ronald said smoothly. ‘May I–’

‘You may,’ I said, indicating the chair Donald had overturned in his hasty departure. ‘I would offer you a cup of tea, but I am afraid it is cold.’

Ronald righted the chair and deposited himself in it. He was a graceful creature, more elegant and less manly than his brother. Knowing them as I now did, I could never have mistaken one for the other. The younger man’s countenance betrayed the weakness of his character; his lips were thin, his chin was irresolute, his brow narrow and receding. Even his eyes, of the same sea-blue, were paler in colour. They met mine with a clear candour I could not help but find highly suspicious.

In the most charming manner he disclaimed any intention of troubling me, even to the extent of a cup of tea. ‘I came,’ he went on, ‘only to make certain that no harm had been done the lad. He ran out in front of our guns, Professor and Mrs Emerson – I assure you he did. I honestly don’t know whose bullet it was that struck the hat out of his hand. He had retrieved it and retreated before we could go after him. Though we searched for some time, we found no sign of him, or of anyone else – though I thought I caught a glimpse of another person, an Arab, by his clothing… .’

He ended on a questioning note, but I was not tempted to inform him that the other person present had been his brother. Nor was Emerson; in fact, my husband’s response was direct to the point of rudeness. There were references, as I recall, to young idiots who could find nothing better to do with their time than blast away at birds who could not shoot back, and to his (Emerson’s) sincere hope that the shooters would end up riddling themselves and each other.

Mr Ronald’s fixed smile remained in place. ‘I don’t blame you, Professor; in your place I would say much the same.’

‘I doubt that,’ Emerson replied haughtily. ‘If you think your powers of invective can equal mine, you are sadly mistaken.’

‘I will make any amends in my power,’ the young man insisted. ‘A gift to the little chap – a profound apology–’

I had been wondering why Ramses had not made an appearance. It was most unlike him to refrain from interrupting. Yet even this conciliatory and tempting offer did not bring him out of the house. The most profound silence filled that edifice; even the murmur of Ramses’ lecture had ceased.

‘That is not necessary,’ I said. ‘But thank you for coming.’

I had no intention of allowing him to leave as yet, but it was not easy to introduce the topic I wanted to question him about. ‘Did you forge your brother’s signature?’ or ‘Do you believe Miss Debenham is a murderess?’ seemed a trifle abrupt, especially since I was not supposed to be acquainted with the persons in question. However, the young man saved me the trouble by an inquiry almost as direct as the ones I had rejected.

‘I had another reason for coming,’ he said gravely. ‘May I have a word, please, with Miss Debenham?’

I rallied at once without, I am sure, indicating how surprised I was by the question. ‘Miss Debenham? I don’t believe I know–’

‘I cannot believe she has succeeded in deceiving you, Mrs Emerson, no matter what name she has assumed. You are too astute to be gulled. Your kind heart and gentle sympathy are well known; everyone talks of it; it is impossible to spend more than a few days in Egypt without knowing your reputation – and, of course, that of your distinguished husband. You took her in, a helpless fugitive, and for that you will always have my gratitude. Do you suppose I would betray her– I, who hold her above all living creatures? Only let me see her, speak to her – assure myself she is unharmed – learn what I can do to serve her… .’

Unwillingly impressed by his eloquence, I listened without either confirming or denying his assumption. How long he would have gone on I cannot say, but his speech was halted by Enid herself. She had to push Emerson out of the way; he had been listening with an expression of incredulous disgust.

‘You see me,’ she said icily. ‘I am unharmed. You know what you can do to serve me. That answers all your questions, I believe.’

‘Enid!’ He rushed toward her, overturning the chair for the second time that afternoon. I heard a crack as one of the legs gave way.

Enid waited until he was almost upon her, then raised one hand with a solemn dignity that stopped him in his tracks. ‘Enid,’ he repeated, in tones of gentle reproach. ‘How could you do this? If you knew what agonies I have endured, being ignorant of where you were or how you fared–’

‘Always your agonies,’ she interrupted, with a curl of her lip. ‘I don’t know how you traced me here, but we have nothing to say to one another. Unless you have decided to play the man and admit what you did.’

‘But I’ve told you over and over, Enid, that I would gladly confess to anything if it would save the dear old chap from his present plight. Heaven knows he took the blame for me often enough when we were children; the least I can do–’

‘Is nobly confess to a crime you did not commit? Ronald, you are – you are beyond words.’ With a gesture of disgust, she turned as if to go back into the house.

‘Wait, Enid. Don’t leave me like this. What more can I do?’

She whirled around, her eyes flashing. ‘Go to Donald’s commanding officer and make a clean breast of it. But you will have to be convincing, Ronald.’

‘My darling girl–’

‘And don’t call me darling!’

‘I beg your pardon. It is hard to keep from one’s lips the sentiments that fill one’s heart. Enid, I will do as you ask – I swear. But first I must find my dear brother. I have searched for him night and day, Enid, in places I would not want to mention in your presence. But always he has fled before me. I am in terror that he may do something desperate – that any day I may hear of a body drawn from the Nile, or found in some foul den…’

His voice broke. He covered his face with his hands.

Enid was unmoved. Coldly she said, ‘Have no fear of that, Ronald. Have no hope of that, I might say. Do as you have promised – then come to me with the papers proving your brother innocent.’

‘And then?’ He raised his head. Tears filled his eyes. ‘And then, Enid?’

The colour drained from her face, leaving it as white as a statue’s. ‘I promise nothing,’ she said falteringly. ‘But … come to me then.’

The blood that had abandoned her countenance rushed into his. ‘Enid,’ he cried. ‘I will! Oh, my dear–’

She fled before him, going into the house and closing the door. Ronald would have gone after her had not Emerson stepped in the way.

‘No, no,’ he said, in the genial growl that sometimes deceived insensitive persons into believing he was in an affable mood. ‘In case it has slipped your mind, Mr Fraser, a gentleman does not force his attentions upon a lady when she is unwilling to receive them. Particularly when I am able to prevent it.’

‘She is not unwilling,’ Ronald said. ‘You don’t know her, Professor. She has always scolded and insulted me; we got into the habit as children. It is just her way of showing her affection.’

‘A most peculiar way, I must say,’ Emerson said sceptically. ‘I have never heard of such a thing.’

‘I appeal to Mrs Emerson,’ said Ronald with a smile. He certainly was a volatile young person; all traces of sorrow had vanished, and a look of satisfaction brightened his handsome face. ‘Isn’t it true, Mrs Emerson, that some young ladies enjoy tormenting the persons they love? She treats Donald just the same; you must have observed that.’

‘Had I had the opportunity to see them together, I might indeed have observed it,’ I replied shortly, for I resented his transparent attempt to trick me into an admission. ‘Without wishing to seem inhospitable, Mr Fraser, I suggest you leave.’

Ronald bent his earnest gaze upon me. ‘Now that I am at ease about Enid’s safety, I have only one concern. My brother, Mrs Emerson – my poor, suffering brother. Enid has always taken his part; she has for him the affection of a sister. He did wrong, but he has been punished enough. I want to find him and take him home. Together we will face whatever troubles the world sends us. If I could only tell him – only speak with him! I would remind him of the happy days of childhood, the hours we spent in harmless play, the reeds by the canal where we lay for hours watching the little birds fly in and out–’

‘Oh, really, I cannot stand any more of this,’ said Emerson, half to himself. ‘First he bleats and sobs at the girl, now he is blathering on about his childhood days – and in the most maudlin, sentimental clichés I have ever heard. Goodnight, Mr Fraser. Go away, Mr Fraser.’

There was no way even Ronald Fraser could turn this into a conventional and courteous farewell, but he did his best, bowing over my hand and repeating his thanks for my protection of his poor delicate darling, as he put it. The phrase was unfortunate, for it moved Emerson into abrupt action. I think he meant only to snatch Mr Fraser up and throw him onto his horse, but Mr Fraser anticipated him. After he had galloped away, Emerson bellowed to Abdullah to close and bar the gates. ‘If anyone tries to come in, shoot to kill,’ he shouted.

Then he turned to me. ‘How long until dinner, Peabody? I am ravenous.’

‘It has been a busy day,’ I agreed. ‘Sit down, Emerson, and have another cup of tea. I can boil more water in an instant.’

‘I think I will have whisky instead. Will you join me, Peabody?’

‘Yes, thank you. Where is everyone?’

‘Fraser – our Fraser – is probably skulking around somewhere in the back.’ Emerson picked up the chair and looked at it critically. ‘One of the legs is broken. These young men are deuced hard on the furniture, Peabody.’

‘So they are, Emerson.’

‘The young woman,’ Emerson went on, ‘is, if I know young women, weeping wildly in her room. That is what young women do when they are in a state of emotional confusion. Have I mentioned to you, Peabody, that one of the reasons why I adore you is that you are more inclined to beat people with your umbrella than fall weeping on your bed? The latter is a very trying habit.’

‘I quite agree with you, Emerson. That takes care of Enid, then. We have only to account for Ramses before we can settle down to a nice quiet–’

‘I am here, Mama,’ said Ramses, emerging from the house with the whisky bottle and glasses on a tray. Emerson leaped to take it from him, and Ramses continued, ‘I heard all that transpired through the crack in the door. I considered that my appearance on the scene might divert the course of the discussion, which I found most interesting and provocative. Now that I am here, we can talk over the possible permutations of the most recent disclosure and their bearing on the major problem that confronts us. I refer, of course, to–’

‘Good Gad, Ramses, have you added eavesdropping to your other misdemeanours?’ I demanded. ‘Listening at doors is not proper.’

‘But it is very useful,’ said Ramses, holding out a glass as Emerson poured the whisky. He lived in hopes that his father would absent-mindedly fill it and that I would absent-mindedly fail to see him drink. The chance of both those failings occurring on the same day were slim to the point of being nonexistent, but as Ramses had once explained to me, it cost nothing to make the attempt.

It proved ineffective on this occasion. Emerson handed me my glass. ‘I wonder,’ he said musingly, ‘how Mr Ronald Fraser knew the young lady was with us. He does not strike me as a person of profound mental capacity.’

‘He may have caught a glimpse of her yesterday,’ I suggested.

‘Possibly. Well, Peabody, what do you think? Is the guilty man Donald or Ronald?’

‘How can you doubt, Emerson? Enid told us–’

‘Yes, but it is the word of a young girl who admits she does not know the facts against those of both brothers. They are certainly in a better position to know than she.’

Logically he was correct. In every other way he was wrong. I had no rational arguments to offer, only a profound understanding of human nature, which is a far more reliable guide in cases of this kind than logic; but I knew what Emerson’s response would be if I mentioned that.

‘Interesting and touching as the personal affairs of the young people may be, Emerson, more important is our search for the Master Criminal. The revelations of Father Todorus may contain a clue after all. Or perhaps one of the villagers know more than he or she is willing to admit.’

Ramses instantly demanded to know what I was talking about. Humouring the boy, Emerson told him about the temptation of Father Todorus – omitting, I hardly need say, any reference to other than liquid temptations.

‘Hmmm,’ said Ramses, pursing his lips. ‘The incident casts a most intriguing light upon the personality of the gentleman for whom we are searching, but I cannot see that it offers any useful information. Perhaps if I were to interrogate the priest–’

‘You would learn no more than we did,’ I said shortly. ‘In fact, Father Todorus would be even less inclined to confide in a person of your tender years. Your father is right; this genius of crime–’

A spasm crossed Emerson’s face. ‘Must you refer to him by that complimentary name?’

‘I don’t see what is complimentary about it, Emerson. However, if it disturbs you, I will confine myself to calling him Sethos. A most curious appellation, that one; I wonder what prompted him to select it.’

‘I,’ said Emerson, ‘could not care less.’

‘But Mama has raised a point worthy of consideration,’ piped Ramses. ‘We know this gentleman has a peculiar sense of humour and a fondness for challenging his opponents. What if this alias is in itself a joke and a challenge?’

‘I hardly think so, Ramses,’ I said. ‘It is much more likely that the name expresses the man’s poetic and imaginative qualities. The mummy of Sethos the First is remarkably handsome (as mummies go) and the phrase describing Set as a lion in the valley–’

‘Bah,’ said Emerson. ‘What rubbish, Peabody.’

‘I am inclined to agree with Papa’s evaluation, though not with the language in which it was expressed, for I would be lacking in filial respect should I apply such a term to the cognitive processes of either parent, particularly–’

‘Ramses,’ I said.

‘Yes, Mama. I was about to suggest that the golden ring bearing the royal cartouche may be significant. Where did Sethos obtain such a rarity? Was it conceivably part of the loot from his first venture into tomb-robbing, and did it suggest the name by which he has chosen to be known?’

‘Humph,’ said Emerson thoughtfully. ‘Quite possible, my boy. But even if you are right, the information is of no use to us. It seems to me that my original suggestion was nearer the mark. Curse it, what about the red hair? We have not one but two redheaded men. One of them must be Sethos.’

Darkness had fallen. The waning moon cast a pallid light across the courtyard. In the silence that followed Emerson’s statement, the cheerful voices of the men gathered around the cookfire struck strangely on our ears.

‘Surely not,’ I said. ‘As a matter of fact, Emerson, you were the one who informed me, when I made that very suggestion, that Donald could not possibly be the man in question.’

‘It could be either of them,’ Emerson said. ‘Donald or his brother.’

‘The same objection holds, Papa,’ said Ramses. ‘The colour of their eyes –’

‘Oh, never mind that,’ Emerson and I burst out simultaneously.

I added, ‘We might question Enid, to learn whether one or both of the brothers was away from England last winter.’

‘I will go and ask her now,’ said Ramses, rising.

‘I think not, my boy.’

‘But, Papa, she is in great distress. I meant to go to her before this.’

Emerson shook his head. ‘Your intentions do you credit, my boy, but take Papa’s word for it: Young ladies in a state of great distress are best left alone, except by the persons who occasioned said distress.’

‘Is that indeed the case, Mama?’ Ramses turned to me for confirmation.

‘Decidedly I am of your papa’s opinion, Ramses.’

‘Yet I would think,’ Ramses persisted, ‘that a demonstration of affectionate concern and perhaps a brief lecture on the futility of excessive emotion would have a positive effect.’

A hideous premonition crept through my limbs. I had not failed to observe the tolerance with which Ramses permitted Enid to pet and caress him. It was a liberty he did not allow strangers unless he had some ulterior motive, and I had naturally assumed he had an ulterior motive with regard to Enid – that, in short, he hoped to win her confidence by pretending to be a normal eight-year-old boy. Now, hearing the earnest and anxious tone in his voice, I began to have horrible doubts. Surely it was much too soon… . But if Ramses proved to be as precocious in this area as he had been in others … The prospects were terrifying. I felt a cowardly reluctance to pursue the inquiries I knew I ought to make, but the traditional Peabody fortitude stiffened my will.

‘Why did you allow Enid to embrace you today?’ I asked.

‘I am glad you asked me that, Mama, for it leads to into a subject I am anxious to discuss with you. I was conscious today of a most unusual sensation when Miss Debenham put her arms around me. In some ways it resembled the affectionate feelings I have for you and, to a lesser extent, for Aunt Evelyn. There was, however, an additional quality. I was at a loss to find words for it until I recalled certain verses by Keats – I refer in particular to his lyric poem ‘The Eve of St Agnes,’ which aroused–’

‘Good Gad,’ I cried in agonized tones.

Emerson, naive creature, chuckled in amusement. ‘My dear boy, your feelings are quite normal, I assure you. They are the first childish stirrings of sensations which will in time blossom and mature into the noblest sentiments known to mankind.’

‘So I surmised,’ said Ramses. ‘And that is why I wished to discuss the matter with you. Since these are normal, natural sensations, I ought to know more about them.’

‘But, Ramses,’ his father began, belatedly aware of where the conversation was leading.

‘I believe I have heard Mama say on several occasions that the relationships between the sexes were badly mishandled in our prudish society, and that young persons ought to be informed of the facts.’

‘You did hear me say that,’ I acknowledged, wondering what had ever possessed me to say it in his hearing.

‘I am ready to be informed,’ said Ramses, his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands, and his great eyes fixed on me.

‘I cannot deny the justice of the request,’ I said. ‘Emerson–’

‘What?’ Emerson started violently. ‘Now, Peabody–’

‘Surely this is a matter more suitable for a father than a mother.’

‘Yes, but–’

‘I will leave you to it, then.’ I rose.

‘Just a moment, Papa,’ Ramses said eagerly. ‘Allow me to get out paper and pencil. I would like to take a few notes.’

As I strolled toward the kitchen I heard Emerson begin speaking. His voice was too low to enable me to make out the words, but I thought he said something about amoebae.

The kitchen was only a cooking fire in a ring of stones, with the cook’s pots and pans and jars set here and there in seeming confusion; but Hamid knew where everything was. He was a cousin of Abdullah’s, and I must say his appearance would not have inspired confidence in a prospective employer, for he was cadaverously thin, with sad, dropping moustaches. In this case the prospective employer would have been misled, for Hamid’s cooking was first-rate. He looked up from the pot he was stirring and told me dinner was ready. I persuaded him to put it off for a while; if Emerson was beginning with one-celled life forms, it would probably take him quite some time to work up to the hominids. Delighted at my visit, the men gathered around and we had a refreshing gossip.

Before long, however, Hamid’s moustaches drooped even more visibly and his comments became brusque and sullen. I gathered that, like all great chefs, even those who wear turbans instead of tall white hats, he would do something unpleasant to the food if it were not served on time. I therefore told him we would dine, and went to collect the diners.

Emerson had vanished. Ramses was scribbling busily by the light of a candle.

‘Is the lecture over?’ I inquired.

Ramses nodded. ‘For the moment, yes. I had not finished asking questions, but Papa informed me he had no more to say on the subject.’

‘Do you consider that you have been properly educated?’

‘I confess,’ said Ramses, ‘that I find myself unable to visualize certain of the procedures. They sound, if not physically impossible, very tiring. I asked Papa if he could draw a diagram or two, but he said no, he could not. Perhaps you–’

‘No,’ I said.

‘Papa did mention that the subject was to be avoided in conversation and that our particular cultural mores view it as taboo. I find this rather curious, since to the best of my knowledge other societies do not share this attitude. Relative cultural values–’

‘Ramses,’ I said. ‘The topic of relative cultural values must be regarded at this time as a digression. Can you not turn your attention to more immediate questions?’

‘For example, Mama?’

‘For example, dinner. Hamid is fetching it now and he will be seriously displeased if we let the food get cold. Fetch Mr Fraser and Miss Debenham, if you please, and I will call your papa.’

I found Emerson on the roof, brooding silently in the starlight like a life-sized sphinx. I congratulated him on his efficient handling of a complex subject, to which he replied, ‘I beg you will not mention it again, Amelia. Ill-natured persons might view any comment whatever as tantamount to rubbing it in.’

Dinner was not a social success. Ramses kept glancing at his notes and occasionally adding a word or two, a process that made Emerson extremely nervous. Enid ignored Donald, addressing most of her remarks to Ramses. The káwurmeh was excellent, though a trifle overseasoned.

I asked Donald why he had not made his presence known to his brother. ‘For surely,’ I added, ‘you must have heard his voice.’

‘I heard him,’ Donald answered softly.

‘How could you resist such an affectionate appeal?’

‘You can hardly suppose I would expend so much effort in avoiding him and then change my mind.’

Enid said, ostentatiously directing her comment to Ramses, ‘Cowardice, you know, is not always of the physical variety. Refusal to confront the truth is a form of moral cowardice, which to me is even worse.’

Statements of this nature were not designed to improve the mood of the gathering.

Nor was Emerson any help. As a rule, after a successful day of excavation he is full of cheerful talk about his accomplishments and his plans for the future. I attributed his silence to resentment – unreasonable and unfair in the extreme, since it was Ramses who introduced the subject in the first place, and I only acted as any mother would have done. My attempts to woo Emerson from his bad humour by questioning him about the temple ruins won no response.

As might have been expected, Ramses was quite ready to talk, and I must say his conversation was a curious blend of his normal Egyptological interests and his new infatuation. He kept inviting Enid to come to his room so he could show her his Egyptian grammar.

At the end of the meal Emerson announced abruptly that he intended to go to Cairo next day. ‘It is the day of rest for the men, so I won’t be losing any more time than I would in any case. I count on you, Mr Fraser, to watch over Ramses and the ladies–’

‘The ladies!’ I exclaimed. ‘I hope you don’t include me in that category, Emerson. Naturally I intend to accompany you.’

‘I phrased it badly, Peabody. Pray excuse me. I had hoped you would also remain here, on guard. You are worth a thousand men, you know.’

This flagrant attempt at flattery was so unlike Emerson, I could only stare in silent astonishment. Donald said, ‘As to that, Professor, you may be sure I will do my duty with or without Mrs Emerson’s assistance. Even a moral coward may be willing to die in defence of the weak and helpless.’

This statement infuriated both Enid and Ramses. Enid suggested that they retire, to inspect the grammar, and they went off together. Bastet followed them, but not before she had indicated her loyalty to her young master by biting Donald on the leg.

It was agreed that we should spend the night at the house, in order to be ready to catch the early train. Emerson applied himself to writing up his professional journal, while I labelled and sorted the artifacts that had been found. Sometimes, though, when I looked up from my work, I saw him sitting with idle hands staring at the paper in front of him, as if his mind had wandered far from his work. I went to bed early. Emerson did not come up with me, nor did he rouse me, as he usually did, when he joined me later.

The zenith was still dark when I was awakened by a surreptitious sound below, but the faint pallor of the eastern sky showed that dawn was not far distant. Carefully I crawled to the edge of the roof and looked down. The sound I had heard was that of the door being softly opened and closed. I expected to see a diminutive form creeping out on some unimaginable errand, but the shadow that stole toward the gate was that of a man. I had no difficulty in realizing it must be Donald.

I did not waken Emerson. When roused suddenly from profound slumber he makes loud noises and strikes people. I took only a moment to slip into the garments I had laid out ready for the morning, and to seize my trusty parasol. I did not take my belt of tools, for I feared their rattling would arouse Emerson and make the surreptitious pursuit I contemplated impossible. As it was, the parasol caught my foot as I was climbing down the wall and caused me to fall rather heavily. Luckily the earthen surface muffled the thud. I reminded myself that in future, should such a descent become necessary, I had better drop the parasol down before descending myself.

Donald had left the gate slightly ajar. Slipping through it, I looked in vain for him, and feared he had escaped me. However, I had some idea where he might be going. As I dressed I had remembered a statement of his brother’s the day before. That rambling, sentimental speech had not been so pointless as I had believed; for in reminiscing about childhood days, Ronald had suggested an assignation, hoping Donald would overhear. He had obviously known Donald was among us, even as he had been aware of Enid’s presence. How he had come by this information was a matter of some concern, but I did not waste time speculating on it. With any luck, I would soon be in a position to ask him point-blank, for I felt sure Donald was going to meet his brother on the reedy bank of the canal, near the place where the latter had been shooting.

The sky lightened and the rim of the rising sun peeped over the hills. I followed the path along the dike that skirted the village, for I assumed that Donald would want to avoid being seen. Sounds of activity and the acrid smell of woodsmoke from the cooking fires were already to be discerned, for, like all primitive people, the villagers rose with the sun.

I had not gone far when I saw the young man ahead of me. A few others were abroad by then, and at first glance one might have taken him for an industrious farmer heading for the fields. It was obvious that he thought he had left the house unobserved, for he did not look back. However, I took the precaution of concealing myself behind a small donkey loaded with sugar cane, which was going in the same direction.

Finally Donald left the path and plunged into the lush green growth between the canal and the river. I had to abandon my donkey, but the reeds and coarse grass sheltered me so long as I moved with my back bent over. At last Donald stopped. I crept forward and crouched behind a clump of weeds.

Donald made no attempt to conceal himself. On the contrary, he straightened to his full height and removed his turban. The sun’s brazen orb had lifted full above the horizon and its rays edged his form with a rim of gold. His sturdy shape, the sharp outline of his profile, and above all the red-gold of his hair rendered him a prominent object.

I could not help recalling Emerson’s insistence on the red hair of the god Set. Had I been misled after all by a consummate actor simulating the role of an innocent, wronged young Englishman? Impossible! And yet – what if Sethos were not one brother, but both? His seemingly uncanny ability to accomplish more than an ordinary mortal could achieve would thus be explained.

Yet the other half of the persona (if my latest theory was indeed correct) failed to make an appearance. Donald was as puzzled by his brother’s absence as was I. He scratched his head and looked from side to side.

A violent agitation in the reeds made him turn. I was not the source of the disturbance; it came from some distance to my rear. However, it had the unhappy effect of turning his eye in my direction, and the screen of weeds proved too frail a barrier for concealment. In two long strides he had reached my hiding place and plucked me out of it. He had not expected to see me. Astonishment contorted his face, and his hand fell from my collar.

‘Mrs Emerson! What the devil are you doing here?’

‘I might ask you the same thing,’ I replied, tucking my waist back into the band of my skirt. ‘At least I might if I did not know the answer. Your brother’s message was heard and understood by me. However, it appears that he has been delayed. What was the hour of the rendezvous?’

‘Sunrise,’ Donald replied. ‘That was the hour at which we were accustomed to go to the marsh to shoot. Please go back, Mrs Emerson. If he wants to speak privately with me, he won’t make his presence known so long as you are here.’

I was about to acquiesce, or appear to – for of course I had no intention of leaving until I had heard what the brothers had to say to one another. Before I could so much as nod, a disconcerting thing happened. Something whizzed through the air a few inches over my head with an angry buzzing sound. A split second later I heard the sound of the explosion. A second and third shot followed.

With a stifled cry Donald clapped his hand to his head and collapsed. So startled was I by this untoward event that I failed to move quickly enough, and I was borne to the ground by the weight of Donald’s body.

The ground was soft, but the impact drove the breath from my lungs, and when I attempted to free myself from the dead weight upon me I was unable to move. I hoped the figure of speech was only that, and not a description of fact, but the utter inertness of his limbs aroused the direst forebodings. Nor was my apprehension relieved by the sensation of something wet and sticky trickling down my neck. I felt no pain, so I knew the blood must be Donald’s.

I was trying to turn him over when I heard the rustling of foliage. Someone was approaching! I feared it was the murderer, coming to ascertain whether his foul deed had been accomplished, and I struggled to free myself. Then the weight holding me down was removed, and I heard a voice cry out in extreme agitation.

‘Donald! My dearest – my darling – speak to me! Oh God, he is dead, he is slain!’

I raised myself to a sitting position. Enid sat on the ground, all unaware of the mud that soaked her skirt. With the strength of love and desperation she had lifted the unconscious man so that his head lay on her breast. Her blouse and her little hands were dabbled with his blood, which was flowing copiously from a wound on his forehead.

‘Put him down at once, you ninny,’ I said.

For all the attention she paid me, I might not have been there at all. She went on moaning and showering kisses on his tumbled hair.

I was still short of breath but I forced myself to crawl toward them. ‘Lower his head, Enid,’ I ordered. ‘You ought not to have lifted him.’

‘He is dead,’ Enid cried repetitiously. ‘Dead – and it is all my fault. Now he will never know how I loved him!’

Donald’s eyes flew open. ‘Say it again, Enid!’

Joy and relief, shame and confusion stained her lovely, tear-streaked face with a glory as of sunrise. ‘I–I–’ she began.

‘Say no more,’ Donald exclaimed. With an agility that belied his encrimsoned visage, he freed himself from her embrace, and took her into his. She made but a feeble attempt to resist; his masterful manner overcame her scruples, and when I left them – as I did almost at once – I had no doubt that he would prevail. I also had no doubt but that my lecture on the subject of firmness had had the desired effect, and I congratulated myself on bringing this romantic confusion to a satisfactory end.

I had not gone far before I heard sounds indicative of haste and alarm. The sounds of haste were produced by a heavy body crashing through the reeds; the sounds of alarm were those of a well-loved voice raised to its fullest extent, which, as I have had occasion to remark, is considerable.

I answered, and Emerson soon stood face to face with me. He had dressed in such haste that his shirt was buttoned askew and hung out of his trousers. Upon recognizing me, he rushed forward, tripping over his dangling bootlaces, and lifted me in his arms.

‘Peabody! Good Gad, it is as I feared – you are wounded! You are covered with blood! Don’t try to talk, Peabody, I will carry you home. A doctor – a surgeon–’

‘I am not wounded, Emerson. It is not my blood you see, but Donald’s.’

Emerson set me on my feet with a thud that jarred my teeth painfully together, ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘you can damned well walk. How dare you, Peabody?’

His angry voice and furious scowl touched me no less than his tender concern had done, for I knew they were prompted by the same affection. I took his arm. ‘We may as well go back to the house,’ I said. ‘Donald and Enid will follow at their leisure.’

‘Donald? Oh, yes. I assume he is not seriously wounded, for if he were, you would be dosing him and bandaging him and generally driving him out of his mind.’

‘I suppose you followed Enid,’ I said. ‘And she followed me, and I followed Donald … How ridiculous we must have appeared!’

‘You may call it ridiculous,’ Emerson growled, holding my hand tightly in his. ‘I would call it something else, but I cannot find words strong enough to express my opinion of your callous disregard for every basic marital responsibility. How do you suppose I felt when I woke to find you gone, and saw a female form slip out of the gate? I thought it was you. I could not imagine why you should creep from my side unless – unless …’

Emotion overcame him. He began to swear.

‘You must have realized that only the sternest necessity could have moved me to such a step, Emerson. I would have written a note, but there was not time.’

‘There was time to wake me, though.’

‘No, for then explanations would have been necessary, delaying me even longer.’

I proceeded to render the explanations. Emerson’s face lightened a trifle as he listened, but he shook his head. ‘It was extremely foolhardy of you, Peabody. For all you knew, you were walking into a conference of desperate criminals. You did not even take your belt of tools.’

‘I had my parasol, Emerson.’

‘A parasol, though an admirable weapon – as I have been privileged to observe – is not much defence against a pistol, Peabody. Those were pistol shots I heard.’

‘They were, Emerson. As you know, the sound is quite different from the report of a rifle or shotgun. And Donald may thank heaven it was a hand weapon, for at such close range only a very poor shot could have missed with a rifle.’

Emerson stopped and looked back. ‘Here they come – positively intertwined, upon my word. I take it an understanding has been arrived at.’

‘It was most touching, Emerson. Believing him dead or mortally wounded, Enid confessed the profound attachment she had kept hidden – thought not, I hardly need say, from me. It is a great relief to have it all settled.’

‘I would say it is far from settled,’ remarked Emerson. ‘Unless you can clear the young lady of a charge of murder and the young man of embezzlement or fraud or forgery, or whatever it may have been, their hopes of spending a long and happy life together do not appear prosperous.’

‘But that is precisely why we are going to Cairo today. Do hurry, Emerson, or we will miss the train.’

Thanks to my organizational talents we did not miss the train, but it was a near thing, and not until we had settled ourselves in the carriage did we have a chance to discuss the morning’s interesting events. To my astonishment I learned that Emerson did not share my belief as to the identity of the concealed marksman.

‘But there is no other possible explanation,’ I insisted. ‘The Master Criminal is still seeking a scapegoat for the murder of Kalenischeff. Furthermore, Donald has on several occasions foiled his attacks on us. Naturally, Sethos would resent his interference. Or – here is another attractive idea, Emerson – perhaps it was not Donald, but my humble self at whom the bullet was aimed.’

‘If that is your notion of an attractive idea, I shudder to think what you would call horrible,’ Emerson grumbled. ‘You were not the target of the assassin, Amelia. In fact, the whole business is unaccountable. It makes no sense.’

‘Aha,’ I exclaimed. ‘You have a theory, Emerson.’

‘Naturally, Peabody.’

‘Excellent. We have one of those amiable little competitions of ours, to see who can guess – deduce, I meant to say – the solution to this most perplexing mystery. For I feel sure,’ I added, with an affectionate smile, ‘that our opinions do not coincide.’

‘They never have yet, Peabody.’

‘Would you care to disclose to me your reading of the matter thus far?’

‘I would not.’ Emerson brooded in silence, his rugged profile reminding me of the Byronic heroes so popular in some forms of literature. The dark hair tumbling on his brow, the lowering frown, the grim set of his mouth were extremely affecting. At least they affected me, and had there not been a dour old lady sharing the compartment with us, I might have demonstrated my feelings. As it was, I had to content myself with looking at him.

Emerson went on brooding and finally I decided to break the silence, which was getting monotonous. ‘I don’t understand why you find this morning’s events puzzling, Emerson. It is obvious to the meanest intelligence that the – that Sethos used a pistol instead of a rifle because he hoped to make Donald’s death look like suicide. Donald would have been found with the weapon in his hand, and a suicide note in the other – for I have no doubt that the genius of crime could reproduce his handwriting.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Emerson said bitterly. ‘You wouldn’t be surprised to see him sprout wings like a bat and flap off across Cairo, spouting lyric poetry as he flies.’

‘Lyric poetry?’ I repeated, genuinely perplexed.

‘Merely a flight of fancy, Amelia. Your theory of a false suicide falls apart on one simple fact. You were there.’

‘Suicide and murder, then,’ I said promptly. ‘Sethos would not be balked by a little matter like that, and I am sure he would shed no tears over my demise.’

Again Emerson shook his head. ‘You astonish me, Peabody. Can it be possible that you fail to see … Well, but if the truth has not dawned on you, I don’t want to put ideas into your head.’

And he would say no more, question him as I might.