"We can't go yet," Justin said comfortably. "My donkey has run away."

"I will get the motorcar," Emerson announced, and went out after shooting a defiant glance at me. He was a trifle sensitive still about the car, which he had not been allowed to use as often as he would have liked. I was as anxious to be rid of the pair as he, and I didn't suppose he could kill them between here and the landing, so I raised no objection.

I had persuaded Emerson to put the machine in the stableyard, though I did not suppose for a moment that it would remain there. Its admirers were numerous, and some had got into the habit of paying it a daily visit-from a distance, since Emerson and Selim had made it clear that anyone who ventured close enough to touch it would be subject to dire punishment, and possibly a curse or two. When the vehicle appeared I was not surprised to see Selim seated beside Emerson. He spent a good deal of his spare time tinkering with the confounded thing.

The appearance of the motorcar distracted Justin and altered the tenor of his demands. "A motorcar! Am I to ride in it? May I operate it?"

"Do you know how?" I asked.

"No, but I expect it is quite easy to learn. I would like it very much."

"No one drives the motorcar except me and Selim," said Emerson forcibly if somewhat inaccurately.

"Let Selim drive them, Emerson," I ordered. "There isn't room for all of you, and anyhow, I need you here."

Emerson grumbled a bit, but I knew that he too was anxious to discuss the latest developments. Selim moved over to the driver's side, and Emerson caught Justin by the collar as he was climbing up into the seat.

"Let Miss-er-get in first," he ordered.

The boy's slim frame stiffened. "Let go of him at once, Emerson," I said, remembering how he had reacted to being grasped.

"I'm not going to hurt him," Emerson shouted furiously, but he complied. "Do as I say, Justin. Do not attempt to touch the controls. You are to obey Selim as you would me. If you give him any trouble you will never be allowed to visit us again. Selim, go across with them and deliver the boy to the dahabeeyah."

"That won't be necessary," Maryam said. "He won't run away from me, will you, Justin?"

"Of course not." He smiled sweetly. "Good afternoon, everyone. I will see you again soon."

I watched somewhat apprehensively as the motorcar went off in a cloud of dust. It seemed to be operating correctly. I then asked Fatima to fetch the children's nurserymaids and get them off to bed. For once, the children's parents did not offer to a.s.sist; everyone sat unmoving and silent, waiting for me to speak first. I dropped rather heavily into a chair. "It is somewhat early, but I do believe that if I were offered a whiskey and soda I might be inclined to accept."

Emerson at once obliged, and poured a rather stiff one for himself. Observing Walter's bemused expression, he poured an even stiffer one and pressed it into his brother's hand.

"Cheer up, Walter. That is the last hitherto unknown relation you are likely to encounter."

"I certainly hope so." Walter took a long drink of whiskey. "Don't we have any respectable missing relations?"

"To the best of my knowledge, Maryam is perfectly respectable," I replied. I spoke, as I always endeavor to do, the literal truth. I might harbor suspicions, but I did not know for certain.

"But she is-"

I cut him off with an imperative gesture, for I thought I knew what word had been on the tip of his tongue. Sennia did not consider herself "one of the children"; she had remained, and was paying close attention. Illegitimacy was not a topic I intended to discuss in her presence. She had heard the word-and worse-from horrid children at her Cairo school-who had got it from their parents; when she first came to me, tearful and bewildered, to ask what it meant, I had done my best to convince her that only ignorant, vulgar people cared about such things.

"What did you think of her, Sennia?" I asked.

Sennia primped up her mouth and rearranged the bracelets that encircled her slim brown wrists. "I don't like her. I didn't like her before."

"We must not be unkind, Sennia. She has had a hard time, and after all, she is kin."

"What is she to me?"

"No more than Hecuba to Hamlet," Ramses murmured. "In actual fact . . . a cousin of some degree, I suppose, Sennia. Is that right, Mother?"

"Let me see. Sennia's father was my nephew, and Maryam is . . ." In some confusion, I finished my whiskey. "Oh, good Gad, what does it matter?"

Sennia was not to be put off. "What is she to Ramses?"

"Time for bed, Sennia," I said, giving it up.

"You are going to talk about things you don't want me to hear." Miss Sennia rose with great dignity, arranging her skirts. "I understand. Good night, everyone. But I still don't like her."

"It is somewhat overwhelming," Evelyn said, shaking her head. "Emerson told us of her background, Amelia, while you were with her. Did she explain what has brought her to this pa.s.s?"

"Briefly." I sipped my whiskey. "Her husband died suddenly-he was not a young man-and left her with nothing. He had speculated unwisely, it seems. She had to sell her engagement ring to bury him."

"From the description we got of the diamond, it must have been an extravagant funeral," Nefret murmured.

"Be that as it may, Nefret, she had to seek a situation. Lady's companion was the only occupation for which she was fitted, and she soon discovered that her youthful appearance was against her. Hence the gray hairs and the artificially aged countenance. She had, I expect, learned something of the art of disguise from her father. Still, she was unable to find work until she answered an advertis.e.m.e.nt from a lady who wanted someone familiar with Egypt, where she intended to spend the winter. No doubt," I added, "Mrs. Fitzroyce's age and poor eyesight made it easier for Maryam to carry out her masquerade."

"All this is very interesting," Ramses said in a tone that implied he did not find it so. "What I want to know is why she was attacked today. I thought when I heard her scream that some nervous female tourist was being hara.s.sed by an importunate beggar, but the fellow was actually slashing at her with his knife. That sort of thing is unheard of."

"I asked her that, of course," I replied.

"What did she say?"

"That she had no idea why anyone would want to injure her. There must be a reason, though," I declared. "Not a good reason-there is never an excuse for violence-but something she has done, or is believed to have done, that inspired a desire for revenge."

"What nonsense!" Emerson burst out. "That is just your melodramatic imagination, Peabody, always constructing mysteries. What could she have done, a child like that?"

"And that is just your masculine naivete, Emerson, always a.s.suming that youth and a pretty face guarantee innocence. Oh, I grant you that irrational persons may react violently to relatively harmless offenses, but mark my words, there is something behind all this, and for her own sake we must discover what it is. I allowed her to go today because I could hardly detain her by force, but I hope eventually to persuade her to come to us."

"Here?" Nefret exclaimed.

"At least until her father can take charge of her. He said he would see us soon, but I will send a message anyhow. She still harbors a grudge against him, but I believe I can set her straight on that. Emerson, were you about to speak?"

"No," said Emerson.

"You were rolling your eyes and moving your lips."

"I may be allowed, I hope, to alter my expression without asking your permission."

"Hmmm. As I was about to say, she will be more receptive to his explanations now. There is nothing so destructive to pride as poverty. It is our moral obligation to bring about the reconciliation of father and child, and a.s.sist a member of our family who is in need."

"Curse it," said Emerson hotly. "When you start quoting pious axioms there is no use trying to change your mind."

"What objection do you have to her being here?"

"None. None, d.a.m.n-er-confound it. I feel sorry for the girl, but-"

"A premonition!" I exclaimed. "Are you having a premonition?"

"I never have premonitions! They are pure superst.i.tion. You are the only one who-"

"There is one thing that worries me," Nefret said, cutting Emerson off on the brink of an explosion. "Justin. If she is here, he will come again. You saw how he was with the children."

"He was charming," Lia said. "And they obviously like him."

"Oh, he's charming," Nefret said. "And utterly irresponsible. If he enticed them to go with him, for a walk or a game, he might have one of his attacks, or wander off and leave them."

Ramses spoke with unusual heat. "Nefret, that couldn't possibly happen. Even if he visits us again-which he is as likely to do whether she is here or not-no one would be fool enough to leave him alone with any of the children, or let him take them from the house."

"Quite right," I declared.

In fact, Maryam's reappearance had disturbed me more than I wanted to admit. Yet-I a.s.sured myself-what reason had I to mistrust the girl? During our brief acquaintance with her she had been a nuisance, headstrong and undisciplined, but never a danger. Her father believed that after she fled from him she had found a masculine protector, but even if it was true, she was more to be pitied than censured.

"Never a dull moment," I declared cheerfully. "Now I suggest we all get ready for our guests."

By the time the Vandergelts arrived I had bathed and changed, and written out a telegram. Emerson had insisted on seeing it before I sent it off.

"I did not want to be explicit," I explained, handing it over. "Sethos's colleague Smith, who promised to pa.s.s on messages, is not the sort of individual to be trusted with such painfully personal information."

"He has used it against us before," Emerson muttered. "Hmmm. Well, this should be all right. 'Missing person found. Come at once if possible.' I will send Ali across to the telegraph office."

With that matter taken care of I was able to greet our guests with a mind at ease and a smiling countenance. The evening had turned chilly, so we gathered in the sitting room instead of on the veranda.

"Hope we're not too early," Cyrus said, for Evelyn and I were the only members of the family present.

"No, the others are late," I said in mild vexation. "I do apologize. I try my best to inculcate proper manners, but sometimes I think it is a hopeless ch.o.r.e, especially with Emerson."

"And Walter," his wife said with a smile. "I expect he decided to steal a few minutes with his texts. When he is involved with a tricky translation I sometimes have to shake him to get his attention."

Lia and David entered, closely followed by Nefret. Ramses was conspicuous by his absence, and I observed that Nefret's brow bore faint lines of worry or annoyance. "I am so sorry," she began.

"Not at all," Katherine said graciously. "Were the children restless tonight?"

"Ours were," David replied. "We took them to Abdullah's tomb this afternoon. They couldn't stop talking about it. Dolly wanted to hear every story I could remember about my grandfather, and Evvie asked the most outrageous questions-"

"She is only two," Lia expostulated. "I don't see what was so outrageous about them."

" 'Do all dead people look like the ones in Uncle Radcliffe's books?' " David was obviously quoting.

"Good heavens," Katherine exclaimed. "Has he been showing those poor children photographs of mummies?"

"I strictly forbade him to do that," I said indignantly.

"It doesn't seem to have bothered them," David said.

"What did you tell Evvie?" I asked.

"I said no, they didn't. And changed the subject before she could inquire further," David added with a laugh.

I decided I would do the same, for I did not want to fall into the error of some doting females, who a.s.sume that others enjoy an entire evening of stories about their grandchildren.

"We had an interesting visitor this afternoon," I said. "Katherine, do you remember a young person called Molly Hamilton?"

Katherine nodded. "That spoiled child who raised such a fuss when her uncle wanted to-" She broke off, her green eyes narrowing. "Major Hamilton's niece . . . but he wasn't . . . He was . . ."

"Not Major Hamilton," I said. "And she was not his niece. She was his daughter. And still is."

They listened to my brief summary in fascinated silence. "The plot thickens," said Cyrus, shaking his head. "What are you going to do about her?"

"Take her into the bosom of the family, of course," said Emerson from the doorway. "As my-er-other brother once remarked, it is Amelia's habit to adopt every unfortunate innocent she comes across, by force if necessary."

"You are very late, Emerson," I said reproachfully. "Really, it is a shame! And have you been showing those children pictures of disgusting mummies, after I strictly forbade . . . after I requested that you refrain from doing so?"

Not at all discomposed by this double-barreled attack, Emerson addressed a general smile and mumble of greeting at our guests and went at once to the sideboard, where he began pouring from various decanters. He had not abandoned the argument, however. Over his shoulder he remarked, "I am not the latest, my dear. Ramses and Walter are still to come."

"That only makes it worse, Emerson. Why don't you go and find them?"

"Such a fuss about nothing," said Emerson, handing me a gla.s.s. "There you are, Peabody; drink your whiskey and behave yourself. I hear them coming now."

They came in together, so absorbed in conversation that I verily believe Walter was unaware of his surroundings until Ramses, who had him firmly by the arm, brought him to a stop and directed his attention to the others.

"I say, I am sorry," Walter exclaimed, blinking. "Have we kept you waiting? It is entirely my fault. I came across a particularly fascinating text, and wanted to consult Ramses about one or two obscure words. It seems to be-"

"Sit down, Walter, and be quiet," said Emerson amiably. "No one wants to hear about your obscure philological interests. Vandergelt, I was surprised not to see you at Deir el Medina in recent days. Are you abandoning your part of the concession?"

"Don't get your hopes up," said Cyrus, stroking his goatee. "Those tombs are mine, and I'll be back at work pretty soon. We've been busy."

"Doing what?" Emerson demanded in honest surprise.

Fatima announced dinner and we withdrew to the dining room. Cyrus began explaining to Emerson in a somewhat indignant voice that the preservation and recording of the treasures of the G.o.d's Wives took precedence over other activities at this time-facts Emerson knew perfectly well, but preferred to ignore because he had his own plans.

The only thing I have against large parties is that it is impossible to keep track of everything that is being said. We are-I say it without apology-a wordy lot, and since we are also an intelligent lot, our conversations are worth listening to. Even Bertie had perked up and was talking animatedly to Lia. (I had seated him next to her, since she was less likely to interrupt him than some of the others.) Then I heard an isolated phrase and realized he was extolling the virtues of his absent beloved, Jumana.

Not until the end of the meal did the discussion become general. It was a comment of Emerson's, delivered in his usual ringing tones, that caught everyone's attention.

"I see no reason why we should do anything about it."

"About what?" I inquired.

Emerson had addressed Ramses, who took it upon himself to answer me. "About the attack on Molly-Maryam-this afternoon. I suggested to Father that we must make an attempt to locate her a.s.sailant."

"Right," Cyrus agreed. "We can't have that sort of thing going on. With all respect to your theories, Amelia, the most likely explanation is that the fellow is demented. He may attack other tourists. How do you propose to go about it?"

"For one thing, the police must be notified," Ramses said, over Emerson's grumbles. "And Father is the one to do it. They'll listen to him. I also suggest offering a reward, starting with our fellows tomorrow morning. They know everyone on the West Bank and they will spread the word."

"That makes sense," I agreed. "Emerson?"

"Oh, curse it, I suppose I must," Emerson muttered.