"Hamilton was red-haired," I said, with a critical look at his streaked hair.

"I'm going gray. Sad, isn't it, how the years take their toll?"

"Hmph," said Emerson, appearing in the doorway. "Er-everything all right with the girl?"

"Yes, quite," I said, for I knew he did not want explanations, only a.s.surance that he wouldn't have to do anything. "Is breakfast ready?"

"Yes. I a.s.sume," said Emerson morosely, "that it would be a waste of breath to ask you not to come to the zabtiyeh."

"You are correct. It would be advisable for Sethos to join us, since he was well acquainted with the corpse."

Sethos's only response to the news of Martinelli's death consisted of raised eyebrows and a silent whistle. I did not elaborate on the bare facts, nor was the subject discussed during breakfast. Evelyn asked after Maryam, Walter made several unsubtle attempts to find out Sethos's real name, and Ramses, in an effort to divert us, described Selim's fascination with the aeroplane. "He stroked the dirty canvas like a lover, and asked the lieutenant how hard it was to drive."

Most foreigners had nothing to do with the native police. They were not subject to the laws that governed Egyptians, and preferred to deal with occasional cases of theft and extortion through their dragomen or tour agencies. In Cairo the police-like everything else in Egypt-was headed by a "British adviser," but for the most part the provincial police were under the jurisdicion of the local mudir. I had visited the zabtiyeh (police station) in the past, and I was pleasantly surprised at its changed appearance. The broken stairs and windows had been repaired; two constables, in smart white uniforms and red tarbooshes, stood at attention at the door, instead of sleeping on the steps as they had been accustomed to do. It was a sign of the changing times, of the new wind that was blowing through Egypt, and the young man who rose to his feet when we were shown into his office was another symbol of those times. Taller than most Egyptians, his sable beard and mustache trimmed close, he had the smooth dark skin of a Sudanese and the manners of a Frenchman, though when he respectfully kissed the hand I offered, I detected a glint of irony in his keen black eyes.

"This is an honor I had not expected, Sitt Hakim," he said.

Taking this as the subtle rebuke that was intended, I replied in my best Arabic, "I could not resist the opportunity of meeting one whose praises I have heard sung."

"With you be peace and G.o.d's mercy and blessing," Emerson added. The formalities having been concluded, so far as he was concerned, he went on, "You have met my son. This is my daughter-in-law-a genuine Sitt Hakim-and-er-"

"A friend," said Sethos, bowing. "Sabah el-kheir, effendi."

Ayyad's eyes rested on him for a moment and then returned to Nefret. "I thank you for coming. I have ordered the objects to be brought here. The mortuary is not pleasant for a lady."

Nefret might have reminded him that her acquaintance with unpleasant cadavers was almost certainly greater than his, but she recognized the courtesy and acknowledged it with a smile.

The room was fairly large and crowded with shabby furniture-a red plush settee, several chairs of European style (the cushions worn and faded), a large desk, and two battered wooden cabinets. Under the windows on the east wall was a long table, covered with cotton sheeting. Without ceremony Ayyad whisked it off.

In Egypt one inevitably thinks of mummies. However, a body left unburied has little chance to dry out before predators get to it-vultures, wild dogs, jackals, and, after them, a varied collection of insects. There was nothing left of this one but pale bones, splintered and gnawed and disarticulated. As Nefret bent over the unsavory ensemble, her face absorbed, Ayyad said, "They were widely scattered, and some we did not find, though we searched far."

She heard the defensive note in his voice and gave him the compliment he wanted. "You've laid them out in the right order," she said, without looking up. "I'm impressed that you found so many. The small bones of hands and feet are missing; that's not unusual, in such cases. Some of the ribs . . ." As she spoke, she took a tape measure from the pocket of her skirt. "Without the feet I can only estimate his height."

"How estimate?" Ayyad asked, edging closer.

"There are tables of proportions. I can show you someday, if you like."

"You say 'his.' How do you know that?"

"But you knew that." She gave him a comradely smile, as one professional to another. "From the clothing. Sc.r.a.ps of European-style trousers and coat and waistcoat, we were told."

"Yes, they are in that box. But there are other ways-from the bones themselves?"

She gave him a little lecture, to which he listened attentively, his head close to hers. "The skull also indicates a male," she finished. "You see these ridges of bone over the eye sockets? In most women they are not so prominent, and the angle of the jaw is more rounded."

"Age?" Ayyad rapped.

"Not a boy, not an old man. That's just an educated guess. Based primarily on the teeth. The four back molars have erupted and show signs of moderate wear. I can't tell you much more. The d.a.m.ned jackals haven't left me enough to work on."

She had spoken English, and he had replied in the same language, so absorbed that he spoke to her as directly as he would have addressed a man. I sympathize with the desire of any person to improve his understanding, but time was getting on, and Emerson was beginning to fidget.

"Enough to determine his ident.i.ty," I said, forestalling another question from Ayyad. "It is Martinelli. Look at his teeth."

Stained brown and yellowish green, the chipped lower incisors bared by the fleshless lips, they grinned up at us.

THE Sc.r.a.pS OF THE CLOTHING confirmed my identification. The faded shepherd's plaid was the same pattern as that of the trousers Martinelli had worn the night he disappeared. The only other objects in the box were a few b.u.t.tons and metal fasteners from various articles of dress. His ostentatious stickpin and his pocket watch and chain were not there. Needless to say, neither were the gold bracelets and the pectoral.

Sethos stepped in to relieve us of the problem of what to do with the bones. Declaring himself to be an acquaintance of the dead man, he manfully struggled to conceal his shock and distress at the bad news. "How often have I warned him of the dangers of those long, solitary walks of his," he murmured, pa.s.sing a clean white handkerchief over his eyes. "His heart was weak; he must have collapsed and died, out there in the waste, under the cold, uncaring moon, and it would not be long before . . ." He shuddered. "He is at peace now."

I was tempted to give him a hard poke with my parasol, but he prudently stayed at a distance.

After promising to collect the bones and notify the proper authorities, we left the office. Zabtiyeh Square was an ec.u.menical area, with a mosque and a Roman Catholic church and two modern hotels as well as the police station. Pretty gardens filled the center; the color and scent of the blossoms were especially refreshing after the sight we had seen.

"This certainly puts a new complexion on things," I remarked. "Martinelli never left Luxor. He must have been killed the same night he disappeared."

"You don't know that it was murder," Emerson muttered. He knew my conclusion was correct, he just didn't want to admit it.

"A man of his sort was not in the habit of taking long solitary walks," I retorted. "Some individual took him out there, by force or by guile, and left him dead. In my opinion that is a strong presumption of murder. As for his weak heart, you invented that, didn't you?"

My brother-in-law met my gaze with a shrug and a smile. "There was no need to confuse the issue. So far as the authorities are concerned, it was a sad accident. How did he die, Nefret?"

She started slightly when he addressed her, and turned troubled blue eyes toward him. "You don't miss much."

"You have a very unguarded, expressive face, my dear. Something about the neck bones, wasn't it?"

"There was some damage. I couldn't swear to it under oath, but he might have been strangled. Or," she added sourly, "he might have had his head bashed in-impossible to tell whether the breaks were post- or pre-mortem-or been fed poison, or stabbed or shot!"

I took her hand and patted it. "Shall we stop at the Savoy for a nice cup of tea?"

"Good Gad, no!" Emerson increased his pace. "I have work to do. Cyrus will have to be informed. I leave that to you, Peabody."

"If theft was the motive for his murder . . ." I began.

"What other motive could there be?" Emerson demanded. "The fellahin who found the remains would have taken anything of value, but it is much more likely that he was robbed by someone to whom he had been fool enough to display the jewelry while he was sw.a.n.king round the cafes and bars. The value of the prize was fabulous enough to move even a cautious Luxor thief to murder. The portmanteau he carried is probably at the bottom of the river, filled with stones. That's how I would have disposed of it," Emerson concluded. He took me firmly by the arm and hurried me on past the shops that lined the esplanade.

His obvious disinclination to continue the discussion did not prevent me from speculating. His theory (ours, I should say) was probably correct, but then what had become of the princesses' jewels? Were they still in the house of the thief, in a secret hidey-hole like the one old Abd el Hamed had excavated under the floor of his house? Had they been sold to one of the Luxor dealers? The latter seemed to me unlikely. The jewelry was distinctive, its ownership and origin well known; were it to be offered to a buyer, we would hear of it sooner or later, and Emerson would come down on the unlucky dealer like a thunderbolt. Perhaps our original theory had been the right one: The treasure had been taken to Cairo, though obviously not by Martinelli.

Later that afternoon I sat alone on the veranda awaiting the arrival of Sethos and his daughter. I was grateful for an interlude of reflection. Shortly the entire family-et quelle famille!-would be upon me, and although I seldom have any difficulty keeping track of a plethora of problems, I found myself unable to concentrate. My thoughts fluttered as randomly as a b.u.t.terfly from one thought to the next, some important, some utterly inconsequential. What to wear to the fantasia certainly fell into the second category, and so did the dinner menu, which I had already settled with Fatima, and the ostracon I had found that afternoon-another part of the one that had caused Ramses such embarra.s.sment. The disposition of the lower limbs in this bit was really quite astonishing, but Ramses had refused to discuss the matter with me.

With an effort I forced myself to fix my thoughts on more important matters. I had not had the opportunity to tell Cyrus about Martinelli. I was in no hurry to see the Vandergelts, since we had yet to decide what to tell Cyrus about Sethos. All three of them knew of his relationship to Emerson. Selim was the only other person in Luxor who knew, but Selim was unaware that the drab companion was Sethos's daughter. Or was he?

My head was aching. It was Emerson's fault, for dragging me back to the dig before I could pin my elusive brother-in-law down. We had left him in Luxor, where, as he explained, he hoped to acquire a few basic necessities before collecting his daughter. They were to come directly to us, and I had expected them before this. Matters might not be so easily settled as Sethos had a.s.sumed. Mrs. Fitzroyce might reasonably make a fuss, and Justin was almost certain to do so.

Emerson was the first to join me. "Where is everybody?" he demanded.

"They will be here soon, I expect. All of them."

They were. All of them except Sethos and Maryam. The children began clamoring for tea, so I told Fatima to serve.

"Shouldn't we wait for our guests?" inquired Sennia.

My poor head gave a great throb. I had forgotten about Sennia, bright as a new penny and as " 'quisitive" as the elephant's child. How much had I told her? How much should I tell her? She had met Maryam when Maryam was Molly. She had encountered Sethos, not as Major Hamilton but as "Cousin Ismail" . . . I gave it up.

"How do you know we are expecting guests?" I inquired feebly.

Sennia was a trifle vain and always insisted on dressing in her best for tea. She smoothed her ruffled skirt and rolled her eyes. "Fatima told me. Who are they? Is one of them Mr. Badger from the aeroplane?"

"It is a surprise," I said, since I had not the least idea what Sethos would look like or what he would call himself. Surely she wouldn't remember or recognize "Cousin Ismail."

Knowing Sethos's penchant for dramatic epiphanies-the aeroplane was certainly the most impressive to date-I might have expected he would wait until he had a large audience before he presented himself. We saw the carriage coming some distance away; it was the best of those for hire at the landing. It drew up with a flourish in front of the house, and Sethos got out. Then he swooped like a hawk on Davy, who was scuttling as fast as his fat legs could carry him toward the motorcar. The child was absolutely uncanny. I had just that moment opened the door.

Sethos held the little boy up so that their eyes were on a level. "And who is this adventurous young man?" he inquired. Davy giggled.

The little rascal had got us over the first awkwardness. Sethos handed Davy over to Ramses and helped Maryam out of the carriage, while the rest of us fended off the other children. They immediately gathered round Sethos; Davy was captivated by his new acquaintance, and the little girls responded as all females did to his calculated charm.

"What happened to your face?" inquired Evvie, leaning against his knee. "Did someone hit you?"

"Three someones," said Sethos, without missing a beat. "Three large, cruel men. They were about to hurt a poor cat. I made them stop."

The twins chirped approvingly and Evvie batted her lashes at him. "Where is the kitty?"

"At my house. I am calling her Florence. She has black stripes and a white front."

"That was very n.o.ble of you, sir," said Dolly.

Sethos's face softened a trifle as he looked at the little boy. "You must be young Abdullah. I knew your great-grandfather well. He would have done the same."

"Why don't you all draw a picture of Florence?" I suggested, glaring at my inventive brother-in-law. Abdullah had hated cats.

The pack dispersed, except for Sennia. "Was that a true story?" she asked, fixing Sethos with a questioning stare.

"Not a word of it," said Sethos promptly.

Sennia chortled. "You are funny. Who are you, really? Are you her father? I remember her; she was here a long time ago."

She gestured at Maryam, who was sitting next to Evelyn. The girl was wearing the hat I had given her, and a new frock-the best Luxor had to offer, one must a.s.sume-of pink mousseline de soie. Papa had taken her shopping.

"Why don't you go and introduce yourself?" I suggested.

General conversation was impossible with so large a group. It did not take Sethos long to maneuver himself into a tete-a-tete with me, while Maryam responded shyly to Evelyn's kindly questions, and the children set to work on innumerable drawings of presumed felines. The tete-a-tete was immediately expanded by Emerson, who squeezed himself onto the settee next to me and fixed stern sapphirine orbs upon Sethos.

"You are awaiting my report, I suppose," the latter said.

"I am awaiting elucidation of precisely who everyone in Luxor believes you to be," I replied. "What did you tell Mrs. Fitzroyce?"

"I did not meet her." Sethos leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. "Two husky lads intercepted me at the head of the gangplank. When I handed over my card I was informed that the Sitt was resting but that the other lady was expecting me. I wasn't allowed onto the boat. Maryam appeared with her pathetic little bundles and we left."

"Then you did not meet Justin?"

"I caught a glimpse of him, peering out from the doorway to the cabins. At least I a.s.sume it was he; he appeared as wary as a timid animal, so I pretended I hadn't seen him."

"What card did you leave?" I asked.

"That of Major Hamilton, of course. I always carry a selection."

"Ha," said Emerson. "The Vandergelts know your real ident.i.ty."

"I suppose there is no way of avoiding them," Sethos said with a martyred sigh.

"I don't see how you can be ready to leave Luxor for a few more days," I said. "The Vandergelts are giving a soiree on Sunday, and Selim will expect you to turn up for his fantasia tomorrow."

Sethos groaned theatrically. "Must I?"

"You sound like Emerson," I said, wondering if he was doing it on purpose to annoy. "It would be advisable to give the impression that this is an ordinary visit from an old acquaintance. Your habit of popping in and out in various bizarre costumes, like the Demon King in a pantomime, makes things very difficult."

"But much more interesting, Amelia dear."

WE LINGERED OVER FATIMA'S EXCELLENT dinner, for everyone was on his or her best behavior, and Sethos exerted himself to be agreeable. I was about to suggest we withdraw to the parlor when a visitor was announced. I had been half-expecting him, for nothing is a secret in Luxor.

"Show Mr. Vandergelt into the parlor," I said to Gargery. "And make sure there is plenty of whiskey."

Cyrus was too much of a gentleman to forget apologies and greetings, but even these held an element of reproach.

"I figured the fella in the aeroplane was you," he said, shaking Sethos's hand. "I'd have called earlier, if anybody had bothered to tell me you were here. What are you gonna do next, ride in on an elephant?"

"Whiskey, Cyrus?" I inquired.

"I reckon. Thank you." He tugged fretfully at his goatee and turned reproachful eyes on me. "How come I have to hear all the news secondhand? Don't you folks trust me anymore?"

"Er, hmph," said Emerson, busy with the decanters. "The fact is . . . er . . ."

"There hasn't been time," Nefret said. She perched on a ha.s.sock beside Cyrus and put a caressing hand over his. "You've heard about the identification of the bones? Don't be angry, Cyrus dear. We would have notified you at once if we had found the princesses' jewels."

"You think I'm pretty selfish, I guess," Cyrus muttered. "That poor devil, out there all this time, and me thinking the worst of him . . ."

"This discovery alters neither the circ.u.mstances nor your a.s.sessment of Martinelli, Cyrus," I said. "He took the jewelry, there can be little question of that, and although we may never know his motive for doing so, he had no right to remove it without your permission."

"You're sure it was him? Where was he found?"

"If you are thinking of conducting a search of the area, I beg you to abandon the idea," Ramses said; like myself he had seen the stubborn glow of archaeological greed in Cyrus's eyes. "Believe me, Cyrus, I would have done so myself if I believed there was the least likelihood of finding the jewelry. It was Martinelli, all right, but if he wasn't murdered and robbed, the men who found the body would have taken anything of value."

Cyrus knew he was right, but he was not the man to abandon hope so easily. He kept asking questions and proposing theories. His final appeal was to Sethos.

"Can't you do anything?"

The corners of Sethos's mouth twitched slightly. "Not much use having a master thief as a friend of the family if he can't help out, eh?"

"I didn't mean-" Cyrus began.