He tried to help her out. "That I wasn't worth all that fuss."

"Oh, no. You're a wonderful man; any woman would be proud . . . You're teasing me, aren't you?"

"A little. It's forgotten, Maryam."

"Now that I've seen you and Nefret together, I know you were meant for each other." The long lashes fell, half veiling those extraordinary hazel eyes. "I'd like us to be friends. Cousins. Can we?"

"We are."

Sethos came up, leading the filly. "All right, are you, Maryam?"

"Yes, sir. Thanks to Ramses."

"Yes, it was quite a spectacular performance," said Sethos. The smile was the one that always made Ramses want to hit him.

"She seems calm enough now," Ramses said, inspecting the filly. "I can't imagine what spooked her."

Sethos directed their attention to a trail of blood on Melusine's right flank. "That's what. A sharp object piercing her side."

Maryam's hand went to her mouth. "The man. I saw him, just before she ran away with me. The same man who attacked me before."

"ANOTHER INCIDENT TO ADD to the list," I said. Our council of war had convened. I had insisted that everyone attend, in case one of them could contribute information others had missed. Fatima sat uneasily on the edge of her chair. She would much rather have been trotting round offering food. The only one not present was Kadija. She would not have spoken up in company anyhow.

"So now we have an aborigine with a blowgun?" Ramses was pacing irritably up and down, his hands clasped behind him.

"A projectile, propelled by any one of a number of means," Sethos corrected. "The object was sharp as a tack and it penetrated less than an inch."

"So what do we have?" I took a refreshing sip of my whiskey and read the list aloud.

The theft of the jewelry and the murder of Martinelli The Veiled Hathor of Cairo The sinking of the boat The initial attack on Maryam The second appearance of Hathor The second attack on Maryam "It's not complete," Emerson said, chewing on his pipe. "We agreed, did we not, to include every unusual incident, even if it seemed to have a logical explanation?"

"Well done, Emerson," I said, with an approving nod. "That is why I wanted everyone here, to make sure we had neglected no possibility. Give vent to your imaginations. Do not be deterred from the wildest sort of speculation. Anything at all, no matter how far-fetched it may seem."

Once I had got them on the track, the suggestions came thick and fast. The shot that had just missed Selim, Daoud's wounding by the hegab, the scorpions in his house-even the cobra at Deir el Medina.

"Goodness gracious," I remarked, examining the revised list. "Either our imaginations have run away with us, or we have been singularly obtuse. I confess, however, that I fail to see a consistent pattern."

"Do you?" David had taken out his pipe. "Supposing we are correct in a.s.suming that all these incidents are related, one thing stands out: The only ones who have been physically attacked are Daoud, Selim, and Maryam."

"How extraordinary," I exclaimed. "As a rule, such attacks are directed at us. Of course we are affected by danger to any of those we love . . ."

Reader, are you familiar with the sensation of trying to capture an elusive thought-an idea that hovers just on the edge of awareness? I feel certain you are. I was attempting to pin the thing down when Emerson spoke.

"It's a blow, isn't it, Peabody? Your favorite method of catching criminals is to provoke them into attacking you. We've all got off scot-free in this affair; even the Veiled Hathor only wanted-er-that is to say-"

"But what can be the connection between Maryam, Daoud, and Selim?" Ramses, glancing self-consciously at his wife, was quick to change the subject.

"I confess I cannot find a common denominator," I admitted. The vagrant thought had escaped, back into the murky depths of the subconscious. I did not attempt to pursue it. "Let's try another method. What do we know about the enemy?"

"He has access to a rifle and is a good shot," Ramses said. "That suggests a man, but the Veiled Hathor was obviously a woman. I fear it's another dead end, Mother; there may be a number of people involved."

"A gang," I murmured. "How annoying. I much prefer dealing with individual criminals."

"How can you all speak so coolly?" Maryam's eyes moved from one of us to the other. She was sitting quite close to her father, in a posture that would have prompted most men to put a comforting arm round her shoulders. Sethos had not done so, but he seemed more at ease with her. She had acquitted herself well that afternoon, remounting Melusine (who had behaved like a lamb all the way home) and making light of her aches and pains. Being thumped down onto a hard saddle, with an arm like a steel vise gripping one round the ribs, leaves bruises in sensitive areas.

"That is just Mother's little way," Nefret explained lightly. "She expects all of us to demonstrate a stiff upper lip. Maryam, are you certain you can't think of anyone who means you harm? I don't want to pry into your private affairs, but-"

"The answer is no," Maryam said. Her eyes locked with those of Nefret. "If you would like me to relate my experiences of the past two years in detail . . ."

"No," Sethos said harshly.

"No," I agreed. "We are looking for a common denominator, a motive that would also explain the vindictiveness against Daoud and Selim. Maryam has not even been in Egypt for the past . . ."

There it was again, darting like a shadow into my head and out of it again. The others took advantage of my silence to go on with the discussion. It didn't get very far, even with David making suggestions as to how to rearrange the facts we had-or thought we had. One such "pattern" eliminated possible accidents, but we were still left with a series of apparently unconnected occurrences which could not be dismissed so easily: the Veiled Hathor, the theft of the jewelry, the murder of Martinelli, and the deliberate damage to the boat-which, as Emerson optimistically pointed out, might have been aimed at someone other than Daoud. Another pattern eliminated the theft and murder as an unrelated, coincidental criminal act; still another would remove Hathor from the equation, supposing her to have been motivated by what David delicately referred to as personal feelings.

Ramses did not like this pattern. He had taken to pacing again. "We can't eliminate her or Martinelli," he declared vehemently. "Neither of those theories makes more sense than any other. There has to be a connection. We haven't found it yet, that's all."

"Well, I sure don't see it," Cyrus declared. "All right with you, Amelia, if we call it quits for now?"

"Yes, run along. If you think of anything we have overlooked, make a note of it."

"We've got everything in that list except the finger I cut on a piece of paper," Cyrus said.

He was mistaken-as was I. We had overlooked one "peculiar incident," which would prove to be the key to the entire mystery. If my more astute Readers have spotted it, allow me to deflate their self-esteem by pointing out that they are sitting at ease reading this journal-not trying to deal with four active children, an unpredictable brother-in-law, an archaeological dig, and a thousand household ch.o.r.es. Not to mention Emerson.

FROM Ma.n.u.sCRIPT H.

As they walked along the shadowy path to their house, the leaves of poinsettias and mimosa stirred, rustling as if they were conversing in some unknown language. Rather like the twins, Ramses thought.

The Great Cat of Re marched ahead of them, taking the lead as cats will without regard to their convenience. Every now and then he would stop without warning and stare into the shadows. Sometimes the stare was followed by a sudden leap and a frantic rustle of activity in the shrubbery; sometimes he just sat there until they stumbled over him.

"We need more lights here," Nefret said, catching hold of his arm.

"Or a better-trained cat. d.a.m.n it, he's got something. I hope it isn't a snake."

"They're all tucked up in their little holes for the night," Nefret said. "Don't bother yelling at him, Ramses, he'll ignore you with magnificent disdain."

"Stop for a minute."

"Why?"

He showed her why, drawing her into his arms and holding her while his mouth drifted across her face until it reached her lips. They parted, welcoming and warm, and her hands slid into his hair. After a long moment she whispered, "Don't start something unless you're prepared to finish it."

"I can finish anytime, but let's sit here for a while. It's a beautiful night, and Lord knows we don't have many chances to be alone."

He picked her up and sat down on a nearby bench, holding her on his lap. The breeze lifted a strand of her hair. It brushed his cheek like a caress. Between kisses he told her all the things he felt but seldom said, and she responded with the murmured endearments only he had heard.

The cry that broke the spell was sharp and high and human. Ramses sprang to his feet and lowered Nefret to hers, pushing her behind him as he turned to face the thrashing in the shrubbery.

"Who's there?" he demanded, reaching for his knife and realizing he didn't have it.

"Don't, don't hurt me! I'm sorry!"

She came out from behind a rosebush, an unidentifiable shadow in the darkness-but he had recognized her voice. At his shoulder Nefret said, "h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation!"

"I'm not going to hurt you," Ramses said in a strangled voice. He would almost have preferred armed attack to the embarra.s.sment that flooded hotly through him. How long had the wretched girl been hiding and listening?

"It was the cat," Maryam said apologetically. "I was just taking a walk, it's such a beautiful night, and he jumped at me, and I was startled and . . . I'm so sorry."

The Great Cat of Re had followed her, his tail waving triumphantly. He had flushed an impressively large prey this time.

"No harm done," Ramses said. "But you shouldn't wander round alone at night."

"I'm sorry. I won't. I only wanted-"

"Good night," Nefret said.

"Good night." She fled, stumbling, her hands covering her face.

The Great Cat of Re brushed against Nefret's foot, inviting admiration and praise. "Oh, yes, well done," she said. "How much did she hear, do you suppose?"

"She'd have heard more if the cat hadn't taken a hand," Ramses muttered. "And seen more. I feel like a blithering idiot."

"You didn't sound like a blithering idiot, darling," Nefret said. "But we may as well go in now."

"Yes. d.a.m.n cat," he added unfairly.

"He is a gorgeous creature, though."

The Great Cat of Re preceded them into the house, taking his time, so that they had to wait, holding the door for him, and then headed toward the kitchen.

"Yes, he's beautiful. And the most useless cat we've ever owned. D'you want a nightcap or a gla.s.s of milk?"

A yawn was his answer. He laughed and encircled her waist with his arm. "Come to bed, then. I'm ready to finish what I began, despite the interruption, unless you're tired. I almost wish you hadn't opened the clinic, you've been working too hard."

"I love it, you know that. But dear old Uncle Sethos wears me out."

"I thought you liked him." He closed the door of their room. Nefret sat down at the dressing table and began taking pins out of her hair.

"I do. But when he's around I feel like a cat in a Cairo alley, trying to look in all directions at once. What was that saying of el-Gharbi's? He walks among naked daggers-and they follow him wherever he goes."

"The same could be said of us. He's walked into our nest of daggers this time."

She didn't answer. The quick, hard stroke of her hairbrush, and the way the long golden locks clung to her fingers told him she was in no mood for rea.s.surance or reason.

"When this is settled," he began. A small silent voice in his head jeered, Oh, no trouble at all. Solve the murder of Martinelli, locate the missing jewelry, identify the b.a.s.t.a.r.d who sank Daoud's boat and the crazy woman who thinks she's Hathor . . .

"When all this is settled," he went on, after a slight pause, "why don't we get away for a few days, just the two of us?"

"And leave the children?" Nefret opened a drawer and took out a nightdress.

"They've got a dozen people looking after them."

At that inopportune moment a hair-raising shriek split the silence. Nefret started violently and dropped the nightgown. Ramses s.n.a.t.c.hed up the shirt he had removed and slipped into it. "I'll go," he said. Charla was having one of her nightmares. The cries tw.a.n.ged directly into a parent's nervous system.

The children's nursemaid, Elia, slept in the same room. She was a competent young woman and the children both adored her; but she couldn't get through to Charla when the child was in this state. She was at the door when Ramses got there, wringing her hands in distress.

Ramses caught the screaming child up off her cot and held her tightly against him. She clung to him with hands like small claws, and the screams turned into sobs. "Sssh," he whispered. "It's all right, sweetheart, I'm here."

He had left the door open. Hearing hurried footsteps he turned, expecting to see Nefret. It was Maryam, her face drawn with concern. She hadn't paused to put on a dressing gown. The clinging silken nightgown must be one of Nefret's; it wasn't the sort of thing one would find in the wardrobe of a lady's companion.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "I heard her-the poor little thing-what can I do?"

"Nothing," said Nefret, pushing past her. "Go back to bed, Maryam, or put on some clothes."

Her voice was, it seemed to Ramses, unnecessarily harsh. He smiled at Maryam. "It was kind of you to rush to the rescue. As you see, she's all right now."

Nefret went to Davy, who was sitting up in bed, his fair hair ruffled and his hands over his ears. He was a heavier sleeper than his sister and he resented being awakened by loud noises. When he saw his mother he took one hand from his ear and pointed at the window.

"Something she saw?" Ramses asked. "Something looking in the window?"

He knew he wouldn't get an intelligible answer from either of them, but he kept hoping. It was only at times like this that the twins' slowness to speak really bothered him. Dream or not, the terrifying thing she had seen was real to her, and he could have dealt with it more effectively if only she could tell him what it was.

Davy was twittering helpfully and Charla, sobs reduced to snuffles, began to wiggle. She was over the worst of it now; the tight grasp and crooning rea.s.surances were what she wanted. He laid her back on the cot. Elia, smiling in relief, handed him a handkerchief. He wiped Charla's eyes and nose and brushed the tangled curls off her face.

"Tell Papa what it was," he coaxed.

She told him, at length and with gestures. Something to do with the window. Her cot was under it, but surely she must have been dreaming; the aperture was barred and curtained.

Ramses drew the curtain aside and looked out. The window was unglazed, covered only by a loose netting to keep out insects. Moonlight bathed the distant cliffs and whitened the sandy waste that faced that side of the house. Nothing moved.

"All gone," he said, bending over his daughter. "I made it go away, and it won't come back, ever. Nothing can hurt you. Go to sleep now."

He got a damp kiss (she was still leaking at eyes and nose) and a squeeze round the neck from Davy, who was now wide awake and ready to be sociable. He hugged his mother and held out his arms to Maryam.

"May I?" she asked timidly.

"Yes, of course," Ramses said. "I'm sorry you were disturbed."

"I shouldn't have intruded," she murmured. "But her crying was so pitiful. I responded without thinking. Good night, darlings."

All she got from Charla was a sleepy grunt. Davy was in a mood for conversation, but he submitted to having his mouth and eyes b.u.t.toned shut with the chuckles this game always induced.

The nightmares had begun only recently. According to Ramses's mother-the ultimate authority-a number of children suffered from them at this age, and got over them eventually.

Which was all very well, but Ramses realized there wasn't much chance of a romantic holiday while the nightmares lasted. He didn't flatter himself that he was the only one who could comfort Charla; it just happened that he had been first on the scene every time, and Elia, for all her admirable qualities, didn't understand that a tight grasp and a firm, rea.s.suring voice was what the little girl wanted. His father or David-or his mother-could probably act as effectively. However, it wouldn't be fair to ask any of them to sleep in a neighboring room while he and Nefret were absent.