"A month?" I asked.

"I've made a timetable," Sethos explained, with a superior smile at me. He knew I had not, or I would have said so. "Martinelli disappeared over three weeks ago. Give her a week or so before that to become acquainted with him. If it is the same woman, she made a quick trip to Cairo when you did, and then came back in time to arrange to sink Daoud's boat and stage her second appearance. There is every reason to believe she is still here."

"That limits the number of suspects, surely," David said thoughtfully. "Most tourists stay for only a few days, and there aren't that many permanent residents who are female."

"And young and beautiful and-er-no better than she should be," I agreed. "It can't be one of that group. I know them all, and I a.s.sure you one of my acquaintances would have informed me if a newcomer had settled here."

"She's right about that," said Emerson to the group at large. "Those females are always quick to relay the latest gossip."

"Still, there is no harm in inquiring," Sethos said. He had taken advantage of the lull to empty his plate, which Fatima immediately refilled. "No, Amelia, not you; a direct question to one of your friends would arouse curiosity, and we must avoid that at all costs. I will make my availability for social functions of all sorts known to the good ladies of Luxor society. A new face is always welcome, and there is no man more welcome than an eligible bachelor."

"You had better do something to your face if you intend to attract the ladies," I retorted. "That beard-"

"I've been waiting for it to grow out," Sethos explained, stroking his chin. "Just wait, Amelia; once I've had it trimmed and touched up a bit-and made a few other changes-the mere sight of me will cause you to swoon with admiration."

"Bah," said Emerson. "All you will learn is that there are several women in Luxor-I name no names, Peabody-who would stop at nothing to marry off their spinster daughters. The woman you're after won't come anywhere near you."

"I think she might," Sethos said, his smile fading. "I am known to be a friend of Mr. Cyrus Vandergelt, am I not?"

"In short," said Ramses, after a moment of silence, "you intend to set yourself up as bait."

Maryam let out a little cry, and her father turned to her with a rea.s.suring smile. "It's perfectly safe, Maryam. I doubt very much that she would try the same trick a second time. If she does, I promise I won't follow her into a dark alley." He looked round the circle of sober faces and shrugged. "It's our best lead and it ought to be pursued."

"It would be nice if we could clear the matter up soon," I said. "The Christmas season is approaching. I have never allowed a criminal to interfere with my holiday celebrations, and I don't intend to begin now."

"Christmas!" Emerson exclaimed, eyes bulging. "Now see here, Peabody, I have never objected to the unnecessary effort you expend on what is essentially a pagan holiday with accretions from an equally nonsensical superst.i.tion-"

"We certainly can't disappoint the children," Lia said. "I must confess I hadn't given it much thought."

"I have," I said. "But we still have a few weeks."

"There is another matter," said David, glancing at his father-in-law. "The Milner Commission is due in Egypt shortly, and the British att.i.tude is already known. The Protectorate will continue. Zaghlul Pasha has sent word that the commission is to be boycotted entirely. There will be strikes and demonstrations all over the country."

"How do you know that?" Lia asked.

"I read the newspapers," David said somewhat impatiently. "I hope Sethos is right, but I have a feeling that Cairo is going to take the explosion at the railroad station more seriously than he antic.i.p.ates."

"It has nothing to do with us," Ramses said, watching his friend with a furrowed brow. "Stay out of it, David. You promised you would."

"We will keep him out of it," I said firmly. "Good heavens, haven't we enough to worry about without that?"

Fatima came in. "There is a patient for you, Nur Misur. Will you go?"

"Of course." Nefret rose.

"And the rest of us must return to our labors," I declared. "Who is going to the Castle with me?"

"Not I," Emerson growled.

"No one expects you to, my dear. Cheer up; we will have finished the job in a day or two and then we can get on with our investigation."

"What investigation?" Emerson demanded. He pushed his plate away with such violence that it knocked over a gla.s.s. Water spilled across the cloth. "Curse it," Emerson shouted. "I am sorry, Fatima. It was your fault, Peabody, your bland optimism drives me wild! There is nothing to investigate. We've come to a dead end. You know perfectly well we can't do a b.l.o.o.d.y thing except sit round waiting for another b.l.o.o.d.y attack!"

"That is not quite correct, Radcliffe," said Walter, adjusting his eyegla.s.ses. "Er-Sethos's scheme-"

"Is posturing without purpose," Emerson snarled. His hard blue stare moved from one of his brothers to the other. Sethos grinned appreciatively and Walter, who had known Emerson even longer, calmly b.u.t.tered another piece of bread.

WHEN I ARRIVED AT THE Castle, I found Cyrus pacing up and down the display room, tugging at his goatee. Katherine trotted alongside, patting him and emitting breathless phrases like "Now, Cyrus," and "Cyrus, dear." He was going at a great pace and my dear Katherine was a trifle stout; she let out a gasp of relief when my appearance brought Cyrus to a halt.

"Now what?" I demanded. "Katherine, sit down, my dear, and catch your breath."

Cyrus turned remorsefully to his wife. "Sorry, Cat. I was so het up I wasn't paying attention."

He was holding a crumpled paper-a telegram, by its color. "Is that what got you het up?" I inquired. "Let me guess. Another message from M. Lacau? What does he want now-everything?"

"Not so bad as that." Cyrus smoothed out the telegram and tried to fan his wife with it. "I don't know why it got me so mad. The tone of it, I guess. He left Cairo yesterday-took over twenty-four hours for the telegram to be delivered, as usual. He expects to arrive on Thursday, and he wants to load up in one day-can you believe it? Only he didn't say expect and want and will you please. Do this and do that was more like it."

"Telegrams are not the medium for polite circ.u.mlocutions," I replied. "What got him so het up?"

"He did say something about that." Cyrus read the words. " 'Rumors unrest alarming. Stop. Safe arrival Cairo artifacts paramount. Stop.' "

"Wait till he hears about the explosion," David murmured. "He'll be all the more determined to leave Luxor in a hurry."

"He's got his goldurned gall suggesting the artifacts aren't safe here," Cyrus snapped. "They're safer than they would be in that dodblasted Museum . . . Oh, shucks. You don't think he found out about the stolen jewelry, do you?"

"I cannot imagine how he could have," I replied. "He is just being officious and overly fearful. This really doesn't change anything, Cyrus; we will have his precious artifacts ready for him and he can load up and go to the devil, as Emerson might say. If we make arrangements in advance for bearers he may actually be able to accomplish it in a single day."

By midday we had run out of straw and cotton wool. We had dealt with most of the smaller objects; there remained only the coffins, the mummies, and the beaded robe.

"I am sure I do not know how we are to pack that," I declared. "I would be afraid to roll it or fold it again, and if we insert pins to keep it from shifting around as it is moved, the pins may do even more damage. David, have you any suggestions?"

"There isn't much we can do," David said regretfully. He brushed straw off his shirt. "Except cover it closely with a clean sheet and wrap bandages round the whole ensemble, with additional layers of padding above. If it is gently handled-"

"It won't be," I said with a sigh. "Ah well, what cannot be mended must be endured. We have done our best. I believe we can finish tomorrow if we can find more packing material."

"I'll go over to Luxor," David said. "There must be some seller of fabric we haven't cleaned out."

"Shall I come with you?" I asked.

"That isn't necessary. I'll try to locate more clean straw too, while I'm about it."

He picked up his coat and went out before I could reply. His haste and his refusal to meet my eyes made me wonder if he was up to something. David hardly ever did anything underhanded (unless he was egged on by Ramses), but in his own quiet way he was as stubborn as my son. His disclaimers to the contrary, I suspected he had not entirely severed his connection with the Nationalist movement, and this latest outbreak obviously worried him.

I ran after him, calling his name. He pretended he didn't hear, but I caught him up while he was saddling Asfur. "You are going to the railroad station," I panted. "Aren't you?"

David had never been able to lie to me. Moral force, established at an early age, is irresistible. (It had never been completely successful with Ramses, but he was an exceptional case.) David looked down at me with an attempt at sternness and then caved in, as I had known he would. "Confound it, Aunt Amelia, how do you do it?"

"It is well known in Luxor that I am a magician of great power," I replied with a smile. David did not return it.

"I only want to see the damage for myself."

"To what purpose? David, please don't go alone. Get Ramses or Emerson to go with you."

"Take the Father of Curses away from his excavations to play bodyguard? What can possibly happen that I can't handle? This is Luxor, not Gallipoli."

I let out a sigh of exasperation. Masculine ego is a frightful nuisance. "I am in no mood for argument or explanation, David. Just do as I say. Ramses is at the house working on his ostraca. That isn't far out of your way. And don't swear at me," I added, for I saw the word forming on his lips.

They drew back into a shape that was at least partially caused by amus.e.m.e.nt. "All right, Aunt Amelia, you win-as always. You are finished here for the time being, I expect. Shall I give you a lift back to the house?"

He mounted and offered me a hand. I backed away. "No, thank you, dear boy, I have enjoyed that romantic but uncomfortable experience too often. Tell Fatima we will be lunching here. And eat something before-"

He gave me a grin and a mock military salute and rode off. Thoughtfully I returned to the workroom.

FROM Ma.n.u.sCRIPT H.

Once Ramses would have been happy to be left to work on the inscribed material, but he was unable to concentrate. He knew why his father had not insisted on his presence that morning. They had not discussed it; there was no need. Selim was still helpless and the children were vulnerable, and if an adversary wanted to get into the sprawling, unguarded house, there was no one to stop him except the women and Gargery. The dear old idiot would die to defend any one of them, but that was about all he could do-if he didn't shoot himself first.

After the others had gone to the Castle, Ramses wandered rather aimlessly around the perimeter of the grounds, ending up at the clinic. The waiting room was full. Nefret's reputation had spread; but the need was so great, the lack of decent medical care so extensive that any halfway competent physician would have more than she could handle. Ramses felt the same helpless rage Nefret must feel every day, every hour, when he saw the suppurating wounds and runny eyes, the sickly babies and the swollen bellies of girls in their early teens. Obstetrics was and would be a large part of Nefret's practice.

Nisrin came out of the surgery. Blood spattered the front of her white gown, but she greeted him with an unperturbed smile. "Do you wish to see Nur Misur? She is sewing up this patient now."

"No, I can see she's busy. Unless there is something I can do to help."

She waved him away with the patronizing air of a trained nurse dismissing male incompetence, and he went to see how Selim was getting on. Sennia was with him, devouring honey cakes and discussing the Second Intermediate Period. She was doing most of the talking. Glancing at Ramses, she said indistinctly, "We are up to the Hyksos."

"So I hear," Ramses said. A paw, claws fully extended, shot out from under her chair. Ramses skipped aside. Horus's filthy temper hadn't mellowed, but he was slowing down physically. "Are you sure Selim wants to hear about the Hyksos?"

Sennia swallowed. "He is very interested in Egyptian history. Aren't you, Selim?"

Selim rolled his eyes and grinned. "The Little Bird is a good teacher."

"I am good at taking care of sick people too," Sennia said complacently.

"And the food here is excellent," Ramses said, as she reached for another honey cake. "You seem to be getting on nicely. Don't tire him, Little Bird."

"I am tired of lying here," Selim said. "I feel well. Tell Nur Misur she must let me get up."

The subject of his telling Nefret what to do was one he preferred not to pursue. He left.

His next stop was in the courtyard, where the children were playing. After a quarter of an hour Fatima made him go away, saying it was time for their luncheon and he was getting them too excited. The shrieks of protest that followed him did sound more vehement than usual. According to his mother, children were sensitive to atmosphere; the uneasiness of the adults was probably affecting them.

Having exhausted all means of entertainment, he went back to the study, and had just begun working when Gargery came in.

"There you are, sir," he said accusingly. "We have been looking all over for you. Mr. David-"

"You needn't announce me, Gargery," David said.

"Are you lunching, sir? We did not expect you. May I ask-"

"No," Ramses said. "Run along, Gargery, and tell Fatima-"

"Tell her not to fuss," David said. "A sandwich will do."

Gargery "ran along," sniffing. Ramses leaned back in his chair. "May I ask . . ."

"I'm off to Luxor. We ran out of cotton wool and cloth. Aunt Amelia made me promise to take you along. But if you're busy-"

"You aren't going to get out of it that easily." Ramses pushed the papers aside. "I've been translating that horoscope text for Mother. Couldn't concentrate on anything more difficult. What made her suppose you needed me to come along?"

"I'm going to the railroad station."

"And?"

"And nothing. I hope."

"You think there will be trouble?"

David smiled slightly. "I have a foreboding."

It was more than an idle premonition, it was the knowledge of how easily a group of idlers could turn into an angry mob. A crowd would certainly gather, inspired by curiosity and the hope of scavenging. Ramses blamed himself for failing to follow the current news, as David had. The situation was already volatile. The slightest provocation, real or fancied, could start a riot.

And David would try to stop it. d.a.m.n it, Ramses thought, we don't need this. "I'm with you," he said. "Whenever you're ready."

By the time they reached the station it was early afternoon, and the temperature was in the nineties. They heard the uproar some distance away.

An irregular line of police held the crowd back from the tracks and the station, where several men in khaki were standing guard over the wreckage, ignoring the curses and waving fists with admirable British aplomb. How the soldiers had got there so quickly Ramses didn't know; Allenby must have taken the precaution of dispatching mobile columns into potential hot spots. The police officers in their shabby uniforms didn't look happy. Many of them were in sympathy with the protesters. Someone was waving a banner with a rude (and incorrectly spelled) description of the Inglizi. The sun beat down like a furnace and dust fogged the air, kicked up by the shuffling feet.

"Stop a minute," Ramses said, catching hold of David before he could plunge into the thick of it. "They're just letting off steam. What's going on?"

The man he addressed wore a ragged galabeeyah and a dirty rag wrapped round his head. He turned with a snarl on Ramses, recognized him, and turned the snarl into a propitiatory smile. "We only wanted to take away the broken wood and the nails and bricks, Brother of Demons. What harm is there in that? But the accursed-uh-the British stopped us."

"They want to find out what caused the explosion," David said. "You will be allowed to remove the wreckage when they have finished. Tell your friends to go home."

"I? What sort of fool do you take me for? They are angry."

"And enjoying themselves," Ramses said to David in English. "Nothing like a jolly riot on a hot day to alleviate boredom."

"Someone is haranguing them," David said, trying to see over the field of bobbing turbans, with an occasional red fez for contrast.

The fellow was no orator, but he was loud and indignant. Words like oppression and injustice-and the name of the exiled patriot Zaghlul-started an angry muttering. David swore and began to force his way through the close-packed bodies.

Ramses followed, shoving even harder and making suggestions. "Go home, you fools. Get away from here. Think of your wives and children. Do you want to be shot?"

They made way for him, and a few took his advice to heart, but the orator was still screaming and the front ranks of the mob surged forward. The police weren't armed, but the soldiers were. Hoping none of them would mistake him and David for rioters, Ramses dodged the hands of a hot-eyed protester who was reaching for his throat and kicked the fellow's feet out from under him. The men in the front rank were the bravest, or, to look at it another way, the ones with the least sense. David flattened a few of them, fighting with the cool efficiency Ramses remembered so well. The ones nearest the victims began to have second thoughts. They backed off, leaving Ramses and David in the empty s.p.a.ce before the beleaguered policemen.