"He was good to her," Sethos said. "She was fond of him. Not until sometime after his death, when she had returned to Matilda, did she begin to suspect foul play."

"What I don't understand," Cyrus said, "is how they intended to get the artifacts unloaded. They couldn't have gone on to Cairo with them."

All eyes-even those of Emerson-turned to none other than Walter. A modest but pleased smile illumined his scholarly countenance. "I have been thinking about that, Cyrus," he said. "I believe-and this can easily be confirmed-that they planned to tie up somewhere between Qena and Hammadi-they might have had to wait at Hammadi for the bridge to be raised, which would have placed them under close scrutiny-and unload under cover of darkness. The heavier objects could be temporarily concealed in an empty tomb or cave, to be retrieved later, when the-I believe the expression is, 'when the heat was off.' A few of them would have taken the steamer on downstream next day and abandoned or destroyed her."

"I am sure you have the right of it, Walter," I said. "But if you will forgive me, we are getting off the track here."

"My fault," said Cyrus, grinning. "Sorry, Amelia. Go on."

The story of our visit to el-Gharbi was new to some of them, and if I may say so, I told it well. (I saw Daoud, lips moving and eyes abstracted, and knew he was memorizing everything I said, to be repeated, with embellishments.) "It came as a complete shock to me," I admitted handsomely. "I went to el-Gharbi because I had deduced that Maryam's misadventures were, so to speak, the pieces that did not fit into the puzzle, but all I expected to learn was more about her past history. She overheard me talking to Ramses; she had got in the habit of walking in the garden at night. Her reasons do not concern us," I added, with a little cough.

Nefret glanced at Ramses, who was studiously not looking at anyone, and moved closer to him. She looked weary but very beautiful, her face shining with a new contentment. She had learned one important lesson: that the marriage of true hearts does not alter when it alteration finds, and that love is not time's fool-as Shakespeare so nicely puts it. I nodded affectionately at her and went on.

"Maryam realized when she heard me mention el-Gharbi's village that he would tell me about Justin-and that that information would put the entire party on the dahabeeyah under suspicion. I believe I may confidently a.s.sert that my explanation of the true facts surrounding her mother's death, as well as the kindly reception she received, had altered her feelings for us. At first light she went to Luxor and attempted to dissuade Justin and Matilda from carrying out their plans-at least the part of those plans that depended on the abduction of Nefret. She swore she would not betray them, but apparently her agitation was so great that they decided they could not trust her, so they locked her in her room and sent Khattab to the railroad station to see whether Ramses and I actually took the train. Exposure was imminent; however, they knew we could not return before evening, so they had only to move up the time of their departure by a few hours. When Maryam was forced to attend that incredible dinner party at which Nefret was also an unwilling guest, she put on a show of submission and acquiescence."

"She certainly deceived me," Nefret admitted.

"It was necessary that she deceive them, so that she might remain at liberty. Upon hearing of Emerson's capture and Matilda's vindictive intentions, she realized that she was the only one who could save him. With great courage and at considerable risk to herself, she stole the keys last night, crept into his room, and freed him from his shackles. She tried to persuade him to escape that same night, but he refused. Like the confounded fool he is," I added.

"I had some hope of preventing the attack on the steamer," said Emerson, smoking placidly.

"Single-handedly?" I inquired with raised brows.

"I rather expected Matilda to pay me another call," Emerson explained. "She so enjoyed the first. Then, you see, I would have taken her hostage and forced the others to surrender to me."

"An excellent plan," said Sethos, with excessive politeness.

"Well, curse it, I didn't expect them to shove Francois in with me. When I heard them at the door I rearranged my shackles so that I appeared to be still confined and put on a show of weakness. I hoped to get more specific information from him, about the timing and method, but all the bas-er-fellow did was sit glowering at me and fingering his knife. I had about decided there was no point in waiting any longer when I heard gunfire. I had just finished dealing with Francois when Maryam came back to let me out. She is a brave little girl, and risked a great deal for us."

"More than you know," Sethos said. He rose stiffly to his feet. "Look after her, will you, Amelia? I must catch the night train to Cairo."

"Out of the question," I exclaimed. "You should not be using that leg, and anyhow, your first duty is to your daughter. Tell Mr. Smith to go to blazes."

"I am perfectly fit," said Sethos, sounding alarmingly like Emerson. "And this duty takes precedence over all others. You are on the wrong track, Amelia. Evelyn had the right idea after all."

"She was under duress," Evelyn exclaimed. "I knew it. What hold did they have over her?"

"The most powerful hold you can possibly imagine." He smiled at me with something of his old mockery, but there was a light in his eyes. "Some might declare there are enough small children in this adventure already . . ."

"Can never have enough of them," declared Emerson sentimentally. Then his jaw dropped. "What do you mean? Oh, good Gad! Do you mean-"

"I have just been informed that I am a grandfather," said Sethos. "The child is a boy. He is a year old, and Matilda has had him in her hands since shortly after he was born."

"Good heavens," I cried, leaping to my feet. "In the hands of that vicious, unprincipled . . . We must go at once! Er-where?"

"I know where," Sethos said. "I had a little chat with Matilda just now. Sit down, Amelia, and have another whiskey. You won't be needed. I must catch that train, though. I promised I would bring him back to her as soon as is humanly possible."

"Of course," I murmured. "How she must have suffered!"

Emerson knocked out his pipe. "I'm going with you. You aren't fit to travel."

Neither was he. Ramses looked from him to Nefret, whose hand rested in his. "No, sir, I'll go."

"What about me?" Bertie asked.

"You have done enough," I said affectionately.

"No, ma'am, not really. The rest of you chaps . . ." His kind brown eyes moved from Ramses to David to Emerson to Walter. "The rest of you want to be with your wives. I-er-I'd like to go. If-er-Sethos will have me. Just to-er-lean on now and then, you know."

They had formed a bond, I believe, during those last desperate minutes, when Bertie, firing as coolly and accurately as Sethos, had eliminated four of the armed men who stood at the rail before they realized what was happening. While he and Sethos fought their way onto the deck I paused only long enough to tie the rope to our little boat before joining them. The struggle did not last long. As I always say, hired thugs are not reliable.

Sethos said, "Thank you." Which was, for Sethos, a remarkable concession.

We saw them off, with hearty good wishes and packets of sandwiches forced on them by Fatima. Dusk softened the dying light and the stars shone in the sky over Luxor.

"That reminds me," I said. "It is high time I started my Christmas shopping. What a celebration we will have this year!"

"Hmph," said Emerson. It was a soft hmph, though, and he offered no further objections.

"Did you catch de lady?"

For a moment I thought the childish treble was Evvie's-but Evvie never abused her diphthongs in that fashion. I had only known one other child who did. We turned as one. Peering at us over the barricade of boxes was Charla.

"I don't want her to come to de window anymore," she said.

Ramses made a leap for his daughter and s.n.a.t.c.hed her up. "What did you say?"

"I don't want de lady wit' de yellow hair to-"

"You're talking. She's talking!" Ramses shouted.

"I told you she would when she was ready," I said, antic.i.p.ating with resignation several years of mutilated diphthongs. Just like her father. At least her vocabulary appeared to be that of a normal child. Unlike her father.

Ramses collapsed into a chair and put his arm round his daughter. "What did the lady do to frighten you?"

"She whispered things." Charla's eyes were round and fearful. "Things that happen to bad children. She said I was bad. Once she tried to put a snake in de window, but you came and she ran away."

"Oh my G.o.d," Ramses whispered, holding her close and bowing his head over hers. "You aren't bad, sweetheart. You're good and wonderful and brave. The-the lady is gone, she'll never come back."

Charla was pleased, but not entirely convinced. "Is she dead?"

"Yes," I said firmly. "She is dead. The dead do not come back."

"It was Justin, wasn't it?" Nefret said, her voice unsteady. "Another of her little games. To torment a child like that!"

"Your premonitions were correct, you see," I said. "She was a threat to them."

Nefret ran her hand caressingly over the two curly black heads. Then she sauntered, with seeming casualness, toward the barricade.

"Davy?" she said tentatively.

The little boy looked up and showed his four teeth.

Nefret held out her arms. "Will you come and talk to Mama?"

"If you don't mind, Mama, I would prefer to be called by my full name from now on," said David John, articulating with hideous precision. "What subject would you like to discuss?"

I sank into the nearest chair. "Emerson," I said faintly. "Emerson-another whiskey, please."

Acknowledgments.

I am deeply indebted to the Benson Ford Research Center at the Henry Ford Museum and Greenfield Village, and to reference archivist Carol Whittaker for supplying me with detailed information on the use of the Ford Light Patrol Car in the Palestine campaign of World War I and thereafter. Emerson's a.s.sessment of this amazing vehicle did not exaggerate its capabilities.

My thanks as well to the amiable friends who read the entire ma.n.u.script and made suggestions: Dr. W. Raymond Johnson, director of the Epigraphic Survey of the University of Chicago, Dennis Forbes, editor of KMT: a Modern Journal of Ancient Egypt, George B. Johnson, special projects editor of KMT, and, as always, my invaluable a.s.sistant, Kristen Whitbread. I take full responsibility for any errors that remain despite their help.

About the Author

ELIZABETH PETERS was born and brought up in Illinois and earned her Ph.D. in Egyptology from the University of Chicago's famed Oriental Inst.i.tute. Peters was named Grand Master at the inaugural Anthony Awards in 1986 and Grand Master by the Mystery Writers of America at the Edgar Awards in 1998. She lives in an historic farmhouse in western Maryland. Her Amelia Peabody novels published by PerfectBound are (in chronological order): Lion in the Valley; The Ape Who Guards the Balance; The Falcon at the Portal; He Shall Thunder in the Sky; Lord of the Silent; The Golden One; Children of the Storm.