Luck was with him; the soft sounds of pursuit faded, and finally he emerged into a plaza so small it didn't even have a name. He'd been there before. The time-stained sabil in the center spouted a dribble of water. On one side was a disreputable coffeeshop that he and David had occasionally frequented. The coffeeshop was shuttered and dark. The place was deserted except for the motionless shape of a beggar huddled in a doorway.

Movement and the pa.s.sage of time had brushed most of the cobwebs out of his head. He knew where he was: not far from the Rue Neuve, less than a mile from the hotel. He paused long enough to wash the blood and odoriferous muck off his hands and arms in the fountain. Before he started off toward the hotel, he dropped a few coins onto the ground by the sleeping man. An offering to some G.o.d or other seemed appropriate. Some G.o.d-or G.o.ddess. The woman's costume had been that of Hathor, Lady of Turquoise, Golden One.

THE WINDOWS OF THE SITTING room began to pale with the approach of dawn. Nefret and I had been waiting for hours. We had expected Emerson back long before this; he had promised to let us know the results of his search before morning. Nefret bore the delay better than I. Since childhood she and Ramses had shared an odd rapport; she claimed-and a number of events confirmed it-that she could always tell when he was in imminent danger. No such terror afflicted her now, she a.s.sured me. Logic informed me that Ramses got into sc.r.a.pes like this all the time, and that he usually got himself out of them. But logic is poor comfort when the fate of a loved one is unknown.

Despite Nefret's composure, she was the first one on her feet when a knock sounded at the door. A sleepy-eyed suffragi handed her a note and stood waiting hopefully for baksheesh. I supplied it, while Nefret opened the paper and read it. A tremulous expletive burst from her lips.

"Language, my dear," I said, taking the paper from her.

"No harm done," it read, in Ramses's unmistakable scrawl. "I'll be with you shortly."

"Thank G.o.d," I breathed. "Sit down, Nefret."

Nefret s.n.a.t.c.hed the note back. "He might at least have said 'Love.' d.a.m.n him! Where is he?"

She pulled away from my affectionate grasp and started for the door. Before she reached it, Ramses opened it and stepped into the room.

Ramses's tentative smile faded as Nefret flew at him, her hands gripping his arms. "Where have you been? What happened? How dare you send that stupid message instead of coming here straightaway?"

"The last time I appeared without advance warning, you collapsed in a dead faint," said Ramses. "Good evening, Mother. Or rather, good morning. Where is Father?"

"Looking for you, of course." My voice was a trifle husky. I cleared my throat. "Nefret, stop trying to shake him."

"And don't come any closer," Ramses said, holding her off. "I'm absolutely filthy and I smell like a rubbish heap."

She pushed his hands aside and clung tightly to him. "It must be love," he remarked. "Darling, let me bathe and change. Then I'll tell you the whole preposterous story. Is there any way you can reach Father and tell him to call off the hunt?"

"We expect him momentarily," I said. "He should have been here before this. Proceed with your plan, my dear boy; you really do not smell very nice. I will order breakfast. If your father has not returned by that time, I will try and find him."

"Thank you, Mother. Nefret, let go, will you? I won't be long."

"I'm coming with you." She took his hands and turned them over. "You've torn those scratches open again, and cut yourself rather badly. What the devil-"

"Let him change first," I cut in. "And-er-freshen yourself as well. He seems to have rubbed off on you."

After calling the suffragi and ordering a very large breakfast I splashed water on face and limbs and changed my dusty, crumpled garments for a comfortable tea gown. Invigorated and by now very curious, I returned to the sitting room to find Emerson there, shouting orders at the suffragi.

"Don't bully the poor man, Emerson," I said. "I have already ordered breakfast, and Ramses has come back."

"I know."

"How?"

"You were singing, Peabody. The door was closed, but your voice is particularly penetrating when you are in a cheerful frame of mind."

"Sit down and rest. You look very tired."

Emerson pa.s.sed his hand over his bristly chin and sank with a sigh into a chair. "I did not feel fatigued until just now. When I heard your voice raised in song, and saw that Nefret was not in the sitting room, I hoped-but I was afraid to believe. I stood outside their door for several minutes, listening, until finally I heard his voice."

"Oh, my dear Emerson," I began.

"Bah," said Emerson, after a great clearing of his throat. "All's well that ends well, as you are fond of remarking. I do wish you could come up with more original aphorisms. Has he told you what happened?"

"Not yet."

A procession of waiters filed through the door, carrying trays; while they were arranging the food on the table, Ramses and Nefret joined us. Emerson greeted his son as coolly as if he had not been frantic about him for hours, and Ramses replied with an equally nonchalant "Good morning, sir."

Emerson stared at his bandaged hands. "I suppose it would be unreasonable to expect you to come back without some injury or other," he grumbled. "Er-can you hold knife and fork, my boy? If you like, I will just cut-"

"That won't be necessary, sir, thank you. I hope you weren't put to too much trouble on my account."

"It was Russell who was put to the trouble," said Emerson with satisfaction. He held a grudge against the gentleman because of a trick he had once played on us. "I suppose I had better tell him to call off the search before he comes round annoying us." He went to the escritoire and scribbled a few words on a piece of the hotel stationery. "Take this to the concierge and have it sent at once," he ordered, handing the paper to one of the waiters. "The rest of you chaps clear out of here. Now, Ramses, let's have your story."

I have heard a number of bizarre stories in my time. A number of the events that have befallen me personally might be described as bizarre, even preposterous, by those of limited imagination (for in my opinion life itself is often more extraordinary than any invention of fiction). Ramses's tale unquestionably ranked high on the list. He told it without being interrupted by us and without pausing to eat. He had said he wasn't hungry.

Nefret was the first to break the silence. "No wonder you aren't hungry. What was in the brazier-opium?"

"Opium and somthing else I couldn't identify."

"Another hallucinatory drug?"

"No doubt." Ramses had picked up his fork. Now he put it gently down. The effect was the same as if he had slammed it onto the table. "You don't believe me, do you? Any of you? You think the whole thing was a hallucination."

"What other explanation is there?" Nefret demanded. Her color had risen. "A room furnished like a bordello and the immortal Hathor, in all her youthful beauty, promising you-"

"Now, now," I said. Ramses's face was as flushed as hers, and he was on the verge of an angry protest. "We are all tired and excited. Obviously Ramses did not see the G.o.ddess, he saw a woman costumed like Hathor. As for rooms furnished in that fashion, there are many of them in Cairo. Curse it," I added, in sudden vexation. "I ought to have thought of it before. Could you find the house again, Ramses?"

"I doubt it. I've no recollection whatever of how I got there. The last thing I remember is a pair of hands closing round my neck."

"There are no bruises on your throat," Nefret said. Her tone was studiously neutral.

"Need I remind you," said Ramses, in the same tone, "that it doesn't take much pressure or much time to put someone out, if you know how to do it. On the other hand, I might have imagined that, too."

"Still, perhaps we ought to make an attempt to find the place," I said quickly. "When you left the house-"

"I was in too much of a hurry to pay attention to where I was going, and still in something of a fog. Anyhow, they've had time to clear out. Whoever they were."

"There were at least two of them," I mused. "a.s.suming that the beggar and your a.s.sailant-and perhaps the shadowy acolyte-were one and the same. Which need not be the case."

Nefret was watching Ramses, who was concentrating on his breakfast. "I did not mean to give the impression that I doubted Ramses's word," she said stubbornly. "I'm only trying to understand what happened, and why."

I am not in the habit of disparaging my own gender, but there are times when even the best of us "behaves like a woman," as men put it. "Goodness gracious," I said in exasperation. "That is what we are all trying to ascertain, is it not? Let us face facts, no matter how unpalatable they may be to you, Nefret. Your husband, like mine, is irresistibly attractive to women. I must say, though, that this one has gone to extraordinary lengths to capture his attention. The costume, you say, was authentic?" Ramses nodded. He was now annoyed with me, for pointing out a fact he also found unpalatable. Unperturbed, for I am accustomed to the vagaries of the masculine mind, I went on. "The seemingly supernatural touches would have been easy to arrange. Electricity has been a great boon to charlatans. An electric torch fastened to her person, a quick press of the switch, and voila! She appears, out of nothingness. She must have used the torch again to blind you before she left the room, hoping you would take it for a bolt of divine lightning. Rather childish, that."

"Not to a man whose senses are befuddled with opium," Emerson said. He pushed his plate away and took out his pipe. "It is remarkable that Ramses managed to keep his wits about him as well as he did."

Ramses's tight lips relaxed. He glanced at his hands. "Pain helps. So do . . . other things. Unfortunately, I observed nothing that would enable me to recognize her, not even her height, which is, as you know, difficult to determine without something with which to compare it. She was young and slim, but not an immature girl. A woman. She disguised her voice by whispering and by using an artificial accent. That's all I know, and without wishing to be rude, Mother, your theory as to the woman's motives is pure imaginative fiction! I don't want to talk about it. What were you about all night, Father? I suppose you went after poor old Rashad?"

"It was the only clue we had," Emerson replied. He grinned round the stem of his pipe. "I persuaded your mother and Nefret to stay here, in case you came back, and went off to see Thomas Russell. I had the satisfaction of rousting him out of bed, at any rate. I was somewhat surprised to learn that all the revolutionaries have been freed, even your friend Wardani, though n.o.body knows his present whereabouts. Russell already had a few of his lads looking for Rashad, who had sensibly refrained from returning to his rooms after trying to foment a riot earlier. We located one of his a.s.sociates-Bashir-sleeping the sleep of the just and weary; he denied any knowledge of a plot against you or David. I was forced to believe him, since I couldn't prove he was lying."

"I don't believe he was lying," Ramses said. "Rashad had nothing to do with tonight's event. He hasn't the imagination to invent such a scenario. This could be connected in some fashion with our missing thief."

"Do you suppose he has that sort of imagination?" I inquired.

"He or one of Sethos's other a.s.sociates," Ramses replied. "Admit it, Mother, this has Sethos's trademark. I don't believe he was personally involved, but his influence was widespread and pervasive."

"Still no reply from him?" Emerson asked me.

"No, curse the man. Did Russell have anything more to say about Martinelli?"

"That was one good thing resulting from the events of the evening," Emerson replied. "Russell is now under the impression that we asked him to detain Martinelli because we suspected him of being involved with a Nationalist plot-the same plot that resulted in Ramses's disappearance. It is inherently unlikely, but not as unlikely as-er-"

"The veiled Hathor," Nefret murmured. Ramses gave her a long, unsmiling look, and I said hastily, "Speculation can take us no further at this time. It was a most peculiar incident, but no harm was done-except what Ramses did to himself-and apparently none was intended. She actually said so, didn't she? Ramses?"

"What?" Ramses looked up. "Sorry, Mother. If my memory can be trusted, she said something of the sort."

I decided it would be advisable to change the subject. "We had better get some rest. Do you realize the family will be arriving this evening?"

"Yes, Mother," said Ramses.

They took their leave. "And you, Emerson," I said.

"I don't need to rest," said Emerson. "What's wrong with those two, Peabody? They seem to be out of temper with each other."

"I will be happy to explain, Emerson, if you will allow me to do so without forbidding me to talk psychology."

"Try to avoid the word if possible," muttered Emerson.

"Nefret's reaction is unreasonable, but quite understandable to a student of . . . that is, to me. It would be difficult to say which would bother her more-the suspicion that her husband has fantasies about beautiful desirable women pleading for his favors, or the possibility that a beautiful, desirable woman really is pleading for his favors."

"Hmmm," said Emerson, rubbing the cleft in his chin. "So if a similar sort of thing should happen to me, you would . . ."

"Be mad with jealousy," I a.s.sured him, and saw his lips curve into a smile that was not without a touch of smugness. I went on, "We cannot help being jealous, my dear; we care too much for you to remain indifferent to the fear that you care less for us."

Of course it was not as simple as that. Contrary to the opinions of sentimentalists, children put a strain on a marriage. It takes a while to sort out new feelings and new responsibilities. I know whereof I speak, Reader; it had taken me over twenty years! The large fortune Nefret had inherited from her grandfather had enabled her to found a hospital for fallen (as well as upright but impoverished) women in Cairo, and she had fought a hard battle against masculine prejudice to acquire surgical training so that she could better a.s.sist these unfortunates. She had given up her medical career in favor of matrimony, motherhood, and archaeology. Although she had never expressed regret, I wondered if she missed it. However, it would only have confused my dear Emerson if I had entered into a serious a.n.a.lysis. His is a very straightforward mind.

There are other psychological difficulties connected with the birth of children, but they were not the sort of thing one can discuss with a male person.

"Hmmm," said Emerson again. "Well, my dear, in this case I must bow to your expertise. They will settle their differences, won't they?"

"In their own way, Emerson, in their own way. I would be sorry to see them settle into the bland tedium of most marriages. I consider that unlikely. We never did, and in my opinion-"

"We are all the better for it," Emerson declared, his broad brow clearing. "I prescribe a rest for you too, my love."

"I haven't time. I want-"

"There is plenty of time," said Emerson.

SINCE SCHEDULES OF BOATS AND trains were uncertain, we had agreed to await our family at the hotel instead of hanging about the railroad station. It wasn't as if they were strangers to Egypt. Walter and Evelyn had not been out for many years, but David knew his way about.

Having made certain their suite was in perfect order, with fresh flowers in every room, there was nothing left for me to do but fidget, which I confess I did. Antic.i.p.ation mounts as the longed-for event draws nearer. I was leaning perilously over the rail of the balcony for the third or fourth time when Emerson took hold of me and led me to a chair.

"It would be a poor welcome for the family to find you spattered on the front steps," he remarked. "They cannot possibly be here for several more hours, even if all the connections are on time, which they seldom if ever are. Sit down, my dear, and have a whiskey and soda. I will ask Ramses and Nefret to join us."

Upon his return he announced in a pleased voice, "They have made it up. It took Ramses quite a long time to answer the door."

"Don't be vulgar, Emerson."

"Drink your whiskey, Peabody."

The bright faces of my children a.s.sured me that they had indeed settled their little difference. Except for his bandaged hands, Ramses appeared none the worse for his adventure. Despite his dismissal of my theory, I remained convinced that the woman's motive could only be personal attraction. It was not Ramses's fault, or Emerson's, that their handsome features and athletic frames and gallant manners attracted shameless females. Who on earth could this one be? I had already gone over in my mind-as I was sure Nefret had also done-the rather extensive list of women with whom Ramses had been involved-before his marriage, I hardly need add. None of the names that came to mind seemed to fit. However, there had probably been others. I wondered if I could persuade him to give me a list.

It did not seem likely.

Feeling my speculative eye upon him, Ramses tugged nervously at his tie and burst into speech. "When are you going to tell Uncle Walter?" he asked.

"About Sethos? Certainly not tonight" was Emerson's reply.

"Certainly not," I agreed. "Let them enjoy their return to Egypt and their reunion with us before we drop the bombsh.e.l.l."

"More than one bombsh.e.l.l," said Nefret. "Martinelli and the missing jewelry, the Nationalists rioting, and now the mysterious lady. Is it only a coincidence that all those things have happened within the last few days?"

They were not the only things that had happened. Other events, which had seemed of little import, were to bear bitter fruit in the coming days. I am a truthful woman; I do not claim I sensed this. Yet a quiver of uneasiness pa.s.sed through me, that vague sense of something forgotten or overlooked with which, I daresay, my Readers are also familiar.

The hours of waiting went by. Nefret was dozing in the circle of Ramses's arm, with her head on his shoulder, when at last they came. It would be vain to attempt to describe the joyful hubbub that ensued-embraces, laughter, questions, and tears. A querulous wail from the youngest member of the group brought me back to practicality. Evvie, David and Lia's youngest, was an angelic little creature, blue-eyed and fair like her mother. At the moment she did not look angelic; her mouth was open so wide it seemed to fill her small face, and her whimper rose to a penetrating howl.

Having greeted the adult members of the family, Emerson was advancing on Dolly, with his arms held out and a fond smile curving his lips. The st.u.r.dy little chap, who had been named for his great-grandfather Abdullah, was only four, with David's black hair and eyes and his mother's delicate features. He squared his shoulders and stood his ground, but he looked a trifle uneasy-as what three-foot-tall person would not, with that imposing form looming over him!

"Don't pounce on the child, Emerson," I ordered. "He doesn't remember you. Give him time to get used to all these new faces."

"Oh," said Emerson. He came to a stop. "Er-sorry."

Then the little boy lived up to his proud name. "He is my uncle Radcliffe," he said and held out his hand. "How do you do, sir?"

Emerson did not even flinch at the name, which he thoroughly dislikes and with which few people venture to address him. His features wreathed in smiles, he took the small hand carefully in his. "How do you do, my dear boy? Welcome to Egypt."

"Very nice," I said, for it was clear to me that Emerson, overcome by sentiment, was about to pounce again. "Let us get the children tucked away, shall we?"

It did not take long; both of them were too tired to make a fuss. I had caused a nice little cold supper to be supplied for the nursemaid.

"Sound asleep," I reported, returning to the others. "Perhaps the rest of you would also like to retire? You have had a long tiring trip."

"Impossible," Evelyn exclaimed, holding out her hands. "I at least am too happy and excited to be weary. Come and sit with me, Amelia, and let me look at you. Have you won the favor of some G.o.d, that you never change?"

The little bottle of hair coloring on my dressing table was owed some of the credit. I saw no reason to mention it. To her loving eyes, perhaps, I could never change; but I had, and so had she. The fair hair shone pure silver now, and she was painfully thin; but the blue eyes were as fond and clear as ever. She was right after all. Neither of us had changed in any way that mattered.

No doubt the same could be said of Walter, but his physical appearance was something of a shock. We had paired off, as we used to do; the contrast between Emerson's st.u.r.dy, vigorous frame and Walter's stooped shoulders and myopic squint made the latter look years older than his elder brother. He had Emerson's dark hair and blue eyes, and he had once been a st.u.r.dy young fellow, not as quick to anger as his excitable brother but ready to defend himself and his loved ones when danger threatened. I did not doubt his willingness to do so now, but years spent in sedentary scholarship poring over faded papyri had taken their toll. Emerson, though he is not especially observant, had noticed it too. He broke off in the middle of an animated description of Deir el Medina, and squeezed Walter's arm.

"High time you came out," he declared. "We'll put some muscle in that arm and some color in your face."