Walter only laughed. He knew this was Emerson's uncouth way of expressing affection and concern.

Lia and Nefret sat side by side, talking of . . . of babies, of course! What else would two young mothers talk about? Lia had been named for me, but preferred the shorter version of the name-to avoid confusion and because Emerson's bellow of "Amelia!" when he was put out with me had always made the poor girl very nervous. Blue-eyed and fair-haired like her mother, she brought back fond memories of the young Evelyn, who had been my companion on that first memorable voyage to Egypt. Little did I dream that our lives would become so intertwined, and that the pa.s.sage of time would bring such a bountiful harvest of happiness, with a second generation following in our archaeological footsteps.

It was good to see Ramses and David together again, close as brothers and almost as alike, their black heads close together as they began catching up on the news.

They were not given much time to chat, for Emerson, a.s.suming that everyone else would be as eager as he to talk Egyptology, drew the rest of us into his conversation with Walter and began outlining the plans he had for them. He was telling Evelyn about Cyrus's hope of having all the tomb paintings at Deir el Medina copied and published, when there came a peremptory knock at the door.

"Who can it be, at this hour?" I wondered aloud.

Then I remembered we had told the concierge to send up any telegrams as soon as they arrived, no matter how late the time.

Emerson's eyes met mine. "I'll see," he said, and went to the door. In his customary fashion he flung it wide . . . and stood transfixed.

Emerson is a very large person, but his bulk was not sufficient to conceal completely the man who faced him. I saw a head of black hair and the shape of a shoulder covered in brown tweed. It was enough. I sprang to my feet. Emerson shifted position; he was trying, I think, to block the doorway, but the visitor pretended to take it for an invitation to enter, and slipped neatly past him.

I recognized the tweed suit as one he had borrowed from Ramses on a previous occasion, and never returned. A black beard and mustache hid the lower part of his face; the upper part was transformed by the waving locks that fell across his high brow, and by a pair of tinted eyegla.s.ses that darkened his ambiguously colored eyes to brown. They swept the room in a quick, comprehensive survey; and the bearded lips parted in a smile.

"How good to see you, brother," he exclaimed, clasping Emerson's palsied hand. "And the rest of the family, too-never did I dare hope for such a pleasure. This must be-it can only be-my dear sister Evelyn. Allow me the privilege of a kinsman . . ." He lifted her hand and kissed it respectfully while she gaped in bewilderment. He greeted Lia in the same fashion, embraced me and Nefret, shook David's hand and that of Ramses. Our surprise was so paralyzing, and his movements were so quick, that he got through the entire rigmarole without interruption. When he turned last of all to Walter, his face working with simulated emotion, I knew I had to intervene. Unfortunately, in my confusion and vexation, I said the wrong thing.

"Sethos, please! Walter doesn't know . . . Oh, curse it!"

I did not know his real name; this alias, of all the others he had used, came easiest to me. It was the final straw for Walter. He had been more stupefied than any of us, but not so stupefied that he could not put the pieces together. He looked in silent appeal at Emerson-got no response, no denial, no protest-clapped his hand to his breast-turned white-and fell over, unconscious.

"IT WAS ONLY A FAINT," Sethos said. "Nothing serious."

"No thanks to you," I said angrily. "If his heart had been weak, that might have been the end of him. You put on that performance deliberately and with malice aforethought. Shame!"

Never let it be said of me that I take the offensive in order to distract listeners from my own misdemeanors. It wouldn't have done me a particle of good, anyhow. Emerson, whose feelings for his reprobate half-brother vacillated between grudging affection and violent annoyance, froze me with an icy blue stare.

"You were the one who administered the coup de grace, Amelia. Walter might have been able to a.s.similate the existence of an unknown brother; to have that same brother identified as the criminal of whom he has heard us speak so-er-critically, finished him off."

"Well, curse it, I don't know his real name," I retorted. "Since we are on that subject-"

"In retrospect, my little joke was ill-advised," Sethos said smoothly. "I am sorry, Amelia. You know my unfortunate sense of humor. But look on the bright side, my dear, as you are so fond of doing. You were planning to tell them, weren't you? Now it's over and done with, and you won't have to fret about how to break the joyous news."

He gave me an insolent smile. To do him justice, he had not been so cool when he helped Emerson carry the unconscious man to his room. He had hovered anxiously over Walter until Nefret finished her examination and announced there was no damage to the heart. When Walter opened his eyes and muttered, "Where am I?" he stepped back, folded his arms, and tried to look unconcerned. On my advice, Nefret gave Walter a sedative, and we left him with Evelyn, who had accepted Sethos's muttered apology with a dignified nod.

The rest of us had returned to the sitting room. Emerson served whiskey all-round. Sethos was himself again, unrepentant and unmoved. I thought he looked tired, though. Leaning back against the cushions, he sipped appreciatively at his whiskey.

"Do they know about the robbery?" he asked.

David started. "What robbery?"

"I suppose they will have to know," I admitted. "But I certainly don't intend to wake Walter up and drop that on him too."

"It can wait," Sethos said coolly. "But you might tell me a little more about it. Emerson's telegram was of necessity cryptic." He fished in his pocket and took out a crumpled piece of paper. He handed it to me and I read it aloud.

" 'M. gone missing with ladies' property. Where would he take it? Advice urgently needed.' "

"How did you get here so quickly?" I asked.

"I was in Constantinople. Margaret sent the message on, since it sounded urgent. I came as soon as I could. Now tell me the rest of it. What precisely is missing?"

"Three bracelets-the most valuable of the lot-and a magnificent pectoral." In my usual efficient fashion I summarized the facts that were known to us. David exclaimed, "Poor Cyrus! What a blow."

"It is as great a blow to me," Sethos said. "I had nothing to do with it, Amelia. Do you believe me?"

"Yes. You would have taken the lot."

Sethos threw his head back and laughed heartily. "You flatter me, my dear. I thank you for your confidence. To be honest, I am surprised at Martinelli. If he has reverted to his old habits I would have expected him to be more thorough. Unless he had found a particular buyer who wanted particular items, for reasons unknown . . . I will of course pursue inquiries here in Cairo, but don't get your hopes up. My old organization is dispersed and its members scattered."

"You can't do anything until tomorrow," Emerson said. "I-er-you-er-Amelia is tired." I had not been the only one to observe the lines of weariness in Sethos's face. He must have traveled day and night to respond to our plea.

"Quite," I said. "Have you booked a room here?"

"I have quarters elsewhere."

Emerson's eyes narrowed. Affection had been replaced by suspicion. Sethos went on, "Before I leave you in peace, we must confide fully in one another."

"You mean you expect us to confide fully in you," snapped Emerson.

"I a.s.sure you, brother, I will reciprocate as soon as I have something to confide. Is there anything you haven't told me that might have bearing on this business?"

The indeterminate color of his eyes had been very useful to a master of disguise, since they could appear gray, green, or brown with the skillful application of makeup. Sunk in shadowed sockets, they looked darker now, as they came to rest on Ramses's bandaged hands.

"That has nothing to do with-" Ramses began.

"We cannot be certain," I interrupted. "Sethos may see a connection that eludes us. You young people needn't stay, if you are tired, as you must be."

"Wild horses couldn't drag me away," David declared. "Have you ever had an entire season without some kind of mischief? Don't think for a moment that you can keep me out of it."

"Or me," said Lia firmly.

Sethos's hard face softened. "The family blood runs true," he said, in a tone that made Lia's face turn pink. "All right, Ramses, let's have it."

"h.e.l.l," said Ramses, running his fingers through his hair. "Must I?"

"Allow me," I said, for I knew Ramses would not mention the most interesting details. He was inclined to be self-conscious about his encounters with amorous females. "You can correct me if my narrative goes astray."

I made the narrative as matter-of-fact as I could, but I had not got far along before Sethos's mouth began to twitch. His amus.e.m.e.nt was so evident, I frowned severely at him.

"The story appeals to your notorious sense of humor?"

His smile faded into sobriety. "Good G.o.d, Amelia, you don't suppose I had a hand in it, do you? In my bygone and exceedingly ill-spent youth I was guilty of a number of extravagances, but never anything so wild as this."

"Hmph," said Emerson, glaring.

"Well, there was one that came close," Sethos conceded, with a sentimental look at me.

"Stop that," I said sharply. Emerson had never forgotten or entirely forgiven that occasion when I had been held prisoner by my amorous (had I but known) brother-in-law, in surroundings as voluptuous as those Ramses had described.

"I beg your pardon. And yours, Rad . . . Emerson. But really, if one cannot laugh at folly, what hope is there for the human race?" He shook his head. "I am at a loss to explain the affair. Perhaps we must attribute it to-er-personal interest on the part of the lady. It would not be the first time, would it?"

Ramses was almost as red in the face as his father. Sethos could not refrain from stirring people up. I recognized the symptoms of fatigue; it always put him in a quizzical mood.

"It is almost morning," I said. "We would all be more sensible, I think, after some sleep. How can we reach you?"

"You can't." He rose. "I will come round tomorrow evening. Perhaps you will all dine with me? A celebratory-"

"Oh, go away," I snapped.

FROM Ma.n.u.sCRIPT H.

Somehow Ramses had not been surprised to see his reprobate uncle. To give him his due, Sethos had a gift for turning up without warning when his a.s.sistance was needed, but this time he appeared to be intent on stirring up trouble. He had shocked his unsuspecting half brother into a faint, provoked Emerson into a rage, offered no useful information and no prospect of any-and (most infuriating of all) he had refused to take Ramses's story seriously. One of these days, Ramses thought savagely, he'll drive me into smacking that supercilious grin off his face.

"What did you say?" Nefret asked "Nothing." He finished undressing and got into bed. "Let's get some sleep."

She was sitting at the dressing table brushing her hair. "I'm too keyed up to sleep. Don't you want to discuss the amazing appearance of Uncle Sethos?"

The long locks of unbound hair rippled with light and movement, but for once the sight failed to arouse him. "No," he said curtly, and rolled over, his back to her. When she finally joined him he pretended to be asleep.

The only person he wanted to talk to was David. There hadn't been time the night before; his mother had bustled them off to their rooms as soon as Sethos left. But they knew each other pretty well, he and David. An exchange of glances and a few words had arranged a meeting for the following morning.

He had been waiting on the terrace for a quarter of an hour before David came, with a smiling apology. "Couldn't get away from the affectionate arms of the family," he explained.

"How is Uncle Walter?"

"Fully recovered and bursting with curiosity. He and the Professor are taking the children to the Museum. I wish them luck. I suggested leads, but was shouted down."

"And the others?"

"The hospital with Nefret, except for Aunt Amelia. I believe she has decided to accompany the Museum party. She asked where I was going."

"She would. What did you tell her?"

David's black eyes widened in affected surprise. "The truth, of course. That you and I wanted some time to ourselves." His contemptuous gaze swept the terrace, with its crowd of well-dressed tourists and Anglo-Egyptian officials and dark-faced waiters. "But not here, if you don't mind. The place hasn't changed a bit, has it?"

"No. Will it ever?"

"Oh, yes," David said softly. "It will."

Ramses turned to him, brows furrowed; he shook his head and smiled a little. "Let's not talk politics. Where shall we go?"

They found a favorite coffeeshop, and David settled onto a bench with a sigh of contentment. "Just like old times. D'you remember the night we were here, you as Ali the Rat and me as your faithful henchman, and your father walked in? He looked straight at you, and you shouted, 'Curse the unbeliever'?"

" 'Whimpered' is more like it." Ramses laughed, yielding to the mood of sentimental nostalgia. "I was so scared he'd recognize us, I almost fell off my chair."

A waiter brought the coffee they had ordered, and a narghile for David. "We had some good times," David said wistfully.

"In retrospect, perhaps. Some of them weren't much fun at the time."

David looked older, Ramses thought. He did too, he supposed. But some of the lines on his friend's face were those of pain, deeply carved into the skin. He would never be entirely free of it, according to Nefret; the injury he had suffered in 1915 had damaged some of the nerves in his leg, though you'd never have known it from the way he moved. How much it cost him to maintain that even stride Ramses could only guess. He knew better than to ask or commiserate, but his awareness lent greater emphasis to his next statement.

"We're old married men now, and fathers. It's time we gave up the follies of our youth."

David drew the smoke deep into his lungs and let it trickle out. "Not b.l.o.o.d.y likely we'll be allowed to, with valuable antiquities disappearing from under Cyrus's very nose and a lady who is obviously not what she seems. That's the d.a.m.nedest story I've ever heard-and I've heard quite a few."

"And lived quite a few. You do believe it really happened, then?"

"Of course it happened."

"Nefret thinks some, if not all, was a hallucination."

"Would you recognize the woman if you saw her again?"

Ramses laughed wryly. "Nefret asked me the same thing. D'you know what I was fool enough to say? I didn't stop to think, I just blurted it out: 'Not her face.' "

David grinned sympathetically. "Her face was veiled."

"That was what I meant. I saw a good deal of the rest of her, but a shapely figure isn't useful for purposes of identification. I was fool enough to say that too. Nefret made a number of blistering remarks."

"She's worried, that's all. So am I. Tell me about Rashad."

"It wasn't he who sent the message."

"How do you know? Do you still have the note?"

It was like old times-too much so. David had always been able to back him into a corner, and he wasn't going to be put off now.

"No, I don't have it," Ramses admitted. "I must have dropped it somewhere along the way. What does it matter? The modus operandi was not typical of Rashad and his lot. He doesn't care much for me, but I can't believe he harbors enough animosity to go to all that trouble. And for what? To get his hands on you?"

"He doesn't like me either," David said. "But taking you hostage would be a d.a.m.ned roundabout way of getting at me. I had no idea he was in Cairo."

"Is that the truth?"

David simply looked at him, his finely arched brows elevated. Ramses's eyes fell. "I'm sorry, David. I know you wouldn't lie to me. But there have been riots and strikes and b.l.o.o.d.y murder here, and that sort of violence irresistibly reminds me of our old friend Wardani. He's still wanted by the police for collaborating with the enemy during the war, and G.o.d knows what he's been up to since."

"Not much," David said calmly.

"Was he behind the rioting this past spring? They killed eight unarmed people in one incident alone, and-"

"That was a spontaneous demonstration protesting Zaghlul Pasha's arrest and deportation."

Ramses made a rude noise, and David said, "Yes, all right. It was murder, b.l.o.o.d.y and inexcusable, but there was no organized plot, just a lot of poor frustrated fools who were stirred up by a troublemaker. Wardani wasn't involved, and neither were the Turks or the Germans, despite the hysterical accusations of certain officials. Stop lecturing me and listen, will you? Wardani did communicate with me a few months ago. And no, I don't know where he is. Possibly Paris, lurking around the Peace Conference, in the hope that he can worm his way into the proceedings. It's a forlorn hope; Zaghlul Pasha is the accepted leader of the independence movement and Wardani has no influence except with a few isolated radicals."

"Like Rashad."