"Rashad is no revolutionary," David said contemptuously. "All he does is make speeches and then scuttle into hiding. Wardani is intelligent enough to know he has to play politics now, not foment riots. Oh, he lets people like Rashad spout sedition, but I would be very surprised to learn that Rashad is still part of Wardani's organization."

"Then you don't intend to become involved?"

David threw out his hands. His forehead was furrowed. "d.a.m.nation, Ramses, I'm an artist-of sorts-not a fighter. I gave Lia my word I would stay away from Wardani. I told him the same thing. I haven't heard from him since. Now can we forget about politics and concentrate on more imminent matters?"

He placed a few coins on the table and rose. "Come on. We're going to look for your exotic prison."

"It will be a waste of time," Ramses warned. David hadn't really answered his question. David wouldn't lie, not to his friend, but he was holding something back, and until he was ready to talk freely, it would be pointless and disloyal to press him.

"One never knows. Let's start with the-what was it?-the Sabil Khalaoun and try to retrace your steps."

The coffeeshop was open and the tiny plaza was filled with people. Three streets, or alleyways, led into it. "Which one?" David asked, acknowledging the salutation of an old acquaintance sitting by the sabil.

They covered the area as methodically as the crooked streets and byways allowed. The tall old houses of Cairo turned the alleys into man-made canyons, dim with shadows, roofed by screened balconies. Women leaned out of windows, calling to pa.s.sing sellers of food; donkeys jostled them and people brushed past on various errands. The bustling, busy streets were so different from the dark silence of his stumbling flight that they might have been in another city.

Finally David said in exasperation, "Can't you remember a single landmark-a mosque, a shop?"

"I saw plenty of landmarks, including a pyramid and the sails of a felucca," Ramses snapped. "Opium does that. I had just enough wits left to know I was imagining them, but I was too d.a.m.ned busy trying to keep ahead of the fellow who was chasing me to distinguish between reality and hallucination. And no, I didn't mention them to the family. That would have confirmed their belief that the rest of it was also the product of my lurid imagination."

"It wasn't."

"No . . . h.e.l.l, David, I'm no longer certain how much of it was real."

"One thing is certain," David said practically. "You were missing for hours and you weren't at the place to which the note directed you. That spells abduction to me." He ducked his head under a tray of bread, carried at shoulder height by a strolling vendor. "Well, it was worth a try. Let's pay a visit to the suk."

"If you plan to question the antika dealers about Cyrus's jewelry, the parents have already done that, without result. They're a good deal better at intimidation than either of us."

"But we are much more charming." David grinned and slapped him on the shoulder.

They went on in single file, under balconies draped with laundry, until they reached the square before the mosque of Hosein.

"What's become of el-Gharbi?" David asked, without preamble.

"Who?" Ramses asked in surprise.

"That perfumed Nubian pimp who controlled the Red Blind district until the British stuck him in the prison camp at-"

"I know who he is," Ramses interrupted. "Who could forget el-Gharbi? What made you think of him?"

"He had a hand in everything illegal that went on in Cairo, and he shared information with you on several occasions."

El-Gharbi was indeed unforgettable: perfumed and jeweled and dressed in a woman's white robes. One couldn't like or admire a man who ran his kind of business, but he had been a kinder master than some. "Yes, he was useful, in his own fashion," Ramses said. "Unfortunately he's no longer in control here. Father got him out of the prison camp, in return for certain favors-it was always t.i.t for tat with el-Gharbi-and he was exiled to his village in Upper Egypt. I suppose he's still there, if he is alive."

"Too bad."

They made the rounds of the more prominent dealers. David explained that he wanted a bracelet for his wife, and ended up with several silver bangles, all of recent Bedouin workmanship. They were shown strings of faded faience "mummy beads," any of which, the merchant explained, could be made into bracelets. He had recognized them and didn't really suppose they would buy the wretched things, but it was worth a try. The Inglizi, even these, were unpredictable.

"I could have told you they wouldn't offer us Cyrus's bracelets," Ramses said. "They know who we are."

"I suppose we haven't time to try our jolly old tourist disguises," David said. He sounded regretful. Ramses laughed, but shook his head. "Put it out of your mind, David."

"Ah, well. Let's have lunch at Ba.s.sam's."

"He won't be able to tell us anything."

"But we will have an excellent meal. It will put me in a better frame of mind to spend the evening with Uncle Sethos."

I EXPECT THE ONLY ONE who looked forward to that celebratory dinner was Sethos himself. I had prepared Walter as best I could, finding him fully recovered physically, if thoroughly bewildered. He took the news of his father's infidelity better than I would have expected-possibly because he, too, had suffered from the coldness of his mother-but despite my a.s.surances that Sethos had redeemed himself by his heroic services to his country and was now reformed, I could see Walter had reservations. (So did I, which may have weakened the effect of my a.s.surances.) It had been a rather tiring day, especially for those of us who took the children to the Museum. I had determined to accompany them, since I knew Emerson and Walter were likely to become absorbed in some antiquity or other and let the little ones wander off. I lost Davy twice, retrieving him on the second occasion from the interior of a huge granite sarcophagus. (I was tempted to leave him there for a while, since he could not get out of it, but Emerson would not let me.) At my insistence, we all a.s.sumed our most elegant attire and tried to behave as if this were a conventional meeting of long-parted friends and relations. Faultlessly attired in white tie and tails, Sethos was waiting for us when we stepped out of the lift, and swept us into the private dining room he had booked. The table positively glittered with crystal and silver, and there were flowers along its length and at every lady's place. Florid compliments bubbled from his lips; he insisted Emerson take the head of the table, and as soon as we were all seated, corks popped and champagne filled our gla.s.ses. Since it was obvious to the dullest wits that Emerson was not about to propose a toast, Sethos did so. "To the King and the loyal hearts who serve him; to love and friendship!" Even Emerson could not refuse to honor that.

As the meal progressed, through course after course, I found it increasingly difficult to stifle my laughter. It may have been the champagne. However, to see the effect of Sethos's performance on various persons entertained me a great deal. He had set himself to win them over, and no one could do it better. Dear Evelyn, who would have forgiven Genghis Khan had he expressed repentance, succ.u.mbed at once to his charm, and Lia was visibly fascinated. He praised Walter's philological work, citing examples to prove he was thoroughly conversant with it; he spoke admiringly of Emerson's accomplishments-and mine-and paid tribute to the heroism of the younger generation.

"They are the children of the storm," he declared. "The storm has pa.s.sed, thanks to their sacrifice-not only the young men who risked, and gave, their lives, but the gallant women who suffered the even greater pain of waiting and of loss."

Evelyn's eyes filled with tears. Nothing could have been more graceful than the acknowledgment of the death of her son in battle. Even Emerson appeared moved. The only face that did not soften was that of Ramses, though the tribute had obviously been meant for him and David as well. He glanced at me, his eyebrows tilted skeptically.

Before long, Emerson began to fidget. It was impossible to carry on what he would have called a sensible discussion-that is, a discussion about Egyptology-at a dinner party, and I could see he was itching to interrogate Sethos about quite a number of things. However-thanks to my frowns and winks and piercing looks-he contained himself until the last course had been removed before remarking in a loud voice, "This has been very pleasant, no doubt, but let us get down to business. I want to know . . . Oh. Er. Amelia, did you happen to mention to Walter-"

"If you are referring to the theft of Cyrus's artifacts, she did," Walter said cheerfully. "A pity. But I daresay Amelia will solve the case soon." He finished the last of his wine and gestured to the waiter.

"Hmph," said Emerson. "Walter, you have had quite enough to drink. Either go to bed or pay attention."

"Then I will go to bed." Flushed and smiling, he rose, and of course Evelyn rose too. "Good night, all. And thank you for a most enjoyable evening, uh-er-brother."

After they had left the room I suggested that perhaps we ought not discuss the matters Emerson was determined to discuss in the presence of the waiters. Resuming his chair, Sethos shrugged.

"I have nothing of importance to report."

Emerson's scowl indicated he was not willing to accept this, so Sethos elaborated. "I went the rounds this afternoon. As I already knew, my chief lieutenants were gone."

"Gone," I exclaimed. "Do you mean-"

"Several of them died in France. Do you remember Rene? He was killed in the first week of the war."

I did not conceal my distress. I had liked the young Frenchman. He had been a criminal and a thief, but he had been a gentleman.

"Your admirer Sir Edward is alive and well," Sethos a.s.sured me. "Never mind the others; suffice it to say they are out of the picture. The rank and file also suffered attrition. Without my guidance they grew careless and paid the penalty. A few of the antiquities dealers with whom I was acquainted are still in business, but they were never permanent members of the organization. To sum it up-and I hope I may be allowed to do so, since Nefret has been swallowing her yawns for several minutes-I can think of no one in Cairo to whom Martinelli might have taken the objects."

"Can we believe that?" Emerson asked bluntly.

"You will have to" was the equally brusque reply. "There are certain persons with whom I had private dealings, but they are scattered, some in Europe, some in America, some elsewhere in the Middle East. I will continue my inquiries, but not just now. I must return to Constantinople tomorrow. My business there was unfinished."

"I don't suppose you would care to tell us what it is," I said.

"You are, as always, correct, Amelia," said Sethos, his smile broadening.

"Then we will say good night," I said, cutting off Emerson's incipient protest.

I had no intention of letting Sethos get away so easily. Thinking that he might speak more openly if the others were not present, I sent them off to their rooms-getting an extremely fishy look from Ramses-and turned to my brother-in-law.

He antic.i.p.ated me, as he so often did. "Yes, Amelia, we have a few things to say to each other."

"And to me," said Emerson, who, as I hardly need mention, had stood motionless as a rock when I dismissed the children.

"Quite," Sethos agreed. "Let us find a cozy corner."

We found one, in the Moorish Hall. The surroundings were seductive, shadowy nooks and dim lamps, but Sethos did not waste time in idle conversation. "If you will take my advice, you will get out of Cairo as soon as possible."

"I had come to the same conclusion," I informed him.

"Curse it," exclaimed Emerson, who was, in the vernacular, spoiling for a fight, it didn't much matter with whom. Being around Sethos for any length of time has that effect on him. "When did you conclude that, Peabody? Don't tell me you've been talking to Abdullah again."

Sethos's well-shaped eyebrows shot up. "I beg your pardon?"

"She dreams about him," Emerson said. "I am a reasonable individual; I have no objection to my wife having long intimate conversations with a man she-er-greatly admired. What the devil, I was fond of the old fellow too. I do object to her pa.s.sing off her own opinions as those of a dead man."

"I am surprised to find you so dogmatic, Radcliffe," said Sethos. " 'There are more things in heaven and earth-' "

"Bah," said Emerson. "And don't call me Radcliffe."

Sethos's lips twitched. "I will endeavor not to do so. But I expect Amelia, like myself, came to her decision after rational consideration. I've been thinking about that strange adventure of Ramses. It worries me."

"You gave the impression of being amused and incredulous, not worried," Emerson said, scowling.

"I couldn't resist teasing the boy a little. He does take life so seriously! It is conceivable that some-shall we say 'lady'?-has developed a tendresse for him and has taken a somewhat unorthodox method of getting his attention. Like certain other members of the family-modesty and consideration for the feelings of my dear brother prevent me from naming them-he appears to have a considerable attraction for women."

"Balderdash!" Emerson exclaimed.

Sethos shrugged and became serious. "The alternative isn't so harmless. Your son hasn't been idle these past few years; he has annoyed almost as many people as I have-the Turks, the Senussi, the Nationalists, even a few people in our own service. David isn't in the clear either; he is known to the police as a member of one of the nationalist groups. Civil unrest could break out again at any time, and if it does, he'll be one of the first to be suspected."

"Surely not!" I exclaimed. "His services to England during the war-"

"Put him at additional risk. Though his activities are not known to the rank and file, they are known to high-ranking members of the service, and it wouldn't surprise me to learn they hope to make use of him. Some of the members of his former organization are at large, and they regard him as a traitor to the cause. Is it only a coincidence, do you suppose, that Ramses was abducted the day before David was due back in Egypt?"

"It cannot have been a case of mistaken ident.i.ty," Emerson protested.

"I said I couldn't explain it. There may be no connection. In any case, the boys will be safer in Luxor."

Emerson fingered the cleft in his chin, and looked enviously at his brother's beard. He still resented my refusal to allow him to have one. "I sincerely hope so," he grunted. "But-"

"I will follow you in a few days," Sethos said.

"Your word on it?" I asked.

"My word on it. Barring unforeseen accidents."

"What are you-"

"Good night, Amelia. Good night, brother."

I HAD INDEED ARRIVED AT my conclusion by strictly rational means-for I include in that category the deductions of the unconscious mind, which some persons (I name no names) dismiss as intuition. My occasional dreams about Abdullah, who had sacrificed his life for mine, might have been regarded as products of the unconscious; but they were strange dreams, as vivid and consistent as encounters with a living friend. I had not dreamed of him for some time, but I did so that night.

We met always at the same place-the heights above Deir el Bahri, on the path that leads to the Valley of the Kings-and at the same time-daybreak, as the rising sun drives away the darkness and fills the valley with light.

He had not changed since I began dreaming of him (which I suppose is not surprising). Tall and stalwart, his beard black as that of a man in the prime of life, he greeted me as if we had met only recently, and in the flesh.

"You must go to Luxor at once."

"I intend to," I said somewhat irritably. "I would waste my breath, I suppose, by asking you to explain. You enjoy your enigmatic hints too much."

"Because," said Abdullah, "there is trouble there."

"I am well aware of it."

Abdullah waved this away with an impatient gesture. "Not the theft of Vandergelt Effendi's treasure. That is part of it, but only the least part. Watch over the children."

I reached for him, gripping his arms tightly. "Good G.o.d, Abdullah, don't be enigmatic about that, of all things. If the children are in danger, I must know how they are threatened and why."

He smiled, his teeth white against the blackness of his beard. "If I knew I would tell you, even if it meant breaking the commandments that control me here. I see danger to all of you-there is nothing new in that!-and they are unable to protect themselves. Guard them closely and they will be safe."

"You may be certain I will. And you-you will watch over them too?"

"Over all of you. You have not visited my tomb recently."

"Why, no," I said, surprised at the change of subject. "When we get back to Luxor-"

"Yes, you will go there and bring the others. Take my grandson's son, my namesake, to pay his respects. I think you will be surprised at what you find, Sitt."

Gently he removed my clinging hands and turned away. His final words were not addressed to me; they were the old querulous grumble, as if he were thinking aloud. "She is not careful. She takes foolish chances. I will do my best, but she would tax even the powers of a sheikh."

I stood where he had left me, watching him stride along the path toward the Valley. "What do you mean?" I called, knowing I would receive no answer. Nor did I. Abdullah looked back at me and smiled. Raising one arm, he beckoned me to follow-not then, along that well-known path, but back to Thebes.

THE REST OF THE FAMILY readily accepted my decision, which, of course, I framed as a suggestion. Before we left, we made arrangements to send the youthful nurserymaid back to England. Even on the voyage out she had admitted she was homesick, and she did not like Egypt at all. It must have been the hurly-burly and shouting at the railroad station that frightened her, since she had seen almost nothing else of the country. So I found a respectable family who were returning to England and who were happy to have her care for their children. The last thing we needed was another helpless innocent on our hands, and as soon as we reached Luxor, Lia would have all the enthusiastic help she wanted. Every woman in the family-I speak of our Egyptian family-was itching to get her hands on David's little ones.

We took the evening train. All those who travel with small children prefer this schedule, since there is a chance they will sleep through part of the journey. From the haggard looks of her parents next morning, I deduced that Evvie had not. It hadn't taken me long to realize she was something of a handful, with an explosive temper that belied her dainty looks. No doubt she had been badly spoiled; her parents and her grandparents on the maternal side were gentle souls. I looked forward to seeing how she would get on with the twins. Neither of them could be called a gentle soul. I was a trifle concerned about Dolly, who had taken on the role of protector of his little sister and whose equable temper would no doubt be sorely tried in the days to come. Such is life, however. I would do all I could to defend him.

I had not reported Abdullah's warning to the others. They would not have taken it seriously, and indeed some might consider it only the expression of the natural concern felt by an adult who is responsible for the weak and irresponsible. It was infinitely rea.s.suring to see the entire family waiting for us at the station in Luxor. Daoud and Selim were there, Kadija's loving impatience had overcome her timidity, Basima hovered in the background. Sennia and Gargery waved and shouted greetings. With those stalwart aides and the others who awaited us at the house, the children's every movement would be watched.

"Where are the twins?" was Evelyn's first question.

"We don't take them anywhere unless we have to, madam," said Gargery gloomily.

Evelyn looked a little shocked. "Certainly not into a mob like this," I added. "Goodness, what a crush. I have never seen so many people here."

My first impulse was to put an end to the demonstration for fear of its upsetting the children. I reminded myself that I was not in charge of them. They were being pa.s.sed round from eager hand to eager hand, but they seemed none the worse for it. Evvie was giggling at an obviously infatuated Daoud, and Dolly, solemn and wide-eyed, shyly returned Kadija's embrace. So I stood a little aside and found myself next to Bertie, who had come to represent his family.

"Mother and Cyrus decided not to add to the confusion," he said with a smile. "They hope you will dine with us this evening-a simple gathering of old friends, nothing formal."

"I believe I can speak for all when I accept with pleasure, Bertie." I lowered my voice and then had to repeat the question in louder tones, the noise was so great. "Has there been any news of-er-"