"No. You learned nothing?"

"We would have telegraphed Cyrus at once had we found the jewelry. One or two little matters of interest did occur, but . . . My dear boy, why the wild-eyed stare?"

"I beg your pardon, ma'am. It's just that your little matters of interest are often what others might call narrow escapes or close calls. What has happened? Is Ramses-"

"It usually is Ramses, isn't it? As you see, he is perfectly fit. We will tell you all about it this evening, Bertie. May I take the liberty of bringing Selim? He and the others have been fully briefed on the situation. I don't suppose poor Cyrus is capable of discussing anything else."

"Selim is always welcome, of course," Bertie said. "And you are right about Cyrus. He prides himself on his spotless reputation, and he feels it is in jeopardy."

"Nothing of the sort," I said firmly. "We'll get him out of this with his reputation not only intact but enhanced. Tell him I said so, and that we will see you all this evening."

CHAPTER FOUR

By the time we had the luggage sorted out and got it and ourselves across the river, the sun had pa.s.sed the zenith. I decreed a light repast and a rest for our visitors, particularly the oldest and youngest of them. Evvie was borne off, howling, by her mother and Kadija, with Dolly trotting anxiously after them. The others dispersed, until only Emerson and I were left with the three younger men, who had settled down on the veranda and were engaged in animated conversation. What fine-looking young fellows they were, all three! The family resemblance between David and his uncle Selim was strong, and Ramses might have been kin to both, with his bronzed complexion and black curls.

As I watched them with a fond smile I realized that Emerson was watching them too, but with calculation predominating over fondness. Rubbing his hands, he declared, "It is still early. What do you say we go to the site?"

"Leave them alone, Emerson," I said firmly.

"But, Peabody, I want-"

"I know what you want. For pity's sake, give them this afternoon to enjoy one another's company before you put them to work. Is it not delightful to see them so friendly together?"

"Hmph," said Emerson. "Well . . ."

"Run along, Emerson."

"Where?"

"Anywhere you like, so long as you do not disturb their privacy."

Emerson thought it over. "Where has Sennia got to? I might give her an archaeology lesson."

"I am sure she will play with you, Emerson, if you ask nicely."

Grinning, Emerson went into the house, and I approached the boys. Their heads were close together, and solemnity had replaced their laughter. "Is there anything I can get you?" I asked, as they rose to greet me. "Coffee? Tea?"

"No, thank you, Mother," Ramses said.

After a moment, David said, "Won't you sit down, Aunt Amelia?"

"I would not want to disturb you, my dear."

"Not at all," said Ramses. The corners of his mouth turned up a trifle. "Take this chair, Mother. Would you like a cigarette?"

David had taken out his pipe and Selim a cigarette; so, in order to put them at ease, I accepted. "What is this I hear about Abdullah becoming a holy man?" I asked, attempting to blow out a smoke ring. The attempt was not successful. I had not yet got the trick of it, probably because I did not indulge often in tobacco. Every art requires practice.

"How did you find out about that?" David asked. "Ramses said he hadn't mentioned it to you or the Professor."

I turned a mildly reproachful look upon my son, who immediately began to invent excuses. "So much else has happened . . . it didn't seem important . . . at the time."

"At the time," I repeated slowly.

Selim remarked, rolling his black eyes, "It was my father who told you? In a dream?"

Fearing skepticism (which I got, especially from Emerson), I had told only a few about my strange dreams of Abdullah, but I was not surprised that the story had spread. Fatima and Gargery were both accomplished eavesdroppers, and either would have pa.s.sed on the information as a matter of general interest. Once Daoud got hold of the tale, all Luxor would know.

"As a matter of fact, I heard the news from Daoud," I said. "Was that what you were discussing? You looked very serious. And what did you mean, Ramses, by 'at the time'? Has something happened to alter your view?"

Ramses blew out a perfect smoke ring, eyeing me thoughtfully. David laughed. "There's no use trying to hide anything from her, Ramses. Why should we, anyhow? It's only an odd coincidence. A pity about Ha.s.san, but I expect he died happy."

"Died!" I exclaimed. "Ha.s.san, Munifa's husband? When? How?"

"Didn't Abdullah tell you about him?" Ramses inquired. "Ha.s.san was the one responsible for Abdullah's new status; he proclaimed himself servant of the sheikh, and took charge of Abdullah's tomb. The idea was quick to catch on. People began going there to bring offerings and pray for favors. Ha.s.san was happy, or so he seemed, when I saw him last. He was found dead two days ago, by an early-rising pilgrim."

"We buried him that night," Selim said. "It was his heart, Sitt."

"How do you know? Did a doctor examine him?"

"What need? There was no mark upon him and his face was peaceful. He was not a young man, Sitt Hakim."

"I am sorry." I spoke the truth. Ha.s.san had been with us for years, a loyal workman and a merry companion. "I expect you will want to visit Abdullah's tomb one day soon, David. You will be pleased, I am sure, at how well your plans were carried out. I will go with you, if you don't mind."

"Yes, Aunt Amelia. Lia and I have spoken of it."

"You might take Dolly, too."

David's fine dark eyes widened. "D'you really think we ought? A bit morbid for a little chap like him, isn't it?"

"Not at all. To hear of his great-grandfather's courage and n.o.ble character will be an inspiration. I promised-"

I stopped myself, somewhat abruptly, and rose. "I must be about my duties. Don't get up, boys."

They did anyhow. I had of course trained all of them in proper manners, but I suspected Ramses was looming on purpose and looking down his nose at me. I smiled, and patted him on the shoulder. "You will always be boys to me," I informed him.

As I went about my varied tasks, my mind kept returning to Ha.s.san's death. One could not even call it a coincidence; when he died, as he was bound to do one day, the odds were that the event would occur at Abdullah's tomb, since that was where Ha.s.san spent most of his time. What puzzled me was why he should have chosen to spend his declining years in holy works. Until the death of his wife he had practiced hedonism insofar as the bounds of his religion allowed-and occasionally beyond them.

Ah well, I thought, religious fervor is inexplicable except to the one who feels it, and a good many individuals seek the comfort of religion in old age. Ha.s.san would probably have agreed wholeheartedly with Saint Augustine, who asked G.o.d to forgive him for his sins-but not until after he was finished committing them.

One might have supposed that Abdullah would have mentioned Ha.s.san's death. He had made rather a point of our visiting the tomb, but he had not said why. That was just like Abdullah, though-he delighted in hints and provocative statements. He always claimed he was restricted by the undefined rules of whatever afterlife he presently enjoyed, but I couldn't help suspecting some of his reticence was designed to tease me.

We were to have tea at four, since Fatima was determined to provide such a lavish repast as had never been seen in that house. She had half a dozen haggard young women helping her in the kitchen; when I put my nose in, she told me to go away. One does not argue with Fatima when she is in one of her rare bullying moods, so I went.

FROM Ma.n.u.sCRIPT H.

Seated on the settee with his wife on one side and his mother on the other, Ramses felt like Ulysses trying to steer a course midway between Scylla and Charybdis. Not that either of the ladies he loved resembled those mythical monsters, but they both had decided opinions on the subject of child-raising, and those opinions did not always agree. When they disagreed, they appealed to him.

The s.p.a.cious veranda was crowded with so many of them there-the adults lined up along the walls and on the ledge, the children playing in the center. He supposed it could be called playing. They had stood staring at one another until Davy, nudged by Nefret, offered Evvie a carved wooden giraffe and a long, incomprehensible greeting.

"He can't talk," said Evvie, who could, and did incessantly. "Can the other one?"

"She is your cousin Charlotte," Lia said, with an embarra.s.sed glance at Nefret. "It isn't polite to call her 'the other one.' "

"Then who is this one?" Evvie inquired.

"He is named after your papa," said Nefret. "You may call him Davy."

Little gentleman that he was, Dolly introduced himself and his sister, and offered to shake hands. Charla's emphatic dark eyebrows had drawn together in a scowl that was comically like that of her grandfather. It cleared temporarily as she responded to Dolly's friendly gesture; then Evvie held out a hand to Davy and showed several small pearly teeth in a smile. "I like this one," she announced.

Struck dumb, and bedazzled by fat honey-colored curls, dimples, and dainty features, Davy pressed the giraffe into her hand and invited her, with an expansive gesture, to join him on the floor, where the rest of the menagerie had been arranged. This did not sit well with Charla. The wooden animals-which included a lion, a hippopotamus, and an improbable elephant-had been carved by a Sudanese living in Luxor, and for the moment at least they were the twins' favorite toys.

Luckily no one understood what Charla said. "Wouldn't you and Evvie like a biscuit?" Ramses asked quickly.

All in all, it didn't go too badly. The only actual casualty was Dolly, who, in the way of all peacemakers, got a sharp blow on the face when he tried to settle an argument between the two little girls over a doll. It had no hair, since Charla always stripped her dolls of clothing and wigs as soon as she got them; in the struggle it lost an arm and both legs and Evvie hit her brother with one of the legs. She may not have meant to.

His big eyes bright with tears, Dolly was swept up by Emerson, who had watched the whole business with a fatuous grin. He gave the little boy a hug and then handed him over to his wife and got down on the floor, where he helped the other three finish dismembering the doll, talking all the while about the process of mummification.

"The Egyptians didn't take the heads off," he explained to his rapt audience. "They shoved a hook here." He demonstrated, with a long forefinger. "Here, deep into-"

"Father," Nefret murmured. "Please."

"Children love mummies," said her mother-in-law-who probably would have objected if Nefret had not done so first. She was cuddling Dolly in a way that aroused Ramses's direst forebodings. He was a dear little fellow, and she had been utterly devoted to his namesake, so it was not surprising that she should take him under her wing. He hoped Nefret would see it that way. Up to this time the twins had had no rivals for the attention of their paternal grandparents. With four children, and one of them Evvie, he saw trouble ahead.

The only ones who did justice to Fatima's superb tea were his uncle Walter and David, both of whom had apparently decided to leave the discipline to their wives, and, of course, the children, whom Emerson stuffed with cakes and biscuits. Feeling somewhat stifled by motherhood, Ramses got up and went to sit on the ledge next to David.

"How do you do it?" he asked.

David never had to ask what he meant. He glanced at the juvenile maelstrom, which had expanded to include Horus. The cat was fascinated by small children, but his attempt to creep under the settee, whence he could observe them unmolested, had been a failure; only Emerson's brisk intervention saved him from the fate of the doll.

"They'll settle down," David said lazily. His artist's eyes dwelled lovingly on the long stretch of golden pale desert, fringed by the green of the cultivation and canopied by the blue-gray of twilight. He threw his arm round Ramses's shoulders and sighed deeply. "G.o.d, it's good to be back!"

"I hope you feel the same tomorrow morning when Father rousts you out at daybreak and drags you off to Deir el Medina."

David laughed and flexed his hands. "I've been looking forward to it for years. What's this project of Cyrus's?"

"He's got several in mind. He wants to produce a series of volumes on the tomb paintings of Deir el Medina. Some of them are quite marvelous, you know, and they've never been copied properly. First, though, I expect he'll want you to paint some of the artifacts from the princesses' tomb. Black-and-white photographs can't begin to do them justice. There's a beaded robe that will make your eyes bulge."

"I can hardly wait to see the collection." David sobered. "Is there anything more we can do to trace the missing jewelry?"

"You know what Luxor is like," Ramses said with a shrug. "News of unusual objects spreads, and Selim knows everyone in Luxor. He hasn't heard a thing. We have to take Sethos's word for it that he learned nothing in Cairo. If he failed, we can't hope to succeed. We've done all we can."

"Perhaps if I talked to some of the dealers here-"

"We've done all we can," Ramses repeated vehemently. "d.a.m.n it, David, I hate to sound selfish, but I wish we could forget distractions and concentrate on our work."

"What about the veiled lady?"

"I thought we had agreed to forget that business."

"I've had a new idea," David said. "I can't think how to put this . . ."

"I believe I can." Ramses had known this was coming, but that didn't mean he liked it. He ran his fingers through his hair. "Is there a woman in my past, seduced and callously abandoned, who wants revenge? That's what you're thinking, isn't it?"

"You had better lower your voice," David said coolly. "Nefret is looking at us. I did not and do not think that."

"She does."

"Has she said so?"

"No." Ramses got his temper under control. "In a way, I wish she would. There's a quality in Nefret's silences that is worse than a direct accusation."

"I know exactly what you mean," David said feelingly. "It's a woman's most effective weapon. If you deny guilt before you've been accused, they regard it as tantamount to a confession. Look here, Ramses, I know you never behaved dishonorably with any woman, but not all women are as reasonable as we men. Are you sure you can't think of someone who might harbor unreasonable resentment?"

"No. And don't ask me to go through the list name by name."

"All right, I won't." David's eyes were bright with amus.e.m.e.nt. "Just give the theory some thought."

His daughter, denied another biscuit (she had already eaten six) let out an ear-splitting roar. David winced. "We'll talk about it another time. I'd better help Lia cage the lion for the night."

The children were carried off, in various stages of protest, and the rest of them dispersed to change.

"What were you and David talking about?" Nefret asked casually.

If there was one thing marriage had taught him, it was that he had better have a quick, sensible answer to a loaded question. "He was concerned about the missing jewelry. Wondered if there were anything he could do."

"Is there?" Nefret sat down and removed her shoes and stockings.

"I can't think what. Selim has already covered the rumor mills."

"Was that all?"

Ramses finished undressing, with more haste than neatness. "We discussed future plans. I'll bathe first, if that's all right with you."

"Go ahead."

Once in the bath, he cursed himself for turning tail when he might have brought the subject into the open and fought it out. David's theory had occurred to him, but he had been reluctant to consider it seriously. The confounded woman hadn't injured him or indicated any intention of doing so. What she had done was embarra.s.s him and get him in trouble with his wife. That was the sort of thing-wasn't it?-that some women might consider an appropriate revenge for a fancied injury.

Dolly Bellingham, for example? He had only been sixteen and perhaps he hadn't been awfully tactful in his efforts to elude her determined pursuit. She was selfish and vain, and she might blame him for her father's death. With good reason, he thought wryly. But was she clever enough to plan such a complex, malicious scheme and had she the resources to carry it out? He had no idea what had become of her.

Christabel? The idea of that dedicated suffragette undulating about in the robes of Hathor, murmuring sweet nothings, was so ludicrous he laughed aloud. They had not parted on the friendliest of terms, but she wasn't the sort to abandon her cause for a petty revenge. What about . . .