"Hardly in the neighborhood. Admit it, Peabody, you favor Meidum because there is a pyramid."

"We must start somewhere. After Meidum we could- "

A knock at the door interrupted me. The safragi entered, carrying a bouquet of flowers. I had already received several floral offerings from our guests of the previous evening, M. Maspero's was the largest and most extravagant. All the vases were in use, so I sent the servant out to find another while I admired the pretty arrangement of roses and mimosa.

"No red roses?" Emerson inquired with a smile. "I don't allow you to accept red roses from gentlemen, Peabody."

In the language of flowers, red roses signify pa.s.sionate love. It was rea.s.suring to hear him speak jestingly of a subject that had once driven him into a jealous rage. So I told myself, at any rate.

"They are white," I replied rather shortly. "I wonder who . . Ah, here is a card. Mr. Vincey! A gentlemanly gesture, upon my word. I hardly had a chance to speak to him. By the by, Emerson, I have been meaning to ask you- what was the disgraceful business you referred to?"

"The Nimrud treasure. You must have read of it."

"I do remember seeing newspaper accounts, but that was some years ago, before I took a personal interest in archaeology. The cache was a rich one- gold and silver vessels, jewelry and the like, it was sold, as I recall, to the Metropolitan Museum."

"Correct. What the newspapers did not report, because they are well aware of the laws of libel, was that Vincey was suspected of being the agent through whom the museum acquired the collection. He was excavating at Nimrud for Schamburg, the German millionaire"

"You mean he found the gold and did not report the discovery to his patron or the local authorities?

How shocking!"

"Shocking indeed, but not necessarily illegal. The laws regarding the disposition of antiquities and the ownership of buried treasure were even more undefined then than they are today In any case, nothing could be proved. If Vincey did peddle the loot to the Metropolitan, he did it through an intermediary, and the museum was no more anxious than he to explain the transaction."

I could see that Emerson was beginning to get restless. He tapped out his pipe, shuffled his feet, and reached again for the map. Nevertheless I persisted.

"Then that is why I am not familiar with Mr. Vincey's archaeological career. The mere suspicion of such dishonesty- "

"Ended that career," Emerson finished. "No one would employ him again. It was a promising career, too. He began in Egyptology- did good work at Kom Ombo and Denderah. There was some talk . . . But why are we sitting here gossiping like a pair of old ladies? Get dressed and let us go out."

He rose, stretching. The movement displayed his form to best advantage: the breadth of his chest and shoulders, the lean, sinewy shape of the lower portion of his frame. I suspected he had done it to distract me, for Emerson is well aware of my appreciation of the aesthetic qualities of his person. I persisted, however, inquiring, "Were you, by any chance, the one who brought his malfeasance to light?"

"I? Certainly not. In fact, I came to his defense, pointing out that other excavators, including certain officials of the British Museum, were equally unscrupulous in their methods of obtaining antiquities."

"Why, Emerson, what a specious argument! I am surprised at you."

"The treasure was better off at the Metropolitan than in some private collection."

"An even less tenable argument."

Emerson started for the bedroom. It was his little way of indicating he did not care to discuss the subject further. I had, however, one more question.

"Why did you bring up the subject in that rude way? The others were willing to let the past be forgotten- "

Emerson whirled, his manly countenance aglow with honest indignation. "I, rude? You know nothing about the traditions of masculine conversation, Peabody. That was just a friendly jest."

The succeeding days were very pleasant. It had been a long time since we had had the leisure to wander around Cairo renewing old acquaintances, to linger in the coffee shops fahddling with grave scholars from the university, and to explore the bookshops in the bazaar. We spent an evening with our old friend Sheikh Mohammed Bahsoor, and ate far too much. Not to have stuffed ourselves would have been a grievous breach of good manners, even though I knew I would have to put up with Emerson's snoring all night as a result. He always snores when he has taken too much to eat. The sheikh was disappointed to learn that Ramses was not with us and shook his head disapprovingly when I explained that the boy had remained in England to pursue his education. "What useful matters can he learn there? You should let him come to me, Sitt Hakim, I will teach him to ride and shoot and govern the hearts of men."

M. Loret, the Director of the Department of Antiquities, was in Luxor, so we were unable to call on him as was proper, but we spent time with other colleagues, bringing ourselves up-to-date on the current state of archaeological excavation and the availability of trained personnel. One day we lunched with the Reverend Sayce on his dahabeeyah in order to meet a student of whom he had great hopes. The Istar Istar was not nearly so fine a boat as the Pbilae, my own beloved dahabeeyah, but it recalled poignant memories of that never-to-be forgotten voyage I could not restrain a sigh when we took our leave, and Emerson glanced questionirigly at me. was not nearly so fine a boat as the Pbilae, my own beloved dahabeeyah, but it recalled poignant memories of that never-to-be forgotten voyage I could not restrain a sigh when we took our leave, and Emerson glanced questionirigly at me.

"Why so pensive, Peabody? Were you not impressed with Mr. Jackson's qualifications?"

"He seems intelligent and well-trained. I was thinking of the past, my dear Emerson. Do you remember- "

"Oh, your dahabeeyah. They are picturesque but impractical. We can reach Luxor by rail in sixteen and a half hours. Shall we go to Meidum tomorrow? The nearest station is Rikka,- we can hire donkeys there."

He went on chatting, seemingly unaware of my failure to respond. As we went along the corridor toward our rooms I began to hear the sounds of what resembled a miniature war- shouts, crashes, thuds. The door to our sitting room stood open. It was from this chamber that the noises came and my astonished gaze fell upon a scene of utter confusion. Striped galabeeyahs billowed like sails in a storm as their wearers darted to and fro, cries and fulsome Arabic curses reverberated.

An even more fulsomely profane shout from Emerson, whose powers along those lines exceed any I have ever heard, rose over the uproar and stilled it. The men stood still, panting. I recognized our safragi, who had evidently recruited several friends to a.s.sist him in whatever endeavor he was pursuing. As their robes fell into place I saw the object of that endeavor.

It had alighted on the back of the sofa, where it stood at bay, fur bristling and tail lashing. For a moment a sensation of superst.i.tious terror came over me, as if I beheld a supernatural emissary announcing disaster to one I loved. If the demonic Black Dog appeared to herald the death of a member of some n.o.ble families, what more appropriate Bane of the Emersons could there be than a large, brindled Egyptian cat?

"Bastet!" I cried. "Oh, Emerson- "

"Don't be absurd, Peabody." Emerson, wise in the ways of cats, cautiously circled around the animal. Its head swiveled to follow his movements and I saw its eyes, they were not golden, like those of our cat Bastet, but a clear pale-green, the color of peridots. "For one thing," Emerson went on, "Bastet is at Chalfont with Ramses. For another . . . Nice kitty then, good kitty . . ." He bent down and squinted at the posterior of the feline. "It is a male cat. Very definitely male."

It was also bigger and darker in color. Nor did its countenance exhibit the benevolence of Bastet's. I have seldom seen a more calculating look in the eyes of any mammal, human or otherwise.

"Where did it come from?" I asked, and then repeated the question in Arabic.

The safragi held out his hands in appeal. They were bleeding from several deep scratches. The cat must have come in through the window, he had found it there when he entered to deliver a parcel and had tried in vain to evict it.

"So you enlisted an army of heavy-footed friends to help you," I said caustically, looking from the smashed vases and scattered flowers to the shredded curtains. "Go away, all of you. You are only frightening the poor creature."

The wounded safragi returned the animal's stare with one almost as malignant. I must say it did not look frightened. I was about to advance upon it- Emerson, I noticed, had prudently retreated- when the safragi glanced at the open door and exclaimed, "We have found him, Effendi. He is here."

"So I see," said Mr. Vincey. He shook his head. "Bad cat! Naughty Anubis!"

I turned. "Good afternoon, Mr. Vincey. This is your cat?"

His face, so melancholy in repose, brightened in a smile He wore a well-cut afternoon suit which became his trim form very well, but I noticed that though neatly brushed and pressed, the once expensive fabric was sadly worn. "My friend, my companion," he said gently. "But- oh, dear!- I see he has been very naughty indeed. Is he responsible for this chaos?"

"It was not his fault," I replied, approaching the animal "Any creature, when pursued- "

Mr. Vincey's cry of warning came too late. I withdrew my hand, which was now marked by a row of bleeding scratches.

"Forgive me, my dear Mrs. Emerson," Vincey exclaimed. He pa.s.sed me and scooped the creature into his arms. It settled down and began to purr in a deep baritone. "Anubis is what one might call a one-person cat. I do hope he didn't hurt you?"

"What an asinine question," commented Emerson. "Here, Peabody, take my handkerchief. Wait a moment- it was here, in my pocket- "

It was not in his pocket. It hardly ever was. I took the one Mr. Vincey offered me and wrapped it around my hand. "It is not the first time I have been scratched," I said with a smile. "No hard feelings, Mr. Vincey. And Anubis."

"Let me introduce you." Vincey proceeded to do so, addressing the cat as seriously as he would have done a human being. "This is Mrs. Emerson, Anubis. She is my friend and she must be yours. Let him sniff your fingers, Mrs. Emerson . . . There. Now you may stroke his head."

Somewhat amused at the absurdity of the business, I did as he asked, and was rewarded by a renewal of the deep purr. It sounded so much like Emerson's softer tones I could not help glancing in his direction.

He was not amused. "Now that that is settled, you will please excuse us, Vincey. We have just got back and want to change."

Another example of masculine repartee, I a.s.sumed I would have called it rudeness.

"I am very sorry," Mr. Vincey exclaimed. "I came in the hope that you would take tea with me. I was waiting for you on the terrace when Anubis slipped his lead and I had to go in search of him. That is how it all came about But if you have another engagement- "