“What did he say about her?”

“Oh, that she was bored and that he didn’t know quite what to do with her. He’s childless; his wife died many years ago and he has been faithful to her memory ever since. So I asked him why he wouldn’t let Molly come to see us.”

“In those precise words?” I exclaimed.

“Yes, why not? He hemmed and hawed and mumbled about not wanting her to make a nuisance of herself, so I assured him we wouldn’t let her, and invited them to come to us for Christmas. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Well,” I said, somewhat dazed by this unexpected information, “well, no. But—”

“He accepted with pleasure. I really don’t want any more to eat, Aunt Amelia. Are you ready to go?”

I could delay her no longer, and I confess my heart was beating a trifle more quickly than usual as we approached the Great Pyramid. There were already a good number of tourists assembled. The majority were gathered at the north face, where the entrance was located, but others had spread out all round the structure, and as we rode to the south side I heard Emerson bellowing at a small group that had approached our tomb. Some visitors appeared to be under the impression that we were part of the tourist attractions of Giza .

“Impertinent idiots,” he remarked, as they scattered, squawking indignantly.

I dismounted and handed the reins to Selim. Had there been, among those vacuous visitors, one who had come our way for a more sinister purpose than curiosity?

“Where is Ramses?” Nefret asked. “Inside?”

“No,” Emerson said. “I received disquieting news this morning, my dears.” He hurried on before she could ask how he had received it. “It seems someone has been digging illicitly at Zawaiet el ’Aryan. I sent Ramses there to see what damage has been done. He stopped here only long enough to pick up a few supplies.”

Zawaiet was the site a few miles south where we had worked for several years—one of the most boring sites in Egypt , I would once have said, until we came across the Third Dynasty royal burial. Strictly speaking, it was a reburial, of objects rescued from an ancient tomb robbery, but the find was unique and some of the objects were rare and beautiful. Fragile, as well; it had taken us an entire season to preserve and remove them. Many of the private tombs surrounding the royal pyramid had not been excavated, and although it was not part of our concession, Emerson felt a proprietorial interest in the site.

“Goodness gracious, how distressing,” I exclaimed. “Perhaps I ought to go after him and see what I can do to help.”

“You may as well,” said Emerson casually. “Selim can help Nefret with the photography. Er—try not to let anyone shoot at you or abduct you by force, Peabody .”

“My dear, what a tease you are,” I said, laughing merrily.

As I rode along the well-known southward path over the plateau, I was filled with relief and with admiration for Emerson’s cleverness. The excuse was valid, the explanation sufficient. A good number of people, including our own men, had seen “Ramses” astride Risha, looking his normal self; he could spend most of the day away without arousing suspicion, and when he returned… Perhaps Emerson had already worked that out with David. If he had not, I had a few ideas of my own.

Since I was in no hurry I let the horse set its own pace. It was still early, the air cool and fresh. The sun had lifted over the Mokattam Hills and sparkled on the river, which lay below the desert plateau on my left. The fertile land bordering the water was green with new crops. From my vantage point above the cultivation I could see traffic passing along the road below—fellahin going to work in their fields and shops, and tourists on their way to Sakkara and the other sites south of Giza . Part of me yearned to descend and follow that road back to the house, but I dared not risk it; I could not get to Ramses without being seen by Fatima or one of the others.

Zawaiet is only a short distance from Giza ; it was not long before I saw the tumbled mound that had once been a pyramid (though not a very good one.) David had been looking out for me. He came hurrying to meet me, and I slowed my steed to a walk so that we could exchange a few words without being overheard by the small group of Egyptians waiting near the pyramid. They must be local villagers, hoping for employment.

As David approached I wondered how two men could look so much alike as he and Ramses, and yet look so different! He was wearing Ramses’s clothes, and his pith helmet shadowed his face, and their outlines were almost identical—long legs and narrow waists and broad shoulders—but I could have told one from the other just by the way they moved.

“A few of the local lads turned up,” David explained.

“I suppose one ought to have expected that. They are always anxious for work, and extremely curious.”

“It’s all to the good, really. More unobservant and uncritical witnesses.”

“What are you going to do with them?”

David grinned. “Start them clearing away sand. There’s plenty of it. Perhaps you’d care to interrogate them about the illicit digging while I stalk about scribbling notes and looking enigmatic.”

“Was there illicit digging?”

“There always is.”

There always was. Under my expert questioning, one of the villagers broke down and admitted he and a few friends had found and cleared a small mastaba over the past summer. I demanded he show me the place and made a great fuss about it, though if he had not lied to me (which was entirely possible), the tomb was not likely to have contained anything of value, being one of the smaller and poorer variety. We had found very little ourselves, even in the larger tombs.

I was forced to wait until midday , when the men went off to eat and rest, before I could have a private conversation with David. There was no shelter, not even a patch of shade, so I put up my useful parasol and we made ourselves as comfortable as we could with our backs up against the pyramid, and got out the sandwiches and tea David had brought with him.

“Now,” I said. “Tell me everything.”

“That’s rather a tall order, Aunt Amelia.”

“Take all the time you like.”

“How much has Ramses told you?”

“Nothing. He was too ill. Now, see here, David, I fully intend to get it out of you, and if Ramses does not like it, that is too damned—er—too bad.”

He choked on the tea he was drinking. I patted him on the back. “I am glad to see you, even under these circumstances,” I said affectionately. “I presume Ramses has kept you informed about our loved ones back in England . Lia is doing splendidly.”

“No, she’s not.” He bowed his head, and I saw there were lines in his face that had not been there before. “She’s lonely and worried and frightened—and so am I, for her. I should be with her.”

“I know, my dear. Perhaps you can be soon.”

“I hope so. A few more weeks will tell the tale. By then we will have succeeded or failed.”

“That is a relief,” I said, trying not to think about the second alternative. “Now, David, start at the beginning.”

David hesitated, looked at me, and sighed. “Oh, well, I’ve never been able to keep anything from you, have I? Ramses has been playing the role of a certain person—”

“Kamil el-Wardani? Aha, I thought I must be right. But why?”

“The Germans and the Turks are hoping to provoke an uprising in Cairo , to coincide with their attack on the Canal. If any man could bring such a thing off, it is Wardani. They approached him first last April. Oh, yes, they knew war was imminent, and they knew Turkey would come in; there was a secret treaty signed in early August. They think ahead, these Germans. I got wind of the plan from Wardani himself, so of course I told Ramses.”

“It must have been difficult, betraying the confidence of a friend.” I added quickly, “You were absolutely right to do so, of course.”