The effect of this depressing conclusion was to inspire me with even greater determination. When I reached Giza , I found the others hard at work. I stopped for a moment to gloat over the painted reliefs, for they were really lovely. However, I would be the first to admit that my primary interest lay in the burial chamber, or chambers. There were two of them connected with the mastaba; we had located the tops of the deep shafts that led down to them, but Emerson did not intend to dig them out until after he had finished with the mastaba itself. The outer chamber, or chapel, had been cleared, but the doorway leading to a second room was still blocked with debris.

Nefret was at the wall, electric torch in hand, comparing the drawings Ramses had made from her photographs with the originals and emending them when she found errors. This would certainly lead to an argument, for Ramses did not accept correction graciously and Nefret was not the most tactful of critics. An involuntary sigh escaped my lips when I thought of the days when David had been our copyist; no one had his touch, and even Ramses deferred to him when there was a disagreement. How foolish and how petty of me to regret such minor losses, I thought, and offered up a silent little prayer. Only let them finish their dangerous job alive and unharmed, and I would ask nothing more of the Power that guides our lives. Not until next season, anyhow.

“Where is Emerson?” I asked.

Selim, holding a reflector that cast additional light, only shook his head. Nefret glanced round. “He said he wanted to consult the records at Harvard Camp.”

“What about?”

“He did not condescend to inform me,” said Nefret. “Ramses has gone to Zawaiet. Daoud went with the Professor. Aunt Amelia, may I be excused for a few hours this afternoon? I want to go into Cairo to do some shopping.”

“You had better ask Emerson.”

“He said to ask you.”

She looked and sounded rather sulky. Rapidly I weighed the advantages and disadvantages of acceding to her request. If she was out of the way when David returned, the transfer of identities would be much easier, but I did not really believe she wanted to shop. Could I follow her without being observed? Could I insist on accompanying her? Maternal affection exerted a powerful pull; I yearned to be with my son, caring for him, making certain he did precisely what I wanted him to do, which he would not unless I made him. And what of Emerson? It was not like him to absent himself from his work. Was he really consulting the records of Mr. Reisner, or had he gone off on some absurd errand of his own? Ramses had said Russell must be informed…

These conflicting and confusing ideas passed through my mind with the rapidity that marks my cogitations. There was, I believe, scarcely a pause before I replied.

“I have a few purchases to make too. I will go with you.”

“If you like.”

I could always change my mind after I had conferred with Emerson.

He did not return for over an hour. I had given up all pretense of accomplishing any useful work, and was outside, watching for him.

“What the devil are you doing, Peabody ?” he exclaimed. “Gawking at the pyramid again? You should be sifting debris.”

The black scowl that accompanied his grumble did not disturb me for a moment. He was only trying to distract me.

“I will not allow you to distract me, Emerson,” I informed him. “Where have you been?”

“I wanted to consult—”

“No, you didn’t.”

One of the men emerged from the tomb entrance carrying a basket. I drew Emerson aside. “Where did you go?”

“Back to the house. I wanted to use the telephone.”

“To ring Russ—”

He clapped a hand over my mouth—or, to be precise, the entire lower half of my face. Emerson has very large hands. I peeled his fingers off.

“Really, Emerson, was that wise? I had intended to speak to him this afternoon, in private.”

“I thought you would.” Emerson removed his pith helmet, dropped it onto the ground, and ran his hand through his hair. “That is why I determined to anticipate you. Don’t worry, I gave nothing away.”

“You must have had to go through various secretaries and sergeants and—”

“I disguised my voice,” Emerson said, with great satisfaction.

“Not a Russian accent, Emerson!”

Emerson wrapped a muscular arm round my waist and squeezed. “Never you mind, Peabody . The point is, I got through to him and was able to reassure him on certain points. So for God’s sake don’t go marching into his office this afternoon. Were you planning to accompany Nefret to Cairo or go alone?”

“I was going with her. I may yet. Only…”

“Only what?”

“While you were at the house, did you happen to look in on Ramses?”

Emerson’s face took on an expression of elaborate unconcern. “I thought so long as I was there, I might as well. He was sleeping.”

“Oh. Are you certain he—”

“Yes.” Emerson squeezed my ribs again. “ Peabody , not even you can be in two places at once. Get back to your rubbish heap.”

“Two places! Three or four, rather. Zawaiet, the tomb here, the house—”

“The suk with Nefret. Go with her, my dear, and keep her out of the way so we won’t have to repeat the wearying maneuvers we executed yesterday.”

“Will David be there when we come back? I would like to see him once more.”

“Don’t talk as if you were planning to bid him a final farewell,” Emerson growled. “We’ll put an end to this business soon, I promise you. As for tonight, I told him to go straight back to the house from Zawaiet; he won’t leave until after dark, so you will see him then. Run along now.”

Several slightly interesting objects turned up in the fill that was being removed from the second chamber. The bits of bone and mummy wrappings and wooden fragments indicated that there had been a later burial above the mastaba. By the Twenty-Second Dynasty—to which period I tentatively assigned this secondary interment—the mastabas of Giza had been deserted for over a thousand years, and the sand must have lain deep upon their ruins. It had not been much of a burial, and even it showed signs of having been robbed.

Emerson dismissed Nefret and me shortly after 2 P.M. and we returned to the house to change. I chattered loudly and cheerfully with Nefret as we walked along the corridor to our sleeping chambers. There was no sound from behind Ramses’s closed door.

“What sort of experiment is he doing?” Nefret asked.

“I believe he is hoping to develop a preservative that will protect wall paintings without darkening or damaging them.” I hurried her past. “It smells horrid, but then most of his experiments do.”

I had hoped for an opportunity to peek in on him before we left, but I had not quite finished dressing before Nefret joined me to ask if I would button her up the back. Several of the younger women of Abdullah’s family would have been delighted to take on the position of lady’s maid, but like myself, Nefret scorned such idle attentions. So I obliged, and she did the same for me, and we went down together, to find Daoud waiting for us.

“The Father of Curses said I should go with you,” he explained, his large, honest face beaming. “To guard you from harm.”

We could not have had a more formidable escort. Daoud was even taller than my tall husband, and correspondingly broad. He was no longer a young man, but most of his bulk was solid muscle. He would have liked nothing better than to fight a dozen men in our defense.

Smiling, Nefret took his arm. “We are only going to the Khan el Khalili, Daoud. I’m afraid nothing of interest will occur.”

Normally shy and taciturn, Daoud was quite a conversationalist when he was with us. He demanded news of his absent friends, particularly Lia, to whom he was devoted. “She should be here,” he declared, his brow furrowing. “Where you and Kadija and Fatima and the Sitt Hakim could care for her.”