“Quite an ingenious contrivance,” I said, examining the holster. “Is this a spring inside? Ouch.”

“As you see,” said Ramses.

“Your invention?”

“My refinement of someone else’s invention.”

“Could you—”

“No!” Emerson said loudly.

“How did you know what I was going to ask?”

“I know you only too well, Peabody ,” said my husband, scowling. “You were about to ask him to fit that little gun of yours with a similar spring. I strictly forbid it. You are already armed and dangerous.”

“Speaking of that, Emerson, I am having problems with my sword parasol. Jamal claimed he had repaired it, but the release keeps sticking.”

“I’ll have a look at it if you like, Mother,” Ramses said. His momentary animation had faded, leaving him looking deathly tired.

“Never mind, my dear, I will let Jamal have another try. Go to bed. As for David, let him hope a little longer. All is not lost; we may yet receive a message.”

I spoke confidently and encouragingly, but I was conscious of a growing sense of discouragement that troubled my slumber and shadowed my thoughts all the next day. Blighted hope is harder to bear than no hope at all.

At breakfast next morning Emerson asked Nefret to take photographs of the statue. I stayed to help her with the lighting. We employed the same mirror reflectors we were accustomed to using in the tombs; they gave a subtler and more controlled light than flash powder or magnesium wire. It took us quite some time, since of course long exposures were necessary.

When we had finished and were on our way to join the others at Giza , Nefret remarked, “I am surprised the Professor has not stationed armed guards all round the statue, by night and by day.”

“My dear girl, how could a thief make off with something so heavy? It required forty of our sturdiest workmen to lift the thing!”

Nefret chuckled. “It is rather a ludicrous image, I admit: forty thieves, just as in ‘Ali Baba,’ staggering along the road with the statue on their shoulders, trying to appear inconspicuous.”

“Yes,” I said, chuckling. It echoed somewhat hollowly. At that time the statue was the least of my concerns.

Before we parted for the night, we had agreed on certain steps to be taken the following day. Ramses, who was still inclined to impart information in dribbles, explained that he and David had arranged several means of communication. He had on one occasion actually passed a message to David when I was present, for one of David’s roles was that of a flower vendor, outside Shepheard’s hotel. I remembered the occasion well; the flowers had been rather wilted. If we had not heard from Farouk by mid-afternoon we would go to Shepheard’s for tea, and after Ramses had seen David, Ramses would try to locate Farouk. He refused to emit even a dribble of information explaining how he meant to go about it, but I assumed that the conspirators had ways of contacting one another in case of an emergency.

None of this information could be imparted to Nefret. If she went with us to Shepheard’s I would have to find some means of distracting her while Ramses approached the flower vendor; David’s disguise had been good enough to fool me, but her keen eyes might not be so easily deceived.

As it turned out, my scheming was unnecessary. Shortly after midday we received a message that threw all our plans into disarray.

Instead of using basket carriers, as we had done in the past, Emerson had caused to be laid down between the tomb and the dump site a set of tracks along which wheeled carts could run. As I stood watching one of the filled carts being pushed toward the dump, a man on horseback approached. I was about to shout at him to go away when I realized that he was in the uniform of the Cairo Police. I hastened to meet him. At my insistence he handed over the letter he carried, which was in fact directed to Emerson.

This would not have prevented me from opening the envelope had not Emerson himself joined us. He too had recognized the uniform; he too realized that something serious must have occurred. Thomas Russell might as well have sent along a town crier to announce in stentorian tones that the messenger was from him. The uniform was well known to all Cairenes.

“I was told to wait for an answer, sir,” said the man, saluting. “It is urgent.”

“Oh? Hmph. Yes.”

With maddening deliberation Emerson extracted a sheet of paper from the envelope. I stood on tiptoe to read it over his shoulder.

Professor Emerson :

I believe you can be of assistance to the police in a case which came to my attention early this morning. The evidence of your son is also required. Please come to my office at the earliest opportunity.

Sincerely,

Thomas Russell.

P.S. Do not bring Miss Forth.

“I will be there in two hours,” Emerson said to the officer.

“Oh, no, Emerson, we must go straightaway! How can you bear the suspense? He would not have—”

“Two hours!” Emerson bellowed, drowning me out. The policeman started convulsively, saluted, banged his hand painfully against the stiff brim of his helmet, and galloped off.

“I am sorry, Emerson,” I murmured.

“Hmmm, yes. You are sometimes as impulsive as… Ah, Nefret. Have you finished the photographing?”

“No, sir, not quite.” She was bareheaded, her cheeks rosy with heat, her smile broad and cheerful. “Selim came rushing into the tomb and said there was a policeman here asking for you. Are you under arrest, or is it Aunt Amelia?”

Standing behind her, so close that the hair on the crown of her golden head brushed his chin, Ramses said lightly, “My money is on Mother.”

“Damned if I know what he wants,” Emerson grumbled. “He might have had the courtesy to say. Assist the police indeed! I suppose we had better go.”

“We?” Ramses repeated.

“You and I.”

“But this must be about what happened in the Khan the other night,” Nefret exclaimed. “I wondered why the police had not got round to questioning us. We must all go. It is our duty as good citizens to assist the police!”

Emerson looked hopefully at his son. Ramses shrugged, shook his head, and inquired, “Precisely what do you think we should tell them?”

“Ah.” Nefret stroked her chin in unconscious—or perhaps it was conscious!—imitation of Emerson. “That is a good question, my boy. I am against telling the police about our arrangement with Farouk. They are such blunderers—”

“We do not, at the present time, have an arrangement with him,” Emerson interrupted. “And this, my dear, is not a symposium. I will make the decision after I have heard what Russell has to say. Selim! Keep the men at it for another two hours. You know what to watch out for. Stop at once if—”

“My dear, he does know what to watch out for,” I said. “Why are you telling him again?”

“Damnation!” Emerson shouted; and off he stalked, bareheaded and coatless, alone and unencumbered. He had gone some little distance before it dawned on me that he was heading for Mena House, where we had left the horses. Nefret let out a mildly profane exclamation and started to run after him.

“Don’t forget the cameras,” Ramses said.

“You bring them. Curse it, he needn’t think he can get away from me!”

Lips compressed, Ramses entered the tomb chamber and began packing the cameras. The ever-present grit and dust was hard on the delicate mechanisms; it would not have done to leave them uncovered any longer than was absolutely necessary. I hesitated for only a moment before following him.

“She cannot come with us,” he said, without looking up.

“Mr. Russell specifically mentioned that we were not to bring her; but you and he are both being silly. She is a surgeon. She has seen horrible wounds and performed operations.”