Smiling, he went back to the divan. Mansur wouldn’t have forgotten to close the door tightly or dispense with guards. This was a test, and come to think of it, a kind of insult. Did the man think he was fool enough to plunge out into the pouring rain and the blackness, not knowing where he was or where he was going? He wouldn’t get far. He’d be dragged back, soaked to the skin, a dripping, miserable figure-another means of humiliating him, or rather, allowing him to humiliate himself.

When Mansur came back, Ramses was lying full-length, hands folded peacefully on his chest, and snoring.

THE REVEREND HAD NOT joined in the discussion. One would have supposed he was off in some happy dream of his own-remembering his life as the emperor Constantine, for example-if one had not become accustomed to his habit of plunging headfirst into a conversation to which he had not seemed to pay attention.

In the silence that followed Nefret’s pointed question, he declared, “We must go immediately to Jerusalem.”

“Oh, must we?” said Emerson, that being his automatic response to anything that sounded like an order. He had been visibly taken aback by Nefret’s implicit accusation.

Naturally the same thought had occurred to me even before she spoke. Before the others could come to grips with the idea and join in an interminable, unprofitable, discussion, I said, “We must come to a decision sooner rather than later. By sooner, I mean today. I want to be ready to leave tomorrow morning.”

“Very good, very good,” said the reverend, scraping up the last of the hummus with the last of the bread.

“Leave for where?” David asked. There was a certain set to his jaw that told me he had already decided where he was going. David was a gentle soul, not given to controversy, but once he made up his mind he could be as stubborn as Ramses.

“That is what we must decide,” I said. “Emerson, I suggest you go immediately to the British consular agent.”

“Is there one?” inquired my annoying husband.

“There must be some official of our government here in Jaffa, Emerson, or at the very least a telegraph office. Find out if there are any messages for you, and whether anything is known of Major Morley. He must have landed here.”

“Hmph,” said Emerson unhelpfully.

“Take Selim with you. He can assist with your inquiries.”

Selim bounded to his feet, exuding his willingness to assist. Emerson rose more slowly. “What about you, Peabody?”

“We will wait for you at the hotel.”

Which I had every intention of doing…Unless another idea occurred to me.

We did not linger in the souk. When we reached the square with its charming gardens, the sun was sinking into a bank of clouds, rimming their purple gray with gold.

“Let us sit here awhile,” I said, taking Nefret firmly by the arm.

“I believe I will go to my room,” David said. “I want to…I must…”

Find a map and figure out the quickest route to Samaria. Ah, well, it would keep him occupied, and he would have some little difficulty finding a means of transportation, unaccustomed as he was to the city.

“Take the reverend and Daoud with you,” I said.

The reverend, who had been in the process of joining Nefret and me on the bench, obediently straightened himself. Daoud folded his arms and shook his head.

“I will not leave you and Nur Misur alone.”

“What on earth do you suppose could happen to us?” I demanded.

“Anything,” said Daoud darkly.

“Oh, very well. Stand over there by the tree and keep watch.”

Daoud duly took up his position, glancing suspiciously at every passerby, and the others went toward the hotel.

Nefret was prepared for a lecture. She sat with head bowed and chin protruding and refused to meet my eyes.

“I presume you have had time to reconsider your assumption,” I said, arranging my skirts neatly.

“Perhaps I was unjust.” Her voice was so low I could barely hear it.

“Not necessarily unjust. Ramses has got beyond my control these past few years and I would not be surprised to discover he had formed an attachment to some female person. What would surprise me would be to discover he would announce the fact in such a direct fashion.”

“It might be regarded as a request for discretion on our part.”

“Oh, come, Nefret. Ramses knows me-us, that is-well enough to realize I will cast discretion to the four winds before I will allow him to fail in his duty to me-to us, I mean to say. It is not unlike him to go off on some harebrained scheme of his own, but he is certainly capable of inventing a more believable excuse than-er-dalliance.”

“Then…then the message did not come from Ramses.”

“The note was almost certainly written by him. I do not believe he was responsible for its delivery.”

Nefret turned to face me. “Then he is in trouble!”

“Nefret, I can think offhand of at least two other explanations for that message. We must keep our heads and not go jumping to conclusions. I need you to keep calm and help persuade Emerson that we must not try to find Ramses. At least not immediately.”

“What can we do, then?” Nefret demanded. “We must do something!”

“He might not thank you for interfering, Nefret.” In fact, I was reasonably certain he would not. Like many young persons of that age, Ramses was convinced he could manage quite well without the assistance of his loving family. Like other young persons of that age, he was mistaken, but only painful experience would teach him the truth. I went on, “What we must do is go on to Jerusalem and, as he put it, ‘sit tight.’ Ramses knows where to find us. We can get to Samaria as easily from Jerusalem as from here, and if we don’t hear from him in, let us say, a week, we will reconsider the situation.”

My firm but kindly manner did not have the effect I had hoped. “How can you be so calm?” Nefret asked passionately. “An entire week? He could be-” Her voice caught.

“I doubt that,” I said, suppressing my own qualms. Perhaps I was reassuring myself as well as Nefret when I continued, “In any case, he is in no more danger of…of that now than he was at the time the message was written. And if…that…were intended, our intervention would almost certainly come too late. We might even bring on the result we dread by dashing wildly in pursuit.”

Reason, however sound, does not convince loving hearts. Nefret remained silent, her furrowed brow and outthrust chin expressing her resistance. I did not-could not-tell her my own theory. I felt certain that my hideous forebodings were, as usual, accurate. Ramses had, heaven knows how, got himself involved with some secret service operation. MO2 was concerned about German influence in Syria-Palestine. Ramses spoke German, Arabic, and Turkish like a native, and archaeologists, as Emerson had pointed out, made admirable agents. Either the War Office had recruited Ramses-in which case I would have General Spencer’s head on a platter-or Ramses had come across something that, in his opinion, merited investigation. My-our, that is-demand that he meet us in Jaffa had given him an excuse to leave Reisner’s dig. I was reasonably certain that if we did inquire we would find he had taken his departure in the normal fashion. What had happened to him thereafter was a matter of speculation. I am never guilty of idle speculation, so I kept an open mind on that. Except that once I caught up with him, I would have Ramses’s head on another platter.

The sky overhead was dark gray and the first drops of rain were falling. “Let us get inside,” I said, rising. “It looks as if we are in for a storm. A Nile in the sky, as Pharaoh Akhenaton once poetically expressed it. Come, Daoud.”

The three of us were rather damp by the time we reached the hotel. The manager tried to duck behind the counter when he saw me. ’Twas of no avail, as I could have told him. Leaning over the counter, I ordered tea to be brought up and asked him to look again for messages. After fumbling about, he handed me two envelopes. One was an impressive document, covered with seals and official stamps. The other appeared to have been delivered by hand.