“Don’t touch him,” Morley said. “He is not ill. It will pass.”

Sure enough, the spate of speech stopped as suddenly as it had come on. The reverend’s bristling hair and beard settled back into place. He resumed his chair, and took a biscuit.

“Did you understand what he said?” Morley asked coolly.

“Gibberish,” Emerson said, even more coolly.

I realized I was staring rudely (if understandably) at the reverend, who was placidly munching his chocolate biscuit.

“Languages are not my husband’s specialty,” I said, getting a grip on myself. “I recognized a few words-names, rather. He referred, I believe, to the city of David and the conquest of Jerusalem by Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon.”

“Very good, Mrs. Emerson.” Morley beamed at me and patted his hands together in applause.

Emerson glowered at the reverend, who was working his way through the plate of biscuits with calm concentration.

“And is this your evidence?” Emerson demanded. “The ravings of a religious fanatic?”

The parlor door opened a few inches. Expecting to find that Gargery, frustrated in his attempt to hear through a heavy wooden panel, had eased it open, I was disconcerted to see Horus squeeze through the opening.

We have a good many cats, too many, as some might say. They were all descendants of a pair of Egyptian felines we had brought back with us from Egypt, and they had bred true to type, being handsomely brindled animals with large ears and a high degree of intelligence. Horus was undoubtedly one cat too many. He was a bully and a philanderer, whose contempt for us was matched by our detestation of him. For some unaccountable reason Nefret doted on him.

Apparently he had learned how to open doors. After an insolent survey of the persons present he sauntered across the room and jumped up onto the sofa next to Nefret, shoving her aside so he could sprawl out.

“What a handsome cat,” said the reverend, whose chair was beside the sofa. “Here, puss, puss, good puss. Would you like a biscuit?”

“Chocolate is not good for cats,” I said. The comment came too late; with a sudden lunge, Horus snatched the biscuit from the reverend’s fingers and crunched it up, sprinkling damp crumbs over the crimson velvet upholstery of the sofa.

Emerson had had enough. Breathing heavily through his nose, he fixed Morley with a hard stare. “I agreed to listen to your proposition, Mr. Morley-against my better judgment-because you claimed to have solid documentary evidence supporting it. Thus far that evidence has not been forthcoming.”

“This prospectus,” said Morley, removing a handsomely bound booklet from his breast pocket, “contains a photograph of the scroll I mentioned when we last-”

“Photograph, bah,” said Emerson. “I would have to see the scroll itself.”

“It is in extremely fragile condition, Professor, and cannot be carried about. Several learned authorities have inspected it and pronounced it genuine. You may communicate directly with them if you like.”

“Well, I don’t like,” Emerson declared. “So-called experts can be hoodwinked as easily as other men. Anyhow, I have no interest whatsoever in biblical legends, or in the Israelites, who were treacherous, bloodthirsty sinners, turning on one another whenever they ran out of Amalekites, Jebusites, Philistines, and Moabites to slaughter. Furthermore, the scheme you propose is unacceptable on several grounds.”

“What scheme?” I asked.

I might as well have saved my breath. Having regained his, after his long diatribe, Emerson continued. “You cannot be unaware of the unsettled state of the area in question. Your scheme may-almost certainly will-inflame conditions that endanger the peace of the entire region.”

I got one word out-“What”-before Morley interrupted. The narrowing of his orbs indicated rising temper but-I do him credit-though his voice was a trifle loud, his speech was measured.

“With all due respect, Professor Emerson, that is only your opinion. I have permission from the authorities to carry out my scheme.” He sipped genteelly at his tea.

“What scheme?” I demanded.

I can, when occasion demands, raise my voice to a pitch that is difficult to ignore. Morley started and burst into a fit of coughing-having, I deduced, swallowed the wrong way. Emerson, who knew the futility of ignoring it, replied in a tone almost as vehement as mine.

“The damned fool is mounting an expedition to Jerusalem, to look for the Ark of the Covenant.”

THE ENSUING SILENCE WAS broken by Nefret’s melodious chuckle. “I do beg your pardon,” she murmured, trying to keep a straight face.

“Your derision is justified,” said Emerson. “People have been looking for the damned thing for centuries. They are welcome to keep on looking for it, insofar as I am concerned; it is a harmless enough fantasy. That is not my point. My point is-”

“You have made it, Professor.” Morley placed his cup carefully on the table and rose to his feet. “I will take no more of your time.”

Though as a rule I deplore Emerson’s bad manners, I was as anxious as he to get our visitors out of the house. I had fully expected the reverend to fall writhing to the floor during his initial outburst. His present look was almost as disconcerting; looking up from his pensive contemplation of the (empty) biscuit plate, he inquired, “Are we going now?”

I accompanied our guests into the hall. Morley took his hat from Gargery, who was hovering, and turned to me.

“If the Professor should change his mind-”

“He will be sure to inform you,” I said. “Good afternoon.”

We shook hands, and I offered mine to the reverend. He met it with a surprisingly firm grip and a sweet, childlike smile.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Emerson. Those were excellent biscuits!”

Gargery followed me back to the parlor, so closely he was almost treading on my heels, and began clearing away the tea things with glacial slowness.

Emerson went to the sideboard and poured the whiskey.

“Here you are, Peabody. We both deserve it, I believe, after that interview.”

“He can’t have been serious,” Nefret exclaimed. “Why on earth did you bother listening to such an absurd proposal?”

“I had my reasons,” said Emerson. He gave me a sidelong glance. “They were excellent reasons. That is all I can tell you.”

“Can, or will?” I inquired. A few sips of the genial beverage had restored my composure and a few ideas were simmering in my head.

“Can,” said Emerson, with considerable emphasis.

“Sworn to secrecy, were you?”

“Quite,” said Emerson, giving me a meaningful look.

“Ah,” I said.

“What on earth are you two talking about?” Nefret asked.

“I am waiting for your Aunt Amelia to tell ME what I am talking about,” said Emerson.

“Oh, very well,” I said. “Far be it from me to make you break your sworn word. You will not be guilty of that error if I tell you.”

“Precisely,” said Emerson, no longer attempting to conceal his smile.

“Please do, madam,” Gargery exclaimed. “I can’t stand the suspense much longer.”

There was no use ordering Gargery out of the room; he would only listen at the door.

“Confound it,” I muttered. “Why can’t they leave us alone? I suppose the meeting occurred last week, when you said you went up to London to work at the British Museum. What were you given this time? I don’t want any more cursed emeralds.”

“I was given nothing, Peabody. Not even the threat of a title. Apparently the royal family only pays on delivery.”

“Royal family,” said Gargery in dying tones. “Madam…”

I addressed Nefret instead of Gargery. She had been courteous enough to refrain from questions, though her wide blue eyes indicated her interest. “Some years ago we were able to be of service to her late Majesty in a delicate family matter. Upon its successful conclusion she summoned Emerson to Windsor and offered him a knighthood-which of course he refused.”