He paused to have a sip of soup, and I took advantage.

“Don’t tell me you have found evidence of remains from that remote period? After a cursory examination of surface material? I understand, my dear, why you would be thrilled to discover Egyptian material here, but surely-”

“You would not sacrifice the safety of your son for such a discovery?” Nefret cut in. The verb is appropriate; her voice was as sharp as a knife blade.

“Certainly not,” Emerson exclaimed. “You wound me deeply by such a suggestion. However, we have no proof at this time that his or David’s safety is at risk.”

“Proof!” Nefret cried. “What are you waiting for, a ransom note, or…” She paused, biting her lip. The image in her mind was as clear to the rest of us as it was to her. There was no putting her off, and to be candid I had come round to share her concerns.

“I will go,” Selim said. “Daoud and I. To Samaria.”

“A compromise,” I said. “One more day. If, by the day after tomorrow, we have had no word, we will all go. Are we agreed? Emerson? Nefret? Selim?”

It is the nature of compromise that it pleases none of the parties concerned. The agreement, in the form of nods or mumbles, was not wholehearted, but it was unanimous.

“Good,” I said. “Next comes the question of Mr. Plato. He sought Morley out today, on our behalf, as he claims, or on his own, as I believe. He came away-”

“Aunt Amelia!” It was not like Nefret to interrupt me. “Surely he is the least of our concerns just now. He is only-”

“We do not know what he is,” I said, raising my voice just a trifle. “That is the point, Nefret. Until we are certain of his true motives we cannot assume he is not a danger to us. Do you happen to have a photograph of him?”

She had not expected that question, but she was not stupid. After a moment she said, “I see what you are getting at. Yes, I think I do. I took a number of photographs.”

“At my request,” I said with a forgiving smile. “They will be wonderful souvenirs of our visit to Jerusalem. Now if I may go on? Thank you. As I was saying, Plato came away from his encounter with Morley with the belief that they had reached some sort of agreement. The later attack upon him may have proved his assumption was incorrect, or it may have been instigated by another party. We know almost nothing about him. I suggest that we take steps to inquire further into his background, here and through-” I caught myself in time. “Through-er-other sources.”

“What sources?” Nefret demanded, eyes narrowing.

“Archaeological sources,” I replied smartly. “Museums and professional organizations. And police records.”

“Excellent idea,” Emerson exclaimed.

“You will see to that, Emerson?”

“What? Oh. Yes, certainly.”

“I will spend this evening and all day tomorrow hiring servants, acquiring the necessary household supplies, and so on. Thus we will be able to set out for Samaria the following morning-assuming, of course, that we have received no word from the boys. Have we all finished eating? Shall we go now?”

A gentle cough stopped me in the act of rising. Turning, I saw a person standing at my elbow. He was young, he had fair hair and a feeble little blond mustache, and that was about all one could say about him, for his form and features were strikingly unremarkable. In his hands he held a cloth Alpine-style hat, which he was twisting nervously.

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I waited until I believed you had finished your dinner, but if I am mistaken I will leave and return another time.”

“And interrupt us a second time?” said Emerson. “Speak up, young man. Who are you and what do you want?”

“Camden-Courtney Camden. I was told by Mr. Page of the British Society that you might be looking for additional staff for your excavation.”

“I distinctly told him we were not. Good day, sir.” Emerson pushed his chair back and rose.

“Just a moment,” I said. “What do you know about pottery, Mr. Camden?”

Mr. Camden was less intimidated than I had supposed. Though he continued to mangle his hat, he spoke up stoutly.

“It is my specialty, Mrs. Emerson.”

“What experience have you had?”

“I worked at Tel el-Hesi with Mr. Petrie and Mr. Bliss.”

“Nonsense,” Emerson grunted. “That was twenty years ago. How old were you at the time, twelve?”

“Twenty years of age, sir. I am older than I look.”

“Hmph,” said Emerson, stroking his chin. “Well, Peabody, you seem to have decided we need a pottery person, so I will leave it to you.”

What Emerson knew, but refused to acknowledge, was that Mr. Petrie had been among the first to study Palestinian pottery and construct a relative chronology of types. Anyone who had worked with him was bound to be knowledgeable, for he was not an easy taskmaster. I studied Mr. Camden critically. He certainly did not look his age. Something about the set of his features struck me as familiar.

“Have we met before?” I asked.

“No, ma’am. I would certainly remember if we had.”

“Very well,” I said. “If you will meet us here tomorrow morning, Mr. Camden, we will give you a try.”

“Six A.M.,” said Emerson.

“Eight,” I corrected.

The young man backed away, bowing to everyone, including Selim and Daoud.

“He has excellent manners,” I said, beckoning the waiter. “Would anyone else care for a sweet?”

Daoud indicated that he would. Emerson sat in brooding silence until the waiter had come and gone. Then he said, “I trust you know what you are doing, Peabody. Is it not something of a coincidence that a pottery expert should turn up just when he is wanted?”

“All the more reason for keeping him under observation, Emerson. If he is what he claims to be, he will be extremely useful, for none of us is familiar with the pottery of this region and you are certain to encounter-”

“Yes, yes, Peabody. And if he is not what he claims to be?”

“We will determine his true motive and turn it to our advantage!”

Nefret burst out laughing. “Of course, Aunt Amelia.”

I was pleased to see she was in a more congenial frame of mind. My agreement that we should go in search of the boys had satisfied her for the moment-and I must confess, in the pages of this private (for the time being) journal, that I myself had become increasingly uneasy about them. However, stern mental discipline had taught me to concentrate on the task at hand. My first task that afternoon was to shop, and I persuaded Nefret to accompany me. Emerson declined the offer, explaining that he had a few more questions to put to-er-that fellow and that he wanted Selim to be present at the interrogation. With a significant glance at me, he added that he had certain investigations to pursue as well. So Nefret and I set out, with Daoud as our escort.

There were modern shops in that part of the city, so I was able to procure cleaning materials and insect repellent. I ordered a number of other items, including a nice tin bathtub, directing that they be sent to the hotel at once. We were longer than I had meant to be, since I also stopped at the souk to purchase rugs, woven mats, and bolts of fabric for curtains, so when we arrived the others were at dinner. Plato had a rather hangdog look, but it had not affected his appetite. I deduced that Emerson had appointed Selim as Plato’s escort, for when we parted after dinner Selim went with him.

“I hope you are not planning to lock Mr. Plato in his room,” I said, as Emerson poured a postprandial libation.

“I was tempted. But it might be dangerous, if not actually illegal. No, Selim and I and Daoud will take it in turn to watch his door tonight.”

I accepted the glass he handed me with a nod of thanks. “What on earth did you discover about him to inspire such precautions?”

“Nothing definite as yet. It is too soon to expect-”

A soft knock at the door prevented him from completing the sentence. It was Nefret, holding a small sheaf of photographs. Handing them to me, she said, “These are the only ones in which Mr. Plato appears. Good night.”