Richard knocked on the door. “Breakfast is being served on the veranda,” he said, assuming an English accent. He sounded too happy, thought Erica. It was going to be harder to talk with him.

Erica called through the door that she’d be out in a few minutes and then began to dress. She missed her drawstring cotton pants. She knew her jeans would be much warmer in the hot climate. Struggling with the tight legs, she thought about the Greek. She had no idea what he wanted from her, but maybe he could be a source of information. Perhaps she could exchange whatever he wanted for some inside information about how the black market worked. It was a long shot, but at least a place to begin.

Tucking in her blouse, Erica wondered if the Greek-or anyone else, for that matter-would understand the significance of the hieroglyphics she’d tried to translate the evening before. Overshadowing the missing statue was the mystery of Seti I himself. Three thousand years had passed since this ancient Egyptian had lived and breathed. Aside from conducting a very successful military campaign into the Middle East and Libya during the first decade of his reign, all Erica could remember about the mighty pharaoh was that he built an extensive temple complex at Abydos, added to the Temple of Karnak, and built the most spectacular cave tomb in the Valley of the Kings.

Recognizing that more significant information was available, Erica decided to return to the Egyptian Museum and use her professional letters of introduction. It would give her something to do while waiting for the Greek to contact her. The other person who might have information for her was the son Abdul Hamdi had mentioned, who had an antique business in Luxor. As Erica opened the bathroom door, she made up her mind. As soon as possible she was going to head up the Nile to Luxor, to Abdul Hamdi’s son. She was convinced it was the best idea she’d had.

Richard had taken it upon himself to order a large breakfast. Like the previous morning, it had been served on the balcony. Beneath silver warmers were eggs, bacon, and fresh Egyptian bread. Slices of papaya nestled in ice chips. The coffee was waiting to be poured. Richard hovered over the table like a nervous waiter adjusting the position of the flatware and napkins.

“Ah, your Highness,” said Richard, still in an English accent. “Your table is ready,” Holding back one of the chairs, he beckoned for Erica to sit. “After you,” he said, holding up each of the platters in turn.

Erica was genuinely touched. Richard had none of Yvon’s sophistication, but his behavior was appealing. As tough as he liked to act under most circumstances, Erica knew he was rather vulnerable. And she knew what she was going to tell him could hurt him. She started: “I don’t know how much you remember from our conversation last night.”

“Everything,” said Richard, holding up his fork. “In fact, before you go any further, I’d like to make a suggestion. I think we should march right over to the American embassy and tell them exactly what has happened to you.”

“Richard,” said Erica, knowing that she was being side-tracked, “the American embassy wouldn’t be able to do anything. Be realistic. Nothing really has happened to me, just around me. No, I’m not going to the American embassy.”

“All right,” said Richard. “If that’s the way you feel, then fine. Now, about the other things you said. About us.” Richard paused and fingered his coffee cup. “I admit there’s some truth in what you say about my attitude concerning your work. Well, I’d like to ask you to do something for me.” He raised his eyes to meet Erica’s. “Let’s just have a day together here, in Egypt, on your turf, so to speak. Give me a chance to see what it’s all about.”

“But, Richard…” began Erica. She wanted to talk about Yvon and her feelings.

“Please, Erica. You’ve got to admit we haven’t discussed this before. Give me a little time. We’ll talk tonight, I promise. After all, I did come all the way here. That should count for something.”

“It counts for something,” said Erica tiredly. Such emotional moments were draining for her. “But even that kind of a decision was something we should have made together. I appreciate your effort, but I still don’t think you understand why I came here. We seem to view the future of our relationship very differently.”

“That’s what we will discuss,” said Richard, “but not now. Tonight. All I’m asking is to spend a pleasant day together so I can see something of Egypt and get a feeling for Egyptology. I think I deserve that much consideration.”

“All right,” said Erica reluctantly. “But we will talk tonight.”

“Phew,” said Richard. “With that decided, let’s discuss our plans. I’d really like to see those babies.” Richard pointed with a piece of toast toward the sphinx and the pyramids of Giza.

“Sorry,” said Erica. “The day is already booked. We are going to the Egyptian Museum this morning to see what is known about Seti I, and this afternoon we are going to return to the scene of the first murder, Antica Abdul. The pyramids will have to wait.”

Erica tried to speed up their breakfast and leave the room before the inevitable phone call. But she didn’t make it. Richard was busy putting film into his Nikon as she picked up the receiver. “Hello,” she said quietly. As she’d feared, it was Yvon. She knew she should not feel guilty, but she did just the same. She had wanted to tell Richard about the Frenchman but he had cut her off.

Yvon was cheerful and full of warm words about the previous evening. Erica acquiesced at appropriate junctures, but she knew she sounded stilted.

“Erica, are you all right?” Yvon finally asked.

“Yes, yes, I’m just fine.” Erica tried to think of a way to end the conversation.

“You would tell me if something was wrong?” he asked, sounding alarmed.

“Of course,” said Erica quickly.

There was a pause. Yvon knew something was wrong.

“We both agreed last night,” said Yvon, “that we should have spent yesterday together. So how about today? Let me take you to some of the sights.”

“No thank you,” said Erica. “I have a surprise guest who arrived last night from the States.”

“No matter,” said Yvon. “Your guest is welcome.”

“The guest happens to be…” Erica hesitated. “Boyfriend” seemed so immature.

“A lover?” asked Yvon hesitantly.

“A boyfriend,” said Erica. She couldn’t think of anything more sophisticated.

Yvon slammed the phone down. “Women,” he said with anger, pressing his lips together.

Raoul looked up from his week-old Paris Match, trying not to smile. “The American girl is giving you some trouble.”

“Shut up,” said Yvon with uncharacteristic irritation. He lit a cigarette and blew smoke up at the ceiling in turbulent blue billows. He thought it was entirely possible that Erica’s guest had arrived unexpectedly. Yet there was a lingering doubt that she had purposely not told him, to lead him on.

He stubbed out his cigarette and walked over to the balcony. He was not accustomed to being upset about women. If they proved troublesome, he left. It was as simple as that. The world was full of women. He stared down at a dozen feluccas heading south before the wind. The placid view made him feel better.

“Raoul, I want Erica Baron tailed again,” he called.

“Fine,” said Raoul. “I have Khalifa on hold at the Scheherazade Hotel.”

“Try to tell him to be conservative,” said Yvon. “I don’t want any more unnecessary bloodshed.”

“Khalifa insists the man he shot had been stalking Erica.”

“The man was working for the Department of Antiquities. It’s inconceivable that he was stalking Erica.”

“Well, I assure you Khalifa is first-class. I know,” said Raoul.

“He’d better be,” said Yvon. “Stephanos expects to meet with the girl today. Warn Khalifa. There might be trouble.”