“Disgusting,” Katherine murmured.

“Poetic justice,” said Emerson with an evil grin. “Mohammed must be feeling hard done by. He may be persuaded to show me the location of the tomb. They can’t have done a complete clearance.”

“Oh, it’s been located,” Cyrus said. “In the Wadi Gabbanat el-Qirud – the Cemetery of the Monkeys. I’ve been thinking I might spend a little time out there looking for more tombs.”

“You are supposed to be working at Medinet Habu,” Emerson said with a severe look at his friend. “Not going off on wild-goose chases.”

“It’s all very well for you to talk,” Cyrus said indignantly. “You’ve had your big finds, but how about me? All those years in the Valley of the Kings and not a durned tomb for my trouble! There’s got to be more of them in the southwest wadis. With Carter’s find that makes two tombs of royal females in those wadis. What I figure is that that area could have been a kind of early queens’ cemetery.”

“It is a strong possibility,” Ramses agreed.

Cyrus’s eye brightened, but Emerson said firmly, “You’d be wasting your time, Vandergelt. Carter didn’t find that tomb of Hatshepsut’s, he trailed a group of the locals who had discovered it. You had better stop chasing rainbows and get to work, as I intend to do. You have the firman for Medinet Habu, and you were damned lucky to get it. It is one of the best-preserved temples on the West Bank.”

“At least there are some tombs at Deir el Medina,” Cyrus muttered.

“Private tombs,” Emerson pointed out. “And I will not be searching for more. I mean to finish excavating that settlement in its entirety. In archaeological terms it is far more important than any cursed royal tomb. Town sites are rare, and we will gain valuable information about the daily life, occupations, and amusements of the working classes…”

There are few aspects of Egyptology that do not interest Emerson, but in this case he was bravely disguising a certain degree of disappointment and envy. He had always wanted to work at one of the great temples like Medinet Habu. To be honest, I was not especially excited about the village either, but we would not have got even that site if the individual who had held the firman the previous year had not been taken into police custody. According to Emerson, his excavation methods had been careless in the extreme, so there was a good chance we might come upon artifacts he had overlooked or discarded as worthless.

And I just might have a look round for more of the private tombs. Some of them were beautifully decorated, and two had contained their original grave goods – not as rich as those of the princesses, but full of interest.

Emerson concluded his speech by remarking, “I trust, Vandergelt, that you will concentrate on Medinet Habu. You cannot expect the Department of Antiquities to think well of you if you keep wandering off on fanciful quests.”

When we took our departure, we were loaded down. There was room for Jumana on the seat with Ramses and Nefret, but her boxes and bundles took up quite a lot of space. Upon our arrival I showed the girl her room. I had the distinct impression that she was not impressed by its amenities. They were certainly inferior to the ones she had enjoyed as Cyrus’s guest.

However, she expressed her appreciation very prettily. I then informed her that Emerson wanted a word with her.

“What about?” she asked.

“I think you know what about, Jumana. For goodness’ sake, child, you look like a cornered rabbit. You aren’t afraid of him, surely.”

“Not of him,” Jumana murmured. “I have done nothing to be ashamed of, Sitt Hakim.”

“I didn’t say you had. Come along.”

We had agreed in advance that Emerson and I would have a private chat with Jumana, so I was somewhat surprised to find the children with him in the sitting room.

“We only waited to say good night,” Nefret said, coming to give me a kiss.

“I hope the house is satisfactory,” I said, addressing Ramses, who had not yet given me his opinion. “And that you have everything you need for tonight.”

“So long as there is a bed,” said my son, and broke off with a grunt as Nefret elbowed him in the ribs.

“I want to leave at daybreak,” Emerson said self-consciously.

“Yes, sir,” said Ramses.

“Breakfast here at six,” I said.

“Yes, Mother,” said Nefret.

Jumana’s wide eyes followed them as they went off, arm in arm, their heads close together. Or was it Ramses she watched with such wistful attention? She was of an age where girls fancy themselves in love with unsuitable persons, and Ramses had every quality she could want in a prospective husband (aside from the inconvenient fact that he was already married). If Jamil knew or suspected her attachment it would explain why he had selected Ramses as the object of his ire.

“By the by,” said I to Emerson, “you didn’t tell Cyrus about the artifacts I bought in Cairo. I had expected you would want to show them off.”

“Quite the contrary,” said Emerson to me. “He’d go haring off to Cairo looking for more of the cursed things. He should be thinking of his excavations.”

He fell silent, concentrating on his pipe. Now that the moment had come, he was regretting having offered to question Jumana; he was afraid she would cry. Emerson is a hopeless coward with women.

He did not know this one. Before either of us could speak, Jumana sat up straight and raised her chin defiantly. “I was very silly,” she declared. “Jamil can’t do anything… can he?”

“No,” said Emerson. “Except, perhaps, to you.”

“He wouldn’t hurt me.”

I was pleased to see she had recovered her nerve – timid women are a confounded nuisance – but her confidence was somewhat alarming.

“He won’t get the chance,” I said. “Listen to me, Jumana. You were right to warn Ramses about Jamil, but you are wrong if you believe he is harmless. I want your word that you will go nowhere alone and that if Jamil attempts to communicate with you, you will inform us immediately.”

“What will you do to him if you find him?”

For once, Emerson was too quick for me. “Lock him up. You must see that we cannot allow him to hang about threatening people and… Why are you glaring at me, Peabody?”

“I am not glaring, Emerson,” I said, forcing my features into a smile. “It is just that I believe I can explain our intentions more accurately than you. Jumana, if Jamil would come to us and express repentance, we will do all we can to help him.”

“You would?”

“Yes,” I said firmly. She still loved the wretched boy and probably believed she could redeem him. This is a common delusion of women.

After all, I had not been specific. In my opinion the best way to help Jamil would be to put him in a cell – a nice, clean, comfortable cell, naturally – and let him consider the advantages of an honest life.

I had expected Emerson would want to go straight to the site next morning. I had no objection to his doing so; there was a great deal to do round the house, and Emerson was more of a hindrance than a help, always grumbling and complaining. However, when we sat down to breakfast I saw that he and Ramses were dressed for rough terrain, in old tweeds and stout boots. It did not require much thought to deduce where they meant to go. I ought to have known! My hypocritical husband’s lecture to Cyrus had been meant to deter the latter from doing precisely what Emerson intended to do that day. The southwest wadis are remote and difficult of access.

I attempted to catch Emerson’s eyes but failed; he was looking at the sugar bowl, the coffeepot, the salt cellar – anything but me. “Emerson,” I said loudly, “I trust you had the courtesy to inform Fatima last night that we would want a packed luncheon?”

“Luncheon? We?” Emerson’s heavy black brows drew together. “See here, Peabody -”

“I will tell her now,” I said with a sigh. “Fortunately she always has a full larder. Are we taking Selim and Daoud with us?”