Jumana did not return. After Fatima announced that dinner was ready, I went looking for the girl. I found her in her room, her sleek black head bent over a book.

“I am glad to see you applying yourself to your studies,” I said, for I had observed that the book was the fourth volume of Emerson’s History of Egypt. “But you must not be late to meals. Dinner will be served in a few minutes.”

Her long lashes veiled her eyes. “If you don’t mind, I would rather eat with Fatima and the others.”

“I do mind, though,” I said pleasantly but firmly. “You are a member of our archaeological staff. Do you wish to resign from that position?”

“No. It is a privilege, an honor, to work with Ramses and the Father of Curses… and you,” she added hastily.

“Come along, then.”

“Yes, Sitt Hakim. I will come at once.”

Naturally we did not discuss the body at dinner. Deteriorating corpses are not a suitable subject for conversation at the dinner table in any case, and Jumana’s behavior reinforced my doubts about her. She spoke only when she was spoken to, and she kept her eyes fixed on her plate. Even if she had not eavesdropped on our discussion – and I wouldn’t have put it past her – she was too intelligent to miss the implications of our discovery. Jamil had more or less admitted to her that he had been involved with the looting of the princesses’ tomb, and he had accused the others of cheating him. I considered asking her directly whether she and Jamil had arranged to meet again, but decided to wait and give her an opportunity to confess. Assuming, that is, that she had anything to confess.

And, with any luck, Jamil would do something that would open her eyes – another murder, perhaps, or an attack on one of us.

The children excused themselves immediately after dinner, and I said I would go with them, since there were a few domestic matters with regard to the new house that I wanted to discuss with them.

“You haven’t had time to settle in or decide what additional furnishings you need,” I pointed out. “And if I know Emerson, he won’t give you a chance. If I can help in any way -”

“That is very kind of you, Mother,” Nefret said.

Ramses said, “Thank you, Mother.”

We went through the house room by room. I took copious notes and made a few little suggestions. I had not expected Ramses would be of much assistance, nor was he.

“Now then,” I said, referring to my list. “What about household help? Fatima ’s girls have been doing the cleaning, but in my opinion it would be advisable for you to select two of them to work for you on a regular basis. If you prefer to take certain of your meals alone, a cook -”

“We’ll worry about a cook later, shall we?” Nefret glanced at her husband, who was staring off into space. “As for the maids, I will leave that to Fatima. One of the girls who’s been working here asked me yesterday if she could continue doing so; she is very hardworking, if a little shy, so I told her that would be fine. Her name is Najia.”

“Ah, yes, Mohammed Hammad’s niece. Or is she his stepdaughter? Never mind. The poor girl is somewhat self-conscious; it is that liver birthmark, I suppose.”

“It won’t bother us,” Nefret said.

“Of course not. Now, concerning the garden…”

Finally Nefret said, “I think that’s everything, Mother. We will probably have to run up to Cairo to find some things, but I will talk with Abdul Hadi about making a few chairs and tables. He is the best woodworker in Luxor.”

“And the slowest,” I said.

Nefret smiled. “I can hurry him up.”

I observed that Ramses was yawning, and took the hint. He insisted on walking back with me, despite my objections.

“Nothing can possibly happen to me between your door and mine,” I declared.

“Ah, but you don’t have your parasol,” Ramses said.

I took Gargery into our confidence next morning at breakfast, while Sennia was dawdling over her preparations for departure. He and Fatima took it in turn to serve meals; it had been a compromise proposed by me, to prevent them from quarreling over which of them had that right. It was his turn that morning, and he followed my well-organized account with such interest that I was forced several times to remind him to serve the food. He then straightened to his full height – five feet six inches or thereabouts – and stood at attention. It would have required more than that to make him appear impressive; his frame was meager, his face lined, and he had taken to combing his hair across his forehead in an unconvincing attempt to conceal a receding hairline. He looked like a butler, which is what he was, but he possessed a number of qualities that are not often found in persons of that position. At the moment he was a very happy butler. As he had once observed to me, “If there’s got to be a murder, madam, it might as well be us that gets the use of it.”

“I depend on you, Gargery, to keep a close eye out when you take Miss Sennia to the Castle for her lessons with Mrs. Vandergelt. I doubt there is any reason for concern, but it would be foolish to take chances.”

“I agree, madam,” said Gargery, standing stiff as a wooden soldier and smiling broadly.

“How good of you to say so, Gargery. Where the devil is that girl? Gargery, please go and… Ah, there you are, Jumana. Sit down and eat something and be quick about it.”

We were to meet Daoud and Selim at Gurneh and go on from there to the Cemetery of the Monkeys, taking with us the necessary equipment for the ghoulish task that lay ahead. Since no one was keen on carrying the dreadful burden any farther than they had to, we planned to go the long way round, by way of the road which would enable us to bring a donkey-drawn cart part of the distance.

The cart was ready when we arrived at Selim’s house, to find him and Daoud and Hassan, another of our fellows, waiting. I could see by their faces that they had been warned of what they were supposed to do, and I didn’t blame them for looking gloomy.

“I have everything we will need,” Selim announced. “But before we go, I think you will wish to talk with Mohammed Hammad. He is here.”

“Ah,” said Emerson. “The disappointed bridegroom. Have you told him of our discovery yesterday?”

“No, Father of Curses,” said Selim, looking as demure as a husky young man with a large black beard can look.

Emerson laughed aloud and clapped him on the back. “Good. It will be an even greater shock coming from me.”

Mohammed Hammad was a wiry little man with a face as wrinkled as a raisin and a graying beard. Like most Egyptians of the fellahin class, he was probably younger than he looked. Inadequate diet, insanitary living conditions, and an absence of proper medical care can age an individual rapidly. Now there, I thought, is a cause that might attract Nefret, and allow her to use her medical skills in the place where I intended she should be – a clinic on the West Bank, to treat common ailments such as parasites and infections. Not a stimulating practice, perhaps, for a trained surgeon, but one thing might lead to another…

I put the matter aside for the moment, so that I could concentrate on our suspect. Expecting to be lectured by Emerson about the tomb, and prepared to deny everything, he greeted us with a certain reserve. Emerson did not beat around the bush.

“We found one of your friends yesterday, in the tomb you robbed. Dead. Murdered.”

It was an effective, if somewhat brutal, method of shocking Mohammed into an admission. I thought for a moment the poor man would have a stroke or a heart attack. He finally managed to gasp out a word. “Who…”

“You would know better than we,” Emerson said. “Selim tells me that Abdul Hassan has not been seen for a week. He was one of your… Damnation,” he went on, in English. “He’s about to have a fit. Give him some brandy, Peabody.”