“Not so worrisome as having him take on another filthy job from the War Office. Smith’s presence this evening was highly suspicious, Emerson.”

“Nonsense,” said Emerson. “However… Good Gad, what with the intelligence services and my devious brother, Cairo is no place for a family of harmless archaeologists. But you are worrying unnecessarily, my love. There is no way on earth Ramses could be persuaded to take on another assignment.”

Emerson’s tender affection did not miss the slight shiver that ran through my limbs. “Damnation, Peabody,” he snarled, “if you are having one of your famous forebodings, I don’t want to hear about it! Come to bed at once.”

While we breakfasted in our rooms, Emerson looked through the post (distractions of various kinds having prevented him from doing so earlier) and came upon a letter from Cyrus Vandergelt that aroused such indignation he leaped to his feet, rushed to the door, and would have bolted out in his dressing gown had I not caught hold of him.

“For pity’s sake, Emerson, where are you going?”

Emerson waved the close-written pages at me. “They’re at it again. Another tomb. Looted. The artifacts already at the Luxor dealers. Damnation! Ramses -”

“If you want to share this with Ramses,” I said, interpreting his incoherent comments with the skill of long experience, “I will send the sufragi to invite him and Nefret to join us. Sit down, Emerson, or, if you prefer, put on your clothes. A few more minutes’ delay cannot worsen a situation which -”

“Curse it,” said Emerson, heading for the dressing room. He took the letter with him. Being accustomed to my husband’s impetuous behavior, I dispatched the sufragi on his errand and went on with my breakfast.

The children must have been already up and dressed, for they came almost at once. “Is something wrong?” Ramses asked.

“Why should you suppose that?” I replied, over the cries of outrage from the adjoining room. Some of them had to do with his inability to find his shirts, whose location (in the second drawer of the bureau) I had pointed out to him the previous night.

“A summons at such an early hour -”

Emerson came charging out of the dressing room, attired in trousers and shirt. “Ah, there you are. Good. Just listen to this.”

“Finish your breakfast, Emerson,” I said, deftly removing the crumpled pages from his clenched fist and handing them to Ramses.

I will summarize the account, which Ramses, at my request, read aloud.

A few months earlier, rumors had spread that a hitherto unknown tomb had been discovered by the indefatigable thieves of Luxor. It had contained objects of rare value and distinction: royal diadems, vessels of stone and precious metal, and jewelry of all kinds. For once, the rumors were correct. Cyrus, who had heard the tales shortly after he arrived on the scene in November, had gone straight to the shop of our old acquaintance Mohammed Mohassib, who had been dealing in antiquities for thirty years. The canny old scoundrel, looking as pious as only a Luxor dealer can, had denied any knowledge of the reputed treasure. He always did, though it was well known that he had handled many of the big finds. There was nothing anybody could do about it, since he never kept the valuables in his own house, but distributed them among his various relations, and when he was in the process of marketing the goods he conducted private negotiations with interested parties who were not inclined to turn him in because they wanted the artifacts themselves.

Knowing this habit of dear old Mohassib’s, Cyrus had persisted until Mohassib finally remarked that he had just happened to have acquired an interesting object – not from a tomb robber, of course! It proved to be a heavy gold bar approximately two inches long, set with five small figures of reclining cats, two of which were missing; the surviving three were of gold and carnelian. Cyrus knew his antiquities too well to remain long in doubt as to the meaning of what he saw. “The gold spacer was part of a woman’s armlet,” he had written. “Had to be a female’s because of the cats. It had the cartouches of Thutmose III. They’re saying there were three burials in the tomb, folks – queens or princesses related to Thutmose III.”

Attempting (in vain, if I knew Cyrus) to conceal his excitement, he had immediately made Mohassib an offer. The old gentleman had regretfully declined. Another party had expressed interest, and he was obliged to give him the first chance. What else could a man of honor do?

“That’s how it stands,” Cyrus ended his letter. “I’m pretty sure the ‘other party’ is Howard Carter, acting as agent for Carnarvon or some gol-durned museum. Mohassib is trying to raise the price by playing the bidders off against each other. You better get down here and talk to Mohassib, Emerson; he’s a wily old skunk and you’re the only one he’s scared of.”

“We are leaving Cairo at once,” Emerson declared.

Ramses exchanged glances with his wife. “Excuse me, Father, but I don’t see the need for such haste. The tomb has been cleared and Mohassib isn’t going to admit anything, even to you. It would make better sense to talk with Carter. Isn’t he working for the War Office? He may be in Cairo even now.”

“Hmph,” said Emerson thoughtfully.

“We cannot leave immediately,” Nefret said. “I must go to the hospital. I’ve been out of touch for months, and there are a number of matters I must settle with Sophia before I go away again.”

“Hmph,” said Emerson again. Emerson’s grunts are quite expressive, to those who have learned to differentiate them. This one expressed disagreement and protest. The hospital Nefret had founded for the fallen women of Cairo was in a particularly vile part of the city; as she had pointed out, the unhappy creatures she wanted to help would not have dared venture into a respectable neighborhood.

“It’s all right, Father,” Ramses said. “You don’t suppose I would allow my helpless, timid little wife to go alone to el-Wasa?”

Nefret put out her tongue at Ramses. She had never entirely abandoned such childish gestures. This one appeared to amuse Ramses a great deal.

“Ah,” said Emerson, brightening. “Good. What about you, Peabody? Are you going with them?”

“I have other plans,” I said, folding my napkin.

Emerson’s eyes narrowed into sapphirine slits. “Oh, no, you don’t, Peabody. You are coming with me. Or,” he added, “to put it another way, I am going with you.”

The children left us and I sent Emerson off to finish dressing. I knew the process would take him some time, so I went to see how Sennia and her entourage were getting on. She and Basima and Gargery – and the cat – were still at breakfast. Sennia had a perfectly astonishing appetite for so small a person. When she saw me, she dropped her slice of toast – jelly-side down – and ran to throw her arms round me, demanding to know where we were going that day.

“You and Gargery and Basima will have to amuse yourselves today,” I replied, in the tone that brooked no argument. “The rest of us have errands. I suggest a visit to the Museum, or perhaps you would like to hire a carriage and go out to Giza.”

“I do not believe that is a good plan, madam,” said Gargery, winking furiously and wrinkling up his face in a most alarming manner. “After what happened last year -”

“That was last year, Gargery. The people responsible for that incident are no longer a threat to us.”

“But, madam! She will want to take the da – - the cat with us.”

He scowled at Horus, who was sitting by Sennia’s chair cleaning his whiskers. Horus left off long enough to sneer at Gargery. All cats can sneer, but Horus did it better than most. He had a very large head and the dark stripes on his face reminded one of a gargoyle.

“Shall we go to Atiyeh?” Basima asked. “Others of the family will want to see the Little Bird.”