“Oh, dear,” I murmured. “Well, Emerson, you acted according to your lights, I suppose. Go and clean up, it is past time for luncheon.”

I followed him into our room, for I knew that if I did not assist his ablutions he would get the cast wet.

“I trust el-Gharbi was properly appreciative,” I said, assisting him to remove his shirt.

“In his fashion. He said something rather strange.”

“What? Let me do that, Emerson.”

I took the dripping washcloth from his hand.

“ ‘The young serpent also has poisoned fangs.’ ”

“I beg your pardon, Emerson?”

“Those were his precise words, Peabody. I haven’t the vaguest idea what they mean, but it has the ring of a warning, doesn’t it?”

“Hmm. Perhaps he was referring to Jamil.” I put the washcloth down and picked up a towel.

“The warning comes a bit late,” said Emerson. “But that is how soothsayers and fortune-tellers and such individuals make their reputations, by predicting what has already happened. The devil with it, and el-Gharbi. I stopped by the railroad station and made reservations. We will take the train tonight.”

I did not wire ahead. We would probably arrive before the telegram was delivered, and Fatima always kept the house in perfect order. The happy surprise I had planned for her and the others was spoiled, however, by the network of gossip that encompasses Luxor. By the time we reached the house, the whole family was on the veranda waiting for us. Sennia darted at Ramses, shouting, “See how much taller and stronger I am?”

Before any of us could stop her, she had thrown her arms round him in one of her gigantic hugs. We always pretended to be left breathless by her strength, but she knew at once that his gasp of pain was not feigned, and began fussing and apologizing. She made him sit down and lifted both his feet onto a stool.

“You’ve been and got yourselves into trouble again,” said Gargery sternly. “Was it that Master Criminal chap? I trust, sir and madam, that he isn’t going to turn up here. We’ve got enough problems without that.”

“What sort of problems?” I asked.

“There is no trouble, Sitt,” said Fatima, with a reproachful glance at Gargery. “Rest and I will bring tea.”

Gargery would not be silenced. “It’s mostly these young women, madam. That girl that was working for Miss Nefret has been round saying you promised to find her a husband. She’s got a chap in mind and wants you to pin him down before he can get away.”

We all laughed except Sennia, who was still fussing over Ramses. “She didn’t put it that way, surely,” Nefret said.

“She keeps coming round,” said Gargery gloomily. “And then there’s Jumana. Won’t eat, won’t talk, won’t work. It puts a person off, madam, just seeing that gloomy face. And Mrs. Vandergelt -”

“Enough, Gargery,” Emerson snarled. “Can’t we have a single day of peace and quiet? No one is desperately ill, no one is dead, no one is missing? Good. Mrs. Emerson will deal with these minor difficulties in due time.”

“Thank you, my dear,” I said.

The sarcasm was wasted on Emerson. “Good to be back,” he declared with great satisfaction. “No use asking Gargery how things are going at Deir el Medina, but I expect Vandergelt will be here before long, with his own list of complaints. Never a dull moment, eh? Sennia, you haven’t given me a kiss. My arm is bothering me quite a lot.”

Cyrus was courteous enough not to disturb us for the greater part of the day. We were sitting on the veranda admiring the lovely sunset colors, as the calls of the muezzins drifted across the desert in a melodious medley, when he turned up, riding Queenie.

“Figured I’d arrive in time for drinks,” he remarked, handing the reins to the stableman. “Sure good to have you folks back. I hear Ramses has had another little – er – accident. I don’t suppose I should ask where you’ve been and what you’ve been up to.”

“No,” said Emerson. He handed Cyrus a glass.

It was the answer Cyrus had expected. He accepted it, and the glass of whiskey, with a smile. “Sure have missed you. Maybe you can do something with Jumana. She’s just wasting away, poor little girl.”

“No, she is not,” I assured him. “Nefret and I both examined her this afternoon. She is somewhat off-color, since she hasn’t left the house for days, but she hasn’t lost an ounce.”

“But Fatima said -”

“She has only picked at her meals. That means she is eating on the sly. I prescribed a particularly nasty-tasting tonic.”

“She’s been putting it on?” Cyrus demanded.

“It’s not that simple, Cyrus,” Nefret said thoughtfully. “Her unhappiness is genuine. She isn’t deliberately deceiving us, but I think – and Heaven knows I am no expert – that her natural youthful optimism is engaged in a mental struggle with her sense of guilt. I honestly don’t know whether to slap her or coddle her.”

“Put her to work,”said Emerson. “Always the best medicine. How are things going at Deir el Medina, Vandergelt?”

“ ’Bout the same. Found two more tombs. Empty.”

“You haven’t broken your promise to me, I hope,” I said.

“I haven’t been in the southwest wadis, if that’s what you mean. But if you think I’ve forgotten what that young villain said, you’re wrong. I haven’t been able to sleep, wondering what he meant. ‘The hand of the god.’ What god? Where?” Cyrus held out his empty glass. In silent sympathy, Emerson refilled it. He had no patience with psychology, but this distress he could understand.

Cyrus went on, in mounting passion, “I even went back into that darned shrine – the one where we found the statue of Amon last year. Well, he’s a god, isn’t he? Bertie and I examined every inch of the darned room. The walls and floor are solid.”

“Bah,” said Emerson. “Stop wasting time on fantasies, Vandergelt.”

“Don’t be a hypocrite, Emerson,” I said. “We have all been speculating and guessing and theorizing. It is a pretty little problem. Supposing Jamil was not trying to mislead or tantalize us, which may well have been the case, there are a good many gods shown on a good many wall surfaces in Thebes. Deir el Bahri, Medinet Habu, every tomb on the West Bank – What is it, Cyrus?”

“Excuse me, Amelia, I didn’t mean to interrupt. You just reminded me. This little piece of news ought to get your attention, Emerson,” he added, with a grimace at my husband. “Give you three guesses who has started an excavation in the Valley of the Kings.”

Emerson’s look of lofty indifference turned to a scowl. “Without official permission? Confound it, Vandergelt -”

“Not the Albions?” I exclaimed.

“Might have known you’d hit it on the head first time,” said Cyrus. “You’re both right. It’s Joe and his family, and they don’t have official permission.”

“And you let them?” Emerson demanded.

“I notified Cairo. That was all I could do, as Joe gleefully pointed out to me. I haven’t got the authority to stop them.”

“Where in the Valley?” Ramses asked.

“In that southern branch of the wadi near Number Twenty – Hatshepsut’s tomb.”

“Why there, I wonder?” Ramses said.

“Dunno. It’s off the regular tourist track, so maybe they hoped they wouldn’t be spotted right away. Can’t think of any other reason why they would pick that area.”

“Damnation,” muttered Emerson. “I had intended to start work first thing tomorrow morning. Now I will have to waste several hours expelling the Albions.”

“How do you propose to do that?” I inquired. “You haven’t the authority either, and if you lay violent hands on any one of them – especially Mrs. Albion -”

“Good Gad, Peabody, have you ever known me to lay violent hands on a woman? There are ways,” said Emerson, stroking his chin. “There are ways.”

“Well, I sure don’t want to miss that,” Cyrus declared. “I’ll be waiting for you in the morning. You’ll all dine with us tomorrow evening, I hope. Katherine is anxious to see you.”