“Among those young men,” said Hiram Stratton, “is my own son. Do not be uncomfortable with the admission. It is I who am ashamed. He went to Yale, but did not succeed. He has not, in fact, succeeded anywhere. He lacks capacity for anything except failure.”

The French were horrified that a father would speak like that. The British were expressionless. The Germans, of course, had still not bothered to cross the room.

“I've come to bring him home,” said Hiram Stratton. “He belongs in prison and I plan to put him there.” The man's face split open in what must have been a smile. Camilla could not look at it.

“In prison?” repeated Dr. Lightner, appalled. “Surely not, Mr. Stratton. He seems a delightful fellow. Has taken fine pictures. In fact, he's the one who found the tomb about which I am so excited!”

“I was not blessed with a good son,” said Hiram Stratton. “Throughout his life it has been necessary to curb him. I incarcerated him in an asylum for the good of the community.”

You did not! thought Camilla. You locked him up because he defied you. It was easy to show the factory workers who was boss: burn their jobs. It was easy to show your son, too. Whip Strat until he cringed in the manner you like to see in dogs.

“He escaped,” said Hiram Stratton. “Attacked the staff and vanished. Not only that, he kidnapped two innocent children.”

He did not! They were not children. They went with him joyfully. He was saving them. Their own families do not want them back!

“I have come here,” said Hiram Stratton, “to see Egypt, of course. To admire your excavation, of course. To consider a major donation. But alas, to administer a lasting punishment to my son.” He did not mean that word alas. He gloated.

Camilla had thought that Duffie's lies were about the nature of St. Rafael's patients; Duffie feared she would not agree to get near leprosy. How terribly wrong she had been. His lies were about the reason for locating the son. Camilla had not been sent to arrange a joyful reunion. She had been sent so that the father could ruin his own boy.

Camilla had chosen not to believe Katie's version of Strat's character. But Katie, who knew so much of cruelty, had singled Strat out as a true and decent friend.

Why did I not believe Katie? thought Camilla.

Far from ruining Hiram Stratton, she had played into his hands. Not simply locating the boy, but putting the boy into an immensely worse situation. Whatever lies and fabrications Mr. Stratton brought from America, it would be no lie that the missing gold sandal was in Strat's possession; that Strat had dishonored the entire dig; that he was a thief.

“He was also,” said the French attaché thoughtfully, “involved in some way in the death of those two young men who fell from the Pyramid.”