‘I have to admit I thought Dr Schmidt had lost his marbles when he turned up with a wild story about robbing the Cairo Museum.’ Keith glanced at Schmidt, who was sitting on the floor next to the rug where the dog lay. The dog’s tail was flopping up and down and Schmidt was talking to him in German. ‘But when he said Mr Tregarth was meeting him, I figured it was all right. I hope I didn’t offend Mr Tregarth when I mentioned his generosity, he asked to remain anonymous when he offered to support my work here for an additional month.’

‘He’s a very modest man,’ I said. ‘When did he do that?’

‘About six weeks ago. I had permission to work here, but I only had enough funding for a month, with strict economy. Now I can finish my survey.’

I let him tell me about the survey, nodding and smiling at appropriate moments. I don’t believe in coincidences; it was reassuring to know that this wasn’t one. John’s ‘generosity’ had been nothing of the sort. Having been informed of Blenkiron’s plans he had realized he would need all the allies he could find, and he had had to pick someone who already had the EAO’s permission to work at a given site, since official permission wasn’t easily or quickly achieved. He must have planned to leave the cruise at Amarna, and he had undoubtedly prepared a plausible story to win Keith’s cooperation. My arrival had put an end to that scheme; he hadn’t even bothered to approach Keith during our visit. But Schmidt had, and nice indiscreet Keith must have told Schmidt about his generous patron, and Schmidt had assumed that when he indicated Amarna as our meeting place, John would go to Keith.

As he had. So far Schmidt was way ahead of the rest of us. He had known exactly what he was doing. I still didn’t know what I was doing.

Tiring of Schmidt’s attentions, the dog wandered over to inspect me. He was a nondescript creature, like all the other pathetic strays, except that his ribs weren’t showing and he seemed to trust people.

‘What happens to him when you leave?’ I asked, scratching Fido behind his ear.

‘He’s not mine. One of the Egypt Exploration Society people adopted him a couple of years ago – they come out for a few months every winter – and the custodian looks after him when they’re away. He must prefer Boston baked beans to rice, though, because he’s been hanging around me since I got here. I’m afraid that’s the main course tonight,’ he added with a grin. ‘My commissariat isn’t extensive.’

I assured him I shared Fido’s passion for baked beans.