The evidence of that was indisputable. Rusty patches of dried blood covered the dead man’s shirt and his battered head and face.

“He was stabbed in the neck,” Emerson went on, “and then struck or kicked in the head while he lay on the ground. After I collect his wallet and whatever else he has in his pockets, I suppose we had better cover him up again.” It did not take him long to find a leather wallet and a few oddments of no prospective significance. I intended to analyze them all the same. As my Readers know, the devil is in the details.

“Wait,” I said. “Tell Selim to bring the camera.”

Emerson shouted at Selim, who trotted over and took several photographs. I handed Emerson one of my large handkerchiefs. He placed it carefully over the dead man’s face and began to scoop the sand back in place.

“He asked to speak with us,” I mused, “but he did not come. He was killed in order to prevent him from telling us . . . what? We may never know.”

“Do not be melodramatic, Peabody. This is not one of those asinine Gothic novels you hide on the top shelf of the linen closet. I presume that you have in one of your innumerable pockets a notepad and pen. We must send a telegram to Russell.” I located such objects. He scribbled a message and asked Selim to have it sent from the telegraph office in Minya. “What the blazes are we to do with von Raubritter? We cannot just leave him lying in the ground in that grotesque position.”

“I do not see what else we can do, Emerson. Sand is the best preservative we have. Rigor is fully advanced and will last at least two more days. He will not be disturbed, since you know how the men feel about what Abdullah called ‘fresh dead bodies.’”

“We ought to do something to mark the place in case jackals are—er—drawn to his arm. Ah, I have it. Not only an appropriate marker, but effective protection.”

“From jackals?” I said.

“Hmph,” Emerson replied. “We could break his arm in order to bury him more efficiently, but I am loath to do so. Unless you . . . ?”

When we left von Rabriutter to his (temporary) rest, my second-best parasol was firmly anchored by a large rock, sheltering the spot. I was not convinced that jackals would be intimidated by my scent, but I had no other suggestions.

After the photographs had been developed, Selim set off for Cairo with copies of them. We had instructed him to show them to the police in Minya in case they desired to investigate, but apparently they did not feel any urgency.