Entering into the spirit of the thing, I replied, “How do you know they will be there? The Redeemer can forgive worthy pagans and welcome them into Paradise.”

“I won’t go anywhere unless you are there, too. Would you consider committing a few minor sins in order to be eligible for Hades?”

“You will have your little joke, Emerson.”

“It was not a joke. But if you will put in a good word for me, I may squeeze into heaven after all. What I am about to propose,” he added, looking meaningfully at me, “is not a sin. Even that old stick St. Paul said—”

“I am familiar with that passage, Emerson.”

“I am pleased to hear it, Peabody. Shall we . . . ?”

“An excellent idea,” I said.

Ramses and David had left after dinner, laden with a parcel of sandwiches and pieces of baklava and basbousa that Fatima had forced upon them with numerous admonishments to be wary of the food in Cairo. Daoud had taken up residence on the upper deck, equipped with a blanket, a rifle, his prayer rug, and a hefty plate of leftovers from dinner.

After breakfast, Emerson, Nefret, and I set off for our site. Selim endured a handshake and told us that he had spoken to the crew, and all of them would be on the lookout for strangers. When I asked him if he had mentioned monocles, he laughed.

“If a monocle is meant to be a disguise,” he said, “it is not effective. What is more, all the assassin needs to do is remove it. That would not be difficult, Sitt Hakim.”

“True,” I admitted.

Emerson harrumphed and began to issue orders. I resumed measuring oddments, mainly faience beads and some small broken pottery figurines, while Nefret and Selim took photographs of whatever Emerson indicated. Toward the end of the morning, he announced it was time to call upon Herr Morgenstern.

“I did not think you would wait this long, Emerson,” I said as we walked along the path through the cultivation to the city proper.

“Have to give the man an opportunity to resume excavating,” he said grudgingly. “However, if we find the site vacant and without guards, we shall seize control until the D.O.G. assigns it to someone more competent.” He looked at me, his eyes glittering dangerously. “And please don’t repeat what Maspero told you, Peabody. The excavation is too important to be sacrificed by incompetent bureaucracy.”

“Yes, dear,” I said. Argument was futile. Furthermore, I agreed with him wholeheartedly, even though I was not confident that Herr Morgenstern would consent with no more than a shrug. “It occurs to me that something was amiss in the dig house. It is customary for an Egyptologist’s assistant to stay as well. When we were there, there was no indication that anyone but Herr Morgenstern had been residing in the house. Where do you suppose Mr. Buddle and von Raubritter were staying?”