“That had not occurred to me, Peabody. Buddle claims he is here as a representative of someone named Ridgemont, who must be underwriting a goodly part of the cost of the excavation. I don’t know about von Raubritter, but one would think that Herr Morgenstern was obligated to offer hospitality to Buddle.”

“Whose name was on the card we found in Judas’s pocket,” I replied. “He was blasé when I warned him that he was in danger. All of this is perplexing, Emerson.”

“Damned perplexing,” he muttered.

When we arrived at the location where we had uncovered von Raubritter’s body, I was relieved to see that it had been removed by the police. My parasol remained open but askew. Pragmatism inclined me to retrieve it.

“Herr Morgenstern!” shouted Emerson, waving his arm. “We have accepted your invitation to visit the site.”

“Guten Tag,” he responded as we joined him. He was standing at the perimeter of Thutmose’s studio; his workmen were on their knees, carefully brushing sand into buckets. “We are near the level we had previously achieved when I left for Cairo.”

Emerson, his arms akimbo, observed the scene without expression. “Hoping to find something that rivals Nefertiti’s statue?”

“I do not understand you,” Herr Morgenstern said, staring in bewilderment. “But, yes, I do have expectations. Thutmose did his best to secure his work after Amarna was abandoned and left to looters.”

I was about to say that he could hardly claim ignorance of the statue when I heard my name shrieked in the distance. I shaded my eyes and saw a most peculiar and unwelcome figure dressed in a voluminous lavender robe and purple veil, perched precariously atop a camel. Precariously, because she (I had no uncertainty as to her identity) was being jolted back and forth as the camel plodded unhurriedly, its reins held by an exasperated camel driver.

“What the blazes!” Emerson exclaimed. “You seem to attract the weirdest people, Peabody.”

“I gather that is not a compliment,” I replied, unable to refute his allegation.

The camel was brought to a halt nearby. Getting on and off said beast can be startling. One end drops abruptly, causing a forty-five-degree angle, and before its passenger can catch a breath, the other end drops as abruptly. Miss Smith’s face was ashen as the camel driver grabbed her around the waist and yanked her off the saddle.

“Mrs. Emerson,” she said, struggling to regain her balance, “isn’t this exciting! It is my very first time upon a camel, and likely to be my last. What rambunctious animals they are! Stubborn, vicious, flea-bitten, and smelly. I could have hired a donkey, but I felt this was a golden opportunity.”

“Ah yes,” I said. “Allow me to present Herr Morgenstern, who is in charge of the excavation, and my husband, Radcliffe Emerson. Gentlemen, this is Miss Ermintrude de Vere Smith.”