“I am thrilled to meet you,” she simpered. “I have heard so much about you, Professor Emerson. Many characteristics of my fictional sheikh are modeled after your legendary personage. You are known as the Father of Curses. I pray I am not to be the subject of one.”

“Es ist eine Ehre, Fräulein Smith,” said Herr Morgenstern as he bowed and kissed her hand.

She glanced at Emerson, perhaps in anticipation that he would do the same. He produced a chilly smile. “I hope I am not interrupting you,” she went on valiantly. “When I heard on the boat that you and Mrs. Emerson were excavating in this locale, I fear I gave in to one of my silly impulses and had my luggage removed and transported to Minya. Once on shore I realized there were no hotels. It was daunting, to say the least, but I decided to rent a little mud house in the village so that I could experience Egypt to the utmost. I am planning to keep a journal that details every moment of my stay.” She giggled, batting her eyelashes at the men. “Now all I must do is find a dashing sheikh. Do either of you happen to know one nearby?”

Emerson’s face was stony. “No, Miss Smith, I do not. I suggest you continue farther into the Eastern Desert, where sheikhs frolic in the dunes by day and their harems by night. They always are on the lookout for more wives and concubines.”

“Sir, you make me blush,” she said coyly. “You must not tease me now that we are to be neighbors.”

I intervened before Emerson could respond, in that I knew he was less than charmed with the situation. “Are you sure this is wise, Miss Smith? The majority of the villagers are gentle and considerate, but there are some scalawags who do not hold unmarried women in high esteem. The houses are not secure. I do think you should reconsider your decision, and inquire at Minya about the possibility of hiring a motorcar so that you can reboard the Cook’s steamer upstream.”

“When I saw the primitive and unsanitary living conditions, I felt some amount of trepidation,” she replied. “However, I cannot live my life through fictional characters and imaginary settings while I write in my cottage, with my cat in my lap. Your courage, Mrs. Emerson, has empowered me. Surely you of all people understand my thirst for adventure, even if there is danger afoot.”

“I do understand—” I broke off as I spotted a figure coming rapidly toward us. “I believe that is Mr. Dullard, Emerson. Please remember that you have already attempted to rip off his beard.”