“Hmph,” Emerson said, frowning. “Even if he is who he claims to be, I have no use for him or any other missionaries. I assume you remember what happened at Dahshur, Peabody. That fellow went quite insane after we found the Coptic manuscript in a mummy case that referred to ‘the son of Jesus.’ He murdered an antiques dealer and attempted to do the same to you, all because of his avowed religious beliefs.”

“You must tell me all about it,” Miss Smith said, and then gasped as she caught a better view of Dullard. “My goodness, he seems to possess a great deal of hair . . .”

“Das ist wahr,” Herr Morgenstern murmured. “Let me assure you that he is harmless. He has come to this site many times in the past because he is curious about the process of archaeological excavation. I gladly have answered his questions, invited him for drinks and meals, and even made a small donation to his church. We are all fellow Christians, are we not?”

I discreetly stepped on Emerson’s foot to prevent him from exploding with a stream of invectives.

Dullard was panting as he drew near. “Good morning, Professor and Mrs. Emerson, and you as well, Herr Morgenstern.” His eyes widened as he gazed at Miss Smith. In his high-pitched and squeaky voice, he said, “I don’t believe we have been introduced, madam.”

I performed the obligatory social task of making proper introductions, and was stunned as the two stared at each other with what might be described as profound intensity. Neither of them seemed capable of speech. I finally said, “What brings you here today, Mr. Dullard?”

“I heard that my friend Herr Morgenstern was back,” he said distractedly. “And you, Miss Smith? Do you have an interest in Egyptology?”

“Oh yes indeed,” she replied, her eyes locked on his as if they were communicating wordlessly. “I am the author of a series of books set in the very recent past, in nineteenth-century Egypt, and I am here to experience it for myself.”

“An author?” Dullard gaped at her as if she had declared herself to be a trapeze artist. “You write books?”

“That is what authors do,” I commented.

He bit his lip as he pondered this. “Might you wish to visit a Coptic village? I shall be happy to escort you. The Copts in Egypt date back to the first century and have a fascinating history of persecution and acceptance.”

“How terribly kind of you, sir,” she said.

Emerson slapped Dullard on the back. “An excellent idea, old boy! Miss Smith is eager to experience it for herself, as she just stated. Please do not allow us to detain you any further.” He turned his back to continue observing the workmen. “Morgenstern, come have a look at this. You, too, Peabody. I believe we are about to uncover another sculpture by Thutmose.”