Nefret led the way to a small structure built of clay bricks. It looked as though it had somewhat melted from the recent rainfall, but the roof had survived. “The family that was living here accepted a great sum of money to move out for an unspecified amount of time, and they did so cheerfully.”

“I can understand why,” I said as we entered the hut. It contained one room that served as bedroom, kitchen, and parlor. A cauldron hung above a pile of charred wood in a small fireplace. The furnishings comprised sleeping mats, a crude table with benches, random cookware, and a lantern. The quantity of luggage was extraordinary. Miss Smith would find it challenging to unpack in a room that lacked closets, but clearly she was prepared to be presentable in all elegant social affairs. She would find none in Amarna.

A large group of villagers was waiting outside, chattering like magpies. After they bestowed the usual greetings and extravagant compliments, they swarmed around Nefret and inundated her with questions, all including the Arabic words for “who” and “why.”

I rescued her and we resumed walking toward the shore, where one of our men was waiting to escort us onto the dahabeeyah. “Miss Smith has truly lost her mind,” I said. “That can be the only explanation for her behavior. I regret that you did not have the opportunity to observe her and Mr. Dullard when I introduced them. If I believed in such nonsense, which I don’t, I would describe it as love at first sight.”

“So she has found her sheikh. Good for her!”

I smiled indulgently at Nefret. “Possibly, but you have not met Mr. Dullard. I will describe him while we have luncheon, with or without Emerson.”

Emerson arrived while we were lingering over dessert and coffee. He offered a halfhearted apology, and merely flinched when Fatima banged down a plate of cold food. “Herr Morgenstern’s crew uncovered a statue, likely to be of one of Akhenaton’s daughters. It is broken but salvageable.”

“Did you think to ask him why neither Buddle nor von Raubritter was staying in the dig house?” I asked.

“He said he did not know,” Emerson said. “His cognizance seems to come and go—or he is a consummate liar. I made a reference to the Nefertiti bust and he again claimed to have no knowledge of it. When I asked him why he had gone to Cairo, he mumbled something about purchasing supplies. The next moment he began describing the makeup of Akhenaton’s household and lineage with great clarity. Then, without reason or provocation, he burst into tears and ran in the direction of his house. Could this be the result of your attempts at hypnosis, Peabody?”

“Absolutely not,” I said.