He shook his head with such vehemence that his beard flung itself about like a pendulous furry animal. “He was fine last night when I visited him, although he was drinking schnapps to the point of inebriation. Since I myself do not indulge in alcoholic beverages, I discouraged him as best I could and eventually helped him to bed.”

I looked over at Emerson, whose bellowing had grown so loud that it echoed off the cliffs in the distance, and determined that he would soon have the disturbance under control. “Herr Morgenstern, we are going to your dig house so that we can all enjoy a nice cup of tea.”

“What a splendid idea, Frau Emerson! There is nothing more agreeable than a midmorning cup of tea. You will forgive me if I cannot offer biscuits, but my pantry is meager.”

“You have no reason to apologize,” I replied. Once Mr. Dullard set him down, I took his arm and propelled him in the proper direction. Nefret followed us, her brow crinkled. Mr. Dullard did as well, but unceremoniously deserted us when he saw Miss Smith emerge from the cultivation and wave vigorously at us. Or, more probably, at him.

Nefret grabbed Herr Morgenstern’s other arm. She leaned forward so that I could see her eyes rolling incredulously, her elegant eyebrows raised nearly to her hairline. I had given her an account of the previous day’s peculiar encounter between the two of them, but I had struggled to assimilate it myself. I could not fault her for skepticism.

The dig house was no tidier than Emerson and I had found it previously. It was less dusty, but the odor of garbage was almost as pungent and dirty dishes and bottles cluttered the counter. Herr Morgenstern had either returned from Cairo with a copious supply of schnapps and whiskey, or he had hidden his cache in the locked room. Unable to contain my natural affinity to restore decorum, I gestured at Nefret to watch Herr Morgenstern and utilized a filthy dish towel to gather up the scraps of fetid meat and vegetables. I piled everything on a stack of plates and carried it outside, my nose wrinkled. It is one thing to be confronted with the redolence of a foul, musty, heretofore unopened tomb; it is a most exhilarating experience, laden with anticipation and reveries of treasures to be uncovered. Foodstuffs infested with maggots hold no appeal. I had some experience with such matters, since Ramses’s boyhood bedroom had been littered with dishes containing the remains of half-eaten fruit and sandwiches. When I had lectured him about the matter, he had patiently explained that he was conducting scientific research that would revolutionize theories about the decomposition of human flesh. By that, he meant the appearance of maggots. He was, if I recall accurately, no more than six years old. Emerson gave him a microscope for his next birthday.