“We have seen him in a manic mode,” I said, “but not in the grasp of melancholia, unless his bleating for ‘his’ Nefertiti qualifies. I do agree that we need to confine him, if only to prevent further troubles. You have had the opportunity to observe him. Is there any discernible method to his madness?”

Nefret paused as Fatima set down a plate of eggs, bread, and fruit. “I don’t know, Aunt Amelia. We have no idea what might have taken place prior to his unscheduled trip to Cairo. We know why he went, but something must have taken place after he met with Harun and negotiated a price for one or more forgeries. He could have taken up temporary residence at the Deutsche Orient-Gesellschaft or even the German embassy. Instead, he was living on the streets and scavenging for food. Why would he do such a thing?”

“When he returned here, he seemed to be of sound mind. His memory was riddled with gaps, I admit, but he was able to function for a brief period. Then yesterday something snapped that sent him into an appalling display of brotherly love. Had Emerson not intervened, the workmen might have attacked him. Based on Mr. Dullard’s account, he had been inebriated the previous night. Could he have had an allergic reaction to the schnapps?”

“Ridiculous,” inserted Emerson. “He probably learned to drink schnapps on his grandfather’s knee.”

I could not repress a chuckle as I envisioned Herr Morgenstern, who weighed in the range of sixteen stone, seated on the lap of his frail, ninety-year-old grandfather. “Merely a supposition,” I said. “When I found him on the sidewalk across from the hotel, I did not smell alcohol on his breath—nor did I yesterday morning. In truth, he was entirely too exuberant for a man with a hangover.”

Nefret started to speak, but stopped when our cabin steward entered the dining room and handed a telegram to Emerson.

Emerson tore it open and scanned it. “It is from Ramses. He and David are fine, and will return tomorrow.” His fist hit the table, rattling the china. “It is about time! I need both of them here, not gadding about Cairo like harebrained schoolboys.”

“They were hardly gadding about,” I said resolutely. “They have been attempting to locate Harun’s new workshop, a Herculean labor in the maze of Cairo. Ramses is too cautious to admit success or defeat in a telegram.”

Nefret stood up, her breakfast barely touched. “I assume we will be departing shortly for the site. I need to instruct Daoud to prevent Herr Morgenstern from leaving the boat. Fatima can look in on him occasionally, and prepare a tray for him when he regains his appetite.” She gave me a concerned look. “Aunt Amelia, you look tired. You suffered from the heat as well as Herr Morgenstern. Perhaps you should rest and join us later.”