“Precisely. It will take them some time to identify the fellow. Need we sit here twiddling our thumbs?”

“I suppose we needn’t. Mr. Russell has already questioned me.”

“Russell was here?”

“Yes. I took it as a courteous gesture that he would come in person. He said he was sorry to have missed you.”

“Bah,” said Emerson. “Never mind the pleasantries. I refuse to allow these distractions to interfere with our professional activities any longer.”

“Then perhaps we should visit M. Maspero, as he requested. We will need his permission to excavate.”

“Oh.” Emerson’s brow furrowed. “Curse it, I suppose we must.”

“I will be ready as soon as I find my parasol.”

Another discussion followed, but it was brief, since Emerson had known from the first that I intended to accompany him, and his protests were purely formal. I managed to persuade him to assume a coat and cravat, and I put on a new frock I had purchased in London—yellow silk trimmed with ecru lace and amber beads. It is always advisable, I feel, to present oneself at one’s best when dealing with people like Maspero, who appreciates haute couture.

During the cab ride Emerson managed to work himself up into quite a state of temper. He burst into the director’s office without ceremony, brushing aside assorted clerks and assistants.

“See here, Maspero, I refuse to be ordered about. What the devil do you want?”

Maspero’s beard was graying and his head balding, but his smile was as warm as ever. Over the years he had become used to Emerson. Rising from behind his desk, he extended a welcoming hand.

“My dear old friend, I would never have the temerity to order you or Mrs. Emerson to do anything. I requested your assistance in a delicate matter because I have such confidence in you. Whether you accept or not is entirely up to you, s’il vous plait.”

“Hmph,” said Emerson. After escorting me to a chair, he took another and stared fixedly at Maspero. “Well? Let us get to the point at once. What is it you want us to do? Kindly reply in the fewest possible words.”

“Spend your winter season at Amarna.”

“At the Workmen’s Village? Thank you,” said Emerson with heavy sarcasm. “But no—it has already been examined. And I doubt Borchardt would relinquish any interesting part of the site to me.”

Maspero hesitated for a moment, and then said, “I am sure I can depend on you, my friends, to keep the information I am about to disclose confidential. Herr Borchardt had to return to Germany to deal with a family crisis. Herr Morgenstern was sent to replace him. All was well, but now I have been increasingly concerned about him. His behavior of late has been unusual.”

“In what way?” I asked.