“Miss Smith,” I murmured, “this is our protégé, Dr. Nefret Forth. I believe she has already met Mr. Dullard.”

“Nefret, my dear,” simpered Miss Smith, “how is your patient? I was told that you retrieved him from the brink of death. I am amazed that a pretty young girl like yourself can succeed in a male profession. I am too timorous. I fear I would faint were I to be confronted with a bloodied patient, be he wounded or deceased.”

Mr. Dullard cleared his throat. “I must disagree with you, Miss Smith. You displayed admirable courage when you left the security of the steamer to take up residence among the pagans.”

“Pagans?” I retorted. “The men, women, and children who live in Amarna are devout Moslems. They adhere to the teachings of the Koran and pray more often than Christians.”

“They pray to Allah, a false god.”

Despite my stern look, Emerson was unable to constrain himself. “Children are indoctrinated to believe one thing or another, based on their culture. If you had been born in India, you would worship Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva.”

“Heresy!” retorted Mr. Dullard.

“Nefret,” I said, noticing with a modicum of alarm that she had gripped the stem of her wineglass, “you failed to answer Miss Smith’s question. Perhaps you might relate what you told us earlier about his condition.”

She nodded. “Yes, of course, Aunt Amelia. Herr Morgenstern, who preferred to dine in his cabin tonight, is recovering from the heatstroke that afflicted him in the desert. His body temperature is normal, but his mind is at times confused. He doesn’t seem to remember why he went to Cairo or what happened to him while he was there.”

Mahmoud, our steward, came out of the kitchen with a platter of Nile perch in a lemon sauce. I waited impatiently until we had all been served and our wineglasses filled, and then said, “Mr. Dullard, you were at the dig house with Herr Morgenstern the night before he left on the train to Cairo. Did he show you the partial cast he removed from the site?”

“This fish is divine,” Miss Smith commented. “So fresh and flaky. It brings back memories of Brighton, a lovely city, where I dined with a direct descendant of the Duke of Cumberland. She invited me because she is enamored of my books.”

Mr. Dullard beamed at her. “How could she not be?”