Trying to keep the subject on track was as frustrating as swatting at flies on a honeypot. I could tell from Emerson’s expression that he was eager to further the religious debate. Although it would be pointless, I was disposed to allow him to do so—after I had interrogated Mr. Dullard. Once the fish plates were removed, I said, “I am pleased that you found the fish to your liking, Miss Smith. We are still concerned about Herr Morgenstern. You did accompany him to the dig house, did you not, Mr. Dullard? Did he speak of his plan to go to Cairo?”

Mr. Dullard again tugged on his beard while he thought. “No, he said nothing out of the ordinary. When I asked to see what he had uncovered at the site, I was told that it might be of significance if it proved to be Akhenaton. Since my opinion was of no value, he did not show it to me. We had a meal of tinned meat and stale biscuits.”

“And schnapps,” I said. “Here is Mahmoud with what I hope will be a satisfactory main course. Fatima purchases chickens and vegetables from the village.”

Emerson smirked. “Did she procure an extra chicken in order to perform a ritual when the moon is full? Pagans are known to drink fresh blood and—”

“Do try the baba ghanoush,” Nefret interrupted. “It is made from eggplant and garlic. It does not look especially appetizing, but it is very tasty. Fatima uses her tata’s recipe.”

Mr. Dullard did not need encouragement to try it—or any of the other dishes. He filled his plate to a precipitous height and began to eat noisily. The wine decanter was within his reach, regrettably. Miss Smith turned to look at me, her lips pursed in disapproval. I declined to respond. Conversation dwindled to a discussion of the weather, occasionally very hot but usually tolerable. Mahmoud removed our plates and poured coffee while we passed around a platter of fruit, cheeses, and biscuits. I prefer simple menus on a daily basis, although our meals are most elaborate on holidays.

At my request, Emerson offered brandy. I waited until Mr. Dullard drained his glass before saying, “Do you recall Herr Morgenstern’s mood that evening?”

“He was cheerful,” Mr. Dullard said as he sadly regarded his empty snifter. “Might I have another trickle of brandy?”

Emerson obliged, albeit with a martyred sigh. Nefret, Miss Smith, and I politely declined. I accepted that I had learned nothing from Mr. Dullard, nor was I likely to despite his obvious intoxication. It was time to put my beloved husband out of his misery. “This has been delightful, but we awake before sunrise in order to take advantage of the cooler temperature. Thank you so much for your company.”