I introduced them, and then said, “Nefret, please take Liezel to the dahabeeyah so that Fatima can prepare her a proper breakfast. Afterward, the cabin steward will take you across the Nile to Minya. Daoud will follow shortly with von Raubritter’s luggage.” Once the girls were out of earshot, I joined Daoud. “Are these all of his possessions?” I felt as if I were a salivating crow that had landed on a succulent carcass. I struggled to restrain myself from flinging open the suitcase.

“I left the tent and camp equipment for the workmen’s wives,” he said stiffly. “I could hear them squabbling as we left. Everything else I have brought to you, Sitt Hakim.”

Items of clothing had been stuffed in the suitcase without regard for organization. The notebooks I had seen in the tent were at the bottom of the mess. I made a mental note never to allow Daoud to pack for me in the future, should a hasty exodus be necessitated. I took out the notebooks and sat down on a stone to peruse their contents. Some of them were filled with scribbled chemical formulas that were incomprehensible. Others had amateurish sketches and diagrams of the dig site and its surrounding structures, with notations about discoveries of insignificant shards of pottery. Von Raubritter had been diligent, if ineffective. The last notebook comprised a journal. I retreated to the shade to study it.

It was written in German. My fundamental aptitude in foreign languages includes French, Spanish, Italian, Greek, Arabic, Hebrew, Aramaic, and of course Egyptian hieroglyphs. Although I am able to (haltingly) read Egyptological works in German, I have never taken to German with keenness because I find it to be unpleasantly guttural. If I were to devote hours to translating the journal, I could make limited headway with it. However, my brilliant husband was semifluent in all languages imaginable. I closed the journal and ascertained his location in the middle of Thutmose’s studio. Without turning, he sensed my advance.

“Peabody,” he boomed with enthusiasm, “we have come across the most remarkable discovery—a sealed chamber beneath the floor! It may contain sculptures like statues of Akhenaton and his six acknowledged daughters, or a portrayal of Kiya, mother of Tutankhamen.”

“Why would Thutmose not have placed the bust of Nefertiti in this serdab?”

Emerson shrugged. “It is challenging to understand the motives of an Eighteenth Dynasty artist. Perhaps he felt an imminent threat and did not have time to store the bust in the serdab, or intended to take it with him when he fled.”

“Reasonable explanations,” I said, nodding, “worthy of the greatest Egyptologist of the century.” I realized that he was ecstatic about the prospect of opening the serdab; his sapphirine eyes shone with the intensity of lighthouse beacons. Translating von Raubritter’s journal would be noticeably less intriguing than a potential trove of flawless sculptures. “How soon can you open it?”