The door to the dig house was ajar. I knocked perfunctorily and entered the main room. “Herr Morgenstern,” I called, “I have come to assure myself that you are well.”

Thankfully, he was dressed in suitable attire. His beard and hair were neatly groomed, and his girth regained (from Fatima’s delectable food). “Frau Emerson! I am delighted to see you. How are you this morning? Is it not a schöner Tag, a beautiful day?”

“Yes, it is. It is heartening to find that you have recovered from the heatstroke. Your temperature was perilously high when I found you at the Bedouin camp. Why on earth did you decide to go there?” I could not bring myself to mention his bout of nudity.

He scratched his head. “I cannot recall any of that, I regret to say. It was imperative at the time, and I succumbed to the impulse. From what I have been told, you saved me from expiring in a tent in the desert. I shall forever be in your service. May I offer you a cup of tea?”

“Very kind of you.” I sat down and beamed at him. I had no intention of eating or drinking anything from his kitchen, but I did want to linger in order to ask more questions.

“Ach, there are only ashes in the fireplace and I have no means to boil water. Would you care for a cup of schnapps?” He picked up a bottle and took a gulp. “I am very fond of schnapps. It warms the soul and stimulates the mind.”

“Does it?” I inquired gently. “It has been suggested that it muddles the mind.”

“The English have their tea; the Germans have their beer and schnapps. I have happy memories of attending Oktoberfests in Munchen with my compatriots. We would drink liters of beer and sing of our beloved fatherland. We feasted on pretzels, bratwursts, bierocks, and strudel.” He took another gulp of schnapps as his eyes watered. He thumped his chest and began to warble what I surmised was the German national anthem, interspersed with belches.

I managed to retain an expression of admiration until he finally stopped. “How stirring, Herr Morgenstern. You are very loyal to the land of your birth. This makes me wonder why you did not deliver the bust of Nefertiti to the Service des Antiquités, but instead took it to a well-known forger in order to have a passable replica made. Which one did you intend to keep?”

His eyes began to flicker. “I was concerned that the Egyptian authorities would take possession of it and then store it in the basement of the Egyptian Museum. The beautiful queen deserves a place of honor in a German museum, where she can be cherished. My name would be on a brass plaque.”