“Yes, in the guise of an evangelical missionary. Initially, his hirsute appearance and size frightened them, but they eventually accepted him into their community. He was given a small house and was provided with food, and participated in their religious services and holidays. All was well, according to the wives, until he began to have closed meetings with the husbands and young men in the evenings, serving them beer. He provided weapons and trained them how to use them. Often they would return home in abnormally high spirits, energized but unfocused. They spoke derisively of the British interests and control in Egypt.”

“Dullard is creating a militia,” I said, almost choking on the word. “The Copts have always been gentle people who believe salvation lies in charity and the teachings of Jesus. He has converted them into insurgents by slipping that dreadful drug into whatever he served them. Unlike Moslems, their religion does not forbid alcoholic beverages. He is despicable!”

Nefret steadied me as we resumed our walk toward the pier. “I would like nothing more than to send Daoud back to the village to put a stop to Dullard’s vile scheme.”

“The only way Dullard could have come into possession of MDMA is to have been supplied with it by someone at the German embassy. His assignment must have been to motivate the Copts to be ready to rebel against the British authority in Egypt.” I paused to rub my temples. “War is looming across Europe. If the Germans receive support from the Copts and other insurgents, they will be better able to seize Egypt and other North African countries. Dullard’s loyalty lies with the Germans, if for no other reason than promises that he will be rewarded financially.”

“And we must stop him,” Nefret said in an ominous voice unlike herself.

I glanced at her in surprise. Nefret was the protectress of butterflies and wildflowers. At home in England, I had watched her return spiders to their webs and fledglings to their nests. She scooped up insects inside the house to release them in the garden. She had used her financial resources not only to build the clinic in Luxor but also to support the local orphanage.

I was too taken aback to reply as Daoud helped us into the boat and we began the journey back to the dahabeeyah.

Our round-trip mission to Deir el-Mowass had taken most of two hours, but we were optimistic that Emerson and the boys had not found the courage to defy Fatima’s demand that they partake of a hearty breakfast. As soon as Daoud guided the boat to our peer, we hurried into the dining room. Some of the platters had been removed to the sideboard, making space for five busts of Nefertiti in a tidy row.

“Good heavens!” I said, dazzled by the display. “Is it conceivable that one of them is the original taken from Thutmose’s studio?”