Ramses escorted me to a chair and fetched me a cup of coffee. Nefret was too confounded to move. David pulled out another chair and suggested that she sit down before she toppled over. She allowed herself to be seated, still staring at the busts. “They are remarkably similar,” she said.

“Not to the trained eye,” said Ramses with what I considered to be insufferable condescension. “Three of them have obvious flaws, and were produced by inept apprentices. One of the final two is the work of Harun, who is worthy of his reputation as the Master Forger.”

“He did a damned good job,” Emerson commented. “I have not had the opportunity to scrutinize them at length, although I shall do so later.”

“How did you manage to acquire them?” I demanded.

David laughed. “I can assure you, Aunt Amelia, that it was not a simple task. Thanks to Latif, we were able to find Harun’s latest workshop.” He went on to describe their deafening screeches as they burst out of the shadows to grab the two busts. “Ramses oversaw the transportation of the trunk to the train station, where we encountered scoundrels under orders from the German embassy. Latif diverted the last one, so we brought him with us. I will allow Ramses to elaborate about the train trip.”

Ramses did so with his typical impassivity.

“Sethos!” I gasped.

Emerson growled deep in his throat. “Did you think he might concede, Peabody? Ramses should have deduced that the villain was on their trail. Very careless of you, son.”

“I am obliged to agree with you, sir,” Ramses replied.

“It is time to depart for the site.” Emerson looked at Nefret and me. “I presuppose that you intend to change into more suitable attire. I anticipate a long, arduous day.” He smiled at Latif, who was oblivious to the exchange and was wolfing down lavish helpings of eggs, toast, hummus, and pita bread. “We will cut trousers and find a shirt for you, and you will look like a professional archaeologist in my pith helmet.”

“There are extra ones in the back of our wardrobe,” I said coolly. “Come along, Nefret. We will not be able to work if we are dressed like shop clerks or vicars’ spinster daughters.”

“Or missionaries’ wives,” Nefret added, dimpling.

Emerson harrumphed. “While we walk to the site, you can tell us what you learned about that villainous missionary and his little flock of Coptic canaries—if they sang.”

“They may not have sung,” I said as I stood up, “but they twittered. Nefret and I will freshen up and put on our garb. We will be ready to leave shortly. Please do not ruin any of your trousers, Emerson. I can only repair them with needle and thread so many times before they are reduced to tatters. The Vandergelts are coming for Christmas. I expect all of us to look respectable.”

“What is Christmas?” asked Latif between bites.