“In the same way that I believe in fairies and ambulatory mummies. Ramses and David are convinced that he leapt out of the freight car, but keep in mind that it was very dark. Sethos stood in the doorway and then vanished. They may have fallen for the most rational explanation of his action. Sethos has a remarkable history of creating illusions to satisfy his audience.”

“I prefer to believe that he is limping toward Minya,” she replied with a toss of her chin. She went into her cabin and closed the door.

I sadly noted that the cakes and sandwiches had vanished. Fatima and I had already discussed the menu for dinner, so I went up the steps to the top deck and collapsed gracefully on a chaise. When I closed my eyes, I could not banish an image of Queen Nefertiti regarding me with reproof. Her unspoken accusation had validity, in that the inferior forgeries of her bust had been scattered across Cairo like cheap tourist trinkets. “But you will have a place of honor in the Egyptian Museum,” I told her.

“Or in a German museum,” she retorted bitterly. “Are you confident that Borchardt will not smuggle Thutmose’s masterpiece out of Egypt? Surely you have not forgotten that the Rosetta Stone is in the British Museum, along with the Elgin Marbles.”

“I will grant that,” I said, unable to refute her assertion—and yes, Readers, I was aware that I was carrying on a conversation with an illusion. I have found it helpful to express my thoughts aloud. Doing so encourages me to analyze and amend my conjectures. Emerson has perfected the knack of pretending to listen to me while he considers the next day’s activity at an excavation. He is often taken by surprise when I politely request that he put on his evening clothes for a social event that evening.

I could see by Nefertiti’s glare that she was displeased by my response. “We have no reason to distrust Borchardt,” I continued in an attempt to placate her. She had been, after all, the coregent with Akhenaton and possibly a pharaoh in her own right. One should not argue with long-deceased pharaohs.

Her lips tightened. “You may trust Borchardt, but I do not. Have you examined all of the busts on the table in your dining room? Careful study may lead to enlightenment.”

“We know that they were made by Harun and his apprentices. Only one of the forgeries is nearly perfect.” I stood and poured myself a glass of water while I contemplated her intimation that we had overlooked something.

I was so engrossed that I nearly tripped when a voice called, “Mrs. Emerson, are you here? I have taken it upon myself to come without an invitation. Please forgive me if I have interrupted your conversation.”