Somewhat taken aback by this blunt accusation, Mr. Buddle hesitated for a moment before replying. “You may not be aware, Professor, that the major contributor to the work of the Deutsche Orient-Gesellschaft is a distinguished gentleman named James Ridgemont. I am a trusted aide of Mr. Ridgemont. He has sent me here to make certain his interests are looked after.”

“In other words, to claim the most interesting discoveries,” said Emerson to Nefret and me. “That is why I have refused to accept sponsorship, even from so good a friend as Cyrus. Why the Service des Antiquités allows these looters to make off with so many unique objects I do not understand. Fortunately, we need not pay any attention to this fellow.”

Followed by Mr. Buddle, who was making noises like an incensed chicken, we continued on our way. Suddenly an astonishing figure trotted out from behind one of the small houses. He was a great bear of a man, bulky and extremely hairy; not only did he exhibit a head of hair that resembled a great tangle of black yarn and a long black beard and mustache, but even the backs of his hands were covered with black fuzz and more showed at the open collar of his shirt. I believe he had every intention of speaking to us, but before he could do so Emerson leapt upon him and bore him to the ground.

The two rolled back and forth while I stood over them with parasol raised and Nefret danced nimbly around the moving bodies, ready to intervene should it be necessary. She and I were accustomed to Emerson’s precipitous actions, though I could not understand what had prompted this one. However, my duty was to assist my spouse, so when the bearish man was uppermost, I struck with my parasol.

Unfortunately the pair had rolled over at the last second, and my blow landed on my dear husband’s head. Momentarily stunned, he loosened his grip and the man promptly extricated himself and dashed away as if ravenous hyenas were nipping at his heels.

I was torn between pursuing him and seeing to Emerson, but a moment’s consideration informed me that the quarry was retreating at a velocity I could not match. Nor, to be candid, did I know what I would do if I were able to catch up with him.

Emerson sat up, rubbing his cranium.

“I am so sorry, my dear!” I exclaimed.

“Are you all right, Professor?” Nefret asked anxiously.

“Oh quite,” said Emerson, blinking. “I am accustomed to being whacked on the head by my wife. It occurs more often than you might think.”

“Good heavens,” Mr. Buddle blustered. I must give him credit; instead of fleeing, he had remained nearby, hopping up and down and uttering little squawks of alarm. “Is this sort of behavior typical, Professor? I find it reprehensible.”