“What extraordinary names!” I exclaimed. “Judas, the betrayer; Cromwell, responsible for the execution of King Charles I; Absalom, King David’s renegade son. The only notorious Guy I can recall offhand was Guy Fawkes, who tried to blow up King James I and Parliament. As for Flitworthy, nothing comes to mind, although it is a rather silly name. Their mother must have been deranged to bestow such names on her sons.”

“Geoffrey escaped with a conventional name solely because he was the product of his mother’s first marriage to an ordinary chap.” Nefret said. “Being married to Geoffrey’s vile stepfather would have been a strain on any woman. She endured the births of five more sons. Her choice of names suggests a strong sense of bitterness.”

“So we must assume that the assassin who burst into the bath chamber was Geoffrey’s brother Judas,” I said. “The card he carried was not an accusation, but his own name.”

“Half brother,” Nefret corrected me. “Yes, Aunt Amelia, I believe we must. I never met him or the others, but I feel certain that was the equivalent of a calling card. Had he succeeded in his murderous mission, he wanted to be sure he got the credit.”

“It behooves us to find out for certain,” Ramses said. “I suggest we telegraph Sir Reginald Arbuthnot at Scotland Yard. He is an admirer of Mother’s and can inquire of the local constabulary as to the current whereabouts of the Godwin brothers. If they are no longer in their usual habitat, we must face the probability that they are in Egypt.”

“Only four of them now,” Emerson said with grim satisfaction. “See what you can find out from Scotland Yard, will you, Ramses? I must be off.”

“I will be with you as soon as I have fetched my parasol,” I said, rising. “And my belt of tools.”

Emerson looked me up and down. “Very well, Peabody. Despite the events of yesterday morning, you are probably safer with me.”

“Emerson,” I said, putting my hand on his arm, “I know your feelings about Sethos—”

“No, you don’t.”

“But I ask you to consider, fairly and without rancor, whether or not he has been of assistance to us. You share, I believe, the same goal: my protection. Why not make use of him in that capacity? ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend,’ as the Arabic proverb has it. You need not be friends,” I added hastily as Emerson’s face darkened to an ominous hue. “You merely need to be—how to put it—well, non-enemies.”

“Hmph.”

I considered this a good sign. On some occasions Emerson had employed a number of swear words at the mere hint of such an alliance.