“It is but a minor detour,” I said firmly. “I will not approach the shop, but merely keep an eye out for anyone who might be maintaining surveillance in hopes of Harun’s reappearance. Herr Morgenstern comes to mind.” I did not add that Sethos was as likely a candidate, although identifying him would be a challenge. I had little doubt that he was aware of the Nefertiti sculpture and had every intention of stealing it from under our noses.

Ignoring Daoud’s protests, I stepped around him and briskly set off for Harun’s shop. As I walked past the alley where the dynamite had caused destruction and the death of Guy Godwin, I felt a shiver. The shops that had taken the worst of the explosion were already under repair, but many of the owners had lost their wares—and their paltry incomes.

Harun’s shop was nearby. When we turned onto the narrow street, I caught a glimpse of pink in the multitude of pedestrians. I did my best to make my way with all due haste, but by the time we were across the street from the shop, I saw no one clad in that hue. I reminded myself that many Egyptian women wore brightly colored robes. Others wore black robes and scarves, while the most conservative wore burkas that covered them from head to toe, with only a mesh rectangle that obscured their eyes. Which meant Sethos could be standing within arm’s reach, smiling impudently at me.

Having observed that the shop was padlocked and dark, I scanned the faces of those at the tiny tables outside cafés for Herr Morgenstern. He would not have been in disguise; his Teutonic character precluded wiles and whimsy. I might have gone into the shops to look for him had Daoud not been rumbling like a mighty volcano, his expression so dour that I knew an eruption was imminent.

We departed the Khan el-Khalili and hailed a cab for Shepheard’s.

From Manuscript H

“I say, old chap, are you sure you’re up for this?” Ramses said, brushing lint off the lapels of his dark jacket. “Tallyho and whatnot.”

David looked much more at ease in his suit and muted tie, as if he were a law clerk at Gray’s Inn. “As long as I don’t have to sound like an upper-class twit. Not that I intend to say much, since my accent is perceptible. As your humble assistant’s assistant, I shall remain respectfully silent.”

Ramses laughed. “When have you ever been respectfully anything? Just don’t snigger and expose our cover.”

They crossed the busy street and went to the gates of the German embassy. A guard demanded to know their business. Ramses pretended not to understand and said, “I am Lord Cavendish, here to see the ambassador.” His emphatic tone and imperious stare were adequate to induce the guard to open the gate.