Ali arrived with my meal and a bottle of the wine Emerson and I usually ordered. He set the small table with linen and silverware and opened the wine. Having missed lunch and watched the men devour the sandwiches and cakes at tea, I had a robust appetite. After I had finished eating, I poured a second glass of wine and meandered to the window to gaze at the pedestrians, motorcars, carriages, and numerous peddlers who lurked near the entrance of the hotel. I was still preoccupied with my list, so several minutes had passed before I noted a lone man hovering on the sidewalk across the street. He was pacing back and forth and glancing surreptitiously at the upper floors of the hotel. Even from a distance, I could see the filth on his coat and his unshaven face. Despite the balmy evening air, he appeared to be trembling.

I changed into more suitable clothing and hurried downstairs to the lobby. Mr. Baehler called out a tepid greeting, which I ignored as I went out the front entrance. The man cowered in a doorway when I came across the street to get a better look at him.

“Herr Morgenstern,” I said, confirming my suspicion, “how good it is to see you again! We had hoped to meet you in Amarna and were disappointed to be informed you were not there.”

“Do you know where she is? Lieber Gott, I must find my beautiful queen!” His voice was a weak, raspy whine. Spittle dribbled from his lips as he clutched his hands together in supplication. He looked so fragile that had I poked him out of frustration, he would have fallen to the sidewalk.

“I cannot answer your question, but I do insist that you accompany me to my quarters so that I can offer you a more civilized environment and a hot meal. There appears to be a nasty cut on your hand that requires medical attention. I have antiseptic and bandages among my supplies.” I firmly gripped his sleeve and propelled him across the street and into the hotel lobby. Mr. Baehler stared but said nothing as we passed by the front desk.

Ali, who was in the hallway, was equally speechless. I ordered a dinner tray to be brought for Herr Morgenstern, and we continued into my sitting room. In the light he looked much worse than I had first realized. His beard, his mustache, and his clothes were coated with grime, and his shoes were scuffed. His eyes were unfocused and watery above his concave cheeks. He looked as though he had had little to eat in the last few weeks. I sent him into the bath chamber to wash up while I took out the necessary accoutrements to treat the ragged cut on his hand.