I eased open the door. The drapes were drawn, and only a sliver of sunlight pierced the dimness. Morgenstern’s clothing had been cleaned and pressed, and was hung in an open wardrobe. I tiptoed to the bed to examine my patient. He remained quiescent, eyes closed, as I sat at his bedside, but he had obviously been aware of what was going on, for now his eyes opened and he said, “What is going to happen to me?”

I took out the compass I had purchased for Emerson as a Christmas present. It glittered as it dangled from a cord. “Only good things are going to happen,” I said soothingly. “Look at this object. Watch as it captures the light. It is good to watch it while your mind rests.” I swung the compass gently to and fro. “Your eyelids are heavy. You can hardly keep them open. They are closing. But you can still hear. You can hear me. You will sleep when I bid you sleep, but when you wake you will remember what I say to you now.”

David, presumably having noticed that Daoud was no longer in the hallway, entered the room. I put my finger to my lips and resumed my soft, mellifluous instructions, ending with a final “sleep.” Herr Morgenstern had a faint smile on his face as he sank into unconsciousness.

“You told him—” David began.

“That we were his friends and that he was our friend. What is wrong with that?”

“It isn’t exactly true,” he said doubtfully.

“But it is to our advantage if he believes it,” I said as I drew him out of the room and carefully closed the door. “Posthypnotic suggestion has proved very effective in such cases, and his reaction was along the lines I had anticipated. We are returning to Amarna tomorrow on the night train. Maspero seems to believe that Herr Morgenstern can resume his work in an exemplary fashion, despite his obsession with the statue of Nefertiti. I believe that Harun will follow us, demanding to be well compensated for his copies. That will give us our best opportunity to seize this forger and demand information from him.”

“You do amaze me, Aunt Amelia.”

“Thank you,” I replied modestly.

Seven

The following morning I opted to abandon caution and had breakfast in the dining room, despite the potential peril of being captured by Miss Smith for a further recitation of my exploits while my eggs congealed. To my relief, she was not present. I was having a final cup of coffee when Ramses strode across the room and sat down across from me. From his expression (and by that I mean a minuscule tic in his jaw), I could see that he was agitated.

“Whatever is wrong?” I inquired.

“Is Herr Morgenstern in his room?” he demanded in a hushed voice.