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known royal tombs were in Thebes, he had alerted the police to watch out for a peasant from that city who had more money than he could have come by honestly. Thus suspicion was focused on the Abd er-Rasool family; and, the thieves having fallen out in the meantime over the disposition of the loot, one of them betrayed the secret to Brugsch.
    I did not care for this gentleman. His brother is a respectable and well-known scholar, and Mr Emil has been employed by Maspero and his predecessor, M. Mariette, for many years; but his bold stare and hard face affected me unpleasantly, as did his calloused description of the interrogation of the unfortunate Abd er-Rasool brothers. Not a muscle in his tanned face moved as he described beatings with palm rods, and heated pots being placed on the heads of the suspects. Yet I could not help but be fascinated by an eyewitness account of the incredible discovery. Brugsch admitted that his sensations, as he was lowered into the pit, were not wholly comfortable. He was armed, of course, but his weapons would not have availed against treachery, and all the inhabitants of the area hated the representatives of the government. And then his feelings, as he stood in the stifling gloom of the little cave, amid a jumble of royal dead… ! He knew the bodies must be moved at once, in order to prevent their being stolen, and he accomplished this difficult task in only eight days. He was describing the northward voyage of the barge – the banks of the river lined with mourning women, rending their garments and pouring dust on their heads as the bodies of the ancient kings floated by – when Maspero joined us.
    The director of antiquities was a stout, genial man with twinkling eyes and a short black beard. A true Frenchman, he bowed over my hand and greeted Evelyn with admiration. He spoke of my father in the highest terms. Seeing how busy he was, we soon excused ourselves, and he begged pardon for not showing us over the museum himself. Perhaps he would join us later, he said, glancing at Evelyn.
    ‘You have made another conquest,’ I said softly to Evelyn, as we walked away. ‘M. Maspero could hardly keep his eyes away from you.’
    ‘Nor Herr Brugsch his eyes from you,’ Evelyn replied with a smile. ‘He was anxious to escort you; did you see his scowl when M. Maspero told him he had work for him to do?’
    ‘Don’t try to give your admirers to me,’ I retorted. ‘I am not in need of such mendacious flattery; and if I were, Herr Brugsch would not be my choice.’
    I was glad the director was not with us when we began our tour. Courtesy must have prevented me from telling him what I thought of his museum. Not that the place wasn’t fascinating; it contained many marvellous things. But the dust! And the clutter! My housewifely and scholarly instincts were equally offended.
    ‘Perhaps you are not being fair,’ Evelyn said mildly, when I expressed my feelings. ‘There are so many objects; new ones are discovered daily; and the museum is still too small, despite the recent enlargement.’
    ‘All the more reason for neatness and order. In the early days, when European adventurers took away what they discovered in Egypt, there was no need for a national museum. Then M. Mariette, Maspero’s predecessor, insisted that Egypt should keep some of its national treasures. The cooperation between Great Britain and France, to regulate and assist this unfortunate country, has resulted in the French being given control over the antiquities department. I suppose they must have something; after all, we control finance, education, foreign affairs, and other matters. But we could do with a little English neatness here, instead of French nonchalance.’
    We had penetrated into a back room filled with objects that seemed to be leftovers from the more impressive exhibits in the front halls of the museum – vases, bead necklaces, little carved ushebti figures, flung helter-skelter onto shelves and into cases.