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insulted by ignorant Europeans who don't know any better, and if David is suspected of forging antiquities—"
A stifled exclamation from Ramses stopped me. "Oh, dear," I said. "I ought not to have said that."
"Why the devil not?" Emerson demanded. "You know perfectly well we had no intention of keeping this a secret from Ramses. We have been waiting for a suitable opportunity, that's all. Stop glowering, my boy."
Ramses's eyebrows, which are as heavy and black as his father's, slipped back into place. "Is this a suitable opportunity, sir?"
"It would appear so," Emerson admitted. "David is the one who must be kept in the dark, at least for the present. Peabody, may I impose on you to fetch the—er—object from my desk while I tell Ramses about it?"
"Don't trouble yourself, Mother," said Ramses. "This is the object in question, I expect."
He took the scarab from the pocket the kitten had not occupied.
"Damnation," said Emerson. "There is no hope of privacy in this house! I suppose you happened to run across it while you were looking for an envelope or a stamp?"
"A pen," said Ramses, bland as butter. "The drawer was not locked, Father. Since you intended to consult me anyhow..."
    While Emerson told the story, the kitten climbed up Ramses's trouser leg, leaving a trail of snagged threads. It perched on his knee and began washing its face energetically but ineptly.
    "Have you spoken with the dealer?" Ramses asked.
    "There hasn't been time." Emerson took out his pipe and tobacco pouch. "We've got to go about this carefully, my boy. If the scarab is known to be a forgery, David is the first person who will be suspected. Everyone knows his history. When we first encountered him he was an apprentice of Abd el Hamed, one of the finest forgers of antiquities Luxor has ever produced. Since then he has become a qualified Egyptologist, with a thorough knowledge of the language, and he has made something of a name for himself as a sculptor. That scarab is not your usual clumsy fake; it was produced by a man who knew the language and the ancient manufacturing techniques. What the devil, I would suspect David myself if I didn't know his character so well."
"Father," Ramses began.
"Thanks to your quick thinking, we can keep the matter quiet for a time," I mused. "You purchased Mr. Renfrew's silence with the scarab. Presumably the dealer who sold it to him does not doubt it is genuine, and Griffith has not seen it, only a copy of the inscription. I suppose it really is a forgery?"
"Are you questioning my expertise, Peabody?" Emerson grinned at me. "I would be the first to admit I am not an authority on the language, but I have developed a certain instinct. The damned thing just didn't feel right! Besides, you will never convince me that the Egyptians of that period had the ships or the seamanship for such a voyage."
    "Sir," Ramses said, rather loudly.
    "You have translated the inscription, of course?"
    "Yes, sir."
    "Well? Don't be so cursed formal."
"It is a compilation from several different sources, including the Punt inscriptions of Hatshepsut and a rather obscure Greek text of the second century B.C. There are certain anomalies—"
"Never mind the details," I said, starting from my chair and hastening to the window. There was no sign of the motorcar; the sound I had heard must have been made by a gust of wind. "The conclusion seems irrefutable. What are we going to do about this?"
    "Someone must talk to the dealer," said Emerson. "Inquiries will have to be indirect, since we don't want to arouse his suspicions. We should also attempt to trace the other forgeries."
    "Others?" I had a good many things on my mind or I would have arrived at this conclusion myself. "Good heavens, yes! We must assume there are others, mustn't we?
Emerson chewed thoughtfully on the stem of his pipe. "Forging antiquities is a profitable business, and a craftsman as skilled as this chap won't stop with a single example. But if the others are as good as the scarab