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will come here again, or others like them. I could not keep them out, they pushed me away. I have told Jamad he must guard the door.”
    Her outbursts of sarcasm and complaint were so rare that they all quailed before her, even Emerson. “Er,” he said. “Sorry, Fatima. But there is no need—”
    “There is need, Father of Curses.” She folded her arms and gave him a stern look. “In Cairo we had a proper doorkeeper to announce visitors or send them away. On the dahabeeyah we had always a guard at the gangplank. Here it is all open. It is not fitting that strangers can come as they please.”
    “She’s right, you know,” Nefret said. “The Pethericks aren’t the only ones who have invaded our privacy. Remember that awful woman last week who offered Father ten pounds to show her round the sights of Luxor? Tourism is flourishing and some of these people have no manners.”
    “There have always been people without manners,” said her mother-in-law, frowning. “But what can we do? I refuse to give up the veranda, it is too pleasant, and if we build a wall it will spoil our view.”
    “We might build a guardhouse or lodge, some distance down the road from the house,” Nefret suggested. “And get one of the older men to sit there during the day. Jamad has enough to do.”
    “Do as you like,” said Emerson impatiently. “Thanks to your mother’s fussing I have missed the morning train. Just as well, perhaps; Ramses, I want you to come to the Valley with me.”
    “The Valley of the Kings?” Ramses asked in surprise.
    “There is only one Valley in Luxor,” said Emerson, emphatically if inaccurately.
    “Yes, sir. May I ask why?”
    “I promised Carter I would keep an eye on the place.” Emerson pushed his plate away, took out his pipe, and made a great business of filling it. “He and Carnarvon are dillydallying about in England and won’t be out for several more weeks.”
    His wife fixed him with a steely stare. Like Ramses, she had recognized the signs. Emerson wasn’t exactly lying, but he was concealing something.
    “That is unfair,” she said. “Howard had a serious operation last month and is still recuperating. Why did you promise him that?”
    “It is the least a fellow can do for a friend,” said Emerson.
    “Bah,” said his wife. “No one could possibly carry out an illegal excavation in the Valley, there are too many tourists and guards—even if there were any tombs yet to be found. Howard has been excavating there off and on for years, without success. What are you up to now, Emerson?”
    “Are you impugning my motives?” Emerson demanded, with a fair show of righteous indignation. “I resent that, Peabody. Come, Ramses.”
    “What about Mrs. Petherick?” his wife asked.
    Emerson, already halfway to the door, came to a stop. “It is up to her to make the next move.”
    He didn’t sound as decisive as usual, though, and his wife took immediate advantage. “Nonsense. When you accepted that object you had no idea of its value. Your motives will be impugned if you don’t return it at once, or at least offer to do so.”
    “Curse it,” said Emerson.
    “Mrs. Petherick ought to be informed of her stepchildren’s bizarre performance last night,” his wife went on. “You said you were uncertain as to who the legal owner of the statue may be. Well, isn’t she in the best position to answer that question? She may also know the name of the dealer from whom her husband purchased it. That is surely the most practical way of discovering its origins, by tracing it back from one purchaser to the—”
    “Yes, yes.” Emerson turned to face his wife. “You have made your point, Peabody, you needn’t hammer it into my liver. We’ll pay the cursed woman a visit. As soon as possible. I want to get it over with.”
    “I am glad you agree, Emerson. I dispatched a little note to Mrs. Petherick this morning, inviting her to take luncheon with us at the Winter Palace.”
    “Hmph.”