“My sentiments exactly,” I said.

Upon which, Emerson burst out laughing and pulled me into a close embrace. “ Peabody, when you put your chin out and give me that steely stare, I know I’ve lost the argument.”

“You wanted me to come. Admit it.”

“Mmmf,” said Emerson, his lips against mine.

We caught the evening train and went straight to Shepheard’s. The sufragi on duty greeted us like the old acquaintances we were, and asked what he could do for us.

“Breakfast,” I said, while Emerson divested himself of various articles of clothing and tossed them around the room. Emerson had not been in favor of staying over, but even he admitted that we could not dismiss this request as brusquely as we had done with the War Office’s other attempts to bring Ramses back into the service, and catch the first train back to Luxor.

“Emphatically not,” said Ramses. “Smith told us virtually nothing, but they wouldn’t have sent for me unless they have some idea as to how to locate him. We must try to find him, Father. If he is a prisoner -”

“If?” Emerson exclaimed. “Do you believe he is a turncoat and a traitor?”

Once upon a time Emerson’s intimidating scowl would have reduced Ramses to silence. Now he met those narrowed blue orbs squarely and smiled a little. “It’s odd to hear you defend him, Father. Good God, I don’t want to believe it either! But the man is an enigma – embittered, cynical, and unpredictable.”

“Hmph,” said Emerson. “Well. The sooner we find out what Murray has to say, the better. Shall we go?”

“General Murray?” I repeated. “What has he to do with this? You haven’t even made an appointment.”

“You know my policy, Peabody – go straight to the top and avoid underlings. He will see me whenever I damn well decide to see him,” said Emerson. “Are you ready, Ramses?”

I would have insisted upon accompanying them if I had believed there was the slightest chance the general would allow me or Nefret to take part in the discussion. Men are singularly limited in their views about women, and military men are even worse.

I handed Emerson his coat – he would have walked out of the room in his shirtsleeves if I had not – and helped him into it. “Come straight back here,” I ordered.

“Mph,” said Emerson.

“Yes, of course,” said Ramses, smiling at Nefret.

FROM MANUSCRIPT H

Murray kept them waiting for half an hour. It wasn’t long, considering his busy schedule and the fact that he had not expected them, but Emerson took it as a personal affront. He was in an extreme state of annoyance by the time they were ushered into the General’s office, and he expressed his feelings with his usual candor.

“What the devil do you mean by letting us cool our heels all that time? It was damned inconvenient for us to come just now. You had better have a good reason for interrupting my work.”

Murray was losing his hair. The high forehead added to the length of his face, which was set in stern lines, but the mouth under the neatly trimmed graying mustache twitched as Emerson spoke. Ramses had heard that Murray had had a nervous breakdown in 1915, after serving as chief of staff to the British Expeditionary Force. An encounter with Emerson wasn’t going to do his nerves much good.

“I did not ask you here, Professor Emerson,” he said stiffly.

The office was comfortably, almost luxuriously, furnished, with deep leather chairs and Oriental rugs. The wide windows behind the desk offered a view of palm trees and gardens. The fog had cleared; it was going to be a fine day.

“No?” Emerson sat down and took out his pipe. “Well, if it wasn’t you, it was one of your flunkies, and you ought to know about it. What sort of administrator are you?”

Murray began fumbling through the papers on his desk. Emerson’s tactics were brutal but effective; the general’s hands were shaking with rage. He couldn’t bully a civilian, especially one of Emerson’s eminence, as he would have done a military subordinate – but how he wanted to! After a moment of hard breathing, he selected one paper from among the rest, stared at it, and rang for an aide. A whispered conversation took place. Ramses, whose hearing was excellent, caught only a few words: “… devil he thinks he’s doing…”

“Didn’t your mother teach you that it is rude to whisper when other persons are present?” Emerson inquired, tossing a burned match onto the floor.

Murray ’s complexion was that of a man who spends most of his time indoors. His pale cheeks reddened. “Professor Emerson, I did not ask to speak with you, but so long as you are here I can spare you a few minutes, in order to emphasize the seriousness of the situation. From now on you will be taking orders from someone else.”

Oh, Lord, Ramses thought, is the man a natural idiot, or hasn’t he heard about Father? The last sentence had the effect he had known it would. Emerson’s eyes narrowed, and when he spoke it was in the quiet purring voice his acquaintances had learned to dread.

“The only person from whom my son takes orders is me, General. I don’t take them from anyone – except him.”

Ramses’s jaw dropped. His father had deferred to him on a few occasions – to his utter astonishment – but this was the first time he had paid him such a compliment.

“When the situation demands it,” Emerson added. “We may as well leave, Ramses.”

The door opened. Murray transferred his bulging stare to the newcomer. Not Smith. Cartright. “Why didn’t you tell me they were coming?” the general demanded.

“I didn’t know, sir. The last I heard from them was a curt telegram denying my request for their assistance. I had planned to go to Luxor in person within the next few days.”

Ramses caught his father’s questioning eye. Evidently the same doubt had entered Emerson’s mind. If this lot didn’t know of Smith’s visit, he wasn’t going to bring it up. He shook his head slightly, and Emerson settled back into his chair. “So,” he purred, “is this the person from whom my son is to take orders?”

“You misunderstood, Professor,” Cartright said quickly. “We are asking for his help, not demanding it.”

“He did say ‘please,’ ” Ramses reminded his father. “Perhaps we ought to listen to what he has to say.”

Emerson stamped into the room, flung himself into a chair, and took out his pipe. Nefret had left his thumb and fingers free of the cast, and by now he was using both hands, against her advice and my orders. The weight of the cast did not seem to bother him in the slightest. He proceeded to tamp tobacco into the pipe, making an even greater mess than usual. Ramses followed, his face unreadable. That withdrawn, “stone pharaoh” look was his reaction to bad news, just as poorly repressed fury was his father’s.

“Well?” I demanded. “What happened?”

Ramses’s features relaxed into a smile. “Father threatened to punch General Murray on the jaw.”

“Ah,” I said. “Well, that was only to be expected if the general accused your – er – Sethos of treachery.”

“Bastard,” said Emerson, round the stem of his pipe. I knew he was not referring to his brother.

“Stop swearing and tell me what transpired.”

“I will swear if I like,” Emerson said sullenly. “ Murray would drive a nun to profanity.”

Nefret held out her hand to Ramses. He went at once to her and took her hand in his.

“You had better let me tell it, Father. It appears there was a problem of miscommunication. Murray wasn’t expecting us, and he was not at all pleased to have us turn up. He knew about the matter, but if we had asked for an appointment, in the usual way, the request would have been passed on to his chief of staff, who would have passed it on to the head of military intelligence in Cairo, who is -”

“Boisdragon-Bracegirdle,” I exclaimed.

“No, Mother. My old acquaintance, Captain, now Major, Cartright.”