“It was a good fight,” Selim said reminiscently.

He reached for the water bottle, which was passing round, and I said with a sigh of exasperation, “All right, Selim, let me see your hand. Why didn’t you tell me you had been wounded?”

“It is nothing,” said Selim. “It will heal. I do not need anything on it.”

He meant antiseptics. Men are strange creatures; he had taken a cut on the side of his wrist which had bled copiously and must have hurt quite a lot, but I had to speak sternly to him before he let me swab it with alcohol.

It was a relief to rest our weary limbs. Esin was half asleep already, stretched out on a patch of ground Selim had gallantly swept clean of pebbles, with her head on one of the bundles. “Biscuit, anyone?” I inquired, extracting the packet from my parcel.

Emerson chuckled. “What, no whiskey? My dear girl, packing those bundles was a brilliant thought, but I have come to expect no less of you.” We were sitting side by side in a darkish corner, so he gave me a quick demonstration of approval.

“How long can we stay here without being discovered?” I asked.

“It’s safe enough,” Ramses replied. “The locals think the place is haunted.”

“By you?” Nefret asked.

“I encouraged the idea. I wonder…” He went to the darkest corner of the place and shifted a few stones. After a moment he said, “No, it’s not here – the pistol I took from Chetwode. He must have collected it on his way back.”

“Pity,” said Emerson. “We may want a weapon before the night is over. Ah, well, we usually manage without one.”

“Yes, sir,” Ramses agreed. He went back to Nefret and sat down. She leaned her head against his shoulder and he put his arm round her. “Darling, why don’t you stretch out and sleep for a while? It’s beginning to look as if he -”

He broke off with a hiss of breath, his head turning alertly, and raised a finger to his lips. Ramses’s acute hearing had prompted one of Daoud’s more memorable sayings: “He can hear a whisper across the Nile.” We froze, holding our breaths. Ramses rose and drifted toward the door, silent as a shadow in his dark galabeeyah.

Someone was coming. He walked quietly but not noiselessly. I heard a twig snap and then a form appeared in the ragged moonlit aperture of the door. The silhouette was that of a tall man wearing a turban and a long robe. He leaned forward, peering into the darkness, his arms raised in greeting or defense. One sleeve hung limp from the elbow.

Ramses seized the fellow in a tight grip and clapped a hand over his mouth. “Hell and damnation,” Emerson exclaimed, surging to his feet. “Bring him in. Keep him quiet. He must be the bastard who was howling out anathemas against the unbelievers; I thought that voice was familiar! If he’s led that pack of jackals here… We need a gag, Peabody. Tear up some extraneous garment or other.”

“I do not possess any extraneous garments, Emerson. Hit him over the head.”

The prisoner, who had been quiescent until then, was galvanized into frantic movement. He managed to wrench Ramses’s hand from his face.

“For God’s sake, don’t be hasty!”

The words were English. The accent was refined. The voice was not that of Sethos.

Ramses lowered his hand but did not release his hold. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

“A friend. That is the conventional reply, I believe. I really am, though.”

It had been a long time, but the well-bred drawl, with its undercurrent of amusement, struck a chord of memory.

“Let him go, Ramses,” I said. “You remember Sir Edward Washington, Sethos’s aide and co-conspirator?”

“I am flattered, Mrs. Emerson.” Sir Edward removed himself from Ramses’s loosened grasp and made me an elegant bow. “How very good it is to see you again. And the Professor…” Another bow. “Nefret – do forgive the liberty – beautiful as ever… Selim, my friend… And I see you have the young lady safe. Well done.”

Ramses switched on his torch and stared incredulously at the tatterdemalion figure. Sir Edward bowed again, with the mocking grace that was peculiarly his.

“By God, it is,” Ramses muttered. “How the devil -”

“Never mind that now, Ramses,” I interrupted. “Sir Edward, are you here in lieu of your chief?”

“Straight to the point as always, Mrs. Emerson. You are right to remind me we ought not waste time. The answer to your question is no. I have been waiting for him.”

“Good Gad,” Emerson exclaimed, recovering from his understandable surprise. “I never expected to see you again, Sir Edward; the last I heard, you were in…” He broke off, staring at the empty sleeve.

“France,” said Sir Edward coolly. “As you see, I have returned to private life.”

“Did you follow us?” I asked.

“Only until you were safely out of the metropolis. Didn’t you hear me encouraging the riot? Kept everybody busy and happy and out of your way.”

“Oh,” said Emerson.

“I came straight on after that,” Sir Edward continued blithely. “It was a safe assumption that you would keep the appointment.”

“But he didn’t,” Emerson said. “Why not?”

Sir Edward scratched his side, murmured a genteel apology, and said, “He may have been unable to get away. Sahin’s been watching him closely, especially since Ramses escaped. There’s no use staying here any longer.”

“Where shall we go, then?” I inquired. “In my opinion it would be inadvisable for us to return to Khan Yunus until we are apprised of conditions there. Some of Sahin’s men may be lurking. Or were those assertive individuals not his men?”

“I assumed they were. Don’t tell me you have another set of enemies after you!”

“There would be nothing new in that,” said Ramses. “Have you anyplace in mind, Sir Edward?”

Sir Edward hesitated. Under the skillful makeup and the ingrained dirt and the wisps of beard I could see the lines of worry and indecision that marked his face. Then he shrugged, with all his old insouciance. “I know a place, yes. It’s a good ten miles away, too far for the ladies to walk. We’ll need transportation.”

“I will go back and get the motorcar,” Selim offered.

“Too risky,” Emerson said at once.

“And too conspicuous,” Sir Edward added. “We’ll have to borrow a few quadrupeds. Ramses, my lad, have you ever stolen a horse?”

“As a matter of fact, he has,” I replied.

“I don’t know why I bothered to ask,” Sir Edward muttered. “There’s a picket line a mile south of here. Ramses and Selim – no, Professor, not you. Someone must stay with the ladies.”

“This lady is going with you,” Nefret said.

FROM MANUSCRIPT H

There was only one sentry. The enemy wasn’t in the habit of sending out raiding parties, and local horse thieves had learned not to tangle with the men of the Desert Column. Trees and growing crops gave plenty of cover, and the moon was down. They crawled close enough to hear the snores of the men who lay rolled in their blankets beyond the line of horses. Sir Edward brought his mouth against Ramses’s ear.

“I’m beginning to think this was a bad idea.”

Ramses had been of that opinion from the start. Some of the straitlaced British officers considered the ANZACs an unruly lot, impatient of discipline, who didn’t even know how to ride properly. Personally he would have preferred to have a whole troop of fox-hunting Englishmen after him than a few of these hard-bitten colonials.

Bad idea or not, it had to be done. The girl couldn’t manage a ten-mile hike, and he was concerned about his mother, who would drop in her tracks rather than admit the task was beyond her. Anyhow, they had to get under cover before morning. It would take too long for the slower members of the party to walk that distance.

They had planned what they had to do, and he thought they could manage it, with a little luck – and Nefret’s help. He had had to overrule Sir Edward, and his own instincts, when she announced she was coming with them; common sense told him that her help would be invaluable. She was an excellent rider, and she had an uncanny knack with animals.