“Mustafa is making tea,” Sir Edward said.

“Does he know about boiling the water long enough? Perhaps I had better go and -”

Sir Edward took the liberty of seizing me by the arm. “He knows. He knows! Mrs. Emerson, please sit down. I can’t until you do, and I am dead on my feet.”

“Oh, very well.” I selected one of the divans that did not have evidence of avian activity. Sir Edward collapsed onto another with a long sigh and Ramses took his place next to Nefret.

Emerson was still prowling about the room. “Ha!” he exclaimed, opening a cabinet. “My – er – old acquaintance does himself well. Claret, ’pon my word, and an excellent vintage too. It isn’t whiskey, Peabody, but would you care for a drop?”

“Not at this time of day,” I replied. “Ah – here is Mustafa with the tea tray. Just put it here, if you please. I will pour.”

He had slopped it all over the tray, of course. As he stood back, fixing me with a bold, curious stare, I had one of those moments of utter disorientation: the tea tray, set out in proper English style – that would be Sir Edward’s influence – the black-bearded ruffian who had served it; the filthy, ragged beggar who was Sir Edward; and the rest of us in a motley array of garments, from Nefret’s neat but crumpled trousers and coat to Emerson’s torn silken robes.

However, the situation was no more bizarre than many in which we had found ourselves.

Mustafa said suddenly, “You are the Sitt Hakim? I have a little sore, here on my -”

“Later, my friend,” I said graciously. Nefret hid her face against Ramses’s shoulder and Emerson shouted, “Good Gad! Even here! Curse it, Peabody!”

Mustafa retreated, visibly impressed by the volume of Emerson’s voice. I persuaded Emerson to sit down and take out his pipe. It soothed him; it usually did.

“I don’t know where you are all going to sleep,” Sir Edward muttered.

“At the moment my brain is too active to let me rest, Sir Edward,” I informed him. “We need to know where we stand. First and most important, where is Sethos? Did you expect him to be here?”

“I hoped for a message, at least. He usually finds a way to let me know if there is any change in his plans. When I saw him yesterday morning -”

“You were in Gaza? Goodness gracious, you all seem to walk in and out of the place as you please.”

Whether he would have confided in us under different circumstances I cannot say. It may have been exhaustion that loosened his tongue.

“The fortifications are like a sieve for a single man, if he knows where the holes are. Once inside I – and our other couriers – form part of the adoring mob that presses round the holy man asking for his blessing.”

“So he can pass messages to you, and you to him,” I prompted.

“Something like that,” Sir Edward said evasively. “I knew he planned to get Sahin’s daughter away. I’d have talked him out of it if I could, or at least tried to persuade him not to go back to Gaza. Sahin was bound to suspect he’d had a hand in the business and clamp down on him even more closely. I think that is what has happened.”

“Can you send someone to find out?” I asked.

Emerson cleared his throat. “My papers -”

“No,” Ramses and I said in the same breath.

“What papers?” Sir Edward demanded, his eyes widening.

Proudly Emerson drew them forth and handed them to Sir Edward. The sun was well up now; the gilt sparkled impressively in the light.

“I can’t read Turkish,” Sir Edward said blankly.

“Ramses can.” Emerson’s pipe had gone out. He struck a match. “He says they are perfectly in order.”

“Yes, very well, but you can’t – you can’t just walk up to the trenches and -”

“No, it will take some preparation,” Emerson admitted.

“That is quite right,” I said, seeing in my mind’s eye the preparations Emerson was planning. Camels, servants, gold-trimmed robes, and a huge scimitar… He would so enjoy it, and sheer effrontery might allow him to carry it off. For a while.

“Admirable,” Sir Edward murmured. He sounded more horrified than admiring. “Sir, give me a chance to use our regular channels first.”

“An excellent idea,” I said, before Emerson could object. “Sir Edward, I am curious to know how -”

“I beg you will excuse the interruption, Mrs. Emerson, but could we postpone the interrogation for a few hours?” Sir Edward rubbed his eyes. “I need to rest, even if you don’t, and there are a few domestic matters I must attend to.”

“Certainly. Just show me where you keep the clean sheets.”

It was the final straw for poor Sir Edward. “I – Oh, Lord. I don’t know that there are any, Mrs. Emerson.”

“If there were, where would they be? Come,” I said in a kindly manner, “let’s just have a look. It won’t take long.”

The others declared they would stretch out on the divans, and Sir Edward and I went off on what he clearly believed was a hopeless quest. Eventually we found a cupboard that contained linens of various kinds. I selected a few. Sir Edward, always the gentleman, took the pile from me. I allowed him to do so, though he had a little difficulty getting hold of it.

“I was sorry to see that,” I said, with the lightest possible touch of his arm. “It was in France that it happened, I suppose.”

“Ypres.” He spoke curtly, avoiding my eyes. Pity he would not accept; acknowledgment of his sacrifice was owed him, and I felt obliged to make it.

“It must have been dreadful. I am so sorry.”

“What, womanly sympathy from you, Mrs. Emerson? A touch out of character, isn’t it?”

“It is sincere.”

“I know.” His rigid features relaxed. “I am sorry too, for speaking rudely. It’s not so bad, you know. It got me out of the army, which was all to the good. I had become somewhat disenchanted.”

“Can nothing be done about an artificial limb?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve got quite a good one. It broadens my repertoire of disguises to a remarkable extent. I’m thinking of attaching a bayonet, or perhaps a hook.”

I patted him on the shoulder. “Splendid,” I said heartily.

“Or a parasol,” said Sir Edward. His smile was that of the charming debonair gentleman I had known.

I was to remember that smile for a long time. When I woke from a brief but refreshing nap, he was gone – from the house and from the grounds and, I feared, back into the powder keg that was Gaza.

It took me a while to discover this. I had decided to sleep on one of the divans rather than go to the trouble of making up a bed which, if events continued to unfold, I might never occupy. When I went to look in at Esin, I almost fell over Selim, who was stretched out across her threshold. I left him there, since that was where he had chosen to be, and went back to the saloon. Ramses and Nefret lay side by side, his arm round her and her head on his shoulder. I stood for a moment watching them. One of Ramses’s eyes opened and regarded me quizzically.

“All’s well,” I reported, and tiptoed toward the divan where Emerson lay.

I did not mean to sleep for more than an hour, but even as I reclined the skies were darkening, and the gentle murmur of rain must have lulled me. It was the sound of heavy footsteps that woke me – the running steps of a person in haste. I sat up with a start and reached into my nearest pocket. It was the wrong pocket. I was fumbling in another, trying to locate my little pistol, when a man burst into the room and came to a stop. He was breathing heavily and water poured from his soaked garments.

Emerson was thrashing around and muttering, as he always does when he is suddenly aroused, but Ramses was on his feet, alert and ready. The newcomer, too breathless to speak, held out empty hands in the universal gesture of conciliation. I could not see him clearly, the room was rather dark. I knew him, though.

“Ah,” I said. “So here you are at last. It is all right, Ramses.”

“No – it – isn’t.” Sethos got it out one word at a time. “Where’s – Edward?”