This was the first time she had been close enough to him to see his

features. She was surprised at how young he was. She had expected him to

be a man of Duraid's age.

She saw now that he was no older than forty, for there were only the

first strands of silver in the wings of his thick, rumpled hair. His

features were tanned and weatherbeaten, those of an outdoors man. His

eyes were green and penetrating under dark, beetling brows. His mouth

was wide and expressive, and he was smiling now at some witticism that

the driver of the truck called to him in a thick Yorkshire accent, but

there was a sense of sadness and tragedy in the eyes. Royan remembered

what the Prof had told her of his recent bereavement, and she felt her

heart go out to him. She was not alone in her loss and her mourning.

He looked directly into her eyes and she saw his expression change. She

was an attractive woman, and she could tell when a man recognized that.

She had made an impression on him, but she did not enjoy the fact. Her

sorrow for Duraid was still too raw and painful. She looked away and the

Range Rover drove on.

Her lecture at the university went off extremely well. Royan was a good

speaker and she knew her subject intimately. She held them fascinated

with her account of the opening of the tomb_of Queen Lostris and of the

subsequent discovery of the scrolls. Many of her audience had read the

book, and during question time they pestered her to know how much of it

was the truth. She had to tread very carefully here, so as not to deal

too harshly with the author.

Afterwards Prof Dixon took Royan and Georgina to dinner. He was

delighted with her success, and ordered the most expensive bottle of

claret on the wine list to celebrate.

He was only mildly disconcerted when she refused a glass of it.

"Oh, dear me, I forgot that you were a Moslem," he apologized.

"A Copt," she corrected him, "and it's not on religious grounds. I just

don't like the taste."

"Don't worry," Georgina counselled him, "I don't have the same odd

compulsion to masochism as my daughter.

She must get it from her father's side. I'll give you a hand to finish

the good stuff."

Under the benign influence of the claret the Prof became expansive, and

entertained them with the accounts of the archaeological digs he had

been on over the decades.

It was only over the coffee that he turned to Royan.

"Goodness me, I almost forgot to tell you. I have arranged for you to

visit the museum at Quenton Park any afternoon this week. just ring Mrs.

Street the day before, and she will be waiting to let you in. She is

Nicholas's PA."

Ryan remembered the way to Quenton Park  when Georgina had driven them

to the shoot, but now she was alone in the Land Rover. The massive main

gates to the estate were made of ornate cast iron. A little further on,

the road divided and a cluster of road signs pointed the way to the

various destinations: "Quenton Hall, Private', "Estate Office' and

"Museum'.

The road to the museum curved through the deer park where herds of

fallow deer grazed under the winter'bare oaks. Through the misty

landscape she had glimpses of the big house. According to the guidebook

that the Prof had given her, Sir Christopher Wren had designed the house

in 1693, and the master landscapist, Capability Brown, had created the

gardens sixty years later. The results were perfection.

The museum was set in a grove of copper beech trees half a mile beyond

the house. It was a sprawling building that had obviously been added to

more than once over the years. Mrs. Street was waiting for her at the

side door, and introduced herself as she let Royan in. She was middle

aged, grey-haired and self-assured. "I was at your lecture on Monday

evening. Fascinating! I have a guidebook for you, but you will find the

exhibits well catalogued and described.

I have spent almost twenty years at the job. There are no other visitors

today. You will have the place to yourself.

You must just wander around and please yourself. I shall not leave until

five this evening, so you have all afternoon.

If I can help you in any way my office is at the end of the passage.

Please don't hesitate."

From the first moment that Royan walked into the display of African

mammals she was enthralled. The primate room housed a complete

collection of every single species of ape and monkey from that

continent: from the great ilver-backed male gorilla to the delicate

colobus in his long flowing mantle of black and white fur, they were all

represented.

Although some of the exhibits were over a hundred years old, they were

beautifully preserved and presented, set in painted dioramas of their

natural habitat. It was obvious that the museum must employ a staff of

skilled artists and taxidermists. She could guess what this must have

cost. Wryly she decided that the five million'dollars from the sale of

the plundered treasure had been well spent.

She went through to the antelope room and stared around her in wonder at

the magnificent beasts preserved here. She stopped before a diorama of a

family group of the giant sable antelope of the now extinct Angolan

variety, Hippotragus niger variant. While she admired the jet black and

snowy-chested bull with his long, back-swept horns, she mourned his

death at the hand of one of the Quenton, Harper family. Then she checked

herself. Without the strange dedication and passion of the

hunter-collector who had killed him, future generations might never have

been able to look upon this regal presence.

She passed on into the next hall which was given over to displays of the

African elephant, and paused in the centre of the room before a pair of

ivory tusks so large that she could not believe they had ever been

carried by a living animal. They seemed more like the marble columns of

some Hellenic temple to Diana, the goddess of the chase.

She stooped to read the printed catalogue card:

Tusks of the African Elephant, Loxodonta africana.

Shot in the Lado Enclave in 1899 by Sir Jonathan Quenton-Harper. Left

tusk 289 lb. Right tusk 301 lb. Length of larger tusk 11' 4'. Girth 32".

The largest pair of tusks ever taken by a European hunter.

They stood twice as high as she was tall, and they were half as thick

again as her waist. As she passed on into the Egyptian room

she-marvelled at the size and strength of the creature that had carried

them.

She came up short as her eyes fell upon the figure in the centre of the

room. It was a fifteen-foot-high figure of Rarnesses 11, depicted as the

god Osiris in polished red granite. The god-emperor strode out on

muscular legs, wearing only sandals on his feet and a short kilt. In his

left hand he carried the remains of a warlbow, with both the upper and

lower limbs of the weapon broken off. This was the only damage that the

statue had suffered in all those thousands of years. The rest of it was

perfect - the plinth even bore the marks of the mason's chisel. In his

right fist Pharaoh carried a seal embossed with his royal cartouche.

Upon his majestic head he wore the tall double crown of the upper and

lower kingdoms. His expression was calm and enigmatic.

Royan recognized the statue instantly, for its twin i stood in the grand

hall of the Cairo museum. She passed it every day on her way to her