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“Nefret—”

“This woman—this girl—was a prostitute, wasn’t she? Someone must have identified her by now, or at least determined that no . . . no respectable girl that age is missing. She knew something—she asked for our help—and they killed her. I brought that child to her death.”

Emerson had heard too. He heard the little sob, and a wordless murmur from Ramses. He did not stop or turn, but his hand closed over mine with a force that bruised my fingers.

Nefret had composed herself, outwardly at least, by the time we reached the house. We had rather taken to avoiding the verandah, especially after dark, so we went to the parlor instead. Evelyn took Lia off to bed, over the latter’s strenuous protests, but not even Nefret defended her right to remain. It was clear that there was still a good deal to be said, and since everybody knew what Lia’s views were likely to be, there was no sense in allowing another excitable person to join in the conversation.

Emerson made the rounds checking doors, gates and windows. When he returned he reported that Daoud had insisted on remaining on guard.

“He wasn’t quite so assiduous before,” he remarked. “Apparently he has taken Lia under his wing.”

“And a very large wing it is,” I said with a smile. “She could not be safer than with Daoud.”

My little attempt at humor did not lighten the atmosphere appreciably, nor did the platters of food Fatima insisted on serving. Sir Edward had returned from wherever he had been, and had joined our council of war.

He had heard the news about the dead girl and was visibly disturbed by it. Shaking his head, he said, “Even Daoud is mortal. I hope you will believe I speak as a friend when I urge Mr. and Mrs. Emerson to take their daughter home as soon as possible.”

It would have been amusing if it had not been so pathetic to see the indecision on Walter’s face. He was at heart a dedicated Egyptologist, and he had been long away from the scene of his work. The day in the Valley had whetted his interest afresh. And, like any true Briton, he was unwilling to abandon loved ones in peril.

“Are we starting at shadows, though?” he asked. “It sounds to me as if you have got yourself mixed up with some gang of Egyptian thieves, a little better organized and less scrupulous than most, but not as dangerous as some of the villains you have encountered in the past. The people who have been killed were both Egyptians—”

“Does that make their deaths less important?” Emerson inquired softly.

Walter frowned at him. “Don’t try to put me in the wrong, Radcliffe. I didn’t mean that, and you know it. The shameful fact is that it is a good deal safer to murder an Egyptian than a European or Englishman. The authorities don’t trouble themselves to pursue such cases. The vicious method of murder they used is significant too.”

“You are absolutely right, Walter,” I exclaimed. “I pointed this out earlier, but no one believed me. A cult! A murder cult, like that of Kali—”

Emerson interrupted me with a loud snort.

“Why not?” Walter asked. “The Thuggees claim to be sacrificing to their goddess, but they aren’t above robbing the victims. A secret organization, with all the appurtenances of a cult—ritual murder, oaths sworn in blood, and the rest—is easier to control than an ordinary gang of thieves.”

“It is a point worth considering, Uncle Walter,” Ramses said politely. “Religious fanaticism has been responsible for a number of hideous crimes.”

Walter looked pleased. It wasn’t often that his ideas were received with such approval. Thus encouraged, he proceeded with even greater enthusiasm. “The leaders of the group need not be—often are not—believers themselves. Sordid, cynical gain is their motive, and they employ superstitious terror as a weapon to control their underlings. Don’t forget, this business began when you young people walked off with the papyrus. Is it valuable enough to inspire such a reaction?”

“That’s right, you haven’t seen it.” Ramses got