Jerry Baroff, whom Gideon had met at dinner, was sprawled in one of the rattan garden chairs in the dark, feet up on a low table and placidly smoking his pipe.

“Hi,” he said, “how’d the seminar on Middle Egyptian go?”

Gideon smiled. “You mean the subject’s always the same?”

“Uh-uh, lucky guess. Sometimes it’s the Co-regency. I don’t know, tonight just felt like Middle Egyptian.” He pointed the bit of his pipe at them. “Verb forms, am I right?”

“Right on,” TJ said, laughing. “Right up until Bruno brought up the bones, and then it was ‘Good night, ladies.” “

“What was that all about?” Gideon said. “I didn’t have a chance to ask.”

“Good God, it’d take all night to tell,” Arlo said. “You must be falling off your feet.”

“Not really,” he said truthfully. “I’m dragging, all right, but I’m not sleepy.”

Jerry hooked a skinny ankle around another chair and pulled it toward Gideon. “Have a seat, then.” He got up in loosely coordinated segments and brought another one for TJ. Arlo, who seemed torn between staying and leaving, finally sat down too, but on the edge of the chair, prepared to leave at any moment.

Gideon was happy to stay outdoors for a while longer. Their room was on the musty side, and Julie would be profoundly, unwakeably asleep anyway. Out here the night air was fragrant with flower blossoms and pipe tobacco, the breeze soft, the purling of the fountain timeless and serene. The thick stucco walls surrounding the patio softened the steady traffic noises.

TJ flopped into her chair and swung a knee over the armrest. “Okay, we’ve got this Fifth Dynasty skeletal collection that we keep in the museum…”