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The man’s cheeks flushed. He dragged in air, straining the buttons of his crisp white shirt. “Somebody already stole this from a tomb.”
I flinched, because apparently thatwastrue. My father had inexplicably taken something and sent it to me. Papá had made it clear to me that every discovery was carefully observed. But what my father had done went well beyond observation. He’d acted against his morals.
He’d acted against mine. Why?
“Look here—” He held up the front of the ring for my inspection. “Do you know what’s stamped on this ring?”
“It’s a cartouche,” I said mutinously. “Surrounding the name of a god or royal person.”
The man opened and closed his mouth. He looked like an inquisitive fish. He recovered quickly and fired another question. “Do you know what the hieroglyphs say?”
Mutely, I shook my head. While I could identify some, I was in no way proficient. The ancient Egyptian alphabet was immense and it’d take decades of study to be fluent.
“See here.” He lifted the ring to examine. “It’s aroyalname. It spellsCleopatra.”
The last pharaoh of Egypt.
Goosebumps flared up and down my arms as I recalled the conversation I’d had with Tía Lorena and Elvira. That was the last time I’d heard the name—and it was in connection to my uncle and his work here in Egypt. That ring was a clue to what they’d been doing here. What—orwho—they might have found. I was done being polite.
I jumped to my feet. “Give it back!”
The Englishman stood, fists on his hips. “Young lady—”
The cabin door opened and an attendant, a young man wearing a navy uniform, appeared within the frame. “Tickets?”
I angrily rummaged through my silk purse until I found the crumpled note. “Here.”
The attendant stared between us, dark brow puckering. “Is everything all right?”
“No,” I seethed. “This man stole a ring right off my finger.”
The attendant’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
I stabbed a finger in the direction of the Englishman. “This person—I can hardly call him a gentleman—took something from me,and I want it back.”
The Englishman drew himself to his full height, straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin. We were facing off, battle lines drawn. “My name is Basil Sterling, and I’m an antiquities officer for the Egyptian Museum. I wasmerely showing the young lady one of our latest acquisitions, and she became overly excited, as you can see.”
“What—” I sputtered. “My father entrusted that ring in my care! Give it back.”
Mr. Sterling’s gaze narrowed and I realized my mistake. Before I could correct it, he pulled down his leather briefcase and produced a document and his ticket and handed both to the attendant. “You’ll find evidence of my position detailed on the sheet.”
The attendant shifted his feet. “This is very good, sir. Everything seems to be in order.”
Fury burned my cheeks. “This is outrageous.”
“As you can see, this lady is about to be hysterical,” Mr. Sterling interjected quickly. “I’d like to change compartments.”
“Not until you give it back!”
Mr. Sterling smiled coldly, a shrewd gleam in his light eyes. “Why would I givemyring to you?” He strode to the door.
“Wait a minute—” I said.
“I’m sorry,” the attendant said, returning my ticket.
The next second, they were both gone, and that odious man took the last thing Papá gave me, burying it deep into his pocket.
WHIT
