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Evelyn made her excuses to the curator, apologizing for disturbing him, pretending to believe the map wasn't what it plainly was, and hurried out of his office. She hoped she'd been sufficiently convincing that he would forget all about it.

As soon as they were outside the museum, map safely refolded in the little box, Evelyn turned to her brother. "Talk."

"What do you mean?" But he was looking around guiltily, and she knew she was right.

"You know more about this box than you're letting on. Where was this dig, who were you with?"

"I … really can't tell you that. Confidentiality is so important, as you know …"

"Jonathan."

"What?"

"If we can't find out more about this box, how can we follow this map to all the buried riches of Egypt?" And the Book of Amun-Ra, said to be buried at the feet of a statue at Hamunaptra. With that book in her hand, Evelyn's career would be secured. She could spend the rest of her life studying it.

"Oh. Good point." He glanced around them, then took her arm. "Come with me."

"Hold on."

"Why?"

"I'm getting my hat." Going out without one, an English lady on the streets of Cairo, would cause more trouble than it was worth.

He took her to Cairo Prison, which was as filthy and smelly as Evelyn might have imagined. Worse, if anything. And the Warden was equally both. Evelyn wrinkled her nose as Jonathan explained who they were looking for.

"You told me that you got it on a dig down in Thebes!" she said to Jonathan in some outrage as they followed the warden.

"Yeah, well, I was mistaken."

"You lied to me."

"I lie to everyone." Which was the truth. "What makes you so special?"

"I am your sister."

"Yes, well, that just makes you more gullible."

That, too, was the truth. By now, one would have thought she'd be wise to her brother's ways, but she insisted on seeing the best in him. Evelyn frowned at him. "Jonathan, you stole it from a drunk at the local casbah."

"Picked his pocket, actually," Jonathan corrected, tugging at her arm and trying to pull her back toward the gates. "So I don't think it's a very good idea—"

"Jonathan, will you stop being so ridiculous." Evelyn had come here to find out about that puzzle box, and she was going to. Raising her voice, she addressed the warden. "Now, what exactly is this man in prison for?"

"Well, this I did not know. But when I heard you were coming, I asked him that myself."

"And what did he say?"

"That 'he was just looking for a good time'."

The cell door opened and a group of guards came out, with a large man fighting them every step of the way. To Evelyn's surprise, he was English, not Egyptian. The guards dragged him up against the metal bars keeping him back, and he grasped them, glaring at Jonathan and Evelyn. Which seemed uncalled-for. After all, they weren't responsible for him being here.

She glanced with some suspicion at Jonathan, wondering if it was possible … after all, he had known the man was here. Could he have had something to do with whatever got the man imprisoned?

A final blow to the back by one of the guards sent the man to his knees.

Evelyn pointed at him. "This is—this is the man that you stole it from?"

"Yes, exactly," Jonathan said nervously, backing away. "So why don't we just go sniff out a spot of tiffin—"

"Who are you?" the man demanded. His accent … American, then, not English. Surprising. He turned his gaze—remarkable eyes, really, which Evelyn realized was a ridiculous thing to notice—on Evelyn. "And who's the broad?"

"'Broad'?" she echoed, offended.

Jonathan started sputtering at her side. "Well, I'm, I'm just a local sort of … missionary chap, spreading the good word and all of that." He pushed Evelyn forward. "But this, this is my sister. Evie."

"How do you do?"

Those eyes—green, maybe?—raked her up and down in a way that made her feel uncomfortably alive and aware of herself. "Yeah, well, I guess she's not a total loss."

"I beg your pardon." 'Not a total loss'? What exactly was that supposed to mean?

Next to her, the warden shouted something across the filthy courtyard and disappeared.

"Ask him about the box," Jonathan whispered.

Evelyn glared at him. He'd stolen it; why couldn't he ask about it? "Um, we've found—" The man behind bars had stopped looking at her. If the question had been less important she would have bristled at the rudeness. "Hello, excuse me." When he looked back at her, warily, she continued, "Um, we both found your … your puzzle box, and we've come to ask you about it."

Did this broad think he was an idiot? He probably looked like one, but still. These two clean people in this filthy place were in way over their heads, and the wide, simpering smile on the girl's admittedly pretty face indicated she had no idea.

As for the box—they weren't fooling Rick any. "No."

"No?"

"No. You came to ask me about Hamunaptra."

No poker faces, either one of them. The man's eyes brightened, and the girl's whole face lit up. "How—how do you know that the box pertains to Hamunaptra?"

"Because that's where I was when I found it. I was there." They wouldn't believe him; no one would believe them. It seemed safe enough to admit at this point.

The man came forward. "But how do we know that's not a load of pig's wallow?"

Something about that face … "You know, do I know you?"

"No, no, no, no. I've just got one of those faces."

Yeah, he knew him. Somewhere buried in the alcohol-induced fog over his memory was a very deep desire to smash this man across the face. So he did. They were going to kill him anyway, what did he have to lose?

Of course, then the guards beat him, hitting the same bruised spots they hit every time, so maybe it hadn't been entirely worth it. When the guards let up, Rick watched the man writhe on the ground, dirt on his white suit. No, it had been worth it.

The girl stepped right over him. Rick respected that. Or he worried about her zealotry. "You were actually at Hamunaptra?"

God, she was pretty. Rick smiled up at her. "Yeah, I was there."

"You swear?"

"Every damn day."

"No, I didn't mean that—"

"I know what you meant. I was there." A shiver wracked him at the memory. Something had been there, beneath that sand. "Seti's place, City of the Dead."

"Could you tell me how to get there?" She took her hat off, using it to hide her mouth. "I mean, the exact location."

Sure. Her and all her friends. Why not? But, then again, if he had information that might be of use to a woman who clearly had some money, and possibly influence … "You want to know?"

She leaned down farther. "Well … well, yes."

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes." She was even closer now. Her breath was sweet, her lips soft and curved …

Rick gestured with his finger for her to come even closer, then yielded to temptation and kissed her soundly before growling, "Then get me the hell out of here!" Even as the guards were beating on him, he noticed with some satisfaction the dazed expression on her face. Apparently he hadn't lost his touch. "Do it, lady!"

And then they dragged him away.

All things considered, not a bad final moment, if that's what it had been. Punch out someone who clearly deserved it, kiss a beautiful woman … a fitting eulogy for Rick O'Connell, if there ever was one.