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“Bugger it,” Constance declared.

She tossed up the light froth of her skirts. Neil’s eyes snapped to the exposed skin of her knee, his jaw dropping.

His expression turned to a different sort of shock as Constance whipped a neat little dagger from a sheath at her thigh.

“Into the tunnel, Stuffy,” she ordered, pointing the blade at him.

“You can’t seriously mean to—yeek!” Neil’s words dissolved into a truncated shriek as Constance gave him a little jab.

He looked desperately to Ellie and Adam—neither of whom made any move to intercede.

“Quickly, now,” Constance cheerfully urged.

With an expression of horrified betrayal, Neil shoved the ring into his pocket and scrambled into the tunnel. Constance agilely followed behind him.

“Your turn,” Adam ordered with a pointed look back at Ellie as he wound the long coil of their severed rope around his shoulder.

Ellie knew better than to argue. She quickly crawled into the dark mouth in the wall, uncomfortably conscious of the dusty age of the timber supports that framed it.

A new rope unfurled through the tomb shaft. It hit the floor of the burial chamber with a soft slap… and immediately started to twitch.

Adam’s look darkened. “And get ready to yank on me.”

“Yank on you?” Ellie echoed. “Why on earth would I need to—”

Before she could finish, a stranger dropped into the room—a lanky Egyptian fellow in a turban and galabeya, his narrow chin marred by the white slash of a scar. At the sight of Adam and the machete, he grinned and swung a rifle from his shoulder up into his hands.

Another intruder descended behind him. He looked remarkably like the first man, with the same pointed chin and beak-like nose, except that he was stouter in build and sported an enormous black beard.

He hefted a big cudgel in his hands, eyes glinting threateningly.

Behind them, Julian Forster-Mowbray slid into view. He straightened and brushed off his tailored khaki suit. Dust settled onto his gleaming jodhpurs. “Goodness! Mr. Bates and Miss Mallory? I hardly expected to seeyouhere.”

“Mr. Forster-Mowbray,” Ellie cautiously acknowledged from where she crouched in the mouth of the tunnel, conscious of Constance, Neil, and Mr. Al-Ahmed hiding in the darkness behind her.

The rope jerked again, more awkwardly and frantically, and Professor Dawson fell into the tomb. He landed roughly on his rear, scrambling back up and tugging to adjust his tweed suit and pith helmet.

“Please tell me we haven’t any more climbing to—What?!” he exclaimed, eyes bulging at the sight of Ellie and Adam. “Not you two again!”

“Miss us?” Adam drawled, his tone deceptively lazy.

“Shoot them!” Dawson dashed behind the bearded thug. “Shoot them before they collapse this entire tomb on us!”

“Wasn’t planning on collapsing any tombs,” Adam noted casually. “Were you, Princess?”

“I hardlyplannedon collapsing anything back in British Honduras,” Ellie retorted. “Sometimes one is confronted with unexpected circumstances where an explosion simply becomes inevitable.”

Dawson made a strangled noise of terror from his hiding place behind the confused-looking Egyptian.

“Hold on!” Julian said with a look of surprise, jabbing a finger toward Ellie and Adam. “Thisis the couple you were telling me about?”

“Less talking!” Dawson squawked. “More shooting!”

“Surely we can discuss this like reasonable people,” Julian pressed uncomfortably. “It seems a bit much to go straight into tossing bullets around.”

“You have no idea what sort of menace you are up against!” Dawson pleaded.

“I’m actually feeling kinda flattered,” Adam said with a hint of surprise.