A cold fist of wind punched at the drawing-room window, rattling the glass in the frame, and it took all Fawley’s resolve not to get up and check the clock again. If Dalesworth hadn’t been sitting across from him, Fawley would’ve been standing at the window, peering out into the grey afternoon, watching for the carriage.

Dalesworth made a show of extracting his fob watch from his waistcoat pocket and squinting at it.

“An hour late,” he observed.

Fawley turned an impassive face to his friend.

“Well. The lady that we’re waiting for is 3000 years old. I daresay she has the right to keep us waiting a while longer.”

Dalesworth chuckled. “Quite a coup, my friend. To convince Lord Alson to sell the artifact to you and not the museum.”

Fawley smiled. It had taken months of petitioning, persuading, begging and, finally, financing. Outbidding the British Museum was no small feat. Fawley’s father would be spinning in his grave to learn just how much of his fortune Fawley had handed over to Lord Alson.

But now the artifact was his! He owned a 3000-year-old Egyptian mummy. A dream come true....

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