11 February 2026
Wednesday. A letter today, not from the Doctor. From a dig.
An archaeological camp has been found deserted: tents standing, tools laid out, finds still labelled on their trays. Whoever was there left in a hurry, and did not take the good trowels, which tells me it was a very great hurry indeed.
Nobody knows what they were digging. The letter says it is older than the Pharaohs. I have read that sentence nine times. The Doctor used to say Khufu was the oldest thing worth looking for. If he heard about this, he would have gone. He would not have told me. He would have left a note on the mantel saying “back Tuesday” without saying which.
So I am packing. A duster, a lamp, a good hat, a tin of shortbread for emergencies. The study in Manly and the study in Perth will carry on without me, as they did before; the Caller will sulk, but he sulks anyway.
Humphrey has asked to come. I have told him it is not a holiday. He has packed regardless.
— H. Plumb (Miss), Expedition Secretary
