CHAPTER FIVE

                   The Fatal Fall of a Fellah

I beg your pardon, Ramses," I said. "In the shock of the moment I spoke without thinking. I know, of course, that you would never be so uncivilized as to carry a knife or use it on a living creature."

"Your apology is noted and accepted, Mother. Though if truth were told—"

Emerson muffled him by pressing a cloth to his face. "Hold this in place, Ramses, it will stop the bleeding."

I glanced sharply at Ramses. Only a disheveled mop of curls and a pair of wide black eyes were visible over the cloth. The "truth" he had been about to tell might have been a comment on my own habit of carrying a knife (a different matter altogether), or an admission of something I preferred not to hear, so I did not pursue it. Having observed that nosebleed appeared to be the extent of his injuries, I turned my attention to the other boy, who was in far worse case.

Emerson had carried David to Ramses's room and put him on the bed. I had been less tender of my third patient, slapping her cheeks until she recovered from her faint and then shoving her into her room and ordering her to remain there until I returned. Ramses's cabin was uncomfortably crowded as it was, with five of us gathered round. Abdullah had arrived on the scene in time to see Emerson lift the limp, bleeding body of theboy. Though not a word had escaped his lips, he had followed us to the cabin and I had not had the heart to send him away. He had retreated to a corner where he stood like a stately statue, arms folded across his breast, face impassive.

"How is he?" Emerson inquired, bending over the bed.

"He is, to employ the word in its literal sense, a bloody mess," I replied. "Malnourished, flea-bitten, bruised and dirty. His assailant's knife inflicted two wounds. The one on his back is shallow, but this gash on his temple will require to be stitched up. I had better do it now while he is still in a swoon. Get a basin of clean water, Nefret, if you please."

Quickly and efficiently she obeyed, emptying the bloody water into the slop jar and rinsing the basin before refilling it. "What else can I do?" she asked.

Her voice was calm, her hands steady; the color had returned to her face. There was no danger of her falling into a faint at the sight of blood. "You might have a look at Ramses," I said.

Ramses sprang to his feet and backed away, clutching the torn remnants of his robe around him. "I do not require to be looked at," he said, the freezing dignity of the words somewhat marred by his blood-smeared face and torn garment. "I am perfectly capable of looking after myself should such be necessary, which it is not, since the only damage done was to my nasal appendage."

"Hmmm, yes," said Emerson, distracted by this candid admission. "I must show you how to defend yourself against that particular blow, Ramses. Your nose seems particularly—"

"Not now, Emerson, for pity's sake," I interrupted. "Leave him be, Nefret."

Nefret had backed Ramses into a corner. "I only want to help him, Aunt Amelia. He is behaving like a silly little boy. I am quite accustomed to the sight of—"

"Leave him be, I said. Bring the lamp over here, I cannot see to thread this needle. Ramses, wash your face and then tell me what happened."

"I was on guard, as Father instructed," Ramses explained. "I assumed he meant me to watch out for David. He had been following us all day."

"What?" I cried.

"He attempted to, as the saying is, lose himself in the crowd. The attempt was a failure, insofar as I was concerned. I believed it possible that he had been sent to spy on us by Abd el Hamed." Ramses completed his ablutions— more or less—modestly adjusted his robe, and squatted by the side of the bed, Arab fashion. "After I had extinguished my lamp, the cat Bastet and I took up a position by the window. The night was still, the air fresh and cool; my senses were at their keenest pitch, since I had been urged to retirelong before the time to which I am accustomed. And may I remark, on that subject—"

"No, you may not," I said, without looking up.

"Yes, Mother. I sat, as I said, by my window, and although my mind was occupied with philosophical subjects, on which I would elaborate if I believed I would be allowed to do so, they did not interfere in the slightest with my concentration. It was the cat Bastet who warned me of the advent of an intruder, as I had anticipated she would, since her senses are keener than those of any human. A soft growl and a stiffening of the hairs along her spine alerted me. Before long I was rewarded by seeing a head appear over the gunwale. The head was followed by a body as the individual pulled himself up onto the deck, and it was then that I recognized David, for, though I had anticipated it would be he, I am not so rash as to leap to—"

"Ramses," I said.

"Yes, Mother. David—I knew him by his outline and by the way he moved—came creeping toward the cabins. I remained motionless, for I feared that precipitate action might enable him to elude me. As I waited for him to come within grasping range I was somewhat startled to observe another head appear, and another, bulkier, form climb over the gunwale. Faced, as I believed, with two opponents, I was considering my options when the second individual leaped forward and I saw the moonlight glitter on an object in his raised hand. I saved David's life," said Ramses, without false modesty, "for my cry of warning enabled him to twist aside, so that the knife glanced across his back instead of entering his heart.

"I had expected the assailant would flee when he heard my voice, but he bent over David, who had fallen to the deck, and struck again. I therefore jumped out of the window and grappled with the fellow."

"Good heavens, Ramses," I exclaimed. "That was courageous but extremely foolish."

Ramses concluded it would be advisable to revise the statement. "Er— the word 'grapple' is not precisely accurate, Mother. The fellow managed to land one blow—on my nose, as you see—before I—uh—I kicked him."

"Where?" Nefret inquired innocently.

"Stop teasing him, Nefret," I ordered. "It was well done, Ramses. Ordinarily I would deplore any deviation from the rules of civilized combat, if there can be such a thing, but when one combatant is a large man with a knife, bent on homicide, and the other is a little—"

"I beg your pardon, Mother," said Ramses, reddening. "Do you wish me to continue my narrative?"

"Not at the present time," said Emerson. "The boy is awake, Amelia."

When I returned my attention to David I saw that his eyes were open.

"I am going to have to clean and stitch this wound in your head," I said in my best Arabic. "It will be painful."

"No," said the boy through clenched teeth. "I do not need your help, Sitt. Let me go."

"Why did you come here, David?" Emerson asked.

"My dear, you should not question him now; he is in pain and requires—"

"I have no quarrel with your medical ethics or your altruistic intentions," Emerson replied, now talking English, as I had done. "You may dose him and bandage him and stitch him as much as you like, but first it is essential to ascertain the reason why he was attacked and take the necessary steps to prevent further harm to him—or one of us. Well, David? You heard my question."

The last sentence was again in David's native tongue, but I suspected, from the tightening of the boy's lips, that he had understood some, at least, of the preceding speech. Abdullah certainly had.

Emerson did not repeat the question; he stood waiting, inflexible as a judge. Then Ramses rose to his knees, and David's eyes turned to him. For a moment I had the uncanny impression that I was seeing my son reflected in a mirror that showed him, not as he was, but as he might have been had hard usage and poverty changed him. His eyes and David's were almost identical in color and setting, with the same fringe of thick dark lashes.

Neither spoke. After a moment Ramses resumed his squatting position and David looked at Emerson.

"After you went, Abd el Hamed tried to beat me," he muttered. "I struck the stick from his hands and ran away."

"He had beaten you before," Emerson said.

"Yes. I had run away before."

"But always before this you went back," Emerson said.

"He had nowhere else to go," Nefret exclaimed. "Must you continue, Professor? It is obvious that he—"

"No, my dear, it is not obvious," was the gentle but firm reply. "He could have gone to his mother's family. Is that not true, Abdullah?"

Abdullah nodded, but his face was so grim that only someone who knew him as well as I did would have sensed the softer emotion he was ashamed to display. I could understand why David, who knew his mother's family only from the bitter speeches of his father, would not want to seek refuge with them. And something had happened to the boy that day—Nefret's gentle concern, Emerson's interest and offer of help, even the vulgar, boyish tussle with Ramses—no single event, but a combination of all of them, had, perhaps without his conscious awareness, affected his decision.

"Hmph," said Emerson, who knew Abdullah as well as I did. "So you decided to accept my offer of help. Why did you wait until night?"

"I did not come to ask for help," David said haughtily. "I thought about the things you said—all day, as I lay hidden in the hills, I thought about them, and I thought, I will see the Inglizi again and speak with them again, and then perhaps .. . But it would have been stupid to come openly, in daylight; I knew Abd el Hamed would be looking for me, trying to catch me and bring me back. I did not know he would go to such lengths ..."

"You do not know why he would rather see you dead than out of his hands?"

"I do not know. Perhaps it was not Abd el Hamed. I do not know who it was, or why ..."

His voice had become hoarse and faint. I said firmly, "Enough, Emerson. I am going to stitch this cut, and then he should rest. Hold on to him. Ramses, sit on his feet."

But before Emerson's big brown hands could close over the boy's bony shoulders, he was pushed aside and Abdullah took his place.

Having had considerable practice with Emerson, I made quite a neat job of my sewing. David did not groan or move a muscle; with his grandfather looking on, he would not have cried out if I had been amputating his leg. He was fairly done in by the time I finished, however, and Abdullah's brow was bedewed with perspiration.

I was itching to get to work on the boy with a bar of soap and a scrub brush, but I decided to spare him that exercise until he was rested. A few drops of laudanum, which he was too weak to resist, assured me that he would rest. I then ordered the others to their rooms.

"This is my room," said Ramses.

"True. You can sleep on the couch in the saloon."

"If you will consider a suggestion, Mother, it might be best for me to sleep here, on the floor. In that way—"

"You need not point out the advantages of the suggestion," I said somewhat curtly (for I thought I had detected a tinge of sarcasm in his introductory sentence). "It is a good one. There are extra blankets in the cupboard outside my room. Wake me if there is any change."

"Yes, Mother."

I waited until Nefret had left and Emerson had gone off with Abdullah before I said, "Were you hurt, Ramses? Be candid, I beg. Denial, if untrue, would be foolish, not courageous."

"I was not hurt. Thank you for inquiring."

"Ramses."

"Yes, Mother?"

He stiffened when I put my arms around him, but it was not from pain, and after a moment he gave me an awkward hug in return.

"Good night, Ramses."

"Good night, Mother."

I met Emerson in the corridor. "What did Abdullah have to say?" I inquired.

"Nothing. He is desperately cut up about the boy but is too proud to admit it. Confound the stubborn old fool; he behaves more like an Englishman than an Egyptian! Arabs are not usually so reticent about expressing their emotions. If he had been more affectionate with the boy earlier, David might have gone to him instead of coming here. I am prepared to accept David's explanations up to a point, but they fail to explain the ferocity of the attack on him. And I beg you, Peabody, don't start inventing theories! I am in no mood to listen to them, and I want to have a closer look at that fragment of wall painting. Daoud has taken it to our room."

"Daoud hasn't returned to Gurneh, I hope? I want him to—"

"What sort of idiot do you take me for? He is on the deck, outside Ramses's window. I say, Peabody, Ramses did well tonight, didn't he? I trust you told him so."

"There was no need for me to tell him so. Just let me look in on Gertrude for a moment, and then I will join you."

Gertrude was asleep, or pretending to be asleep. I went to our room.

"She is asleep."

"Or pretending to be asleep."

"Ah," I said, unbuttoning my jacket. "So that possibility occurred to you, did it?"

"Certainly. At this point in time I am prepared to suspect everyone of practically everything. What was she doing on deck in a dead faint?"

"I suppose she will claim that Ramses's cry of warning to David woke her, and that the sight of blood made her swoon. I believe we ought to dismiss her. Either she is a spy, in which case she is dangerous, or she is innocent, in which case she is a confounded nuisance."

Having removed my outer garments I put on my dressing gown over my combinations; I felt it wise to be prepared for action in case I was summoned in the night. For once Emerson paid no attention to this activity, which usually interested him a great deal. He was bending over the table, studying the painted fragment.

"Have a look, Peabody."

"Oh, dear," I exclaimed. "That is a king, Emerson, not our queen Tetisheri. The nemes headdress and the uraeus serpent on his brow—"

"Quite. Only traces of the cartouche remain, but it is probably that of Tetisheri's husband. He would be depicted in her tomb, and probably hergrandson Ahmose would appear as well, if she lived on into his reign and was buried by him."

"Of course!" I bent over to examine the details more closely. "It is a handsome piece of work, isn't it? I had no idea artists of that period were so skilled."

Emerson frowned and fingered the cleft in his chin. "Neither had I. It makes me wonder if ... Oh, the devil, Peabody, I can't be bothered delivering a lecture at this hour of the night. The mere fact that I don't recognize this piece is sufficient proof that it comes from an undiscovered tomb."

"Of course, my dear. Dare we hope that the rest of the tomb is decorated in the same way?"

"Unknown. However, this is certainly part of a larger scene. You were looking for something to rouse Evelyn, were you not? I think this might do the job."

"Why, Emerson," I cried. "What do you mean?"

"We must begin collecting a staff, Peabody. We will certainly want an artist. Carter is an excellent copyist, but he cannot be spared from his other duties. We need Evelyn, and it is high time she resumed the career she abandoned when she married Walter. We will need him too—there will be inscriptions, possibly papyri." Emerson had begun striding up and down the room, eyes glittering. "I will telegraph in the morning."

"So it is for your own selfish reasons that you propose this?"

Emerson stopped pacing and looked seriously at me. "Quite aside from the fact that I consider Evelyn to have a rare talent for capturing the spirit as well as the details of Egyptian painting, this is precisely what she needs at this time—distraction, hard work, commendation. She won't accept, however, unless we can convince her she is doing us a service. You must persuade her of that."

Tears of admiration dimmed my eyes as I gazed fondly upon Emerson. He is so large and so very loud that even I occasionally lose sight of his underlying sensitivity and perception. Few men would have understood a woman's needs so accurately. (To be sure, he had been often reminded of my needs, but he might have been forgiven for believing me to be unique.) He had hit the nail square on the head. Hard work, appreciation, the exercise of her God-given talent, and a soupcon of danger for spice—that was precisely what Evelyn required, and what she secretly yearned for. I found myself remembering a certain large black parasol. No one had known Evelyn possessed it until she had used it to thump a burglar into submission.

"You have hit the nail square on the head, Emerson," I said. "We will both telegraph in the morning. Even if we do not locate the tomb—"

"We will locate it, Peabody."

"How?"

"It is late, my dear. Come to bed."

                                          

I was up with the dawn, inspired even beyond my usual energy by the interesting activities that awaited me. Enemies closing in on every hand, a suffering patient awaiting my attentions, Evelyn to be persuaded—and a royal tomb to be found and rescued. We would probably have to fight off half the population of Gurneh if—when!—we located it. The prospects were delightful.

Leaving Emerson sleeping I hastened to Ramses's room, where I found both lads awake and engaged in low-voiced conversation—if conversation it could be called when Ramses was doing all the talking. After I had examined the patient I decided the first order of business was to feed him. I requested Ramses to fetch a tray. This seemed to surprise David a great deal. I presume he was not accustomed to be waited upon. He ate with good appetite, and when he had finished I explained what I intended to do next.

After some rather animated discussion, Ramses suggested I leave the job to him. I demurred at first, on the grounds that Ramses had yet to demonstrate his ability to wash himself, much less other people, but David's expression warned me that he would fight like a tiger if I persisted. Nothing less than complete submersion and prolonged soaking would have the desired effect, so I left him to the tender mercies of Ramses and went off to have my own breakfast.

The others had assembled, and after I had reported on my patient's condition, Gertrude said hesitantly, "I wish to offer my apologies, Mrs. Emerson, for my cowardly behavior last night. It was such a shock, coming on that terrible scene. But I ought to have had better control over myself. I promise it will not occur a second time. The Professor has told me about the poor boy. Would you like me to sit with him today while you are pursuing your archaeological activities?"

"Not necessary," Emerson replied. "I will require your assistance today, Miss Marmaduke. Get your gear together, we will be crossing over to Luxor after breakfast."

"Suspicious," I muttered, after she had taken her departure. "Very suspicious, Emerson."

"Everything strikes you as suspicious, Peabody."

"I don't trust that woman," Nefret declared. "She was on deck before me last night. What was she doing there?"

Elbows on the table, Emerson said, "I don't know. What was she doing?"

"She didn't have time to do anything, I was almost on her heels. As soon as she saw me she screamed and fell down. But if I had not come when I did, who knows what might have happened?" Nefret's eyes flashed. "Don't leave her alone with David, Professor. Her offer to sit with him was extremely suspicious."

Emerson looked from Nefret to me and back to Nefret. "It is like hearing an echo," he muttered. "I begin to wonder whether I am strong enough to manage two of them. Ah, well. 'Man tut was man kann.' I suppose Ramses shares your doubts about Miss Marmaduke? Yes; he would. Well, don't worry about David. One of our men will be on guard, and until I am certain about Miss Marmaduke's motives I will watch her closely. Why do you suppose I am taking the confounded woman with us today?"

When I returned to Ramses's room I found David back in bed, wearing one of Ramses's galabeeyahs. He had the look of a person who has just undergone torture of the most agonizing kind and he made no objection when I examined him—with, of course, due consideration for his dignity. The bruises, cuts and scrapes required only minimal attention, but the festering toe looked even nastier now that it had been washed. The nail was missing and the infection was deep. By the time I had cleaned and bandaged it Emerson was banging on the door demanding that I hurry up.

I bade him enter. "I am almost ready, Emerson. David, I want you to take this medicine."

"Laudanum?" Hands on his hips, Emerson eyed me askance. "Are you certain that is wise, Peabody?"

"He is in considerable pain, though he will not admit it," I replied. "He needs to rest."

"No! I must not—" David stopped, perforce, since I had pinched his nose with my fingers and tipped the liquid neatly down his throat.

"Don't worry," Emerson said. "One of your uncles, or cousins, or whatever the devil they are, will be on guard. You are safe here. Is there anything more you want to tell me?"

"No, Father of Curses. I do not know—"

"We will talk again later," Emerson said. "Come along, Peabody— Ramses."

"I trust," said Ramses, as soon as I had closed the door, "that you did not drug him because you suspect he would attempt to run away, Mother. He will not."

"He gave you his word, I suppose," I said sarcastically.

"Yes. And," said Ramses, "I have promised that if he remains with us, I will teach him how to read the hieroglyphs."

There was not time to continue the conversation. Gertrude and Nefret were waiting, and Emerson bustled us all into the dinghy.

Ramses began lecturing on the temples of Luxor and talked without a break during the voyage. This gave me a chance to collect my own thoughts, which were in need of organization. How busy we were become, and how many things required to be done! Identifying the would-be assassin of David was of prime importance, not only to prevent further assaults but to learn why someone was so intent on silencing him. That information might be got from the boy himself, if he was willing to talk—and if he knew.

First, though, were the telegrams to Evelyn and Walter. Reading over Emerson's shoulder as he wrote, I was moved to murmur, "Emerson, do you really believe it is wise to say we have found an unknown royal tomb? I don't doubt that the contents of that message will be all over Luxor by nightfall and in Cairo almost as soon. Every thief in Gurneh will be on our track, and M. Maspero will be very annoyed with us for not reporting to him immediately, and furthermore—"

"Write your own message, Peabody, and leave this to me," Emerson said, frowning masterfully.

So I did. An explanation for his behavior had occurred to me. I would have thought of it sooner if I had believed Emerson to be capable of such subtle dissimulation.

The telegraph office was located near the Luxor Hotel, and Emerson suggested we have coffee in the hotel garden. This leisurely attitude was so unlike him I knew he was up to something—several somethings, as it turned out.

"Not many people here at this hour," he remarked, surveying the scattering of tourists at the other tables.

"Most have already gone out to Karnak or across to the West Bank," I said, hooking my parasol over the back of my chair. "Only the lazy visitors, who are more interested in dissipation than improvement, would rise so late."

"It is a beautiful spot," Gertrude said dreamily. "What are those purple blossoms cascading over the wall behind us, Mrs. Emerson?"

"Bougainvillea," I replied (for botany is a favorite hobby of mine). "The climate is tropical; it permits the cultivation of such exotic blooms, as well as flowers familiar to us from our English gardens."

Emerson was watching people come and go. Becoming impatient, he interrupted my lecture. "Do you mind, Peabody? It is time we told Miss Marmaduke and the children of our plans."

"Proceed, my dear," I said, wondering what the deuce "our" plans might be.

Beating around the bush is not a habit of Emerson's. "I know the precise location of the tomb," he said.

Nefret and Gertrude responded with the exclamations of admiration a gentlemen expects from females when he has done something to impress them. Ramses responded with a question.

"And how did you ascertain that information, Father, if I may ask?"

"I have my methods," said Emerson, trying to look mysterious. "As to where ... You will discover the answer to that tomorrow morning, when I lead you to the site. Thus far, Miss Marmaduke, I am the only person who knows the precise location. Even Mrs. Emerson has not been taken into my confidence, for the simple reason that the knowledge might endanger her. Inexperienced as you are, you cannot comprehend how far the local thieves will go in order to learn such a secret."

Gertrude leaned forward, her hands clasped as if in prayer. "But surely, the more people who have the information—"

"I prefer to be the only one at risk," said Emerson heroically. "You cannot suppose I would endanger my wife or my innocent young children by sharing such deadly information."

No one who knew anything about me could possibly believe such an idiotic speech, and Ramses's attempt to look innocent was far from convincing. Gertrude might have persisted had not an exclamation from Nefret distracted her. It was only a stifled "Oh!" but it was pronounced in tones sufficiently intense to draw my eyes to the individual whose appearance had prompted it.

He had observed us; he was advancing, hat in hand, face wreathed in smiles. "What an unexpected pleasure!" he exclaimed. "Good morning, Professor and Mrs. Emerson—Miss Forth—Master Emerson. I dare not hope you will remember me—"

"Good morning, Sir Edward," I replied, stamping heavily on Ramses's foot. The impact jolted a gruff "Sir," out of him, which was as much as I could reasonably expect. Nefret's greeting had consisted of a smile and a dimple.

Emerson looked him up and down, from his fair head to his polished boots. "Good morning. We met last year, I believe. You were with the Northampton Expedition."

"I am flattered, sir, that you should recall such a fleeting encounter."

"You, an archaeologist?" I exclaimed in surprise.

The young man laughed good-naturedly. "I don't merit that honorable designation, Mrs. Emerson, though I am keen. Lord Northampton is a distant relation of my mother's—or, to put it another way, I am a verydistant poor relation of his. He was good enough to employ me as a photographer last season."

How bitterly I regretted having spared her doting guardian the knowledge of Nefret's scandalous behavior with this person! It was too late now; the look of calculation on Emerson's face made his intentions clear to me. In fact, I wondered if he had come to the garden in the hope of meeting with Sir Edward. He could have arranged to be informed of all new arrivals in Luxor. (And indeed I much regretted not having done so myself. The vultures would be gathering ... )

Sir Edward had remained standing, hat in hand. Emerson waved him to a chair. "That motorcar of yours—" he began.

"Not mine, sir; it is the property of a friend who sometimes allows me to put it through its paces. We poor relations—"

"Yes, yes," Emerson broke in. "What would be the chances of getting such a vehicle to Luxor, do you think?"

"Good Gad, Emerson!" I exclaimed. "What a ridiculous idea! Even if you could get it here, what would you do with it?"

Sir Edward glanced at me. He appeared to be trying to compose an answer that would offend neither party. "One would need special tyres for desert travel, of course. But they are sturdy vehicles; last year a Stanley Steamer made it up to the top of Mount Washington."

"Named after a member of your family, perhaps?" I inquired with a pardonable degree of sarcasm.

"So I understand," was the smooth reply. "The first American President was descended from—"

"Returning to the subject of the motorcar," Emerson said.

"Emerson," I said rather sharply. "You are forgetting your manners. Miss Marmaduke has not yet been introduced to the gentleman, I believe."

Both acknowledged the introductions with a conspicuous lack of interest. Highly suspicious—or was it? She was not the sort of lady to attract the interest of an impecunious younger son. Sir Edward, however, was the sort of gentleman to engage the interest of any female. I decided that only Gertrude's reaction had been suspicious.

"So you were at Drah Abu'l Naga with Mr. Newberry," I said, hoping to distract Emerson from the motorcar.

I succeeded, for the moment. "Were you present when the fatal accident occurred?" Emerson asked.

"Accident?" Sir Edward looked as bewildered as I felt. It was the first time I had heard of such a thing. "There was no serious accident, Professor. We were singularly fortunate in that respect."

"One of your workmen fell off the cliff to his death," said Emerson. "I would call that a fatal accident."

"Oh, that." The young man's face cleared. "To be sure. Such things occur, however. No, I believe, though the exact date escapes me, that I was not present that day. Is it true, sir, that you are planning to work there this year?"

"How did you hear of that?" Emerson asked.

"From Mr. Newberry," was the prompt, easy reply. "He was most kind to me last year, and I called on him before I left Cairo. I am looking for employment, you see, and I had hoped he would recommend me."

Emerson opened his mouth. I said hastily, "How long will you remain in Luxor, Sir Edward?"

"All winter, if I am fortunate enough to find a position. We poor relations must work for a living."

This time I was not able to forestall Emerson, for his mouth had remained open. "I am planning to work at Drah Abu'l Naga, yes. If you will dine with us tomorrow evening on our dahabeeyah, we may have something to discuss."

Sir Edward expressed effusive delight and I glared at Emerson. "We must be going, Emerson," I said. "Unless you intend to waste the entire morning. You too, Sir Edward, should be up and doing."

"But my dear Mrs. Emerson, I rose at dawn." He did not bother to conceal his amusement. "I have already made the rounds of the antika shops; his lordship is a collector, as you know, and I had hoped to find something that would interest him. However, the best of the dealers was closed—indefinitely, I was told."

"What!" Emerson jumped to his feet, overturning his chair. "Is it Ali Murad of whom you speak?"

"Why, yes."

"Damnation!" Emerson shouted. The poor flowers trembled and cast a shower of purple petals over us. "Come, Peabody. Hurry!"

"You will excuse us, Sir Edward," I said.

"I hope it was nothing I said."

"Well, yes, it was, but you could not have anticipated his response," I admitted.

Sir Edward gallantly assisted Nefret to rise from her chair. She was careful not to look at him, not even when he plucked a fallen blossom from her hair with a smile and a murmured apology. As we hurried off I saw him tuck the little flower tenderly into his waistcoat pocket. He made sure Nefret saw too.

Fortunately I knew where Emerson must be going, since he was out of sight by the time we reached our destination. We found him kicking the closed door of Ali Murad's house.

"Do continue, Emerson, if it will soothe your nerves," I remarked. "Kicking the door can serve no other purpose. We might have anticipated this."

"Hmph," said Emerson. "At least / ought to have anticipated it. The old rascal is shrewder than I thought."

"And guiltier, Emerson."

"Possibly, Peabody, possibly."

"But would fear of us explain his flight? We already have the fragment and the information you wanted; why should he hide from us?"

Emerson let out a profane exclamation. "By Gad, Peabody, you are right again. The only confederate he named was Abd el Hamed. There was no danger to Ali Murad in that; we were already suspicious of Abd el Hamed and might have got his name from any one of several other sources. No. If Murad has gone into hiding it is because he fears someone else. We had better have another little chat with Abd el Hamed. If Ali Murad has warned him, he too may have run for cover."

"Or been permanently silenced," I said.

"Always looking on the bright side, Peabody. Quickly, back to the dinghy."

I would not have been unduly distressed to have found Abd el Hamed weltering in his gore. However, when we got to his house he was sitting on a bench in the courtyard enjoying the sunshine and smoking a water pipe. He appeared so ostentatiously at ease that I suspected he had been warned of our approach—and had, in fact, expected we would come.

Emerson cut short his unctuous greetings. "Still here, are you? Ali Murad is wiser than you; he has gone into hiding."

Hamed gaped in exaggerated surprise. "Hiding from what, O Father of Curses? No doubt Ali Murad enjoys a well-deserved holiday. Alas, I cannot afford such a luxury."

"In that case my hasty journey to warn you was wasted effort," Emerson said. "But perhaps you are unaware that the boy still lives."

The hit was a shrewd one. Hamed's hideous countenance was well schooled in deception, but the stem of the pipe slipped from his hand.

"Your servant was careless," Emerson went on. "Don't bother sending another. David has told me all he knows, and I would take it personally if he were attacked while under my protection."

Hamed had recovered himself. "I know nothing of this. I sent no one after the boy. He ran away from me. He is a liar, an ingrate, a thief—"

"Enough," I said. "Emerson, shall we not search the house?"

"Why bother?" Emerson smiled at Hamed, who was flapping around like a distracted hen. "We have a great deal to do before we begin work on the tomb tomorrow morning." Reaching into his pocket, he flipped a coin at the old man. "For your holiday, Hamed."

Followed by the usual curious crowd, including a goat and several chickens, we descended the hill and made our way to the house where our men were staying. Selim was the first to reach us; his first question was an eager "Is it true, Father of Curses, that you have found the tomb? Where is it? When shall we begin?"

Emerson frowned, but I could tell he was extremely pleased with himself. He shot me a meaningful glance before saying loudly, "That is a secret, Selim, known only to me. Come in the house, all of you. A wise man does not shout his business to the wind."

The conference did not take long, since Emerson (I had begun to suspect) had nothing particular to say. He pursed his lips and looked mysterious and threw out vague hints. The men were extremely impressed, however. After Emerson had told them to be ready in a day or two, we took our departure. Lingering outside the door in order to tie my bootlace, I heard one of them say in awed tones, "Only the Father of Curses could learn such a secret."

"No, it is the magic of the Sitt Hakim," Selim insisted.

"Or the magic of her son. It is known that he talks with afreets and demons ..."

I did not repeat this exchange to Emerson. "What now?" I inquired, after I had caught him up.

"Luncheon," said Emerson. "Let me help you onto your donkey, Miss Marmaduke."

Emboldened by his affability, Miss Marmaduke said, "I am fascinated but bewildered by your activities this morning, Professor. Won't you explain to me why you went in such haste to that house in Luxor and what you said to that hideous old man?"

Emerson proceeded to explain. I have never heard such an unconvincing melange of lies and half-truths, but then I knew Emerson better than she did. After rambling on at unnecessary length about tomb robbers and the royal cache at Deir el Bahri and other unrelated matters, he finished glibly, "I suspected it was Hamed who sent the killer after David. The boy knew too much—and now he has told me what he knew."

"So you will enter the tomb tomorrow morning? How thrilling! I can hardly wait." She raised shining eyes to Emerson.

Nefret, riding next to me, said something under her breath. I decided to take no notice.

It seemed to me that Emerson had overlooked one potential danger, but when I went to look at my patient I found that concern was, unhappily, unnecessary. When we all met at the luncheon table, I reported, truthfully, that David was too ill to be questioned.

"I feared it might happen. Infection is in the air here, and that foot ofhis has been festering for weeks. He is feverish and semiconscious. I intend to keep him under sedation, rousing him only to take liquids."

After lunch I went to sit with the boy, for I was genuinely concerned about his condition. It was not long before Emerson joined me.

"Well done, Peabody. Marmaduke won't bother him if she thinks he ... Oh, curse it! You were speaking the truth. He is ill."

Wringing out a cloth, I wiped the lad's face and bony chest. "I believe he will pull through, Emerson. I have dealt successfully with more desperate cases."

"I know it well, Peabody." Emerson placed a hand on my shoulder. "Though I have always been of the opinion that your success is due not so much to your medical skill as your dogged determination. No one would have the audacity to die when you are doctoring them."

I was about to respond with an equally tender speech when Ramses slipped into the room. "Now we can talk," he whispered. "Nefret is having a literature lesson with Miss Marmaduke."

"How clever of Nefret to think of it," I said.

"It was my suggestion," said Ramses. "Couched in such a manner that neither could refuse. Father—"

"Oh, dear," I exclaimed. "Now she will be planning how to get back at you. Ramses, I do wish you would try to get on better with Nefret. Sister and brother—"

"She is not," said Ramses, "my sister." Without giving me time to reply, he turned to Emerson. "Father, you have not yet deigned to take me into your confidence, but I believe I have anticipated your intentions. You have not in fact located the tomb. You hope to do so tonight, by following the thieves who do know its location."

"I had intended to tell you," Emerson said resignedly. "Since I took it for granted you would find out anyhow. The plan is this—"

A low moan from my patient drew our attention to him. He was stirring feebly, his eyes half open, but when I spoke to him there was no response, and the water I held to his lips dribbled down his chin.

"He must take water," I said. "Dehydration is the greatest danger. Emerson, do you hold—"

"Let me try, Mother." Ramses took the cup from me.

He spoke softly into David's ear. The response was astonishing. The dim eyes took on a spark of intelligence, and the swollen lips parted obediently. Supported by Emerson's strong arm, he drank.

"A little more laudanum now," I said, measuring the dose into the rest of the water. He took that too.

"Well!" I exclaimed, as Emerson lowered him onto the pillow. "Howdid you manage that, Ramses? And please don't tell me you mesmerized or threatened him."

"I saved his life," Ramses said. "We are blood brothers. Or will be, as soon as he can spare enough of that fluid to go through the proper ceremony. I did not feel it advisable at the present time."

"Quite right, too," Emerson remarked, watching me replace the bottle of laudanum on the table. "Er—Peabody—"

"Take the bottle, by all means, Emerson."

"I would rather you did it, Peabody. Just don't overdo it, eh? We want to ensure Miss Marmaduke will sleep well tonight, not be in a stupor for several days. And, Ramses ..."

"Yes, Father?"

"Dismiss the idea at once. I strictly forbid it."

"But Father, if Nefret is awake when we leave, she will insist on accompanying us tonight! You surely do not mean to allow a female ..." He stopped with a gulp and an apprehensive look at me. "A young female, a girl, in fact—"

"That decision is your mother's," said Emerson. "But I believe I know what she will say."

"Quite, Emerson. Young she may be, and female, but despite those frightful handicaps she has demonstrated her ability to take care of herself— and others." It was a low blow; Ramses did not like to be reminded of the time Nefret had rescued him from danger, but I felt he needed to be put in his place. Ignoring his reproachful look, I went on, "She is one of us."

"All for one and one for all," Emerson agreed cheerfully. "You may as well give it up, Ramses, I have been trying for years to keep your mother out of these affairs and I have never once succeeded. Nefret is of the same breed, I believe. So, Peabody, you will make sure Miss Marmaduke sleeps soundly tonight?"

"If you believe it to be necessary. She customarily retires early."

"I want to be certain she goes early to her bed and stays in it." Emerson fingered the cleft in his chin. "She may be as silly and harmless as she appears, but the fact remains that it was she who approached us instead of the other way round. Not that we had reason to suspect anything at the time."

"No; but the situation has changed and I agreed we should take no chances. When do you want to leave?"

"As soon after nightfall as is possible. They will do the same; they have a long night's work ahead of them."

I finished sponging David off and covered him with a light sheet. "You really think that the thieves will return to the tomb tonight?"

"If they do not, we have lost nothing," Emerson replied. "But there isa good chance they will believe my claim that I know the location and they will want to remove as much as they can before we get to work. We have been bustling busily back and forth, Peabody, threatening people and stirring things up; I might have learned the truth from any one of a number of sources."

"It was a most ingenious idea, Father," Ramses said in his most patronizing manner. "Mother, if you have other things to do I will sit with David for a while."

I thanked him. But I took the bottle of laudanum with me.

                                                 

Since time was of the essence I did not wait to put the laudanum in Miss Marmaduke's coffee, as I had originally intended. I selected a rich burgundy to accompany the meal; the sticky black liquid dissolved quite well and the wine was dark enough to hide the color. Miss Marmaduke was not enough of a connoisseur to know that one should never serve Burgundy with chicken, but she certainly enjoyed it. I had to support her when she rose from the table, with incoherent apologies for her extraordinary fatigue.

Our preparations had been made. Daoud and Selim were to accompany us, while Abdullah remained at the dahabeeyah on guard. He did not like being left behind, but if we ran into trouble we wanted younger, more agile men to assist us. We gathered on deck waiting for Daoud to return from his scouting expedition. Our departure must be unobserved.

"Now is it clear?" Emerson said softly. "They will come by one of two paths—over the mountain path from the direction of Deir el Bahri, or along the base of the hill from the north. Ramses, you and Nefret and Daoud will cover the northern route. Remember, you are not to interfere in any way. Keep out of sight and well behind them. Once they have entered the tomb, mark the location and come to join us. We will be—"

"I am as familiar with the terrain as you, Father," said Ramses. "And you have already explained the plan three times. There is Daoud. He is beckoning us to proceed."

In single file we crept down the gangplank and sought concealment in the shadows of a group of palm trees. Here we assumed our disguises— galabeeyahs like those worn by the villagers, rags wound round our heads and scarves covering the lower parts of our faces. I must say Nefret made an unconvincing Arab, even with her bright hair hidden.

Though the hour was still early by European standards, the villagers ofthe West Bank kept country hours, rising with the sun and retiring when it set. Most of them. The ones we hoped to encounter worked only at night.

We met only curious goats and snapping dogs as we crossed the green fields of the cultivation, avoiding the clusters of rude huts. The moon was only half full, but it gave enough light to enable us to see the path. Starlight illumined the pale colonnades of the temple of Deir el Bahri, and from the Egypt Exploration Fund expedition house, now occupied by our friend Howard, shone a glow of lamplight. We gave it a wide berth; if Howard had known what we were up to he would certainly have disapproved, though primarily on the grounds of danger to us.

There was danger if Emerson's plan succeeded. The Gurnawis had attacked archaeologists before, and men like Riccetti were even less scrupulous of human life. After we had crossed the stretch of open desert and begun our ascent of the cliff, I ventured to speak.

"You think they will come by this path."

"Why else do you suppose I sent Ramses and Nefret in the other direction? That route is too roundabout for the men we are after; they will come from Gurneh, and the tomb must be high in the hills; the lower slopes have been picked over by archaeologists—if you can call Mariette an archaeologist—"

"Emerson."

"Hmph, yes. Give me your hand, Peabody; this stretch is a bit steep." He hauled me up onto a ledge, and then went on. "As you knew perfectly well, Peabody, I have been talking stuff and nonsense. I do believe the thieves will return to the tomb tonight, but this is a largish stretch of territory, and without more specific information than the abstruse scholarly clues I discussed with you some days ago we could wander these hills all night without finding men who will obviously be attempting to avoid scrutiny. Fortunately I have more specific information. You remember my asking Sir Edward about the death of a workman during last year's Northampton excavations? In fact I had already ascertained the truth of the matter from Newberry. Like Sir Edward—typical English snob that he is!— Newberry did not consider the fatal fall of a fellah important, but when I questioned him about it he was able to tell me approximately where the so-called accident occurred. He still doesn't know why I was interested," Emerson added, with an evil chuckle.

"But I do."

"Of course you do, Peabody."

"So that is why you were so anxious to see Mr. Newberry! Why the— why didn't you say so, and why didn't you mention the subject during our dinner party?"

"Because," said Emerson, giving me the sort of smile that drives wivesto violence, "I had already called upon him. After considering the matter I decided it would be best to request a private interview. I had heard of the workman's death but paid it no attention at the time; not until after I realized that a number of people were after the tomb did it occur to me that the incident might be significant."

"The man had got too close to the tomb," I said. "Or actually came upon the thieves when they were at work. Well done, Emerson. You know the location, then?"

"Roughly. We had better stop talking now. Are you with us, Selim?"

When we reached the summit we paused to catch our breaths. Behind and below was the narrow strip of green bordering the Nile. Ahead, for hundreds of miles, lay a land as barren as a dead world. Clefts and wadis, canyons and deep valleys broke the surface of the plateau.

Paths, some of them ancient, crisscrossed its slopes. One of the oldest goes from the Valley of the Kings to Deir el Bahri and continues southward along the ridge toward the Ramesseum and Medinet Habu. We went north, following a less defined route that wound up and down the hillside. Despite his size, Emerson is as surefooted as a goat on such terrain and he seemed to be familiar with every inch of it, for always he chose the easiest way.

When he stopped, we were just below the top of the hill, with a steep slope below and a wilderness of broken ridges, canyons and clefts behind and ahead. We sat down in the shadow of a heap of stones and I passed round my canteen. Selim's eyes glittered. I knew his quick breathing was not due to exertion. It had been my suggestion that he accompany us and leave the older, more placid Daoud to watch over the children. Ramses could twist poor Selim around his little finger—and so could I. I smiled at him and raised a finger to my lips. He nodded vigorously.

Before long Emerson began to fidget. I had known he would. Waiting is not something he does well. I moved closer to him and kept him quiet for a while, but it was fortunate we had not much longer to wait. The moon had set and the hillside was in shadow. One of the approaching men must have stumbled or stubbed his toe. His involuntary cry of pain was loud enough to carry some distance.

Emerson started to rise. "Damna------!"

I clapped both hands over his mouth. After a moment he subsided and I felt it was safe to remove my grip.

"Sssh! Listen," I breathed.

The murmur of voices and the sounds of movement went on for some time, and eventually my straining eyes made out, not isolated forms, but a shifting section of darkness. How many of them were there? More than one or two, certainly. They seemed to be arguing. Gradually their voices rose, and one harsh whisper pierced the silence of the night.

"I tell you, he lied! What will the Master do to us if he learns—"

Another outburst of hissing argument drowned his voice. It died into silence; a temporary agreement must have been reached. The succeeding sounds were those of surreptitious movement. Pebbles rolled and rattled; something grated on rock.

Emerson could bear it no longer; he rose to one knee. I took firm hold of his turban and pressed my mouth against his ear.

"Emerson, wait until they have all entered the tomb. Then we can creep away—"

"And allow them to rob MY tomb?" His furious whisper echoed like the distant voice of an outraged deity. He twisted his head, leaving his turban in my hands, and surged to his feet. Pulling the robe over his head, he tossed it at me. "You and Selim go and fetch Carter."

"Emerson! At least take my—" But by the time I had freed myself from the tangled folds of his robe he was out of reach. Pistol in hand, I followed as fast as I dared. Selim, gasping with excitement, was hot on my heels.

I found Emerson; he was standing on a ledge some ten feet below the path. It was so small the toes of his boots protruded over an empty space as dark and narrow as the gullet of a crocodile.

"Ah, there you are, Peabody," he remarked. "Hang on a minute, I will be right back."

And without further ado he knelt, grasped the rock ledge with both hands, and swung himself down into the cleft.

Silence and caution were no longer necessary. Emerson would either fall into the tomb or past it, on his way to the bottom of the ravine, unequivocally informing those within of his presence.

Though every muscle and every nerve ached with the need for action, I forced myself to be calm. It was an exercise to which I had become accustomed after living with Emerson for so many years. Stripping off my own robe I tossed it aside. Then I lay down on the ground and lit a candle.

The slope was not precipitous; under ordinary circumstances I would not have hesitated to tackle it, using my trusty parasol as a stick. Under present circumstances, when a slip might precipitate me into a bottomless chasm, I decided not to take the chance. Regretfully laying parasol and candle aside, I instructed Selim to lie flat on the edge of the drop and give me his hand. Abdullah would have argued with me (though not for long). Selim never argued with me, but he would have if he had dared. Our faces were close together as I began the descent, clinging to his hand; his eyes were so wide his eyeballs gleamed like pigeon's eggs.

My feet had not quite touched the ledge when I had to let go of Selim's hand, for his head and shoulders as well as his arm were over the edge.

There was a nasty moment when one boot slipped; the scrape of metal on stone was echoed by a muted cry from Selim.

"Do be quiet, Selim," I hissed. "I am on the ledge, it is all right."

"Oh, Allah! Sitt Hakim—"

"Sssh!"

It was not so much that I feared discovery—though if Emerson was in the clutches of a gang of desperate tomb robbers, surprise might be my best weapon when I burst in upon them—but the need to listen. I could see nothing below but blackness. I could hear sounds, though. The pit was not bottomless, but it must be very deep; the noises were faint and impossible to classify. The moans of a fatally injured man? The fall of a corpse— Emerson's corpse? My hands were so unsteady I had to strike three matches before I could light another candle.

A rope had been tied round a protruding rock spur; it vanished into the darkness, as Emerson had done. Kneeling, I felt of it. The strands were limp; no weight pulled them taut. Living or dead, fallen or triumphantly arrived at his goal, Emerson was not holding on to the rope. Grasping it, I lowered myself into the darkness.

I covered the first few feet more quickly than I had intended, but finally I got my knees wrapped round the cursed flimsy thing and was able to proceed more deliberately. It was a long descent—over ninety feet, as we discovered later. The sounds I had heard were no longer audible. Oh, heaven, I thought; will I be too late?

The darkness was intense. I might have missed the tomb entrance if the rope had not ended just below it. This came as a considerable surprise, and for an unpleasant moment or two I hung suspended only by my hands. Then the toe of my boot found a crack and my eyes made out a faint glow of light. Faint in fact, but bright as a beacon to eyes accustomed to utter blackness.

The tomb entrance had been cut in the side of the gully. It was approximately six feet square, but it was filled with rubble except for a narrow tunnel dug by the thieves. The light came from the far end of the tunnel. With the aid of the holes in the rock face—which, I began to believe, were not natural but man-made—I got into the tunnel. Crawling as fast as possible, I was only vaguely aware of the sharp stone scraps that scored my hands and knees.

I emerged somewhat suddenly into a small, dimly lit chamber. Before I could observe details I was grasped, pulled to my feet and caught in a tight hold that pinned my arms to my sides.

Though archaeological fever burned hot in my brain, at that moment I had eyes for no other object than Emerson. He lived! He was upright and unharmed! He was also extremely angry, and with reason. A robed andturbaned figure whose face was concealed by a scarf held a pistol pressed to his head.

"Confound it, Peabody," he began. "I told you—"

The man drew back his arm and struck. It was only a glancing blow, but I cried out in alarm. "Control yourself, Emerson! Don't risk another blow to the head."

Emerson was too furious to heed this excellent advice. "Take your hands off her, you—you—"

He stopped as the person who held me promptly obeyed—not Emerson's command, but a nod from the fellow who held the gun. I was no threat to them; my own pistol was in my pocket, nor would I have dared to use it when the other weapon was pressed against Emerson's temple.

The man who had held me was dressed like the first, and there was a third one too, equally anonymous in robe and turban and scarf. Where were the others? Had I been mistaken about their numbers?

Reassured as to Emerson's safety (for the moment at least), I had leisure to look about me. It was hard to make out details, for the only light came from a lantern of European design held by the third man, but I saw enough to raise my professional temperature. Stone chips and fragments of other materials covered part of the floor; in some places the debris had been removed or pushed aside. Toward the far end of the chamber it was piled high, halfway up the doorway on that wall. Framed by a heavy lintel and inscribed jambs, the opening had been blocked with neatly cut stones. A dark square broke the surface where one of the stones had been removed. This evidence of the robbers' penetration into the farther chambers—perhaps the burial chamber itself—was a trifle discouraging, but what I saw on the wall to the left of the door made me catch my breath. The tomb was decorated!

Piled-up chips and deep shadows concealed most of the painted surfaces. The feeble glow of the lantern illumined, and that dimly, only one portion of a single scene—the head and upper body of a woman, and the hands she had raised to shoulder height. Part of a hieroglyphic inscription named her; I could make out the curved shape of a cartouche, but not the individual signs. I knew her, though, as surely as if I had encountered an old friend. The wing of the same vulture crown depicted on her statue framed a familiar profile.

I started impulsively forward. Emerson's growl and the raised hand of one of the men reminded me that archaeological investigation might not be entirely appropriate at that time. After an exchange of glances and nods, the same individual whose gesture had stopped me spoke in a husky, obviously disguised whisper. "You will not be harmed if you do not resist. Put your hands behind you."

He addressed Emerson, who glared at him.

"I believe, Emerson, that we ought to do as he asks," I said. "The alternative would be much worse and I do not see how even you can prevent them from doing whatever they choose."

The logic of this was irresistible, but I cannot remember when I have seen Emerson so aggravated. He kept up a rumbling undercurrent of curses while they tied our hands and feet. Emerson stubbornly insisted on remaining upright, but one of the men lowered me, gently enough, into a sitting position. Having completed the job they departed, crawling one by one into the tunnel. They left the lamp. I was grateful for that.

"I hope Selim had sense enough to run for help," I said anxiously.

Emerson's face turned purple as he strained at his bonds. Between grunts of effort he remarked, "I don't suppose ... he could hear us ... if we called out."

"Probably not. But he will find us eventually, he saw me descend. Do stop struggling, Emerson, you will only tire yourself."

"I want to get out of this damned place," Emerson said sulkily. "Didn't you bring your knife, Peabody?"

"Yes, my dear, I did, and I am endeavoring at this very moment to reach it. Calm yourself."

After a moment Emerson said, in quite a different voice, "They can't have removed the mummy or mummy case, Peabody. That doorway must lead to the burial chamber, but the opening is only eighteen inches square."

"I noticed that. And the paintings—oh, Emerson, it is Tetisheri's tomb! I would recognize her anywhere. How exciting this is! Ah—I have the knife. I will just hop over to you and ... Goodness gracious, it is difficult to keep one's footing in all this disgusting debris. I believe it was a bone I just stepped on."

Emerson's head snapped round toward the entrance tunnel. Turning, he thrust his bound hands hard against mine, and after some fumbling got the blade of the knife between his wrists. "Hurry and get these cursed ropes off, Peabody. They are coming back."