CHAPTER ELEVEN
I have Known Several Villains Who Were Perfect Gentlemen
Emerson's announcement, made that evening to our assembled family, aroused universal approbation. His arguments were irrefutable. The contents of the burial chamber, whatever they might be, must be removed to safekeeping before they inspired another attack on us or our loyal men.
We resembled a little group of conspirators as we drew close together round the table on the upper deck, the light of the single lamp casting eerie shadows across our tense faces. Emerson's first statement, even before he announced his intention, had been a warning that our plans must be kept secret.
"As far as is possible, at any rate," he added grudgingly. "If I had my way I would allow no one but ourselves and the men in that tomb. I don't see how I can keep Sir Edward out, though."
"Do you suspect him?" Evelyn asked.
"No." Emerson's eyeballs gleamed as he rolled them in my direction. I contented myself with a sniff, and Emerson went on, "I have no reason to suppose he is anything but what he claims to be, and if I let him go now, without a valid excuse, it would arouse suspicion and justifiable resentment. 1 shall caution him as I do you not to breathe a word of what we are doing to an outsider. That includes Vandergelt, Amelia. And your friend O'Connell."
"Fortunately Kevin is presently suffering from a touch of stomach trouble, so we won't have to worry about him for a while. But Cyrus—"
"No one!" Emerson's fist came down on the table. We all jumped and I caught the lamp as it tottered. "It may be that only the local talent is involved, but today's attempt was uncharacteristically bold. It suggests there is some unknown power directing operations."
"Riccetti," I said.
"Quite possibly. If he has informants and allies among the villagers, as he undoubtedly does, secrecy is essential."
"Am I to take it," said Ramses, "that David is one of those included in your prohibition?"
Emerson is not, by nature, an unjust man. He hesitated—but briefly— before he replied. "Particularly David."
To my surprise it was not Ramses who came to the boy's defense, nor even Nefret—though she bit her lip and directed a less than friendly look at her foster father. The quiet voice was that of Evelyn.
"I am sure he can be trusted completely, Radcliffe. I have had several long conversations with him. He is a dear lad, who deserves better of life than the misery he has experienced, and he is devoted to all of you."
Emerson's voice softened, as it always does when he speaks to his sister-in-law. "Evelyn, your good heart does you credit and I understand why at this particular time... er, hmph. Bear in mind that the boy has spent most of his life under the tutelage of a master thief and forger. Early impressions—"
"Don't patronize me, Radcliffe."
The reprimand was as startling as a slap in the face. Never had I heard Evelyn speak to anyone, much less Emerson, in that tone.
Emerson was the first to recover, and it is to his credit that he responded as he did. (Though I would have expected nothing less of him.) He laughed aloud and slapped his knee.
"Well done! I apologize, Evelyn, but I assure you I am not discriminating against David. Good Gad, Vandergelt is one of my oldest friends, and I trust him completely—but I don't mean to let him in on this either. I wish we could rid ourselves of that confounded Marmaduke woman."
"Ah," I exclaimed. "So you have come round to my belief that she is an adventuress and a spy!"
"No, Amelia, I have not. I believe she is a woolly-minded romantic from whom O'Connell could winkle the truth with a few florid compliments."
"You have the right of it," I admitted. "Do not concern yourself, my dear, I will think of a way to—"
"I shudder at the thought," said Emerson with considerable feeling.
"Leave it to me, Peabody. Does she know how to operate one of those typewriting machines?"
"Yes, I believe she does."
"Then I will put her to work transcribing the manuscript of my History. That should keep her busy, and away from the tomb."
"It certainly should," I agreed. "How long is the manuscript—six-hundred-odd pages? And your handwriting, my dear ... An excellent idea."
"So it is settled, then. We begin tomorrow."
"It will only take another day or two to finish with the scraps of painted plaster we retrieved from the entrance corridor," Walter said. "The majority of them are unfortunately too small to be of use, but I have found a portion of a cartouche that I believe will interest you a great deal, Radcliffe."
"It will have to wait, Walter. I need every pair of hands, especially yours." Walter looked pleased, and Emerson, in his bluff way, went on to spoil the compliment by adding, "You appear not to have forgotten entirely everything you knew about excavation techniques."
I yawned, and Emerson, always so considerate of me, said in a friendly manner, "Tired, are you, Peabody? Yes, it is time we were all in bed."
"You will want to be up at dawn, I suppose," I said. "One thing, Emerson—what about storage? The saloon is already full of trays and baskets of scraps, and I absolutely refuse to share my quarters with that atrocious mummy."
"We'll have to have it out, I suppose," Emerson admitted. "I had thought of storing it temporarily in the antechamber, but the stench of the thing is so vile it would poison the air. There are dozens of abandoned tombs nearby; we'll use some of them. And a separate one for our odorous friend."
I was the last to leave the deck. It may have been my imagination, but I thought I saw movement—only the darkest shadow of a shape—at the far end of the rail. It was as if something had hung there, like a giant bat, and then had noiselessly descended.
As I believe I have said, the upper deck was formed by the ceilings of the cabins below. The room under that particular section of the railing was the one occupied by Ramses and David.
I was not the only one to be up before daybreak next morning. Walter was in the saloon, shuffling his plaster scraps around in the light of a lamp. He looked up with a guilty start when I opened the door.
"Oh, it is you, Amelia. I thought I would just get in a few more minutes' work before breakfast. The cartouche I spoke of last night is one I never expected to find in that context. I believe it to be the name of—"
"Breakfast is being served," said Emerson, behind me. "Lock that tray in the cupboard, Walter, and come upstairs."
Waiting for the others to join us, Emerson and I sat in silence for a while, watching the sky brighten and the light creep slowly down the slopes of the western cliffs. Emerson let out a sigh.
"I have been having second thoughts about this, Peabody. Has it occurred to you—but of course it has!—that I may be doing precisely what our unknown opponent wants me to do?"
"It had of course occurred to me, Emerson. Yesterday's attempt was a reckless and chancy business, if they really intended to enter the burial chamber. Perhaps our enemy is becoming impatient. If we clear those stairs we will save him the trouble of doing the work."
"I dislike being goaded and manipulated," Emerson muttered.
"Well, of course you do, my dear. But I don't see what choice you have now."
The advent of Mahmud with breakfast ended the discussion. Ramses was the next to appear. He was wise enough to allow Emerson one cup of coffee before raising a subject he knew would annoy, and we were still discussing it when the others came.
"Ramses is in the right, Emerson," I said. "David had better come with us."
"I will keep him with me," Evelyn said firmly. "He will not observe what you are doing."
"Can you keep the Marmaduke woman out of my way too?" Emerson inquired humbly. "There wasn't time to head her off this morning, and I need to locate one of those confounded writing machines."
"Certainly," Evelyn said. "Leave it to me, Radcliffe."
I know I was not the only one to feel a thrill of anticipation ripple through me when we set off that morning. Even Emerson's eyes shone with greater luster. We archaeologists are superior to the common herd in our appreciation of knowledge for its own sake, but we are human after all; the thought of what might await us behind that sealed door would stir the feeblest imagination.
No thrill of anticipation rippled through the frame of poor Abdullah, who was waiting for us. Chagrin and shame lengthened his countenance, and I deduced, from the crestfallen looks of his men, that they had been lectured at length on their failure to perform their duties.
Emerson wasted no time in additional recriminations. (There is seldom any need for him to repeat a reprimand, since he makes his feelings clear at the outset.) After Evelyn had gone off with David, her hand on the boy's shoulder, Emerson drew his foreman aside and told him of our intentions.
Abdullah's face brightened at this evidence of confidence. He so forgot himself as to interrupt Emerson's admonitions about silence. "Our lips are sealed, Father of Curses. We will not fail you again."
"It was not your fault, Abdullah," I said, patting his arm.
"Yes, it was," said Emerson, dismissing the subject. He took out his watch. "Where are the others? 1 cannot wait for them. Send Sir Edward up as soon as he arrives, Evelyn, and keep that tedious woman out of the way. The rest of you come with me."
And off he went, up the stairs.
It was at my insistence that we stopped for luncheon. The air was thick with plaster dust and the bat guano stirred up by our movements; Walter's breathing had become uneven and even Sir Edward was showing signs of distress. I had, over her strenuous objections, sent Nefret down earlier.
She came running toward me when I descended the last steps. "Aunt Amelia, you look terrible."
"Do I? Then I had better tidy up a bit before we join the others."
We all made use of the buckets of water and towels, and then retired to the shelter. Knowing Emerson would refuse to return to the Amelia until nightfall, I had ordered picnic baskets, and we tucked into the food and especially the drink with gusto. It was interesting to see how the group divided. I joined Gertrude at the little table, the men distributed themselves on various rocks, and the children went to join David in his tomb. Evelyn had been with him; when she took her place at the table I saw she was holding a sketch pad. I asked to see what she had been doing, and she handed it to me with an odd little smile.
"Are you giving drawing lessons?" I asked, thumbing through the pages in growing amazement.
"Taking them, rather. What a talent the boy has, Amelia! He knows nothing of the conventions of Western art, of course, but he is quick to learn—and he is giving me a new understanding of Egyptian art. I believe he could help me with the copying."
"That will have to wait until we finish clearing the antechamber," I said, with a warning glance at Gertrude.
She looked not quite the thing that morning; her eyes were shadowed and she seemed abstracted. Catching my eye, she cleared her throat and said hesitantly, "I have been thinking, Mrs. Emerson, about the kind invitation of Mr. Vandergelt. I would like to accept it, but I don't feel it would be proper."
"Why not?" I inquired, selecting a second sandwich.
"To be the only woman in the house?"
"Such old-fashioned notions are passe, Gertrude. We are in the twentieth century now. Surely you don't suspect Mr. Vandergelt of improper intentions."
"Oh, no! Only ... I would feel so much more comfortable if Mrs. Walter Emerson were there too. Or Nefret?"
Emerson had finished eating. He came up to us in time to hear the last exchange.
"You will be perfectly safe with Vandergelt, Miss Marmaduke," he said. "Do you happen to know where I can put my hands on a typewriting machine?"
"Now that I come to think of it," I said, "Cyrus probably has one. You know how these Americans are about machinery."
"Excellent!" Emerson gave me an approving smile. "That's settled, then. You can pack your traps this afternoon, Miss Marmaduke, and be in the Castle by evening. I will run by later with my manuscript and tell you what I want done. You may as well go now. I will have one of the men take you over to Luxor. Finished, Peabody? Come along, come along."
He trotted away, leaving Gertrude gaping. I provided the explanations Emerson had neglected to give—he assumes, incorrectly, that other people think as quickly as he and I do—and sent Gertrude off with Selim.
"It is a relief to have her out of the way," I said to Evelyn. "Now we can talk freely."
A reverberant bellow from Emerson reached our ears. Evelyn laughed. "We cannot talk at all, Amelia. I am dying of curiosity to know what you have found, but you had better go before Radcliffe begins swearing."
The others had already obeyed the summons. As I followed, I saw Evelyn return to the spot where David was sitting.
When Emerson was finally persuaded to stop, the barrier was gone and most of the fallen stone had been removed from the steps. The sight of what lay below—the rock-cut stairs, plunging down at a steep angle, the low, uneven roof—was not alarming or unusual, but I noticed that our workers departed with alacrity as soon as Emerson gave the word. Abdullah must have told them about the mummy. How could I blame the men for dreading such an omen, when it had affected even me?
"That will suffice," Emerson said, wiping his wet forehead with his filthy sleeve. "We will need more planks tomorrow, Abdullah, to finish shoring up the roof; I don't like the looks of it."
"It shall be as you say, Emerson. And then you will take ..." His hand moved in an odd, shrinking gesture, as if he was reluctant even to indicate the mummy, much less name it.
"Yes." Emerson glanced at me. "Go on, Peabody, we will be along shortly."
Nefret and Ramses had already left the tomb with Walter. I allowed Sir Edward to offer me his hand.
"You must be very tired," he said sympathetically.
"No more than you, I think." He was a far cry from the elegant gentleman I had first met, his clothing sweat-stained and wrinkled, his hair white with dust. From the filth that smeared his face a pair of red-rimmed blue eyes met my eyes with visible amusement.
"I had believed myself to be an old hand at this," he admitted. "But compared to your husband, Newberry and Spiegelberg, with whom I worked last season, are effete dilettantes."
"He will maintain this pace until we have finished, you know. Can you keep up?"
"I will drop in my tracks before I admit defeat," was the laughing response. "I am concerned about Mr. Walter Emerson, though. If there is anything I can do—with the utmost tact, of course—to relieve him ..."
"A considerable degree of tact would be required. But I thank you, and I will bear it in mind. Have you decided to accept Mr. Vandergelt's invitation to stay with him?"
My knees buckled as I stepped onto the ground. It was not fatigue; I had trod on a pebble. His hand was quick to steady me.
"I would prefer to remain at the hotel, if you and the Professor do not object."
"I do not object," said Emerson. "If you need a hand, Amelia, take mine."
Sir Edward hastened toward the water bucket and I said, "Emerson, you must stop creeping up on people like that. It is not only rude, it is unnerving."
"I wanted to hear what he was whispering so tenderly into your ear," said my husband.
"He was not whispering, and it was not tender. It was interesting, though. I had expected he and Gertrude would want to remain together."
"You were mistaken, Peabody. It does happen occasionally."
I had observed earlier that Walter did not look well, but I did not take it seriously until after Sir Edward's concerned comment. Even I had been affected adversely by the strenuous effort and bad air and the sickening stench from the bottom of the steps. He looked better—so did we all!— after a bath and change of clothing, but when we met for an early supper I took a closer look at my brother-in-law and was not pleased at what I saw. I refrained from comment, however, until Emerson informed us that he meant from now on to spend the nights at the tomb, and Walter insisted on sharing the duty with him.
"You will not wish to be away from ... away from the boat every night," he said, carefully not looking at me. "We will do it in turn, Radcliffe, as we used to do."
"I don't see why either of you has to be there," I said. "Abdullah will not be tricked a second time and it is sheer arrogance and prejudice to suppose the presence of a single Englishman will prevent what five loyal Egyptians cannot."
I had hoped this would be convincing and that I would not have to voice my belief that Walter was not up to the job, since that would only make him more determined to prove he was. Oblivious to my subtle intent, Emerson foiled my plan by announcing loudly that he was not talking about Englishmen in general but himself in particular, and that if anyone doubted his effectiveness he could produce affadavits from most of the residents of Egypt.
So I was forced in the end to tell Walter he was not fit, and Walter indignantly denied it, and I sent him straight to bed.
After Emerson had gone off, carrying the manuscript he meant to leave with Miss Marmaduke before going on to the tomb, I returned to the saloon. I was alone; Nefret and Ramses were in his room, with David—giving him a lesson in English or ancient Hebrew or astronomy, I supposed—and Evelyn had taken Walter a tray. I had thought to distract myself by working on my translation, but the words never penetrated my head and finally I gave up, watching the moon rise over the silhouetted cliffs and trying not to think about Emerson.
I had arranged with Ibrahim, one of Abdullah's nephews, or cousins— it was difficult to keep track of them all—to stand watch some little distance from the camp and to report instantly to me if anything untoward occurred. (I had not mentioned it to Emerson; he would have made indignant remarks about nursemaids.) I felt a little easier after doing this, but not much. Our foes were cunning and unprincipled.
The door opened and Evelyn slipped in. "If you are working I will not disturb you," she said softly.
"You are the person I want most to see," I said, realizing, with some surprise, that this was true. "Or at least—"
"I understand. There is no use telling you not to worry about him."
"No. I hope you are not worried about Walter. I think he is only suffering from exhaustion."
"He is asleep," Evelyn said dismissively. She sat down and arranged her skirts. The lamplight aureoled her golden hair. "I wish there were something I could do. If only I were a man!"
"Well, as to that, I would not say that men have all the advantages. Poor creatures, they are singularly lacking in certain intellectual qualities."
Evelyn's tight lips relaxed into a smile. "That is not the common view, Amelia. Are not men supposed to be ruled by reason, and women by irrational emotion?"
"Ah, but who defines those views? Men, my dear—men! Only consider the facts. I have been attempting for weeks to convince Emerson to take a rational view of the situation, but he won't even admit the facts, much less the logical conclusions to be drawn from them. They would be self-evident to any woman."
"Perhaps not to me," Evelyn said with a smile. She seemed easier now; her hands lay loose in her lap and her stiff shoulders had relaxed.
"You do yourself an injustice. In case I have not mentioned it, Evelyn, I have come to have great respect for your ratiocinative abilities. I feel certain that if we put our heads together we can solve the problem of who our enemies are and decide on the best method of defending ourselves."
"My abilities, such as they are (and I fear affection makes you rate them too highly), are at your disposal, Amelia dear. You have already given me a brief account of what has transpired. Perhaps you would be willing to go over it again in greater detail?"
She was not really interested in hearing my account; she was hoping to keep my mind occupied so that I would not fret about Emerson. Mine had not been an empty compliment, however. I launched immediately into my narrative, beginning with the visit of Mr. Shelmadine. Evelyn listened in silence, and I must say it was a pleasure to talk with someone who did not interrupt every thirty seconds.
When I had finished she drew a sheet of blank paper to her and selected a pen. "I find it easier to keep things straight in my mind when I write them down. Do you object?"
"Not at all. I do that myself occasionally, though I have found that my mental processes do not readily lend themselves to organization of that variety."
"Your mental processes are too complex," Evelyn agreed gravely. "Let me see if I can summarize them." She inscribed a list of names. "These, if I understand you, are the persons of whose integrity you are not certain."
"That is a genteel way of putting it. You must add another name, Evelyn. I am fond of the boy too, but we cannot clear him completely of suspicion."
"Yes, of course." With a steady hand she added David's name to the list, and took another sheet of paper. "Let us start with the assumption— which seems to me reasonable—that there are two different groups of thieves involved. Which is which?"
By the time we finished, the paper was all scribbled over and crossed out. "Well," I said doubtfully, "I cannot say my mind is any clearer on this."
"But we have made a beginning." She pointed with the pen as she spoke. "Riccetti is the head of one such group. Shelmadine was his man. The horrible old man at Gurneh—Abd el Hamed—is connected with the second group. Shall we call them A and B, for easier reference?"
"More distinctive names are easier to keep straight," I said. "Let me see. Nefret calls Riccetti 'the Hippopotamus Man,' and there is unquestionably a certain resemblance to that beast. Supposing we refer to his gang as the Hippopotami and to the other group as the Jackals."
Evelyn laughed. "Those are certainly distinctive names. Then we can assume Abd el Hamed is a Jackal. His hatred of the man who crippled his hands must be intense. And if that is so, then David ... Oh, Amelia, I cannot believe the boy would betray you. Any of you!"
"It would be a serious error to believe we can understand his motives," I said soberly. "An old, long-established fear may be stronger than a new loyalty. If David is guilty, he is working for Abd el Hamed. What of the others?"
Evelyn shook her head. "I don't see how we can possibly tell. The antiquities dealer in Luxor must be involved, but he could be in terror of either group; they appear to be equally unscrupulous. It is difficult for me to picture a gentleman like Sir Edward taking orders from a man like Riccetti—"
"I have known several villains who were perfect gentlemen. And there are Europeans, English and Americans up to their necks in the illegal-antiquities game. Leave him in the list of uncertains. What about Miss Marmaduke?"
"On the surface she is a perfect example of a certain type of English spinster," Evelyn said thoughtfully. "Too perfect, perhaps? I have had a number of conversations with her, and I cannot find a flaw in her performance. There is only one thing that gives me pause, and that is her— excessive, don't you think?—interest in Nefret."
"Almost as if she knew some particular danger threatens the child," I agreed uneasily. "Yes, I do think it is excessive. She suggested more than once that Nefret would be safer in her care."
"She may be only superstitious and fanciful. A childless woman sometimes develops strong attachments to pretty young creatures in her care. Especially girls."
"Gertrude certainly has not shown any strong affection for Ramses," I agreed, laughing and yawning at once. "Emerson would say we are the ones who are fanciful, Evelyn. Our brilliant deductions are based on very tenuous evidence."
"It is up to us to procure additional evidence," Evelyn said. "But you are tired, Amelia; can you sleep now?"
"Yes." It was not true, but she was also in need of rest and I knew she would sit with me all night if she felt I wanted her.
I left her at the door of her room, with a kiss and a fond good night; but after that door had closed I went to another chamber than my own. The sound of soft breathing and the sight of a slight form curled under the blankets should have been enough, but I did not leave the room until after I had bent over it and made certain the form was Nefret's.
The conversation with Evelyn had brought into sharp focus fears that up till then I had tried to deny. In addition to the point she had mentioned— Gertrude's unnatural concern—there was another, more alarming indication of danger to Nefret. Abd el Hamed's excuses had been glib and reasonable, but the unpleasant fact remained: it was Nefret's room the intruder had entered, and it was she whom his hands had seized.
I lay long awake, and it was not only fear for Emerson that kept Morpheus at bay.
We did not linger over breakfast next morning. Upon our arrival at the tomb I hastened at once to mount the stairs; when I entered the antechamber I saw Emerson sitting on the floor, his head bowed and Abdullah bending over him.
"Now what?" I inquired, with admirable calm.
Emerson raised his head, displaying a countenance sicklier in hue than was its wont. "Good morning, my dear. I trust you slept well."
"Are you ill? Are you hurt?"
He pushed away my hands and those of Abdullah, and rose with all his old energy. "A passing queasiness, nothing more. I have just finished fixing the lid back over that mummy, and the stench was unpleasant."
"Did you have to do that?" I demanded.
"I should have waited for you to do it, I suppose," Emerson said mildly. The others filed into the room and he gave them an absentminded wave of greeting as he continued, "All right, Abdullah, let's get the gruesome thing out of here. Send Daoud or Ali up to give me a hand. I could carry it myself, but I don't want to joggle it."
Abdullah folded his arms and did not budge. "I will be your hands, Emerson."
Emerson stroked his chin and studied his reis thoughtfully. Then he smiled and gave the old man a clap on the shoulder. "Is it so? You and I then, Abdullah, as so often before. Peabody, just trot down, will you, and disperse the locals? One glimpse of a coffin being carried out of here and they will spread the word. The rest of you clear out, you will only be in the way."
"Just a moment," I said. "At least protect your breathing apparatus. You ought to have done it before. Where is your handkerchief, Emerson?"
It was a foolish question. He never has one. While he was fumbling in his pockets Walter produced his, and Emerson bound it over his mouth. Abdullah wound his scarf over the lower part of his face, and then they started down the steps. Both had to stoop; they were tall men and the roof was low.
With the assistance of my trusty and magical parasol I dispersed the locals as requested. I had to chase them some distance, and when I returned I saw Emerson on the stairs. He had the front end of the coffin on his shoulder; Abdullah kept it level, his hands supporting the other end.
Once they reached the ground they moved quickly and without hesitation to the place Emerson must have selected in advance. It was hardly more than a pit, the entrance to a tomb half-choked with rubble. There was just enough room for the coffin.
The watching men moved rather too alertly out of its path. Nefret, standing next to me, said softly, "Is that what the Professor meant, Aunt Amelia, when he said 'Is it so?' And why Abdullah insisted on helping him?"
"In part it was Abdullah's pride that was at stake, Nefret. He hates admitting he is getting old. But I fear you are right; some of the men might have objected, or even refused to touch the thing. Oh dear, I hope we are not going to have another problem with curses, it is such a nuisance."
"It would give Radcliffe a chance to perform one of his famous exorcisms," said Walter. A night's rest had done him good; reminiscent amusement wanned his face. "Excuse me, ladies, I will just go and help them cover the pit. Better to do the job oneself than risk a flat refusal from the men."
Ramses was already with his father, helping him and Abdullah pour sand over the coffin. After a while Selim joined them, swaggering and smiling contemptuously at the other men. They could not be outdone; when they were all at work, Emerson and Walter returned to us. Apparently they had been arguing, for Walter's face was flushed and I heard him say, "Under no circumstances will I allow it, Radcliffe."
"Allow?" Emerson repeated. "I don't know how you've kept her under control all these years, Walter—I have never been able to do it—but I fear your domestic tyranny is ended. We could put it to the test. I will tell her what I want done and you will forbid her to do it, and then we will see what happens, eh?"
"What is the disagreement, gentlemen?" I inquired.
"I need a detailed drawing of the area before we demolish the doorway," was the answer I had expected. "Even with reflectors there may not be sufficient light for a photograph and .. . where the devil is Sir Edward? He should have been here by now."
"See here, Radcliffe," Walter began.
"Curse it, Walter, will you leave off badgering me? After all," Emerson added in an injured voice, "I was considerate enough to refrain from asking her to do the sketch while the repulsive thing was still in situ, although that would have been the proper procedure."
He strode off without giving Walter time to reply. I patted him on the arm. "Your concern is unnecessary, Walter."
"Hmph," said Walter, sounding astonishingly like his brother.
Evelyn promptly agreed to Emerson's request, of course; in fact she appeared delighted to be asked. She had been sitting with David, watching him as he worked on the sculptured head. I lingered long enough to commend him, for it really was quite a lovely thing. He did not reply except with a long steady look, and I felt his eyes upon me as I walked away.
The others were already at work when I descended the steps. The removal of the coffin had exposed a number of objects scattered randomly on the floor behind it. Evelyn was making a quick sketch of their relative positions while Nefret wrote down the numbers and descriptions Emerson dictated.
"Food offerings," said Ramses, before I could ask. "Jars of oil and wine, most of them broken, a mummified haunch of meat."
"For our mummy?"
"They wouldn't have been much use to him," Emerson said, without looking up. "Four and a half centimeters, Nefret. A nameless spirit could not partake of offerings. And five centimeters across."
Hearing footsteps on the outer staircase, I returned to the antechamber. The newcomer was Sir Edward, camera in hand. "I overslept—mea culpa, Mrs. Emerson, I confess it. I was up rather late developing the plates. And then the ferry grounded on a sandbar."
"That is always the way when one is in a hurry," I said. "Never mind, Sir Edward, Emerson is making drawings."
"I really am very sorry," the young man began, and then broke off, looking past me down the steps. "Is the coffin out already? You have been hard at work."
I had thought Emerson would be too preoccupied to notice my absence, but I was in error. "Peabody!" he shouted. "Fetch some of those baskets, and be quick about it."
Sir Edward politely took them from me. "Charming," he said with a smile. "His use of your maiden name, I mean."
"It is employed as a term of approbation," I explained. "A sign of professional equality and respect."
"So I assumed. Please allow me to precede you; the steps are very uneven."
Emerson took the baskets from Sir Edward without looking up. "That will have to do, Evelyn," he grunted. "Curse it! I will never forgive myself for this! Ramses, have you finished numbering the objects?"
"It is the only thing to do, Emerson," I said consolingly.
"Hmph." Quickly, but with the delicacy of touch that marked all his actions, he began lifting the objects into the baskets.
Then came the moment for which we had all been waiting. In silence Abdullah handed the chisel and hammer to Emerson. In silence Emerson gestured us to move back.
The ancient mud plaster crumbled and fell trickling to the floor under his precise, steady blows. At last he gave the implements to Abdullah, who placed a lever in Emerson's outthrust hand. Emerson inserted it into the crack and bore down. Under his sweat-soaked shirt the muscles of his back bunched and tightened.
An eerie grating groan, like the protest of an animal in pain, was the first indication of success. Until I saw a shadow along the edge of the block, I could not tell it had moved. Slowly the shadow lengthened. Emerson shifted his grip and spoke for the first time. "Twelve inches. Be ready, Abdullah."
The reis's hands were already under the front edge of the block. Sir Edward put me gently out of his way. He did not speak as he slipped past me; his eyes had a wild glitter. Dropping to his knees, he put both hands under the stone.
"Damn fool," said Emerson distinctly. "Don't try to hold it, let the back slide down and then get your fingers out from underneath. When I give the word ... Now!"
The stone fell. Abdullah was slower than the younger man, but he knew exactly what he was doing. It was his skill that allowed the back edge of the block to hit the floor first, so that there was time for Sir Edward to pull his hands back. The block settled onto the floor with a thud.
"Bloody stupid business," Emerson grumbled, adding fairly, "My fault as well. If I were not in such a bloody damned hurry ... I beg your pardon, Peabody; just hand me that candle, will you?"
I had hardly taken notice of his bad language. This was the moment. For the first time in heaven knew how many centuries, light would enter the eternal darkness of the tomb and the eyes of the profane would violate the rest of the royal dead. Or would they? Would we see the glitter of golden ornaments, the massive shape of an untouched sarcophagus—or only scattered wrappings and broken bits of bone? The flame wavered as I handed him the candle, and a tear blurred my vision. He had summoned me, of all those who stood nearby, so that I might be the first to share that moment with him.
He thrust his arm within. The flame flickered and burned blue and then went out. But before it died I saw what I had never dared hope to see— a chaotic tumble of decayed wood and fallen stone, yes; but the brief light had set off a hundred golden sparks, and looming high above the litter was a solid rectangle of stone—a sarcophagus, with its massive lid still in place.
It was a sober group that gathered round the picnic baskets. One would have supposed, seeing our gloomy faces, that we had found a looted, empty chamber instead of a discovery that would reverberate down the corridors of Egyptological history. The magnitude of the find and the enormous responsibility of it weighed on us all—most of all on Emerson, who sat with his face in his hands and his head bowed. After I had dispensed tea and sandwiches to the others, I touched his shoulder. "Cheese or cucumber, Emerson?"
He lowered his hands. His face was haggard. "I can't do it, Peabody."
"I know, my dear," I said sympathetically. "I did not suppose you could."
"It is taking a risk." He grasped my hands and squeezed them. Had the moment been less fraught with emotion I would have screamed. "The longer we delay in removing the objects, especially the mummy, the greater the chance of attack. If you came to harm through my fanatical attachment to professional standards .. ."
His voice broke and he gazed intently into my eyes.
We might have been alone, "no one hearing, no one seeing," to quote an ancient Egyptian source. My heart swelled. The danger to others was equally great, but it was my danger that made him hesitate, / who came foremost in his thoughts. There had been many touching moments in our marriage, but none as poignant as this. I chose my words with care.
"Good Gad, Emerson, what a fuss you are making about nothing! If you had violated our professional standards I would have been forced to speak severely to you. Now go and tell Abdullah of the change in plan."
Emerson threw back his shoulders and drew a long breath. His eyes blazed, his firm lips curved; his face was that of the ardent young scholar who had first won my heart, and my wholehearted allegiance, in the necropolis of Amarna. Giving my hands a final, excruciating squeeze, he released them and jumped to his feet.
"Right you are, Peabody. Save me a few sandwiches, will you?"
I rubbed my numbed fingers and looked at my companions. The interest with which they had followed the conversation was evident from their expressions. For the most part, approbation and understanding marked those faces, but a shadow darkened Walter's brow, and Sir Edward was frankly staring.
The latter was the first to speak. "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Emerson, but I fear I missed the point of that exchange. Unless it dealt with personal matters which you would rather not discuss ..."
"My husband and I are not in the habit of discussing personal matters in public, Sir Edward." I softened the seeming reproof with a friendly smile and an explanation. "We had determined to clear the tomb as quickly as possible, before robbers could get at it. It would have been a relatively simple job if this tomb had been like most of the others, empty of all save miscellaneous small objects. But now ... The rubble you saw, Sir Edward, is the remains of the queen's original grave goods. Some were of wood, which has rotted and fallen apart, spilling the contents into a tangle. Part of the ceiling appears to have collapsed, crushing other objects. If we shovel the lot into baskets, any hope of restoring the original designs will be lost. And this discovery is unique—the first, perhaps the only, royal tomb to contain at least some of its original equipment. It would be a crime against Egyptological scholarship to overlook the slightest clue. The proper procedures will require not days but months, perhaps years."
"Yes, I see. I have heard of the Professor's meticulous standards." But his brow was still furrowed.
"Be candid, Sir Edward," I urged. "If you do not fully comprehend, ask questions and I will elaborate."
"Well, then, ma'am, since you allow me, I will be candid. What is the Professor worried about? I know the local thieves will steal anything they can lay their hands on, but he is not afraid of a motley lot of barefoot Arabs, is he?"
A stir of shared indignation ran through the others. Eyes flashing, Walter rose impetuously to his feet, and Ramses began, "The word 'afraid,' sir, in connection with my father—"
"Now, now," I said, waving Walter back into his chair. "I believe the question was not meant as an insult but as an expression of incredulity. My husband, Sir Edward, is utterly fearless—for himself. We are dealing here, not with a motley lot of barefoot Arabs, but with at least two gangs of ruthless, well-organized criminals."
Sir Edward was staring again. I went on to explain (for as the Reader may have realized, I had determined on a new strategy, whose details will become evident as I proceed). The young man's stupefied expression betrayed some evidence of intelligence when I mentioned Riccetti.
"I have heard of the fellow," he admitted. "And some unpleasant stories about him. If he is one of the people involved—"
"He is. No more of this now," I added, as I saw Emerson returning.
Sir Edward nodded. There was only time for him to say, "Count on me, Mrs. Emerson. In all ways and at any time."
Emerson was his old self again—cheerful, enthusiastic and autocratic. He began rattling off instructions. "I want a hundred photographs of that room before we touch a single scrap. No, I have not removed my ban on artificial lighting, we will use reflectors. I have managed it before under circumstances almost as difficult. We'll have to get you and your gear up on top of the sarcophagus, Sir Edward. Go back to Luxor immediately and bring more plates, you haven't nearly enough. And more reflectors."
"Let him finish his luncheon, Emerson," I said. "There is no need for haste now."
"Thank you, Mrs. Emerson, but I have finished." Sir Edward rose. "Excuse me, sir, but if I may ask ... I thought you didn't want anyone moving about in the room. I don't see how I can get to the sarcophagus without wading through the debris."
Emerson studied him thoughtfully. "How are you at trapeze work?"
"He is just making one of his little jokes," I explained to the astonished young man.
"I had considered the possibility," Emerson said calmly. "However, I believe we can run a ramp from the doorway to the top of the sarcophagus. You will have to be careful, Sir Edward: if you slip and fall off onto my antiquities, I will murder you."
"Yes, sir. I will return as quickly as possible, Professor."
Emerson, devouring cucumber sandwiches, waved him away. Evelyn, who had been looking at the solitary figure sitting cross-legged in the shade, said, "I will take David his lunch and sit with him awhile."
"Bring him here," Emerson said.
"But you said," Ramses began.
"There is no hope of keeping this secret now," Emerson said. "If we had proceeded according to the original plan, we might have been able to keep it under wraps for a day or so, but our forthcoming activities will unquestionably be noticed. I will tell the boy myself—as much as I must."
Ramses jumped up. "I will fetch him, Aunt Evelyn."
I must give Emerson credit for more craftiness than I had expected from him. He put the case to David in such a way as to imply that he was one of a chosen few to be honored with our confidence. His peroration, though somewhat florid, was a masterpiece of persuasive rhetoric.
"There is danger still, to you and to us. Have no fear; I will protect you as I would my son. And you will watch over him—your brother and your friend. Is it not so?"
David moved his hand in a curious gesture; I could not make out whether he was crossing himself in the Christian fashion or performing the classic Arabic salutation. He spoke in English. "It is so, Father of Curses."
"Good," said Emerson, in the same language. Rising to his feet, hands on his hips, he looked us over one by one and smiled. "Let's get at it, then."
