CHAPTER TWELVE

It Is Better to Have a Demon As a Friend Than an Enemy

"Obviously," I said to Evelyn, "we must take steps at once to render our enemies impotent."

The shadows of evening stretched across the ground as we rode side by side toward the Amelia. Behind us lay the hills and the desert plain; ahead and on either side, fields of barley and sugarcane shone green as emeralds in the golden light.

"I don't know what you have in mind, Amelia," Evelyn said, giving me an apprehensive look. "But surely attack is not only dangerous but unnecessary. If our defenses are strong enough . . ."

"Impossible, my dear. An armed regiment at the tomb and another guarding the boat would not suffice."

"I wish we had them, though."

"So do I," I confessed. "An abundance of dependable defenders would certainly mitigate the danger. Our stout fellows are completely trustworthy and would defend us to the death, but there are barely enough of them to guard the tomb. The guards employed by the Antiquities Service are worse than useless; most of them are local fellows who would just as soon rob the tomb themselves. But you know as well as I that if the local talent, as Emerson calls them, were our only concern, I would sleep sound as a baby.

I know most of the rascals personally; they are dishonest and greedy and untrustworthy, but I do not believe any of them is capable of cold-blooded murder. Riccetti has committed murder—and worse." Evelyn shivered. "It is the children who must be protected." "My dear girl, I have been trying for almost thirteen years to keep Ramses out of trouble; it isn't a question of protecting him, it is a question of preventing him from locating a lion so he can put his head in its mouth. Nefret is almost as bad," I added bitterly. "I anticipated difficulty with her but I never expected it would take this form; they are in constant competition, each trying to outdo the other. No, Evelyn, defense is all very well, but it won't work where those two are concerned. We must find our foes and render them harmless!"

                                      

I was somewhat taken aback to learn that Walter had come to the same conclusion. It was not like him to advise direct action—at least it was not like the gentle scholar he had become—and I had intended to keep him out of harm's way. I thought I understood why he had become so bellicose, and I directed a silent curse at Emerson for refusing to allow Walter to share his vigil at the tomb. Had Walter been allowed to participate in that dangerous duty, he would not have felt obliged to prove his manliness. (Most men seem to think this can best be demonstrated by hitting someone.)

Yet I could not think harshly of Emerson; there was no room in my heart for any emotion except tender concern for my absent spouse. He had refused even to return to the dahabeeyah with us. "Tonight is the time of greatest danger, Peabody."

"You have said that before, Emerson! And what of tomorrow night and all the nights that will follow?"

"I'll think of something," Emerson said vaguely. Then his lips curved in a smile and his blue eyes shone with a look I knew well. "You don't suppose I will do without your—er—company indefinitely, do you? I would ask you to stay with me tonight if your presence on board were not absolutely vital."

Staying with him—and Abdullah and Daoud and six other curious, sociably inclined individuals—was not a prospect that held much attraction, except for the chance that I could be of help in protecting Emerson. But that would mean abandoning others more in need of my care. He was right; duty drew me, with what reluctance I cannot express, from his side.

The responsibility was daunting. It may have been that realization that made my dear ones appear particularly vulnerable that evening: Ramses and Nefret, vibrant with the reckless courage of youth; Evelyn, dainty and fragile as a girl in her beruffled tea gown; Walter, slight of frame and softened by years of study, nervously adjusting his eyeglasses. And, of course, the cat Bastet, who had selected Ramses's lap this time. In fact I was less concerned about the cat than about the others. She had better sense than either of the children. So did Anubis, who had gone with Emerson.

David was part of our company, though not, I thought, by choice. He had withdrawn to a corner, where he sat cross-legged chipping away at a bit of stone. It was not the head of Nefret, but a smaller, flatter piece, which seemed to be taking on the outlines of an ushebti figure. I supposed he was doing it to keep his hands busy, as a woman might embroider or sew.

We had talked only of archaeological matters during the evening meal. Not until after the dinner things had been cleared away did Walter abruptly introduce another subject. "Why didn't you and Radcliffe tell me you had seen and spoken with Riccetti?" he demanded.

"You speak of him as if you knew him," I countered, hoping I would not have to invent an excuse.

"I met him once. It was a good many years ago, but the tales that were told about him made him a character one would not soon forget. Confound it, Amelia, you had no right to keep this from me. If I had known he was back in business—"

"You would have tried to send me home," Evelyn interrupted.

"I would not have allowed you to come in the first place."

"Allowed?" Her tone of voice should have warned him to desist. Since he was a man, he began to lose his temper.

"You don't know what a cad like Riccetti is capable of. You are unaccustomed to violence."

Her voice rose. "You seem to have forgotten the circumstances under which we first met."

The reproof was just. Naturally this infuriated Walter even more. "I suppose you think you can defend yourself—and me?—with that absurd umbrella you have kept hidden all these years. I knew you had it, you know. I saw no reason to object if it pleased you to play at being a heroine—"

"Oh, dear," I said. "Please, Walter—Evelyn—not in front of the children."

They were both too angry to heed me. Evelyn had risen. The ruffles at her breast trembled with the rapidity of her breathing. "You did notobject? How kind and generous of you. To allow me my toys, as if I were a child—"

"You are behaving like a child!" Walter shouted. "Denying your responsibilities—"

"And what of your responsibilities?"

I decided the quarrel had gone far enough. It was probably an excellent exercise for people who were too accustomed to keeping their feelings closely controlled, but Nefret and Ramses needed no lessons in bad manners, and David had crept closer, his chisel-like knife in his hand. I did not like the way he was looking at Walter.

"Enough!" I said loudly. "That will do. Apologize to one another at once. And," I added, "you had better apologize to me as well, Walter, for your derogatory remark about umbrellas."

As I had planned, my little touch of humor broke the tension. The apologies I had demanded were rendered (though not, I must say, with a great deal of conviction). Evelyn resumed her chair and Walter turned to me with a rueful smile.

"I beg your pardon, Amelia dear."

"Granted. We are all suffering from excitement and nervous strain. Instead of indulging in recriminations and asking idle questions, would we not be better employed at discussing how to deal with our various opponents?"

Walter said hesitantly, "I would never question your detectival abilities, Amelia, but what makes you so certain Riccetti is not our only enemy? I cannot see any evidence of a second party of villains."

I gave Evelyn a little sidelong smile. Walter's statement was a perfect example of that male illogic we had discussed the previous night. I said slowly and patiently, "Mr. Shelmadine was murdered, Walter. I assure you I did not do it and I really don't suspect Emerson either."

"How do you know he was murdered?" Walter demanded. "Was an autopsy performed?"

Nefret proved herself an admirable pupil by remarking interestedly, "I don't suppose they could do an autopsy, Uncle Walter. After being in the water so long, the body was probably falling apart and gnawed by fishes and lobsters."

"There are no lobsters in the Nile," said Ramses, in a peculiar voice. He covered his mouth with his hand.

"Never mind that," I said, before Nefret could take exception to his laughter. "For heaven's sake, Walter, Mr. Shelmadine fell down in a fit, Emerson was struck unconscious, Shelmadine disappeared, and two weeks later his body turned up in the Nile. Unless you believe that Shelmadine feigned his fit in order to strike down a man with whom he had beenamiably conversing half a minute earlier and then dashed out of the hotel, unseen by the suffragi, and jumped into the Nile, I do not see how you can avoid the inevitable conclusion that some second party was responsible for his collapse and disappearance. As for Shelmadine himself, I hope you are not so naive as to suppose he approached us out of sheer altruism, in order to share a golden secret with us. No! He had an ulterior motive— everyone does—and it was not altruistic."

Walter's lips parted. "And furthermore," I went on, "there were two groups of men in the tomb that first night. Emerson himself said one group evicted the other at gunpoint. Now pay attention, Walter, I admit this next part is a bit complicated. The only member of the second group—the one not run by Riccetti—whom we can certainly identify is Abd el Hamed."

"Certainly?" Walter repeated. He sounded rather dazed.

"Surely I need not recapitulate the steps of deductive logic that led me to that conclusion?"

"No, I think I would prefer that you did not, Amelia. Er—you won't object if I ask David a few questions?"

I looked round for the boy. He had not returned to his former place, but sat cross-legged beside Evelyn's chair. Either he had known more English than he had admitted, or he had picked it up quickly, for he understood what Walter had said. He looked up at Evelyn. Her hand rested for a moment on his curly black head, and she said, "It is all right, David. Answer him, if you will, please."

"Hmph," said Walter. "Well, then, David. Who was the man who hurt your master's hands?"

David had not expected that question—to be honest, it was one I had not thought of asking—but he replied readily, "It was before I came to him, sir. But they say he steal—stealed—from the Mudir."

"Mudir?" Walter repeated. "The Governor of the Province?"

"No, sir. The Governor of Antikas."

"Do you know his name?"

"No, sir. He was a great man, the antika sellers of Luxor were in fear of him."

"Riccetti," I said firmly.

"So it would seem." Walter adjusted his eyeglasses. "Has this man, this Mudir, come back, David?"

"They say yes."

"Who is 'they'?"

"Don't confuse him, Walter," I interrupted. "He is learning proper grammar. Who are they, David?"

Rephrasing the question did not lessen the boy's confusion. He gestured.

"Men. All men in the village. And Abd el Hamed says ..." He looked up at Evelyn. "I do not say those words. It is not polite."

"Abd el Hamed cursed him?" Walter was unable to repress a smile.

"Cursed." David nodded vigorously.

"Good," said Walter. "You are a great help, David. Did you ever see this Mudir? Did he come to the village or to the house of Abd el Hamed?"

"No, sir."

"Did any strange man come to the house to talk in private with Abd el Hamed, or to buy antiquities? A foreign man?"

David hesitated. "Foreign men, yes. The reverend sir from Luxor, the fat Inglizi from the museum, the man from Cairo who took the royal mummies away."

Despite his limited English vocabulary, he had labeled the individuals in question accurately enough for identification. "Chauncey Murch, Budge and Emile Brugsch," I said. "They all deal—more or less openly—in antiquities. Hmmmm. You don't suppose Mr. Budge—"

"No," Walter said. His voice was a trifle uneven—with anger, I supposed. "Amelia, you and Radcliffe really must get over suspecting Mr. Budge of every crime in the calendar. He is entirely unscrupulous in his methods of acquiring antiquities, but even you cannot suppose an official of the British Museum would resort to murder and assault."

"I suppose not," I said regretfully. "He is English, after all."

"Quite," said Walter. "David, I do not ask about men who are known and who came openly to buy from your master. Was there a man who came in secret, his face hidden?"

After a moment, the boy shook his head.

"If he came in secret he would make certain no one saw him," I said impatiently. "Negative evidence is not conclusive, Walter."

"Certainly. I don't deny the—er—logic of your reasoning, Amelia dear, but since we have not the faintest idea who this individual is, I think we should concentrate our efforts on Riccetti."

"Fair enough, Walter. What do you suggest?"

"There is only one way of dealing with a hound like Riccetti," Walter said, with a snap of his teeth.

"Well, I would not be averse to employing—er—morally dubious methods. The trouble is, Walter, I don't know how to find him."

"You met with him at the Luxor."

"He is not a guest."

"How do you know that?"

"I asked, two days ago, when we dined at the hotel with Cyrus," I said calmly. "It took only a moment."

"One of the other hotels, then."

"The Luxor is the best. I would not have supposed a man so fond of luxury as Riccetti would settle for less. We could inquire, though."

"I will do so tomorrow," Walter said.

The very idea made my blood run cold. Walter, poor innocent Walter, alone in Luxor, pursuing inquiries the success of which might lead to his being captured or killed?

"No," I said quickly. "Your expertise will be needed at the tomb, Walter. Emerson cannot spare you. I will—uh—I will send one of the men."

I hesitated because at that very moment a particularly clever idea had occurred to me. I wanted to think it over before I proposed it, since I have learned that particularly clever ideas do not always stand up under close scrutiny.

I found the opportunity later, while I gave my hair its hundred strokes, to scrutinize it. I had brought Nefret to sleep in my room that night; she had given no indication of being nervous, but I was nervous—just a little— about her. I had given her permission to read for a while, and I could see her reflection in the mirror, her face absorbed, as she turned the pages. (The book, I remember, was Wuthering Heights. Some might not have considered it soothing bedtime reading, but a girl who could coolly discuss the decomposition of a corpse was probably not, I thought, of a nervous nature.)

After due deliberation I decided my idea was a good one. The only problem would be persuading Emerson to accept it.

I was in error. There was another problem, which did not occur to me until it was too late. The sheer brilliance of the inspiration concentrated my attention so that I failed to anticipate what might ensue from one casual sentence. It was certainly an error; it came close to being a fatal error.

                                          

When we reached the tomb next morning, Emerson was building a fence and cursing a great deal, because he hates spending time that could be employed in excavation. The task was necessary. Early as was the hour, a crowd of onlookers had already assembled. The word had got out. We never discovered how; the speed by which gossip spreads in small close-knit societies seems at times to verge on magic. I had often observed it in my own household. The servants always knew everything, occasionally before I knew it myself.

When I say Emerson was building the fence I mean that, unlike other supervisors who claim the credit for the actions of others, he was actuallydriving in stakes. Handing the hammer to Ibrahim, he hastened to greet me.

"All's well, Peabody?"

"Yes, my dear. And here?"

"Not so much as a thrown stone. Very annoying," he added with a scowl.

The light of the rising sun reflected off his sable locks and outlined his splendid form. Though his ablutions had taken place in a bucket of Nile water and he had not had more than a few hours' sleep, he looked fresh as a youth half his age. I knew what was in his mind; he yearned to come to grips with our foes and hoped that the news of our discovery would draw them here, away from those he loved.

"Have you eaten, Emerson?" I asked.

"Eaten? What?"

"I thought not. I brought breakfast for you; come and partake of it. You cannot begin work until Sir Edward gets here. I have a little scheme I want to propose."

That captured his attention. "What scheme? Now, see here, Peabody—"

"We did not have time to discuss all the permutations last night." I slipped my arm through his and led him toward the shelter, where the others were waiting. "If secrecy is impossible, the widest sort of publicity is our next-best course."

"Another of your aphorisms, Peabody?" Amusement brightened the blue eyes under the lowering brows. After greeting the others he condescended to take a chair and a cup of tea.

"Very well, Peabody, I am braced and ready. Propose your scheme."

"The news is out," I said. "If it has not already spread to Luxor, it soon will, and then it will be on its way to Cairo. We must send official notification to M. Maspero."

"Cursed if I will," Emerson growled. "He will come haring down here and insist on opening the sarcophagus. I won't have him tramping through my debris."

"Would you rather he heard of it from someone else? For he surely will, and then he would have grounds for resentment."

"We were planning to build elevated ramps and platforms," Ramses said.

Emerson turned an awful frown on his son. "Sturdy enough to support Maspero's weight?"

"That is rude, Emerson," I said, as Walter stifled a laugh behind his hand. "And, if you will forgive me, irrelevant. If we cannot prevent the news from spreading, we can at least control it—and make good use of the loyal friends who can now be taken into our confidence."

"Whom did you have in mind?" Emerson inquired suspiciously.

"Cyrus, of course, and his new assistant; Howard Carter—"

"If you mention the name of a certain redheaded journalist, Amelia, I may lose my temper."

"I am only suggesting, Emerson, that you leave that side of the business to me. You will be fully occupied with the excavation. I will handle everything else."

"You will anyhow," Emerson muttered. "Oh, very well. Is that Sir Edward coming? High bloody time! Nefret, get your notebook."

I could not resist going up with them to have another look. On the previous afternoon the men had removed all but the lowest course of the remaining stones, and constructed a sloping ramp to the top of the sarcophagus. It was firmly anchored at the base and secured at its upper end by a complex arrangement of ropes, but the slope was steep, and I must admit it was rather amusing to watch Sir Edward creep up it on hands and knees, camera and tripod strapped to his back. He had obviously taken Emerson's threat to heart, for he moved very carefully.

There were wonderful things in that small room. To the left of the door a carved chair or throne lay on its side in what appeared to be a pool of gold. The wood had shrunk and split, and the gold leaf that had covered most of the surface had fallen off. Those paper-thin sections of gold defined the original dimensions of the chair. It could be rebuilt if the gold was handled carefully. The same was true of the other inlaid pieces of furniture— a low bedstead with lion's feet, long poles that might belong to a carrying chair or a canopy. Leaning against the wall stood two large circular objects that had wrung a reverent "By the Almighty!" from Emerson. They appeared to be wheels—but belonging to what sort of vehicle? My suggestion, that it had been the chariot of a warrior queen, made Emerson groan aloud. "Impossible," he muttered. "Not at this period. At least.. . Oh, good Gad!"

He would have to restrain his burning curiosity, for the wheels were at the far side of the room, separated from us by several feet of incredible litter—baskets, pots, stone vessels, objects of bronze and faience. My eye was drawn to a tumbled heap of beads—gold and carnelian, lapis and turquoise—mixed in with gold spacers and exquisitely inlaid clasps. The queen's jewelry box had collapsed and shattered and the strings had decayed; but if we could preserve the present arrangement, the jewelry could be restored to its original beauty. Paraffin wax, melted and dashed over the fragments, would hold those beads in place....

My fingers itched, but I turned away from the enticing mess. Emerson had not thanked me for my sacrifice; I felt certain, however, that he would acknowledge it at a later time. He knew—who better?—that I would have preferred to remain. Archaeological fever burned within me, but it must yield to the sacred ties of familial affection.

When I reached the Castle I learned that Cyrus had already left for theValley of the Kings. Cyrus's steward—or majordomo, as he preferred to be called—was a Belgian who had lived for many years in Egypt. I knew him well, as he knew me; at my request he showed me at once to the library.

The typewriting machine stood on the table, with a pile of manuscript next to it. Not much had been done; only a few pages of typewritten material were there. Well, I thought charitably, perhaps it takes a while to become accustomed to a new apparatus—and Emerson's handwriting was admittedly difficult to decipher. But why was Gertrude not presently at work?

The majordomo informed me the lady was in her room. He led me there, and I knocked on the door.

Not until I announced my identity did Gertrude open it. She was wearing a loose robe and appeared a trifle dazed.

"What is it?" she exclaimed. "What has happened?"

"Why, nothing. Why should you suppose that?"

She took hold of my sleeve. "I had a dream last night," she whispered. "I was in my room on the dahabeeyah, and I heard a cry—"

"Now, Gertrude, I have not time to listen to your dream. I came looking for Mr. Vandergelt. Yes, I know he has gone on, and I must go after him, but I thought I would drop in and make sure you are comfortable."

"Why do you want him?" She maintained her grip on my sleeve. "Are you telling me the truth? Nothing has happened to her?"

I began to feel a bit uneasy—not for my own safety, since that was absurd, but for her sanity. She looked absolutely wild-eyed. The room behind her was dim with shadow, for the shutters had been closed, and there was a scent of that strange incense.

"Nothing has happened to anyone, Gertrude. I wanted Mr. Vandergelt to tell him what I am going to tell you—that we have entered the burial chamber and found great things."

Her hand went to her breast. "The burial chamber? Oh, heavens, is it true? But the Professor said—"

"He changed his mind. What is wrong with you? Are you ill?"

"No! No, thank you. I am well, I am strong. Only tell me—is she there?"

"Your references are more than a little ambiguous, Gertrude," I said— for a firm, even censorious, tone is necessary when speaking to incipient hysterics. "If you mean Nefret, she is there, working with the Professor and the others. If you mean Queen Tetisheri, we don't know. The sarcophagus is closed and it will remain so until the Professor decides to open it."

"Today?"

"No, not today nor within the next few days. I must go, Gertrude. You had better lie down."

However, I did not go at once to the Valley. I took up a position in the mouth of one of the innumerable little ravines that cut into the cliffs, and waited. I could see the front of the house, but I did not think I could be seen, immobile in the shadows.

It was less than half an hour before Cyrus's carriage drew up at the front door. Gertrude, hat askew and hair disheveled, hurried out and got into the carriage. It moved away in a cloud of dust, and I watched until it was out of sight. It had not taken the southern road, to Drah Abu'l Naga and Deir el Bahri, but had gone directly toward the ferry.

What I would have given just then for the ability to be in two places at once! However, it would have been difficult for me to follow Gertrude unobserved, and if she observed me she would not go where she planned to go. I regretted now the impulse that had led me to speak to her. Not until after I had seen her strange reaction did it occur to me that she might hurry to report to her unknown leader.

Ah well, I thought philosophically, hindsight is of little practical use. Urging my steed into a trot, I proceeded to carry out my original plan.

I beheld Cyrus looking on while his workmen carried off basket after basket of sand without—as was evident from my friend's gloomy expression—any sign of a tomb. I guided my steed rapidly through the inconvenient tourists and came to a sudden stop in front of Cyrus.

My appearance had, perhaps, a trifle too much panache. Cyrus jumped back and exclaimed in agitation, "Consarn it, Mrs. Amelia, what's gone wrong?"

I reassured him and made my announcement. Relief and pleasure succeeded one another on his expressive countenance, to be replaced by a look of poignant envy. "Can I have a look?" he asked hopefully. "I'll go back with you this minute if you say it's all right. Just let me stop by the house for my horse; I walked over this morning."

"I have a little errand to do before I return," I replied. "But you are welcome to pay Emerson a visit as soon as you like. I am sure he will be delighted to see you."

"I'm not so sure," said Cyrus, grinning. "But you couldn't keep me away with a club." Turning to his assistant, he remarked, "Sorry, my boy, but you will have to wait. Professor Emerson is not keen on company, and I would rather not try his temper."

"I would rather not do that either," said Mr. Amherst, with considerable feeling. "But sir, you will ask him—"

"Why, sure. He may want our assistance. If so, we'll close this pitiful job down and join him. I will let you know this evening. Mrs. Amelia, will you walk back with me to the Castle, or are you in a hurry?"

"I will be glad to accompany you, Cyrus. There is something I would like to tell you."

Excitement had rendered Cyrus unsteady on his feet. As my tale unfolded, he kept stumbling over things. "Holy Jehoshaphat, Mrs. Amelia," he cried when I finished. "Is this true?"

"You don't suspect me of prevarication, I hope? Or of imagining things?"

"You, imagining things?" Smiling, Cyras stroked his goatee. Then he sobered. "I can't rightly accuse you of making up stories when I've seen with my own eyes the kinds of peculiar adventures you get yourself into. I can't for the life of me figger out how you do it."

"There is, I believe, something called a nose for news, Cyrus. Perhaps I have a nose for crime! And Emerson has—"

"A way of getting folks riled up. All right, ma'am, you know you can count on Cyrus Vandergelt through thick and thin, with a shovel or a six-shooter. You just tell me what I can do to help."

"I am counting on you, Cyrus, and I do need your help. I want you to watch Miss Marmaduke. You can trust your servants? Excellent. Any messages she sends must be brought to you, any visitors noted, all her actions observed."

Cyrus stumbled again. "Are you serious? That silly young woman? She's the most harmless-looking creature I ever saw."

I described Gertrude's reaction to my announcement, and her hasty departure from the house. Cyrus tugged at his goatee and looked grave. "I told her the carriage was at her disposal. No reason why she shouldn't decide to go shopping or sightseeing, I guess, but ... All right, I'll do as you say."

We parted at the Castle; Cyrus, eager as a boy, went running off to the stable while I remounted and rode to the ferry, where I left my horse. Once on the East Bank I kept a sharp eye out for Miss Marmaduke, but saw no sign of her; she had been a good hour ahead of me, and might by now have completed her errand—whatever it was. After telegraphing to M. Maspero, I proceeded, still on the qui vive, to the Luxor hotel.

I had to detach Kevin from the Times and the Mirror, who were helping him celebrate his recovery by consuming copious quantities of beer in the bar of the hotel. Regrettably, I was forced to resort to underhanded means in order to do this, for they paid no attention to my hints that they should go away. Looking around in hope of inspiration, I saw the widow lady in black enter the lobby, leaning on the arm of her nurse.

Indicating the two women, I inquired of the Times in a thrilling whisper, "Is it true that the Duchess is suspected of having murdered her husband?"

Kevin, who knew me well, did not follow his fellow journalists when they rushed after their new victim.

"What are you up to now, Mrs. E.?" he asked.

"I haven't time to explain, Kevin. Excuse yourself to your friends, retire to your room, creep away unobserved, and come across to the tomb. If both or either of them succeed in following you, you won't have an exclusive."

"Say no more, ma'am," Kevin cried, eyes alight with professional fervor.

I said no more.

There were several other inquiries I wanted badly to pursue, but I dared not linger in Luxor; if I did not prepare Emerson for Kevin's arrival, a certain degree of unpleasantness might ensue.

After climbing over a wall at the back of the hotel, I decided to take a circuitous route back to the riverbank in order to throw off possible pursuers—including the Times and the Mirror. Although the increase in the tourist trade has brought about considerable improvement, parts of the old village of Luxor are unchanged even today. The narrow winding alleys, half blocked with stones and littered with trash and animal refuse, made it a perfect place for hide-and-seek, and I doubted the Times would risk dirtying his polished boots.

After proceeding some distance without observing signs of pursuit, I was about to turn back when something caught my eye, through the ears of a donkey who had decided to stop still in the middle of the lane. The configuration of the stooped body was familiar—but surely Abd el Hamel's rheumatic-ridden frame was not capable of such lizardlike speed?

Becoming impatient, the donkey driver brought his stick down on the poor animal's flanks, and I was forced to speak firmly with him. By the time we had settled the matter and the donkey had moved on, Abd el Hamel—if it was he—had disappeared.

I decided to walk on a little farther. The narrow way appeared to end just ahead, but when I reached that point I saw that it turned, abruptly and without apparent reason, into a slightly wider thoroughfare lined with tall old houses. There was no sign of the figure I had seen, and when I had gone another fifty feet I found that this street did end, in a cul-de-sac closed by a high wall.

I decided I had wasted enough time on a pointless investigation, so I turned and retraced my steps. I had got about halfway to the turn in the path when the door of one of the houses opened, and a very large individual stepped out.

He made no threatening move. He simply stood there, staring at me; but he was large enough to bar my path.

The poor fellow must be deficient in intelligence, I thought sympathetically—a child in the body of a (very large) man—for his look held more of apprehension than menace. This proved to be the case. When I raisedmy parasol and walked toward him he let out a high-pitched cry and fled back into the house. I proceeded on my way and soon found myself at the riverbank and the ferry.

The sun had passed the zenith by the time I reached the tomb. I was relieved to see that despite the delay I was there before Kevin. The luncheon baskets I had ordered had come, but no one was at table except Evelyn and David, their heads together over a book. Evelyn was the only one to whom I had confided my plans. She had not been too pleased about them, and had even tried to dissuade me from "running all over the countryside alone," as she put it. When she saw me, she rose from her chair with an exclamation of relief. "Thank heaven you are safely returned, Amelia. You encountered no difficulty?"

"None at all, my dear. I told you there was no cause for concern. I suppose the others are still at work?"

"I tried to persuade Radcliffe to—"

"Evelyn."

"Yes, Amelia?"

"Emerson despises his given name. Passionately."

"I had no idea he felt so strongly about it," Evelyn exclaimed. "Walter calls him that, and since you use his surname as a term of affection, I thought it would be presumptuous of me to employ it. What shall I call him, then?"

"Emerson, of course. A number of other people call him that, including those who do not employ it as a term of affection. Just a little hint, my dear! I had better go up and insist they stop for a while, otherwise Emerson will drive them till they drop."

I have seldom seen such an unkempt group of individuals. All welcomed my interruption except Emerson, but he went when I told him to, moving like an automaton and mumbling to himself. I had to nudge him down the stairs. I believe it was not until after he had poured a pot of water over his head that he realized who I was. His eyes came back into focus and he exclaimed, "Where the devil have you been all this time?"

"Come and have luncheon and I will tell you everything."

I told him about Kevin first, since I anticipated that bit of news would be the most difficult for him to assimilate fully (and calmly). He received it better than I had expected.

"Offering him an exclusive is the best method of controlling him," he admitted. "And he will keep the other confounded journalists away. Where is he?"

"Eluding the other confounded journalists, I suppose," I replied. I had other reasons for wanting Kevin, but there was no point in mentioning them to Emerson. He would only have fussed.

We joined the others, who were sitting and lying about in various poses of exhaustion. Ramses was the only one who looked much as usual. He was filthy dirty, but that was normal, and his black curls only coiled tighter when they were wet. Nefret had unfastened the top two buttons of her blouse and pushed the sleeves up above the elbow. I could hardly scold her for wishing to be as comfortable as was possible under adverse conditions, but the effect was demoralizing; Cyrus kept glancing in her direction, and Sir Edward, gracefully reclining at her feet, could hardly keep his eyes off her.

Emerson reached for a sandwich. "Have you spoken with Carter?" he demanded of me.

"Confound it, I knew I had forgotten something. What with one thing and another—"

"What things?" Emerson demanded, his eyes narrowing.

I never allow Emerson to get me on the defensive. "Good heavens, my dear, I have already been to the Valley and to Luxor and back this morning. I will go looking for Howard as soon as we finish luncheon. It may take me a while to locate him."

"He is probably digging out that shaft near the causeway," Emerson grunted. "Waste of time. There is nothing of interest there. I need one of those gates of his. Tell him to fetch it here at once, I want it installed today, before I leave."

"Ah," I said, without commenting upon Emerson's autocratic demands and unreasonable expectations, "you are planning to return to the Amelia tonight?"

It really was pitiful to behold the struggle that raged in the heart and mind of my husband. Had there been no other distractions he would have camped on the spot until the tomb was cleared, no matter how long it took. But he was as aware as I of those distractions, and affection took precedence over even archaeological fever.

"I am," he said shortly. "So get at it, Peabody."

Walter cleared his throat. "Er—Radcliffe—you have already spoken with Mr. Carter. He came here earlier this morning, don't you remember?"

"What?" Emerson stared at him. "Oh. Oh, yes, so he did. I was trying to get that cursed grid laid out without damaging the ... Never mind, Peabody. Sir Edward, what are you lounging around for? I want to finish the photography."

There was no holding him, and I did not try to do so. Walter and Nefret accompanied the pair. Ramses remained where he was, cross-legged on the rug next to David. I turned an inquiring eye upon him.

"There is no need for any of us to be there, really," he said. "Except forNefret and"—a slight spasm that would have been imperceptible to any eyes but mine crossed his face—"and Sir Edward."

"You were only looking on this morning?" I asked. Looking on was not Ramses's forte.

"The fascination of the place and the procedures are difficult to ..." Ramses glanced at David, caught himself and started again. "It is very interesting. I learn from watching Father. But just now I felt it would be more useful for me to talk with you, Mother, about how your detectival (oh, curse it!) about what you have found out about our enemies."

"I was not pursuing detectival..." I could have sworn my pause brought a gleam of amusement to David's black eyes. I resumed somewhat stiffly, "All I did this morning was call on Mr. Vandergelt and Mr. O'Connell and send a telegram to M. Maspero."

"Ah," said Ramses. "You did not inquire at the hotels about Signor Riccetti?"

"There was no time." I hesitated, for a well-honed instinct told me it might not be advisable to inform Ramses of certain of my intentions. The sight of an approaching form urging its donkey to a rapid pace convinced me that reticence on one of those intentions would be useless. I had to tell Kevin what I wanted him to do, and Ramses would find out, one way or another.

"I am going to assign that task to Mr. O'Connell," I explained.

"Hmmm." Ramses rubbed his prominent chin. "Do you think that wise, Mother? Mr. O'Connell is certainly adept at pursuing impertinent inquiries, but he has not, in my opinion, the necessary talent for dissimulation."

"I believe, Ramses, I have mentioned before that I would prefer you refrained from using the phrase 'in my opinion.'"

"I beg your pardon." O'Connell was almost upon us. Ramses lowered his voice. "It could be dangerous, Mother."

I had considered this, of course. I made Kevin sit down and listen to me instead of rushing straightaway to the tomb; and while he finished the rest of the sandwiches I emphasized most strongly the necessity of caution.

Kevin's eyes gradually widened and he swallowed the wrong way once or twice. However, he is a quick young fellow, and he had participated in other cases of mine. By the time I finished he was grinning broadly.

"Ah, Mrs. Emerson, me dear, you never cease to amaze me. I would say that you are the light of me life if I did not suppose the Professor would take exception to such a remark, though it is intended, I assure you, in the most respectful—"

"Spare me your Hibernian effusions, Kevin. This is a serious matter and you must take it seriously. Take no chances. Follow no leads that take youinto solitary places. In fact, don't follow those leads at all! Just report to me."

Kevin cocked his head and looked at me askance, like a bright-eyed bird. "So that you can follow them into solitary places? Och, well, if the Professor can't stop you (and I know he cannot, for I have seen him try and fail) the admonitions of a friend will have no effect. Do take care, though, Mrs. E., will you?"

I was rather touched, for I thought he meant it. The softened look did not linger on his face, however; he gave himself a little shake, as if ashamed of his brief display of sentiment.

"So what do I get in return?" he asked, with his roguish journalist's grin.

                                       

At the risk of repeating myself I must say (as I will never tire of saying) that only Emerson could have accomplished what he had planned that day. Egyptian workmen are the merriest of fellows, but they are inclined to be nonchalant about doing things in a hurry. Our men, trained by and devoted to Emerson, had developed an esprit de corps and professional pride that would have driven them to extraordinary effort even without the passionate exhortations of their chief. They worked with grim efficiency to install the iron door Howard provided; it had been intended for one of the royal tombs in the Valley, and we were fortunate indeed to have it available. However, the job was not completed when Emerson came running down the stairs to tell me I must escort the others back to the dahabeeyah.

"Not without you, Emerson," I said. "You said you would not stay here tonight."

"So I did, my dear. But the sun will set shortly and I want you all safely home before dark. I will follow as soon as I have fastened that padlock with my own hands."

"You won't come alone? Promise me, Emerson." I caught hold of his shirt.

His firm lips curved in a smile and he took me in his arms. "You are particularly persuasive, Peabody, when you cling to me and plead like the timid little woman you are not. But then I suppose if you did it as often as I would like you to, it wouldn't have the same effect. I promise, my love. Run along now."

Sir Edward had already returned to Luxor with his precious load of photographic plates and Cyrus had reluctantly torn himself away, promising to return early the following morning. He had asked us to dine that evening, but I declined on the grounds that we were too tired to enjoy a social encounter. It was true; there was little conversation during the ride, and we went immediately to our rooms.

I waited there for Emerson. Darkness had fallen and it seemed to me that I had been at the window, watching, for hours before he came.

"So you missed me, did you?" he inquired, sometime later.

"I believe you have had sufficient evidence of that."

"Not sufficient, no. But it will have to do for the time being. Is dinner ready? I am famished."

"Oh, dear," I said, somewhat self-consciously. "I am afraid it is on the table and getting cold, Emerson. I told Mahmud to serve when you returned."

"You ought to have known better, Peabody."

"You are right, I ought. Hurry and dress, my dear."

As it turned out, Evelyn had sent the food back to be warmed, so that was all right. I waited until after Emerson had satisfied the first pangs of hunger before giving him the telegram from M. Maspero.

"On his way, is he?" was Emerson's response. "Curse it!"

"He is very polite," said Walter, who had retrieved the telegram from the floor where Emerson had thrown it. "Felicitations, homages, chers colleagues, and all the rest!"

"Anything else in the post?" Emerson asked, dismissing M. Maspero and his courtesies.

"Evelyn's daily report from Mrs. Watson," I replied. "All well and happy, she says. Nothing else of interest."

I did not really expect anything from Kevin until later that night at the earliest. He had gone chortling off with a book full of notes and I assumed he would be busy writing up his dispatch. I only hoped he would remember to check round the hotels as I had asked him to do; when journalism took possession of him he was inclined to forget all else.

We took all our meals on the deck now, since Emerson had commandeered the saloon for a workroom and storage chamber. The sweet breeze and rising moon did not tempt him to linger; draining his cup of coffee he said, "Nefret, I have several more pages of notes that need to be copied."

"I will transcribe your notes, Emerson," Evelyn said. "Let the child go to bed, she is worn out."

She must have been practicing, for she got the name out without a hitch. Walter gave her a startled look. Emerson said, "Oh? Oh, well, er ... Yes, quite. Off to bed with you, Nefret, my dear, you worked very diligently today. You too, Ramses."

Ramses had' been feeding scraps to the cat Bastet. I expected him to protest. Instead he rose obediently. "Yes, Father. Good night, all. Come, David. Come, the cat Bastet."

They left in dignified procession, the cat bringing up the rear. "He really should not speak to David as he does to the cat," Evelyn said.

"It is the other way round, I fancy," I said. "He should not speak to the cat as he does to a human being. Where has Anubis got to? I haven't seen him this evening."

"I told him to stay with the men," Emerson said. He chuckled. "Or rather, I requested that he do so. He is as effective a guard as you and your parasol, Peabody. The locals are terrified of him."

"So is Abdullah. I am surprised he didn't object."

"Abdullah has had a change of heart." Emerson got out his pipe. "He still believes Anubis is an afreet in feline form, but he has very sensibly concluded that it is better to have a demon as a friend than an enemy. Nefret, my dear, why are you still here? Did you want to ask me something?"

"No, sir, only I am not at all tired and I don't want to go to bed."

A statement like that would have won Ramses a firm rebuke, but Emerson only smiled fondly. There is no question but that a pretty face and golden curls lend a person an unfair advantage.

"It will be another difficult day tomorrow, child. Give me a kiss and run along."

Pouting, but to no avail, Nefret bestowed kisses all round and went with dragging feet toward the stairs.

I don't know what impulse made me go after her. When I caught her up at the door of her room, her surprised look made me feel a little foolish. "I thought perhaps you had left your nightgown in my room this morning," was the only excuse I could think of at the moment.

"No, Aunt Amelia, I dressed in my own room. Don't you remember?"

"Yes, of course."

She set her candle on the table and I gave the room a quick but thorough inspection. There was nothing out of place and nowhere to hide—only the curtain hung across the corner where her washstand was placed. I drew it casually aside.

"Is something wrong?" She stood by the bed, watching me.

"No. You don't mind being alone, do you? If you would like me to sleep here ..."

"That is a very generous offer, dear Aunt Amelia." She spoke sweetly and gravely. "No such sacrifice is necessary; I am perfectly comfortable in my mind. Good night. Sleep well."

I withdrew in some little confusion. Had I heard a hidden meaning in several of those phrases?

I feared I had.

After an hour or so I convinced Emerson to stop working. Naturally I did not mention the odd sense of foreboding that had prompted me to search Nefret's room, but I did ask whether one of the men would be on guard that night.

"Do you suppose I would neglect that precaution?" Emerson asked. "Ibrahim will make a circuit of the cabins every ten minutes and be on the alert for the slightest sound. I believe it to be needless; the tomb is as secure as I can make it, and Riccetti is not so rash as to play his old games with me. Better safe than sorry, however, as you would say, Peabody."

"I would not say anything so trite, my dear. Thank you for putting my mind at ease."

"Have I done so? Then let us turn our attention to other matters."

I slept soundly that night. To have Emerson safe with me again, to know that the tomb had been secured and our loyal man was on guard outside— these considerations and others must have been responsible for the failure of the sixth sense that normally warns me of danger. The room was dim with dawn light when I was rudely aroused by the door bursting open. Even Emerson, who is usually slow to recover himself in the morning, sat bolt upright.

Nefret stood in the doorway.

"Ramses is gone!" she cried. "They are both gone—and so is the cat Bastet!"