CHAPTER 15

No Mystery Is Insoluble-It Is Simply a Matter

    of How Much Time and Energy One Is

                 Willing to Expend

"I hit her with the chamber pot," Nefret said.

It was not the first thing she said, but it was the first statement I clearly remember, out of the joyful confusion that followed. I believe I pinched myself; it was not until I had actually got hold of her that I could believe she was real and not a fantasy shaped by fear and hope. Then the others had to be aroused, and I had to remind Emerson to put on his trousers, and I had to tell Nefret of Ramses's safe return—which she already knew, since her first act upon returning had been to look into his room. At least I think she said that. She was certainly not surprised to see him, but Ramses's face, when he beheld her, was a sight I will long remember. Seldom if ever had I seen that phlegmatic countenance so unguarded.

A certain touch of chagrin mingled with his pleasure, however, after we had gathered on the upper deck and Nefret had begun her story.

"You escaped without assistance?" he asked. "You did not require to be rescued?"

"From Miss Marmaduke?" Nefret sniffed. "She took me for a silly, helpless, civilized girl, and I did all I could to confirm that opinion. You would have been ashamed of me, Aunt Amelia, if you had seen me pretending to believe all the lies she told me."

"No, my dear, I would have been, and am, immensely proud of you," I said warmly. "But did it not occur to you that Miss Marmaduke might be leading you into a trap?"

"Yes, of course," Nefret said, opening her eyes very wide. "Otherwise what would have been the sense of going with her?"

Yet Gertrude's initial actions had made her wonder if she had been mistaken. She had not objected to Nefret's leaving a message, and they had driven to the hotel without attempting to conceal their movements. She would not answer questions, however. She claimed she was only a humble servant of one greater than she, who would supply all the answers.

From Nefret's description I realized that the room to which Gertrude had led her was the same one I had booked for her. She must have kept it on after she moved to the Castle. Nefret noted and approved the balcony and the convenient vine. She still had her knife, and felt certain she could get away if the situation became dangerous.

"She was in quite a strange state," Nefret said. "She kept talking in that vague way of hers about the goddess and the Path; but the most peculiar thing was the way she behaved toward me—almost with reverence. I began to fear she was not a spy at all, but only a believer in some occult nonsense. She ordered tea to be brought to us .. ."

The first sip told Nefret that there was something wrong with the tea. She had to make a decision, and she did so without hesitation. She drank the tea.

Emerson could contain himself no longer. "Good God, child! How could you?"

"How could I not? I had learned nothing that would help me find Ramses or unmask Miss Marmaduke's mysterious superior. Unless they believed me to be helpless, they would make certain I did not learn anything. I threw up the tea, though, when Miss Marmaduke left the room for a moment. She was very nervous," Nefret said thoughtfully. "I have observed that when people are nervous they need to go—"

"Very true," I said. "How did you—"

"Over the balcony. When she came back, I complained of feeling dizzy. She helped me to lie down, and I pretended to fall asleep."

She must not have rid herself of all the drug, for her succeeding memories were hazy and confused. With the assistance of another woman, Miss Marmaduke removed her outer clothing—and her knife. She could not remember what the other woman looked like, except that she wore a severe, dark gown of European design, and that she was stout and strong. After wrapping her in a long hooded robe, the two women placed her in a large traveling trunk and packed pillows and blankets carefully around her before closing the lid. As she drifted in and out of consciousness she was aware of the trunk being lifted and carried and finally set down. The gentle motion that followed told her she was on a boat, and she deduced they were returning to the West Bank. At last it stopped; the lid of the trunk was opened and she saw stars shining in the dark sky. Someone bent over her. It was not Miss Marmaduke, for she heard the latter's voice, high-pitched with anxiety.

"Is she all right?"

"Yes." The other voice was a woman's, deeper and harder. "She will sleep for another hour."

Taking her cue from this, Nefret remained limp and unresponsive as she was lifted out of the trunk and onto a litter. To her annoyance the woman then covered her, even her face, with a cloak or coverlet. She could see nothing as she was carried rapidly along, but other senses told her when they left the cultivation: the scent of moist vegetation was replaced by the drier air of the desert, and then by the sounds and smells of habitation. Someone lifted her from the litter, carried her up a flight of stairs, and placed her on a hard surface. There was a murmured exchange in Arabic; a door closed; and then the cloak was removed. She dared not open her eyes, but she knew the hands that smoothed her hair and straightened her garment even before Miss Marmaduke spoke.

"She still sleeps."

"She will wake soon. Get her to take more tea."

"But you said—"

"This place is no longer safe. As soon as the lady comes, we will move on."

"She may not take it from me. She has no reason to trust me."

"There are other ways." Impatience and contempt hardened the woman's voice. "That is the easiest for her, but if you cannot manage it—"

"Oh, I don't like this," Miss Marmaduke moaned. "I was told it would be tonight. Surely, if I explain to her—"

"That she is Tetisheri reborn and that she must confront the remnants of the body she once inhabited in order to progress along the Way?" A contemptuous laugh. "Never mind the tea, I will deal with her."

The door closed and a key turned in the lock. Nefret ventured to open her eyes a slit. The first thing she saw was her erstwhile governess, pacing up and down and wringing her hands. The room was lit by a single lamp. The walls were of plastered mud-brick, the single window shuttered. The furnishings were meager—a few sticks of furniture, a few baskets, a few pottery vessels.

Her heart pounding, Nefret knew she must think as quickly as she had ever thought in her life. The outlines of the plot were clear now. Miss Marmaduke was just what she had appeared to be, a simpleminded believer in occult religion who had been duped by ... By whom? The leader must be a woman, that mysterious "lady" to whom the other female had referred. And she, Nefret, was to be held hostage until Emerson gave up the mummy and the treasures of the tomb.

All this raced through her mind as she tried to decide what to do. She might learn more, including the identity of the unknown leader, if she remained; but the perils of that outweighed any possible advantages. There was no longer any reason for them to continue the pretense that had delivered her into their hands. She would be drugged or bound and carried off to another place from which escape might be impossible. And if she was to act, it must be instantly, before the other woman returned with the means to "deal" with her.

"So I hit Miss Marmaduke with the chamber pot," Nefret said. "She didn't even see me; she was standing at the window mumbling to herself."

As soon as Nefret looked out, she recognized the houses and walls of a village. Behind the dwellings, silvered by moonlight, rose the cliffs of the high desert. The room was on the upper floor; she was considering how she might best manage the descent when she heard heavy footsteps approaching. Climbing quickly out the window, she lowered herself by her hands and dropped onto a surface of hard-baked earth liberally sprinkled with animal droppings.

"Then you can lead us back to the house," I exclaimed. "Was it that of Abd el Hamel?"

"I don't know. The village was Gurneh, but I never saw the front of the house. The window was at the back, and after I got out the window I was too concerned with escaping to notice my surroundings. If I had not found the donkey, they might have caught me."

Ramses tried not to look pleased at this admission of fallibility. I thought he succeeded rather well, but Nefret saw the look.

"The place is a maze—no streets, hardly even alleyways! I had only been there once before, and ... I suppose you think you could have done better!"

"No," said Ramses. "On the whole, I think I did much worse. I am ..." He cleared his throat. "I am very glad to see you safely back."

                                            

Emerson went directly to Luxor next morning—accompanied, I hardly need say, by the rest of us. To his extreme annoyance, he discovered that the vulture had flown. The house was deserted, and further inquiries produced the information that a man of Riccetti's description had taken the train to Cairo early that morning. It was the quickest means of transportation available, and his willingness to sacrifice comfort for speed indicated that he had, somewhat belatedly, realized that his recent indiscretions might get him into serious trouble. We dispatched messages to the authorities in Cairo, telling them to intercept and arrest the villain, and then I persuaded Emerson to return to the West Bank.

"May as well," he agreed, brightening. "Riccetti got away from me, curse him, but if I can lay my hands on Abd el Hamel . .."

My poor Emerson was due to be disappointed again. When we reached Gurneh the village was abuzz with the news. Abd el Hamel had been found in an irrigation ditch by two farmers setting out for their fields. He had not been identified immediately, since several parts of him were missing.

"Now, Emerson, calm yourself," I said. "You are always telling me you resent having your work interrupted by these little criminal encounters; this one is ended, so why don't you stop swearing and get back to the tomb?"

It was not ended, however. There was one more loose end to tie up, and I determined to deal with it later that day while Emerson was busy in the burial chamber. If he had known of my intentions he would have forbidden me to go or insisted on going with me—and in the (unlikely) event that my theory proved to be incorrect, he would never let me hear the end of it.

The only person who observed my departure was Sir Edward. In fact, he had the impertinence to ask where I was going. I informed him I had a little errand to do in Gurneh and that I would return shortly. When he persisted, declaring he would accompany me, I was forced to be blunt. "I am tying up a loose end, Sir Edward. It is a private matter, and I prefer to go alone."

                                      

I did not suppose I would be unobserved. When I opened the carved door, Layla was waiting for me, silver on her brow and slim brown wrists. The bracelets jingled softly as she raised her cigarette to her lips.

"Marhaba, Sitt Hakim," she said, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "It iskind of you to visit me. Have you come to offer sympathy on the death of my husband?"

"No; I thought congratulations might be more in order." She laughed, and I went on, "I wondered why you married him."

"And now you know?"

"I think so. I did not come to see you. Where is she?"

"She?" Her eyes widened in pretended surprise.

"You know whom I mean. Will you call her or shall I go looking for her?"

The curtains at the back of the room opened and a woman appeared. She was clad in the same severe, uniform-like dress she had worn at the hotel when attending upon the "widow"—and when she had helped Gertrude abduct Nefret. "What do you want of me, Mrs. Emerson?"

"Not you," I said.

She advanced toward me. She was indeed a large woman, several inches taller than I, broad-shouldered and stout as a man. "There is no one else here. Will you go, or must I—"

"No, Matilda." The voice was the one I had expected. It came from the room beyond the curtain. "Bring her here."

With a shrug that sent muscles rippling down her arms, the "nurse" held the curtain back for me.

The room was shadowy, the shutters tightly shut. She stood in a doorway opposite the one by which I had entered. She wore the long black garment of an Egyptian woman, uncannily similar in color and design to the widow's weeds she had worn in Cairo and in Luxor; but now the thin veil that had hidden her fair hair and blurred her features was gone. I knew those features well, though I had not seen them for almost a year—at Amarna, on the day Sethos met his end.

"Good afternoon, Bertha," I said.

The nurse had followed me in. Instead of returning my greeting, Bertha said, "Search her. She is usually a walking arsenal, so don't miss anything."

I did not resist as the woman's hands moved over me, removing my pistol and knife. Resistance would have been futile and undignified. And those were not the weapons I meant to use.

"Now will you offer me a chair?" I inquired.

"Did you recognize me, then? I thought I had taken every possible precaution."

"No, I deduced your presence," I said. "Would you like me to explain?"

She studied me suspiciously. "I must admit you have aroused my curiosity, but if this is a ruse to detain me until your friends arrive—"

"Nothing of the sort. I came alone. Won't you sit down? In your condition you should not be standing."

"That too?" She laughed, briefly and harshly, but she followed my suggestion, smoothing the black fabric across her abdomen in a gesture that confirmed my diagnosis. "How?"

"Taueret. She was the patroness of childbirth. I didn't catch that at first," I admitted handsomely. "I believed the hippopotamus goddess had quite another significance. However, I had deduced that one of the tourists must be the unknown enemy we feared, and when I saw the poor widow lady in Luxor . .. There is a certain way of walking characteristic of a woman who is advanced in pregnancy. Six or seven months, isn't it? In heaven's name, Bertha, how could you risk your life and that of the child in this desperate enterprise?"

"It is kind of you to be concerned," she said with a sneer. "But I risked nothing. I expected to conclude the enterprise and return to Europe this month, and if I was delayed—well, Egypt is becoming known as a health resort and Dr. Willoughby has an excellent reputation. Aren't you going to ask the name of the father—or have you deduced that as well?"

"That is not my affair," I replied.

"So long as it is not your husband?" Another burst of harsh laughter. "I would like to make you believe that, but I could not, could I?"

"No."

The nurse had slipped out of the room. Now she returned and nodded at Bertha, who acknowledged the nod with one of her own.

"You did tell the truth; no one has followed you. Speak then, Mrs. Emerson. I presume you are anxious to prove how clever you are."

"Boasting is a habit in which I never indulge," I replied, settling myself more comfortably. "I sought you out because I too was curious about a few minor details. I knew that other criminals would attempt to take over Sethos's lucrative business as soon as the news of his death got out. Who would know of it sooner than you, who was with us last year when he met his end? You saw the opportunity, and, with a quickness and audacity I would admire had it been devoted to a nobler end, decided to take advantage of it. But no woman could assume that dominant role in this male-oriented society—or, if I must be honest, in our own—without male authority to reinforce hers. You have represented yourself as acting for Sethos, haven't you? The reference I overheard one night, to 'the Master,' ought to have made me suspicious. I ought to have expected as well that legends would form around that towering figure, as they formed around other great leaders, such as Charlemagne and Arthur. His superstitious followers considered him a mighty magician; it would not be difficult to convince them that he had survived and would return one day; and he had the ability, I believe, to command the loyalty—even the affection—of his lieutenants. By claiming to be his representative you could win that loyalty for yourself."

I waited for her to comment. She said nothing, only watched me with unblinking blue eyes and a most curious expression, so I continued.

"You needed all the help you could get against a man like Riccetti, but you had one advantage he lacked: you knew where the tomb was located. As I reconstruct the story, the tomb was found some ten years ago and certain objects, like the statuette of Tetisheri, were taken from it. After Sethos took over the antiquities trade, the looting of Tetisheri's tomb stopped. I am not entirely certain of the reasons, which are in any case irrelevant to this discussion. The discovery of the grisly mummy may have been a factor, or the mysterious disappearances of certain men of Gurneh, or fear of Sethos. After his death the Gurnawis decided it would be safe to renew their activities. You learned of this through your connections with the followers of Sethos, but you were not the only one who wanted to replace the Master Criminal. Riccetti, driven from his position by Sethos, determined to regain it. He knew there was such a tomb, but he did not know its location. He sent Shelmadine to us with a story he hoped would arouse the competitive instincts of my husband, and inspire us to find the tomb for him. He had already conceived the ingenious idea of allowing us to clear it and then steal the treasures.

"You had been watching Riccetti. You did not know how much he knew, and you were afraid Shelmadine would be able to direct us to the tomb. You were staying at Shepheard's; you sent one of your people—our friend Matilda here?—to kill Shelmadine. You dispatched the suffragi on an errand, and Matilda carried the body to your room."

She gave me neither yea nor nay; her unblinking blue eyes remained fixed on my face.

"You were less subtle than Riccetti," I went on. "At first you intended a straightforward robbery of the tomb. We fought off several such incursions, and then you had intelligence enough to revise your plans.

"You had a spy in Riccetti's camp—Abd el Hamed. His desire for revenge—and the persuasions of the female person in the next room— made him a ready ally. You knew where Riccetti was staying in Luxor and what he was doing; but you wisely refrained from challenging him directly. You waited, with that serpentine patience of yours, and finally Riccetti made the mistake you had prayed he would make, by kidnapping Ramses. It was your men, who had Riccetti's house under constant observation, who seized David. Riccetti (being a man) assumed we would not care about the boy's fate. You knew better. But then you had another idea. You made use of Ramses's disappearance to get your hands on Nefret, and once you had her, you no longer needed David. So you freed him, hoping he could lead us to Riccetti's headquarters, and that we would rid you of your most dangerous rival. It was a brilliant improvisation, worthy of awoman's superior intelligence. Riccetti learned of Abd el Hamed's treachery and—"

I broke off. It had only been a fleeting glance, at the curtained doorway behind me, and a faint smile; but something in that smile chilled my blood. Abd el Hamed had been horribly mutiliated. Surely no woman would ...

Clearing my throat, I continued.

"The cleverest thing you did was to make use of poor stupid Miss Marmaduke. Hoping to enlist a spy in our camp, you had talked with her and about her while you stayed at Shepheard's; you knew of her belief in reincarnation. Lurking on the balcony, Matilda overheard the story Shelmadine told us. She took the ring—with no ulterior motive in mind at the time— it was gold and it was valuable. Later, when she repeated Shelmadine's story to you, you realized how it could be used to seduce Gertrude. You were not the only one to observe the coincidental resemblance of Nefret to Tetisheri; Gertrude was a willing believer when you made something more of it."

At last she broke her silence. "Is that all?"

"Yes, I think so. Oh—one more thing. It was you in the garden of the Luxor hotel that night with Sir Edward, was it not? I ought to have known it was not Miss Marmaduke, but you spoke so softly and so briefly, I did not recognize your voice."

"Is that all?" Bertha said again.

I nodded. She leaned forward, her eyes brightening.

"Very clever, Mrs. Emerson. So clever that I am amazed you would make the fatal error of coming here alone."

"What would it profit you to harm me?" I asked calmly. "The game is up, Bertha. You cannot hold me captive, not here in the heart of Gurneh."

"Is it a stalemate, then? You wouldn't send me to prison, would you? In my condition?" She spat the last word at me and then burst out laughing. "Careers for women! That is a favorite theme of yours, I believe? Why, then you should commend my efforts, for I have given gainful employment to women—downtrodden, oppressed females of this and other countries, who work not for men but for themselves—and for me. A criminal organization of women! Heading such an organization is a far more interesting and lucrative career than the one you once suggested. You thought I might train for a nurse—if I could overcome my squeamishness. I have overcome it, Mrs. Emerson—as you will soon see."

Before I could reply, her face underwent a dreadful change and her voice dropped to a whisper. "How can you be so blindly complacent? Don't you know how much I hate you—and why? Night after night I have lain awake picturing the ways in which I would kill you. Some of them were very ingenious, Mrs. Emerson—oh, very ingenious! Unfortunately there is notime for them now, I will have to do it quickly and more painlessly than I would like. Matilda—"

I had not underestimated the woman's strength; I had simply failed to anticipate this particular development. I was still pondering it, in some confusion of mind, when the nurse's muscular arm lifted me out of my chair and her fingers closed round my throat. The pressure was quick and cruel and skillful; my senses swam, and my efforts to free myself were as feeble as those of an infant.

"Don't let her lose consciousness," Bertha murmured, gliding toward me. "I want her to know what is going to happen."

From under her robe she took a jeweled dagger.

I tried to speak. Only a harsh gasp emerged from my lips, but the hard fingers tightened. Blackness covered my eyes and through the ringing in my ears I heard Bertha cursing. She was berating the other woman for squeezing too hard. I had planned to feign unconsciousness in the hope my captor would loosen her grip, but apparently I had waited a little too long.

My last thought, as I had always known it would be, was for Emerson. I imagined I could hear his agitated reproach: "Peabody, how could you be so bloody stupid!"

I did hear him! Or at least... My senses swam, but vision had returned to me, and sensation; I had fallen to the floor, and the voice was clearer now. Not Emerson's—but it was a man's voice, speaking English, and with considerable agitation.

"Are you mad? Give me the knife!"

The sentence ended in a grunt or gasp. I decided I had better find out what was going on, so I lifted myself onto my elbows. At first all I could see was his boots; then a hand caught me under the arm and raised me to my feet.

"Are you uninjured, Mrs. Emerson?"

"Yes, thank you, Sir Edward," I croaked, rubbing my throat. "But why the devil are you standing there? Go after them!"

The room was empty except for the two of us. He held a pistol—mine. His fair hair was unruffled, his face composed, his attire impeccable, except for the blood that saturated his left sleeve.

"I don't believe that is within my powers at this moment," he said politely, and slumped to the ground at my feet.

Well, of course, that was the end of that. By the time I had ascertained the extent of his injury and stopped the bleeding, there was no hope of catching them up. He came back to his senses while I was bandaging his arm and began apologizing.

"I was unarmed, you see; I found that pistol on a table in the outer room,but I simply could not bring myself to fire, even after she came at me with her knife. Not at a woman."

"Hmph," I said. "No doubt your sentiments do you credit, Sir Edward, but they can be cursed inconvenient. I presume that it was the lady who seduced you, instead of the other way round?"

"Seduced? Good heavens, Mrs. Emerson, what are you saying?"

"I saw you—heard you, rather—with her in the garden at the Luxor hotel the night we dined with Mr. Vandergelt."

"Heard," he repeated slowly.

"I thought it was Gertrude with you," I admitted. "But it was not she, was it?"

"No." The reply was prompt and emphatic. "I don't know what you heard, Mrs. Emerson, but your interpretation of my relationship with the lady—such as it was—is completely in error. I would never dream of— uh ... Even if she had not been—er ... I took her for what she appeared to be, a lonely, grieving woman in need of sympathy and friendly companionship. We talked, that was all. I assure you, that was all!"

"But you had some idea of its becoming something more."

His eyes shone with unconcealed amusement. "I have never taken you in, have I, Mrs. Emerson? You know how it is with us younger sons; an advantageous marriage is our only hope of getting on in the world. She represented herself as a wealthy widow; she was young, attractive, and— er—receptive to sympathy."

"And Nefret?"

He laughed aloud and shook his head. "You need have no fears for the virtue of your ward, Mrs. Emerson. I was unaware of her identity when I first met her. Once I learned that she was Lord Blacktower's heiress ... Well, she is worth waiting for, don't you think? In a few more years she will be even more beautiful, and in control of her own fortune."

"I admire your candor if not your principles," I said. "It might be advisable for us to leave now, don't you think?"

Unaided, he got to his feet and preceded me into the next room. It was unoccupied; Layla had deemed it advisable to remove herself.

"Can you manage?" I asked. "Take my arm, if you are feeling faint."

"The injury is superficial. I feel very foolish for having behaved so feebly."

The injury was superficial. He had feigned faintness because he was reluctant to lay violent hands on a woman—not only a woman, but a lady, and a lady, moreover, for whom he had felt some tenderness. Some might call this chivalrous. I call it silly and impractical, but his action had relieved me of a painful decision. It would have been difficult to condemn a woman in her delicate condition to the rigors of prison, and in fact I had no proofof criminal behavior on her part except for her attack on me—and I understood the motive for that only too well. Had I not felt the same pangs of jealous rage when I feared I had lost Emerson's love to another? My jealousy had been transitory and without foundation; Bertha's was fixed and without hope, for Emerson would never be hers. No wonder she hated me!

Musing thus, I allowed Sir Edward to lead me to where the horses were waiting. He tossed the urchin who had been holding them a coin, and helped me to mount. "Are you going to tell your husband about this little adventure?" he inquired.

"I see no other choice." Tenderly I touched my bruised throat. "Unless you would like to confess to throttling me."

He returned my quip with a jest of his own. "And you to stabbing me."

"He is going to roar," I said regretfully. "Ah well, venting his emotions will be good for him. Er—I will tell him the exact truth, of course: that I came to pay my respects to Abd el Hamed's widow and was astonished to discover she was harboring the mystery woman. She will claim, of course, that she was ignorant of her late husband's criminal activities, and that she had no idea the poor Inglizi lady was involved in them. The lady came to her because ... hmmm, let me think. Because she had wearied of the social life of the hotel and wanted solitude and peace, far from the madding crowd? Out of the kindness of her heart Layla took the lady in ... Yes, something along those lines."

"Oh, well done!" Sir Edward exclaimed. "Have you ever thought of writing a novel, Mrs. Emerson? You have quite a gift for fiction."

"That is what she will say," I replied somewhat severely. "I never lie to my husband, Sir Edward. I will tell him the exact truth—that to my utter astonishment I was attacked by a female whose existence we had postulated, but of whose identity we were . .. Er, I presume, Sir Edward, that you arrived at the house only moments before you burst into the room? I am curious to discover how you knew I was in need of rescue, since I do not recall crying out."

"I do not suppose you could have cried out; you were being throttled very efficiently. No; what I heard was a woman's voice raised in anger, and employing language ordinarily considered very unwomanly. I took the liberty of investigating."

So he had not overheard any of the preceding discussion. That was a relief; I felt certain I could rely on his discretion but I was glad I did not have to. My—and Emerson's—previous acquaintance with the mystery woman was best kept secret.

I again assured him of my appreciation. "None of us can be blamed for failing to realize that our unknown adversary was female," I explained.

"Women, Sir Edward, are sadly discriminated against in this man's world, but their subordinate status does give them one advantage. They are always the last to be suspected!"

"I have learned my lesson," was the rueful reply. "Never again will I underestimate a lady's capabilities, for good or evil."

"You too must be entirely candid," I said. "You followed me because you feared Hamed's henchmen might still be in Gurneh. Emerson will be very grateful."

"Not so grateful that he will regret my departure," said the young man smoothly. "Yes; I must leave Luxor almost immediately. Urgent family matters have arisen that require my attention."

"I am sorry to hear it. Have you informed Emerson?"

"I intended to do so today. He will have no difficulty replacing me; every archaeologist in Egypt has offered the services of his staff."

"We will be sorry to lose you."

"It is kind of you to say so." He turned amused blue eyes in my direction. "You haven't seen the last of me, Mrs. Emerson."

"Give up all hope of Nefret, Sir Edward. Emerson would never stand for it."

"One never knows, Mrs. Emerson. I am reckoned a persuasive fellow." We were riding slowly side by side; smiling, as if to himself, he said musingly, "Miss Nefret is a beautiful girl and will be a wealthy heiress; but her greatest attraction to a man like myself is the possibility that she may one day become a woman of character—the sort of woman you are now. I hope you will take it in the spirit in which it is meant, Mrs. Emerson, when I say that were it not for the fact that you are esteemed by one whom I hold in the highest regard, I would venture to ... But I believe you understand me."

It is difficult to be angry with a gentleman who pays you compliments, even impertinent compliments. Especially impertinent compliments.

                                            

On April 5, 1900, we opened the sarcophagus.

It had taken us almost two months, working day and night, to clear the way to that massive structure. Fortunately for Emerson's blood pressure, we were able to accomplish this without sacrificing his (our, I should say) professional principles. Starting from the doorway, we cleared a meter-wide path directly toward the sarcophagus, recording the contents of each section before proceeding to the next. Our labors were made easier by the fact that this passageway was relatively free of objects, as if someone had removed or pushed them aside. The tangle of jewelry was one of the prizes we preserved, but the tantalizing wheels had to wait; they were not in the direct path to the sarcophagus. Emerson calculated it would require at least two more seasons to clear the rest of the chamber, but it was imperative, in his opinion and mine, that the mummy be removed before we left Egypt. Though the tomb would be locked and guarded, we did not underestimate the industrious robbers of Luxor.

Curiosity and public interest had risen to fever pitch after Kevin published his first "scoop"—the fact that Walter's painstaking study of the scraps of plaster found in the debris of the entrance corridor revealed the name of Queen Hatshepsut. He and Emerson agreed that the fragmentary cartouche could only be hers. It appeared nowhere else; Emerson insisted that the remaining reliefs and the inscriptions on the sarcophagus made it certain that the tomb was that of Tetisheri, but that did not prevent the imagination of press and public from running wild. Tetisheri was virtually unknown, except to Egyptologists, but the great queen Hatshepsut was familiar to every tourist who had visited her temple. It was Kevin, I believe, who suggested the ladies might have shared the sarcophagus! This was nonsense, of course, but it delighted the readers of his newspaper—two queens for the price of one! I did not doubt that the fantasy would appeal as strongly to the Gurnawis. There is not a great deal of difference after all between so-called primitive and self-proclaimed civilized people.

Though we had tried to keep secret the precise day on which we would open the sarcophagus, a crowd of onlookers had assembled, and our men had their hands full restraining importunate journalists and curiosity-seekers.

As it was, the party admitted into the tomb was larger than Emerson would have liked. He had erected temporary walls along the pathway in the burial chamber, but he kept up a muttered undercurrent of expletives as our distinguished visitors—M. Maspero, the British Consul General (our old friend Lord Cromer, formerly Sir Evelyn Baring), Howard Carter in his capacity of Inspector, and a representative of (the Khedive proceeded along the narrow passage. Cyrus was there, and—to the visible surprise of Maspero and the indignation of the Pasha—so were Abdullah and his grandson. I had agreed with Emerson that they had a right to be present.

The previous day Emerson and Abdullah had set up the necessary block-and-tackle arrangement, with heavy wooden tripods at either end of the sarcophagus, and had used levers and wedges to raise the top just far enough to allow the ropes to pass under it. As the great quartzite lid slowly rose, every eye was fixed upon it and every breath came quick and shallow. At last the gap was wide enough, and Emerson looked inside.

He stepped down from the stone on which he had stood. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I regret to say that Queen Tetisheri is not receiving today."

The sarcophagus was empty. Not a scrap of wood, not a broken bone remained.

                                    

Because of the crowds we had to retreat to the Amelia in order to entertain our visitors. Toasts were proposed and drunk, but Maspero's congratulations were mingled with polite commiseration. Emerson only shrugged. "A minor disappointment, monsieur," he said equably. "The paintings are masterpieces, the contents of the tomb remarkable. One could not reasonably hope for as much."

After the distinguished visitors had taken their departure I turned to Emerson. "You knew she wasn't there! You would not have taken it so coolly if you had not anticipated this."

"I was prepared for her absence, yes," Emerson said calmly. "You see, my dear, I have always believed that the bald little old lady from the Deir el Bahri cache is Tetisheri. She bears a striking resemblance to other members of the family who were also in the cache—those protruding front teeth are quite distinctive. Don't ask me to account for how she got there, though, or why her empty sarcophagus was so carefully closed. It is and will probably always remain a mystery."

"Oh, come," Walter exclaimed. "You must have a theory or two."

Emerson had already removed his coat and cravat. Leaning back in his chair, he took out his pipe. "What about a whiskey all round?" he inquired genially. "We have a great deal to celebrate, my dears. A mummy more or less does not detract.

"In fact, my brilliant deductions as to the location of the tomb were wide of the mark. This was not Tetisheri's original tomb; it was a reburial, made by Hatshepsut for her revered ancestress after the original tomb had been robbed or threatened—the latter, I think, since much of the funerary equipment survived.

"By that time the kings of the new Theban Empire had realized that conspicuous monuments like pyramids invited the attention of tomb robbers. Hatshepsut's father was the first to build his tomb in the Valley of the Kings—no one knowing, no one seeing, as the king's architect boasted. Hatshepsut concealed her own tomb so successfully that it has not been found. The location she selected for Tetisheri was equally obscure. She had the tomb decorated in the conventional style, and, with a modesty unusual in an Egyptian ruler, she had herself depicted only in the entrance corridor. Those reliefs and inscriptions probably described her pious restoration of her ancestress's burial.

"After her death her nephew, whom she had kept under her thumb for years, began attacking her monuments. As I reconstruct the case, it was his men who entered Tetisheri's tomb. Thutmose, whose mother was of humble birth, was probably collecting ancestors; he removed Tetisheri and some of her grave goods. And don't ask me to speculate about why some things were taken away and others were left! Unlike some of my colleagues, I am an excavator, not a writer of historical romances. The last act of Thutmose's servants was to destroy the decoration of the entrance corridor, which mentioned Hatshepsut.

"The tomb was entered again in the Twenty-First Dynasty and used for burials of a priestly family—those whose coffins we found trampled and broken by the modern thieves. It may have been they who deposited the Nameless Mummy, but I am inclined to believe he was already there, and that it was his presence that deterred the priests from entering the burial chamber."

"Well done, Emerson," I said. "I agree in general with your reconstruction; but you have not offered a theory as to the identity of the Nameless Mummy."

"Come now," Walter exclaimed. "Not even you, Amelia, would have the ... That is, would dare . . . What I mean to say—"

"What he means," said Emerson, "is that only you possess the imaginative force to invent—pardon me—deduce the solution to this ancient mystery. Proceed, my dear Peabody. I await your remarks with interest."

"It is only a theory, of course," I said modestly. "But as you said, we can be fairly certain that the tomb was entered by agents of Thutmose III. The king destroyed the reliefs that showed his powerful, autocratic aunt Hatshepsut, but he had no reason to resent Tetisheri. It must have been he who left the Nameless Mummy. So who was this unfortunate, horribly murdered, ritually destroyed? Obviously—What did you say, Emerson?"

"Obviously," Emerson muttered. "I said 'Obviously,' repeating your own word. Do go on, my dear."

"Obviously he was an individual of some importance, a priest or prince or noble. The body of a common criminal would not have been preserved at all. Obviously he had committed some act that won him the hatred of the pharaoh, for this was an official murder—an execution, in short. Now I ask you—what high official would have been hated by Thutmose? What low-born upstart had dared to—er—"

Emerson took his pipe from his mouth. The stem was quite badly chewed. "Defile?" he suggested, with deceptive mildness. "Just the other day, Peabody, you denied that the queen would have taken a commoner as her lover."

"You misunderstood me, my dear," I replied.

"Oh, good Gad!" Emerson exclaimed.

"Think it through," I insisted. "The king of Egypt—whether male or female—was divine, engendered by a god, but I don't doubt that the ancient Egyptians followed the same unfair double standard that prevails today. It was perfectly acceptable for a king to have as many concubines as he could manage, but a commoner who—er—had intimate relations with the queen would not enjoy a long life—unless the queen was also a king, who could protect her favorite! Once that protection was removed, the sinner met the fate prescribed for those who had violated religious and state law. But— and this, I think, is the conclusive argument ... if I can think how to put it ..."

"Of course!" Nefret exclaimed. "He had partaken of her divinity!"

"That," said Ramses in a peculiar voice, "is certainly one way of putting it."

"A very proper way of putting it," I said, nodding gratefully at Nefret. "That relationship imbued his physical remains with a certain sanctity; they could not be utterly destroyed. Yet they were also accursed, and that is why Thutmose removed Tetisheri from her resting place, lest she be contaminated by contact with them."

"You have it," Nefret cried. "Brilliant, Aunt Amelia! Who else could it have been but Senmut?"

"Who else?" Emerson repeated musingly. "Any one of—let me hazard a guess—five hundred princes, priests and high officials who were living at that time. Confound it, Peabody, you don't even know for certain when the fellow died! Mummification techniques are of no use in dating him, since he was not mummified! Five hundred be damned! Five thousand is more like it!"

"I am in complete agreement with Amelia," Evelyn said firmly. "Senmut is the most logical candidate."

Walter, who had opened his mouth, closed it again. Finding no support in that quarter, Emerson looked hopefully at his son. "You follow my reasoning, Ramses?"

Ramses's expressionless black eyes moved from Evelyn to Nefret to me. "Yes, Father, I do. However, I believe Mother has made a strong case. Hmmm. Yes. On the whole, I agree with her."

                                             

We sailed from Alexandria on the thirtieth, and I must say it was pleasant to feel the sea breezes after the extreme heat of April in Upper Egypt. It was also pleasant to have several able-bodied adults (not to mention David and Nefret) looking after Ramses, instead of being solely responsible for him. Terrible things happened when Ramses was on board a ship. Evelyn and Walter had agreed to come out with us again next year; they would collaborate on reproducing the decorations of the tomb, Evelyn doing the artwork and Walter copying the inscriptions.

Emerson and I were strolling the deck one afternoon shortly after our departure when I observed that a frown darkened the smooth surface of' his noble brow.

"Unburden yourself," I urged. "You are not worried about the tomb, I hope? Riccetti is safely tucked away in a prison cell and his henchmen are incarcerated or have fled; Miss Marmaduke will remain in Dr. Willoughby's care until she is recovered from her nervous collapse; and after the lecture you gave her, Layla will not dare interfere with us again. You let her off too easily, Emerson. Women always know how to get round you."

"And what would you have done with her?" Emerson demanded. "We had not a shred of proof that she was criminally involved. If you had not let Bertha get away—"

"You would have done the same."

"Hmph," said Emerson.

"Proving her complicity would have been difficult. Her sisters in crime were, and if Layla is any example, still are, loyal to her. Perhaps," I said musingly, "the tender influences of motherhood will soften her and turn her from evil to good."

"Hmph," said Emerson, even more emphatically.

"At any rate we needn't worry about her for the immediate future, and the tomb is as secure as we could make it. Abdullah and the others will guard it well."

"It is Abdullah I was thinking about," Emerson admitted. "I don't doubt he and the men will keep careful guard. But he is getting old, Peabody. One of these days I will have to bully him into retiring before he injures himself. I can't think how to do it without hurting his feelings."

"If you replaced him with one of his sons—"

"They are all good men, but none has the necessary quality of leadership. I had thought of training David to take his place."

"Why not?"

Emerson stopped and turned, leaning against the rail. "Because the boy is too good for the job. There are others like him in Egypt, but there is no chance for them, not so long as our ignorant English prejudices keep them from being properly educated. We can give David that chance."

"And we will!" I cried. "Emerson, I am with you heart and soul. Evelyn and Walter will feel the same."

"I have already mentioned the possibility to Walter." Emerson added with a laugh, "He proposed starting to teach the boy hieroglyphs this summer while David is staying with them. I imagine Evelyn has other schemes in mind."

"It would be better for him to learn to read and write English first," I agreed. "Ramses will see to that; he has set aside four hours a day for lessons."

Emerson offered me his arm and we walked on. "Peabody, I have a bone to pick with you."

Oh dear, I thought. Now what? There were a few minor matters I had kept from Emerson, for his own good. Which of them had he discovered?

"It hurt me deeply," Emerson declared, "when you reproached me for not purchasing the little statue of Tetisheri for you."

"Oh, that," I said, trying not to sound too relieved. "I was only joking, my dear."

"Hmph," said Emerson. "My dear Peabody, have I ever thwarted a desire of yours? Have I ever failed to anticipate and satisfy your slightest wish?"

"Well, Emerson, since you ask—"

"I had a damned good reason for not buying that statue, and it had nothing to do with my principles. I have sacrificed them often enough for you, my dear."

"What reason, Emerson?"

"It was a forgery, Peabody."

It was I who stopped this time, catching hold of his shirt and forcing him to face me. "One of Hamed's copies, do you mean? The one you saw at the antika shop ten years ago? The one Mr. Budge bought for ... Emerson! Are you telling me that the statue in the British Museum is a fake, and that you have always known it? Why haven't you informed them?"

"Why should I? They are enamored of Budge and his brilliant coups. One day someone—myself, if I so decide—will enlighten them, and Budge will look almost as foolish as he really is." Emerson's eyes glowed sapphire with anticipatory pleasure. "Who knows, we may be able to unearth the original. Wouldn't that do Budge one in the eye?"

It was impossible not to share his boyish amusement. We enjoyed a hearty laugh together, and then I glanced at my lapel watch.

"Goodness gracious, it is almost teatime. Let us collect the children. I promised I would read them my little fairy tale."

"Oh, so you have finished the hippopotamus story?" Emerson took my arm and we strolled toward the stairs. "How, if I may ask? There is only a small part of the original remaining."

"It is only conjecture," I said modestly. "However, I believe it is psychologically sound. I refer to ancient Egyptian psychology, of course "

"Of course," said Emerson, smiling.

"You remember where the original leaves off—with the king and his courtiers at a loss as to how to reply to the insulting demand that they slaughter the bellowing hippopotami? Yes. Well, as they sit in baffled silence, up from her throne rises the king's mother, the dowager queen Tetisheri, the wise, the revered one, and addresses the arrogant messenger in ringing tones. I have composed rather a nice little speech for her; I modeled it on one of Queen Elizabeth's addresses to her troops before the arrival of the Armada."

"An excellent model," said Emerson.

"I had to change some of the wording, naturally. 'Servant of the Evil One, be gone,' Tetisheri cries. 'Our hippopotami will eat up the crocodiles of Set!' Inspired by her courage, her son also defies the messenger. The tale ends with the Egyptian armies setting forth, trumpets blaring and pennants flying, to drive the invaders from the sacred soil of Egypt."

"That would be a good place to end it," Emerson agreed gravely. "In view of the fact that her son lost his life in the ensuing battle, and most probably lost the battle as well."

"I thought that would be too depressing—and not at all in keeping with ancient Egyptian psychology."

"Have I mentioned recently that I adore you, Peabody?"

"I never tire of hearing it, my dear. Now, Emerson, don't do that; not just now. There is Ramses's room, and ... and someone in the room is screaming! Good heavens, what an unearthly sound!"

I hastened toward the door, but before I reached it I beheld Ramses coming toward me from the far end of the corridor. His shadow—I refer to David—was close on his heels.

"Ramses!" I cried, tugging at the handle. "Unlock this door at once. What on earth is going on in there?"

Ramses, visibly perturbed, began rummaging in his pockets. "Anubis must have crept in while I was not looking. That is Bastet's voice. She is very angry."

"Er—Peabody," said Emerson, behind me.

"How could you have been so careless!" I cried, snatching the key from Ramses. "They despise one another! They are fighting. They—"

I flung the door open and stood transfixed.

"They are not," said Emerson, "fighting. Close the door, Peabody. Even a cat is deserving of privacy at a time like this."

So I did.