In the clear light of morning we were able to determine that only the area near my tent showed signs of uninvited guests. The partial prints of bare feet were visible in two places where none of our men had
trod.

When we started out for the royal wadi, Cyrus was carrying a rifle. Emerson's eyebrows climbed when
he saw it, but he made no objection, even when Cyrus said coolly, "Don't get het up if you see someone above, on the plateau. I sent a couple of my boys up there to keep a lookout."

Like Cyrus, I had determined to take a few precautions of my own. Over Emerson's violent objections (which I of course ignored) to the depletion of his work force, I had stationed Selim, Abdullah's youngest son, at the far end of the main wadi. Selim was Ramses's particular friend, a handsome boy barely sixteen years of age. Knowing the foolhardy courage of youth, I had been reluctant to assign him to this particular task, I only did so after Abdullah assured me that both he and Selim would feel dishonored if his offer were refused. I cautioned the boy as emphatically as I was able that his role was that of an observer only, and that he would fail in that role if he went on the attack. "Stay in hiding," I instructed him. "Fire a warning shot to alert us if you see anything that arouses your suspicions, but do not shoot at anyone.
If you will not swear by the Prophet to obey my order, Selim, I will send someone else."

His big brown long-lashed eyes wide and candid, Selim swore. I did not like the loving way he handled the rifle, but with Abdullah beaming with paternal pride, I felt I had little choice I only hoped that if he
did shoot someone, it would be Mohammed and not the reporter from the London Times.

Or even Kevin O'Connell. It was he whom I expected, of course. I was only surprised he had not succeeded in tracking us down before this.

When we returned to camp that evening, after grueling hours in the heat and dry air of the burial chamber, I found Selim waiting. I had ordered him to come back and report to me at sunset. Not even
to protect Emerson would I have allowed such an excitable lad to stay in his dangerous post after dark, when, as all Egyptians knew, demons and afreets came out of hiding. Selim's face was rapt with awe.
He could hardly wait to tell me his news.

"He came, Sitt, as you foretold he would— the man himself, the very one you described to me. Truly you are the greatest of magicians! He said he had not told you of his coming. He said you would be glad to see him, though. He said he was a friend He said— "

"He tried to persuade— or bribe?— you to let him pass," I said, thereby increasing my reputation for supernatural powers in the eyes of the innocent youth. "Did he send a message, as I— as my magic— foretold he would?"

"The Sitt knows all and sees all," Selim said reverently

"Thank you, Selim," I said, taking the folded paper he handed me. "Now rest. You have done a man's work today."

Bertha had waked in the morning without ill effect, though she had been drowsy and sluggish all day.
She had gone straight to our tent when we returned, but when I entered she rose and glided out. I did
not attempt to detain her. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I unfolded the note, which appeared to have been composed on the spot, for the writing was so uneven the paper must have been resting upon
a rocky surface. That difficulty had not restrained Kevin's tendency toward verbosity or dimmed his ebullient Irish spirits.

After the usual florid compliments he went on:

I look forward with a delight I cannot express in mere words to renewing my acquaintance with such admired friends as you and the Professor, and to expressing my felicitations on another miraculous escape. In fact I look forward to it so much I won't take no for an answer. I have
taken up my abode in the pleasant little house someone (dare I hope it was you, in the expectation of my coming?) kindly constructed not far from the entrance to this canyon. One of the villagers
has agreed to bring food and water for me daily, so I expect to be quite comfortable. I am an impatient fellow, though, as you know, so don't keep me waiting too long... or I may be tempted
to risk my neck crossing the plateau and climbing down to join you.

Further compliments followed. It was the closing words—an impertinent "A bientot,"—that forced from my lips an expression of the outrage I had thus far suppressed.

"Curse it!" I cried.

Bertha's face appeared in the tent opening. Over her veil her eyes were wide with alarm. "Is something wrong? Is it from— from him?"

"No, no," I said. "Nothing is wrong— nothing that need concern you. You needn't stand outside, Bertha, though your courtesy is noted and appreciated" Folding the letter, I put it in my box and went out to splash water on my dusty and now even more heated face.

I did not join in the conversation around the fire as energetically as was my wont that evening,. I was preoccupied with considering how I could meet Kevin and head him off. I did not doubt that if I failed
to confront him he would do precisely what he had threatened to do, and if he did not break his neck climbing down the cliff face, one of Cyrus's guards would probably shoot him. A less honorable woman might have regarded that as an ideal solution, but I could not entertain such a reprehensible idea. Besides, there was always the chance that Kevin might elude the guard and accomplish the descent without damaging himself.

I must see him and speak with him, and hope that an appeal to the friendship he claimed to feel for me would persuade him to leave us alone. A little bribe, in the form of a promise of future interviews, might assist in achieving the desired end. But how was I to reach him alone and unescorted? Cyrus would insist on accompanying me if he knew what I planned, and Cyrus's critical presence would destroy the friendly, confidential atmosphere that was essential to any hope of success.

I would have to go during the midday rest period, I decided. It would have been folly to attempt the long, difficult walk in darkness, and I could not disappear for any length of time during working hours. The rest period usually lasted for two or three hours. There was no hope of being able to return before my absence was discovered, since the distance was almost three miles each way, but if I could deal with Kevin before they caught me up, I would have accomplished my purpose. It was feasible, I concluded. Certainly it was worth a try. And there could be no danger, for Selim would be on guard at the entrance to the wadi. Having decided this, I applied myself to my dinner with good appetite. The others, I observed, were inclined to study each bite suspiciously before putting it into their mouths, but I had reasoned that the same trick would not be tried again so soon after the failure of the first attempt.

Such proved to be the case I woke several times during the night, feeling only normal drowsiness before
I allowed myself to sleep again. Bertha seemed restless too, which further reassured me.

Rene and I put in a good morning's work in the Pillared Hall (i.e., the burial chamber), for I never allow mental distraction to interfere with my archaeological duties We had almost finished the back wall, the lowest sections could not be accurately copied until the floor was cleared to bedrock. I pointed this out
to Emerson when we stopped for luncheon.

"I don't suppose you want the men stirring up dust while you are copying?" he inquired. "Leave that till later. You still have three walls and four sides of two pillars to go, I believe?"

Rene's face fell. He had hoped for a day or two off while the men worked.

I had considered slipping a little laudanum into the tea at lunch to ensure everyone would sleep soundly while I stole away. That did not seem quite cricket, so I only put it in Bertha's cup.

She dropped off almost at once. Though I was on fire to be up and away, for time was of the essence, I forced myself to remain recumbent a little longer in order to ensure that the others had followed her into the land of Morpheus. As I lay watching her I could not help but wonder what the future held for such a woman. What thoughts, what fears, what hopes lay concealed behind that smooth white brow and those enigmatic dark eyes? She had never confided in me, nor responded to my attempts to win her confidence Yet I had seen her engaged in animated conversation with Rene, and less often with Charles, even Emerson had managed to induce, upon occasion, one of her rare silvery laughs. Some women do not get on with other women, but that could not be the cause of her reticence with me, because she was equally wary of Cyrus— who, I must admit, did not conceal his dislike of her. Was she still a willing slave of the man who had been so brutal to her? Had it been she who drugged our food?

She lay with her back to me. Rising slowly, impelled by an impulse I could not have explained, I bent over her. As if my intent regard had penetrated her slumber, she stirred and murmured. Quickly I drew back. Silence reigned without. It was time to go.

I had taken off my belt before I reclined. Much as I would have liked to take it with me, I dared not risk the noise. Thanking heaven and my own foresight for my useful pockets, I distributed several important tools among them. One of the most important, my handy little knife, provided me with a convenient exit from the tent. After cutting a long slit I returned the knife to my pocket, picked up my parasol, and exited.

Cyrus had placed my tent some distance from the others in a thoughtful attempt to give me as much privacy as the terrain allowed. It was not much, for at its greatest extent the wadi was only a few hundred feet wide. My tent backed up onto the slope of scree that bordered the cliffs. Carrying my boots, I crept along the base of it. Even our Egyptian friends wore sandals here, for the thick integument that years of going barefoot had developed on the soles of their feet was insufficient protection against the sharp-edged stones littering the floor of the canyon. My thick stockings served me no better, but I did not dare assume my boots until after I had gone some distance and was concealed from sight of the camp by a series of outcroppings.

It was extremely hot and very still. The only shade was high up on the steep, loose scree of the slope at the base of the cliff Since haste was imperative, I had to follow the path winding among the boulders on the bottom, now in full sunlight. If I had not been in such a hurry I would have enjoyed the walk. It was the first time in many days I had been alone.

Naturally I kept a firm grip on my parasol and a sharp eye on the surroundings, but I was more inclined to trust that sixth sense that warns of lurking danger. Persons like myself, who are sensitive to atmosphere and who have been often subject to violent attack, develop this sense to an acute degree. It had seldom failed me

I cannot explain why it failed on this occasion. No doubt I was preoccupied with composing the speech I meant to make to Kevin. The men must have been lying concealed and motionless for some time, for I certainly would have heard sounds of someone descending the slope.

They did not come out of hiding until after I had passed the first of them, so that when they emerged, simultaneously, I found retreat cut off. A second man popped out of a hole opposite me, two others appeared ahead. They looked very much alike in their turbans and grubby robes, but I recognized one of them. Mohammed had not run away after all. I had to admire his persistence, but I did not like the way he was grinning at me.

The cliff face was split by innumerable crevices and cracks. Some of the fallen boulders were big enough to conceal not one but several men. How many opponents must I defeat? Taking a firm grip on my parasol, I considered alternatives with a rapidity of thought my measured prose cannot attempt to convey.

Flight, in any direction, would have been folly. I could not scramble up the scree fast enough to escape those who would follow. A rapid advance would have sent me straight into the waiting arms of two adversaries, who were now advancing slowly toward me. Retreat— not flight, but a considered,
deliberate withdrawal— eastward, in the direction from which I had come, appeared to offer the best hope. If I could dispose of the single man who barred my way .

But even as I shifted my parasol to my left hand and reached for my pistol, that hope was reduced by
the rattle and crunch of rock. Another man was coming from the east to reinforce his confederate, and
at considerable speed. There was not much chance, I feared, that I could incapacitate or elude two men
A hand weapon is inaccurate except at very close range, and I would be running as I fired. I would have to try, of course.

The second man came into view, and my fingers froze on the barrel of the pistol (which had shifted around in my pocket in a way I had not anticipated). Astonishment paralyzed every muscle. The man
was Emerson, bareheaded, red-faced, and in extremely rapid motion. With a shout of, "Run, damn you!" he hurled himself at the surprised Egyptian, who collapsed onto the ground in a flurry of dirty fabric.

I took it that the order was addressed to me, and I was certainly in no position to object to the way it
had been phrased. Emerson's sudden appearance and abrupt action had sent our opponents into momentary confusion, I had no difficulty in outstripping the man who was nearest to me. They were all close behind, though, and when Emerson caught my hand and fled, dragging me with him, I was in full agreement with his decision I did wish he would get over his prejudice against firearms, however. A rifle would have been particularly useful just then

We were over a mile from the camp and I did not see how we could reach it without being overtaken. Had he come alone? Was help on the way? Questions flooded my mind but I was too short of breath to articulate them, which is probably just as well, because Emerson was obviously in no mood to permit debate. After rounding an outcrop of rock he turned abruptly to the right, caught me round the waist,
and threw me up onto the rocky slope. "Go on," he gasped, emphasizing the suggestion by a sharp slap
on a convenient part of my anatomy. "Through that opening. Hurry!"

Looking up, I saw the opening he referred to— a black irregular hole in the cliff face. It was roughly triangular in shape, narrowing to a crack that turned at a sharp angle to meet the top of the slope. Only
at its widest part was there room for the passage of a body. Mine passed, with little conscious volition
on my part but with considerable assistance from Emerson, shoving from behind. I did not resist, though the prospect of dropping down into blackness, with no idea of what lay below and beyond, was not especially appealing. It was more appealing than the alternative, however.

I landed somewhat forcibly on an uneven surface about six feet below the opening. The floor was littered with stones and other objects which pressed painfully into my bare hands. As I struggled to my feet I heard a nasty crunching sound and a scream, followed by a rumble of falling rock. I deduced that Emerson had kicked one of our pursuers in the face The ensuing confusion gave him time to make a more dignified entrance into the hole than I had managed,- feet first, he dropped down beside me, and
for a few moments he was too out of breath to do more than pant heavily.

The space in which we stood was quite small. Immediately behind us the floor sloped sharply up toward the ceiling. The width was no more than five or six feet, but from the relative regularity of the side walls
I deduced it must be the entrance to one of the tombs Emerson had mentioned.

Emerson got his breath back. "Where is that ridiculous pistol of yours?" was his first question.

I produced it and handed it to him. Extending his arm out the opening, he pulled the trigger three times.

"Why are you wasting bullets?" I demanded. "There are only six in the pistol, and you didn't even— "

"I am summoning assistance," was the brusque reply.

Summoning assistance is not something Emerson often does. In this case it seemed the only sensible course. The entrance to the tomb-cave was so narrow and inconveniently located our adversaries could only pass through it one at a time— at the considerable risk of being knocked on the head, one at a time, by Emerson, as they did so—but neither could we get out while they were waiting for us. Emerson
had— for once— accepted the inevitable, but he obviously did not like it.

"Oh," I said. "Then you came alone?"

"Yes," said Emerson, very softly. Then his voice rose to a roar that deafened my ears. "You damned
fool woman! What the devil possessed you to do such an idiotic thing?"

I started back, but I did not go very far, Emerson's hands shot out and gripped my shoulders. He shook me like a terrier with a rat, shouting all the while. Distorted by echoes, the words were relatively unintelligible, but I got the idea.

I do not think I would have hit him if— quite unintentionally, I feel sure— his violent shaking had not brought my head into painful contact with the wall behind me. I had lost my hat during our flight and my hair had come down, so there was nothing to cushion the blow. It hurt enough to remove any inhibitions
I might have had about hurting him back. All the same, if I had not been in a state of considerable emotional excitability (for various reasons) I would not have done it. Except for playful gestures of quite another nature (which are irrelevant to this narrative) I had never struck Emerson. It would not have
been playing the game to strike an opponent who is unable to hit back.

I certainly did not intend to hit him on the face. My wild blow landed square on his bandaged cheek

The effect was remarkable. With a long gasping intake of pain (and, I presume, fury) he shifted his grip. One arm encircled my shoulders, the other my ribs. Pulling me to him, he pressed his lips to mine. He
had NEVER kissed me like that before. Between the steely strength of his arm and the pressure of his mouth, my head was bent back at an angle so acute that I felt my neck must snap. Between the unyielding barrier of the wall at my back and the hard muscles of his body, mine was crushed as if in a vise. What with constant practice and assiduous study, Emerson's natural talents at osculation had been honed to a fine pitch, but he had never kissed me like THAT before (And I certainly hoped he had never kissed anyone ELSE like that before.) My senses were not gently wooed, they were assaulted, mastered, overcome.

When at last he let me go I would have fallen had it not been for the wall against which I leaned. As the roaring of blood in my ears subsided, I heard other voices, crying out in question and alarm. Rising
above them all was a voice I took to be that of Cyrus, for it called my name, though I would scarcely have recognized it otherwise.

"We are here," Emerson shouted through the opening. "Safe and unharmed. Stand by, I will hand her out."

Then he turned to me. "I beg your pardon," he said quietly. "That was an unforgivable action for a gentleman— which, despite some eccentricities of behavior, I like to consider myself. You have my
word of honor it will never happen again."

I was too shaken to reply, which is probably just as well, for if I had I would have blurted out what
I was thinking: "Oh, yes, it will—if have anything to say about it!"

CHAPTER 12





"Once a man has taken refreshment in your home and a chair in your sitting room,
 you are less likely to pitch him into a pond."

There was nothing for it but to take Cyrus into my confidence.

"It was Kevin O'Connell I had to see," I explained. "I told you he couid turn up, and so he has Selim delivered a message from him yesterday."

I sat on a camp stool drinking tea, for I felt myself entitled to a mild restorative. Emerson, of course,
had immediately returned to work, Cyrus had not followed him, he now lay sprawled on the rug at my feet like a fallen warrior, his face hidden in his arms, I nudged him gently with my toe "What you need,"
I said, "is a nice hot cup of tea."

Cyrus rolled over and sat up. His face was still flushed, though the livid color it had originally exhibited had faded somewhat. "I have never been a drinking man," he said, endeavoring to control his voice.
"But I am beginning to understand how a man can be driven to drink. Never mind the darned tea.
Where is that bottle of brandy?"

He was only joking, of course. I handed him a cup of tea. "Give me the benefit of your advice, Cyrus. What am I to do about Kevin?"

"Amelia, you are the most . . . You have an absolutely unparalleled You— you— "

"We have already had that conversation, Cyrus. I said I was sorry to have worried you, but as you see, it has all turned out for the best. We have captured Mohammed! One enemy the less! And as soon as his broken nose heals we can question him and find out who hired him"

"One down," said Cyrus gloomily. "How many to go? If you are going to take risks like that to collect
the rest of them, my heart is going to give way under the strain. Your lip is bleeding again, my dear, I can't stand the sight of it."

"The hot liquid must have opened the cut," I murmured, pressing my napkin to my mouth. "It is no
injury incurred in the line of battle, you know, only a— a bitten lip."

For a moment we were both silent, thinking— I am sure— quite different thoughts. Then I gave myself
a little shake and said briskly, "Now if we may return to the subject of Kevin

"I'd like to murder the young rascal," Cyrus muttered. "If it had not been for him ... All right, Amelia,
all right. Where is he, and what do you want me to do?"

I explained the situation. "So," I concluded, "we had better be off at once."

"Now?" Cyrus exclaimed.

"Certainly. If we hurry we can be back before dark. I do not anticipate another attack so soon, the
men who got away can scarcely have had time to report the failure of this one. However, it is difficult walking in the dark."

With a wry smile Cyrus put down his cup and got to his feet. "Are you going to tell Emerson?"

"No, why should I? I am sure he has already cautioned you not to let me out of your sight."

"He didn't have to," Cyrus said, no longer smiling. There was no need for him to say more, his steady regard and firmly set lips proclaimed his resolution. The removal of the goatee had definitely been an improvement. He reminded me of those strong, silent sheriffs of whom one reads in American fiction.

He left me after promising he would be ready to go in five minutes.

I did not require so much time. I put away the tea things and strapped on my belt,- then I took from my pocket the small object my groping hands had encountered on the rock-strewn floor of the tomb. My touch has been trained by years of experience, I had known by the shape of it that it was not a stone
but an object shaped by man, and the same trained instinct had prompted me to slip it into my pocket.

It was a ring bezel of cheap faience, like those I had found in the workmen's village and elsewhere.
Some bore the name of the ruling pharaoh, others were adorned with the images of different gods. This was of the second variety. The image was that of Sobek—the crocodile god.

*  *  *

Not only Cyrus but two of his men accompanied me this time. All were armed. It was a needless precaution, I felt sure, but men always enjoy marching around with weapons and flexing their figurative muscles, and I saw no reason to deny them this harmless exercise As I had expected, the journey was without incident, and after hailing Selim, who had come out of hiding when he saw us, we emerged from the mouth of the wadi and walked the short distance to the little mud-brick house.

Kevin had certainly made himself comfortable. We found him sitting on a camel bag in the shade at the front of the house reading a yellowback novel, a glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He pretended to go on reading until we were almost upon him, then he leapt to his feet with a theatrical and unconvincing start of surprise.

"Sure an' it's one of those mirages I'm seeing— a vision of loveliness like the houris in the Moslem paradise! Top o' the afternoon to ye, Mrs. Emerson, me dear."

As he came to meet me the sun set his hair ablaze and reddened his sunburned cheeks. Freckles, snub nose, ingratiating grin, wide blue eyes made up an irresistible picture of a young Irish gentleman— and roused an irresistible urge in my breast. I did not try to resist it. I brought my parasol down on his outstretched arm.

"I am not your dear, and that brogue is as false as your professions of friendship!"

Kevin fell back, rubbing his arm, and Cyrus, unable to hide his smile, said, "I thought you were going
to use gentle persuasion. If you wanted the guy beaten up, I could have done that for you."

"Oh, dear," I said, lowering the parasol. "I fear that in the stress of emotion I lost sight of my object.
Stop cringing, Kevin, I won't hit you again. Unless you annoy me."

"I certainly would like to avoid doing so," said Kevin earnestly. "Would it annoy you if I offered you
a chair— or a camel bag, rather? I'm afraid I have not enough seats for your escort."

Cyrus had already gestured his men to take up positions on either side of the little structure, where
they could see in all directions. "I'll stand," he said curtly.

"You remember Mr. Vandergelt, of course," I said to Kevin, taking the seat he had offered

"Ah, I thought he looked familiar. It has been a good many years, and I didn't know him at first without his goatee. How do you do, sir?" He started to offer his hand, Cyrus's frosty stare made him think better of it. "And how's the professor?" Kevin went on, squatting at my feet. "Fully recovered, I hope, from his— er— accident?"

"I give you credit, Kevin," I said. "You don't beat around the bush. It was no accident, as you well
know. The curse of the ancient gods of Egypt' was how you put it, I believe. Surely your readers must
be tiring of curses."

"Och— I mean, oh, no, ma'am. Readers never tire of mystery and sensationalism. You and I know better, to be sure, and I'd be glad to set them straight if I had the facts."

He continued to nurse his arm. I knew full well that Kevin would have considered a broken arm, much less one that was slightly bruised, as a fair exchange for the story he wanted, so I was unmoved by his look of hurt reproach.

"You will be the first to have the facts, I promise, as soon as they can be made public."

The reprehensible young man gave a crow of delight. "Aha! So there are facts as yet unknown. Never mind denying it, Mrs. Emerson, and don't be chewing on that pretty lip of yours, one particular fact, which cannot fail to capture the imagination of the reading public, is already known to me, for I spent several enlightening days in Cairo conversing with mutual friends."

It is an old trick of journalists and other villains to pretend to knowledge in order to trick the victim into
an admission of it I laughed lightly. "You are referring, I suppose, to the incident at the ball. That was a silly joke— "

"Let's not fence, Mrs. E. I am referring to the professor's loss of memory."

"Curse it," I exclaimed. "The few who knew were sworn to secrecy. Which— "

"Now you know I can't be giving away my sources." He had me now, and he knew it. His wide smile
had the impertinent good humor of a wretched little Irish brownie.

In fact I had a good idea as to who had "spilled the beans," to use an American colloquialism. The only mutual friend of mine and Kevin's who knew the truth was Karl von Bork. Kevin's acquaintance with other archaeologists was superficial and for the most part antagonistic. Kevin had known Karl since the old days at Baskerville House, when Karl had won the girl they both wanted, and no doubt it had given Kevin a great deal of satisfaction to trick the intelligent but unworldly German into giving away more
than he meant to.

Cyrus, who had listened in silence, now spoke. "It's getting late, Amelia. Send him away or let me
knock him over the head. My fellows can hold him prisoner here till you decide— "

"Now let's not be losing our tempers," Kevin exclaimed, his eyes widening. "Mrs. Emerson, ma'am,
you'd never allow— "

"When the stakes are so high, I might not only allow but encourage such a solution. I would hate to have Cyrus risk a lawsuit and a good deal of unpleasant publicity for my— for the sake of friendship, but I would commit acts even more contemptible to prevent this news from being made public. I wish I could appeal to your honor, but I fear you have none, I wish I could trust your word, but I cannot."

With an air of finality, I rose to my feet. Cyrus raised the rifle to his shoulder.

"He isn't going to shoot you," I explained, as Kevin gave a bleat of alarm. "At least I don't think he is Cyrus, tell your men to treat him as gently as possible. I will come by now and then, Kevin, to see how you are getting on."

Kevin then proved himself the man I had always— despite some evidence to the contrary— believed
him to be. He laughed. Considering the circumstances, it was a fairly convincing imitation of insouciant mirth.

"You win, Mrs. E. I don't think you mean it, but I would rather not take the chance. What must I do?"

There was really only one solution. If Kevin gave me his word to remain silent he would be entirely sincere— at the time. Like Ramses, and, I fear, a good many other people, he could always find a specious excuse for doing what he had promised not to do if he wanted badly enough to do it. He had
to be kept in confinement, and the most secure prison available was the royal wadi itself.

I had to slow my steps to match Kevin's, he was not in such good training as he ought to have been.
If I had not been so out of temper with him I would have given him a friendly little lecture on the advantages of physical fitness. At that time I confined my lecture to more important matters, and it
was not at all friendly. I concluded by informing him that if he volunteered any information whatever
to Emerson (for a flat interdiction seemed the simplest course) I would never speak to him or communicate with him again.

A look of sadness, a blush of shame spread over the young man's face. "You may believe it or not,
Mrs. Emerson," he said, in a well-bred voice without the slightest trace of an accent, "but there are
some acts too despicable even for me to commit. In our battles of wits we have been worthy opponents— and I include the professor, who has made a fool of me as often as I have embarrassed him. I have enjoyed matching wits with both of you, and although you may not admit it, I think you have enjoyed
it too. But if I thought any act of mine would cause you grievous harm of mind or body, no promise of reward, however great, could induce me to commit it."

"I do believe you," I said. And at that moment, I did.

"Thank you. So, then," said Kevin, in quite his old manner, "how are you going to explain my presence?"

"That is a difficulty Emerson may not remember you, but his opinion of journalists is of long standing. You cannot pass as an archaeologist, you know nothing of excavation."

"I could say my arm was broken," Kevin suggested, giving me a meaningful look.

"You could have two broken arms and the like number of broken legs. Emerson would quiz you and
you would betray your ignorance. Ah! I have it! The perfect answer!"

*  *  *

"A detective?" Emerson's voice rose on every syllable. "What the devil do we want a detective for?"

When he put it that way, I was hard-pressed to come up with a sensible answer. I therefore responded
in a manner I felt certain would distract him.

"You certainly don't seem to be making much progress in solving our little mystery. All these
interruptions are getting to be a nuisance."

It was delightful to watch Emerson trying to decide which provocation to counter first. I did not think he would be able to resist a play on the word "nuisance," applying it of course to me, but perhaps he was unable to compose a sufficiently stinging retort on the spur of the moment. Instead he went on the defensive, which, as I could have told him, is always a mistake.

"I caught one of the swine, didn't I?"

" 'Caught' is hardly an appropriate word. You shouldn't have kicked him so hard. He cannot speak intelligibly with his nose and jaw immobilized, and furthermore— "

Emerson rolled his eyes, threw up his hands and stormed off Kevin, who had prudently retired to a distance during the discussion, returned and sat down on the rug at my feet. "He seems quite his old
self. Are you certain he— "

"I could hardly be mistaken. Remember what I told you. One slip of the tongue and I will let Cyrus
deal with you as he proposed. And don't forget to call me Miss Peabody."

It might have been the sunset glow that softened the young journalist's features, but his voice was
equally subdued as he said, "That must be the unkindest cut of all, ma'am. How he could forget a
woman like yourself— "

"I do not want your sympathy, Kevin. I want— I insist upon— your cooperation."

"You have it, Mrs. . . . Miss Peabody. I suppose you have no objection to my chatting with the others— Abdullah, for instance? After all," he added winsomely, "if I am supposed to be a detective I ought to question people."

The point was well taken. Now that it was too late, I wished I had thought of a different persona for Kevin— that of an illiterate deaf-mute, for instance. "Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive!" Taking my baffled silence for consent, Kevin wandered off, hands in his pockets,
a cheerful whistle issuing from his lips, and I considered this latest tangle and whither it might lead.

Kevin already knew the one fact I had been most anxious to keep from him. He seemed still to be in ignorance of other equally important facts, and these I was determined to keep from him at all costs. Kevin would fall on the story of the Lost Oasis like a dog on a ripe, smelly bone, for it was just the sort
of fantastic tale in which he specialized. The slightest hint would be enough to set him off, he would not bother to substantiate it, for fiction was as good as truth by the standards of his profession. Rapidly I ran through the list of persons present to reassure myself there was no danger of exposure from any of them

Emerson knew only what I had told him of the matter and he was not inclined to believe that. In any case, Kevin was the last person with whom he would have discussed the subject. Cyrus's discretion I did not doubt. Rene and Charles were unwitting, as was Abdullah. Bertha maintained her "master" had told her nothing. If she lied . . . well, then she had every reason to remain reticent on the subject. An admission of knowledge she claimed not to have would prove her false, and would betray the secret
her master was no more anxious than we to have spread abroad.

My reasoning was irrefutable. Relieved of that anxiety (and would the others were so easily disposed
of!) I went to have a look at my latest patient.

One of Cyrus's men stood on guard outside the shelter that had been set up for Mohammed. There was no need, the wretch was so full of laudanum he would not have roused if someone had set fire to his bed. I hated to waste my medical supplies on such a vile specimen, but he had been in acute pain and even if mercy had not tempered my wrath I could not have set his broken nose while he was writhing
and screaming. His jaw, I thought, was only bruised, but since I could not be absolutely certain I had wound it round with bandages too.

He was a dreadful sight as he lay there on the pile of rugs. Not even Christian charity and the ethics of the profession of which I count myself a formally unqualified but able practitioner could have forced me to touch the ragged, flea-infested robe or bathe the filthy body. The cast I had applied to his nose jutted out like the grotesque beak of some mythical monster, coarse black hairs bristled at odd angles from above and below the bandages covering most of the lower half of his face. A slit of white glistened under each eyelid. His mouth gaped open, displaying brown, rotting teeth. The light from my lantern cast shadows that intensified every ugly feature and made the open cavern of his mouth look like a black hole.

I took his pulse and listened to his breathing. There was nothing more I could do, only time, and a good deal of luck, would complete the cure. I prayed most sincerely for his recovery, but I am sorry to say
that Christian charity had very little to do with that prayer.

When I emerged, dusk was far advanced, but the light of the lantern I carried showed a retreating form. The flutter of draperies betrayed her identity, none of the men walked as she did. I had not heard her address the guard, so she must have turned away as soon as she realized I was within.

I hurried after her. "Bertha! Wait, I wish to speak with you. What were you doing there?"

Her posture was submissive— hands clasped, head bowed. In a low voice she said, "I would help you nurse the man, Sitt. There is not much I can do to show my gratitude, but I am skilled at women's work."

It was as if she had deliberately cast off her European heritage. Voice, manner, speech were more and more Egyptian with every passing day. Naturally I found this extremely irritating.

"There is no work a woman cannot do," I said. "We must have a little chat about that one day, Bertha. Just now you can help me best by continuing to search your memory. Anything you recall may be of importance, even if it seems meaningless to you."

"I am trying, Sitt," she murmured.

"And don't call me Sitt! Miss Peabody will do, if you cannot twist your tongue around my given name. Come away now. The injured man is in no need of services you can provide."

A little gasp of what sounded like amusement issued from her lips. It must have been a stifled cough,
I concluded, for nothing I had said could have provoked laughter

By the time we assembled for the evening meal, Kevin had already ingratiated himself with Rene and Charlie. I did not know how he had managed it with Rene, but he had won Charlie's heart by professing
a passion for motor cars.

"They are the wave of the future," Kevin exclaimed enthusiastically. "Daimler's internal-combustion engine— "

"But have you seen the Panhard?" Charlie interrupted. "The sliding-gear transmission—"

They went on talking unintelligibly about things like clutches and gears, while Bertha hovered at Rene's shoulder and Emerson glowered impartially on all of us and I ... I looked at Emerson. It seemed to make him rather nervous, but I saw no reason why that should deter me.

He had hardly spoken to me since that thrilling encounter in the tomb, except when the loss of his
temper over the advent of Kevin overcame his reticence. At first I had been a trifle discouraged by his
apology and ensuing silence, I am something of a romantic myself, and I had hoped that that passionate embrace would burst the bonds that held his memory in thrall. Schadenfreude had said it would not in fact, he had warned me, most vehemently, against applying any such procedure. Apparently the doctor had been correct.

However, as I thought back over the incident, I felt it offered some encouragement. It might be interpreted as marking a step forward in the relationship I was, according to the doctor's instructions, endeavoring to re-create. Annoyance had replaced Emerson's initial indifference, he was now sufficiently interested to follow after me and risk himself to save me. That he would have done the same for
Abdullah or any of the other men I was prepared to admit, but no combination of relief and anger would have prompted him to behave to Abdullah as he had behaved to me.

However. The kiss might have meant less than I hoped. As I had good cause to know, Emerson is a hot-blooded individual. The mere proximity of a female who, if not irresistibly beautiful, has been regarded by some as worthy of admiration, might have been sufficient to inspire such a response in
a man who was under considerable emotional stress.

Dare I admit the truth? I see no reason why I should not, since these journals will not be read by other eyes until I can find a publisher worthy of them (a more difficult procedure than I had believed) and then not until after considerable revision. I hoped and prayed Emerson's memory might be restored, but what
I really wanted restored was his love for me, whether it came by recollection or by being forged anew. That marriage of true minds, based on mutual trust and respect (and on another kind of attraction whose importance I would be the last to deny) was all in all to me. By one means or another I meant to regain it, and I did not really care how it was achieved. It might be a little difficult to explain to a man who has just proposed marriage for, as he believes, the first time, that he already has an eleven-year-old son. It would be an even greater shock to receive the full impact of Ramses all at once, instead of getting used to him
a little at a time. However, I could and would deal with greater difficulties than that, if only . . . So my emotions swung back and forth like the pendulum of a clock, now rising, now falling. So absorbed was I in my thoughts, and in contemplation of Emerson's splendid, scowling physiognomy, that I was unaware of Cyrus's approach until a gentle cough made me look up.

"A penny for your thoughts," he said. "Or whatever amount you ask; they must be distressing, to judge by your face."

"Only confusing," I said. "But I will straighten them out, Cyrus, never fear. Once Mohammed is able to speak, we may be on the way to a solution of our present difficulty. It is a pity his nose and mouth took the brunt of the blow."

Emerson, who had been openly eavesdropping, took this for another not-so-veiled criticism. Scowling even more fiercely, he rose and started to stalk away.

"Don't go far," I called. "Dinner will be served shortly."

There was no reply, not even a grunt.

"I have something that may cheer you up," Cyrus said. "My servant has been collecting the mail, as
usual, he brought the most recent letters here this evening."

"All this way?" I took the packet he handed me. "Cyrus, you are the most thoughtful of men."

"Well, I figured you'd be keen to know what's going on back in jolly old England. I'm a little curious myself, so . ."

"Of course. I have no secrets from you, Cyrus. But I see dinner is ready, I will wait to read this
particular epistle until afterward, I think Not only is it very bulky, but I fear it might spoil my appetite."

From Cyrus's admiring look I could see he took this as a demonstration of British phlegm. In fact I had
a cowardly reluctance to read Ramses's latest literary offering, which I expected would only tell me a number of distressing things I could do absolutely nothing about. If anything serious had occurred,
Walter would have telegraphed.

So after a meal no one except Kevin seemed anxious to eat, we dispersed. Emerson had not joined us, I concluded he had dined with Abdullah and the others. At my invitation, Cyrus followed me to my tent.

There were two letters from Chalfont in the packet. I recognized Evelyn's dainty, precise handwriting
on one, and decided to save it for a treat— or an antidote— after I had read Ramses's.

"Dearest Mama and Papa. I am sorry to tell you that Gargery is still not a hero. However, we have another heroine.

"I never thought Aunt Evelyn had it in her. It has been a salutary if humbling experience for
me and will teach me, I hope, to Question even more rigorously the false stereotypes our society holds about the behavior and character of females. I had always believed myself free of such prejudices and certainly I ought to have been, with Mama's example of abnormality always
before me. How curiously the human mind operates! It seems to be able to dismiss any evidence that conflicts, not only with its own desires, but with preconceived beliefs so deeply seated and unconsciously instilled that they are not recognized as irrational. Examined in the cold light
of reason ..."

Before turning the page— which ended with the last phrase I have quoted— I took a firm grip on my temper. It would serve no purpose to lose it, since the object of my wrath was out of reach. He must have been reading the articles on psychology I had strictly forbidden him. Or had I? I had certainly
meant to, since some of the theories expressed were far too shocking for the innocent minds of children. However, I could not be certain. Telling Ramses what not to do was a time-consuming process, and it was almost impossible to keep up with him because he was always thinking of new atrocities to commit.

Realizing that I was letting my mind stray, just as Ramses had done, I went on reading.

". . . many of these beliefs do not stand up for a moment. They are, in fact, no more than
mindless superstition. Whence, then, do they come? I confess I have not yet found an answer.
It is particularly galling to discover them in a mind as rational as I have always considered
mine to be.

"I would like to discuss this matter with you, dearest Mama and Papa, for it interests me a
great deal, but perhaps this is not the appropriate time, for you must be wondering what particular incident prompted my speculations.

"You may recall that in my last letter I described the curious incident of the dogs that barked
in the nighttime. Since barking was the extent of their assistance I determined, as I believe
I mentioned, that I would take steps to provide a more effective variety of watch-animal.
You see, I had a hideous foreboding ..."

I had one too. "Oh, no," I gasped.

"What?" Cyrus cried, hardly less agitated than I.

"... a hideous foreboding that we had not seen the last of nocturnal invasions. I felt certain it would be impossible to convince Uncle Walter of the logic of my decision, so I had to carry it
out myself, and it was cursed inconvenient having to wait for everyone to go to sleep before I crept out to let ... [My voice broke.] ... let ... the lion . . . out of . . ."

"By the Almighty!" Cyrus exclaimed "For pity's sake, go on, Amelia, I can't stand the suspense!"

". . . its cage, and then waking up at dawn to put it back before some other member of the household encountered it. Nefret very kindly assisted

Again emotion overcame me. "Another one," I said hollowly. "I thought one was bad enough, and
now . . . Forgive me, Cyrus. I will endeavor not to break down again.

". . . assisted me on two occasions she said I was a growing boy and needed my rest. I hardly need say, Mama and Papa, that I took this without resentment, in the spirit in which it was
meant.

"Naturally I had shut up the dogs and warned Bob and Jerry to lock themselves into the lodge while the lion was out. They agreed this was a sensible procedure.

<>"Uncle Walter has insulted me mortally. His remarks on the subject of the lion were uncalled
<>for, unfair, and extremely rude, particularly in view of the fact that my foresight prevented—
<>or helped to prevent, at least— an incident that might have proved disastrous.
<>
<>"Having anticipated such an occurrence, I was the first to wake when the piercing screams of
<>a female in the last extremity of terror, mingled with the growls of a large feline, rent the night!
<>I had been sleeping in my clothes, of course, in order to be fully prepared and ready for action,
<>it was the work of a moment to snatch up the weapon I had put at hand (a poker from the fireplace] and rush down the stairs.
<>
<>"The moon cast a frosty light upon the lawn (which was, in fact, covered with frost, the night being cold). The forms of the great jungle beast and its prey stood out in sharp outline.
<>Hastening toward the group, poker at the ready, I beheld a somewhat disconcerting sight. There was just enough light for me to make out the features of the individual lying supine between the lion's paws. With a start of chagrin, I recognized her as Ellis, Aunt Evelyn's new maid.
<>
<>"In fact, the lion would probably not have harmed her. To be sure, it was growling, but the
sound held a note of inquiry rather than ferocity. I had the distinct impression it did not know what to do next. Ellis had swooned, which was no doubt a sensible move on her part.
<>
<>"While I was thinking how best to proceed, I saw Nefret running toward me, her little bare feet noiseless on the grass. Her unbound hair streamed out behind her, silver-gold in the pale light, her light nightdress billowed about her slender limbs. She was a vision of. . . [Something had been scratched out here. Ramses went on.] . . . of womanly efficiency. Her knife was in her hand.
<>
<>"With her assistance I persuaded the lion to abandon his new toy. Grumbling under his breath
he ambled off, with Nefret's fingers twisted affectionately in his mane. The literary allusions
that occurred to me will doubtless occur to you, Mama, as well, so I will not take up paper describing them.
<>
<>"I set to work restoring Ellis to consciousness, but I had not had time to slap her more than
once before I heard a considerable racket coming from the house. I had been expecting some reaction from that Quarter, I was surprised it had not occurred before, but I suppose the
actions I have described had taken only a few minutes. Astonishing, is it not, how quickly
time passes when one is engaged in interesting activities?
<>
<>"The sounds I heard suggested to me something rather more serious than the indignation of
Uncle Walter at being awakened. These cries were high-pitched— female, I deduced. So abandoning Ellis, I hastened to ascertain their origin.
<>
<>"As you know, the majority of the windows in the castle are narrow and small. Only the sitting room has been modernized; its windows open onto the rose garden. It was from this room that
the noise issued, and as I came through the garden I was distressed to note that the windows
stood open. The room was dark and at first I could not make out what was going on, rapid movements, gasps and exclamations of pain and exertion were all the evidence available to me. Then the combatants— for such they were— approached the window. The poker fell from my palsied hand when I identified them.
<>
<>"One was a man, a hulking fellow wearing a short fustian jacket and a cap pulled low over his eyes. He held a cudgel or thick stick, with which be was warding off the blows directed at him
by . . .
<>
<>"But no doubt you have anticipated me. Her nightcap had come off and hung by its strings, her braided hair fell over one shoulder. Her face was set in a ferocious snarl. Quite unlike her
normal sweet look, and the<> <>instrument with which she was belaboring the cowering villain appeared—and indeed proved—to be a parasol.
<>
<>"I recovered myself and my poker and rushed to her assistance. She was not in need of it, but
the rascal might have got away from her if I had not tripped him up. Together we subdued him. Tearing off the sash of her dressing gown, Aunt Evelyn bade me bind his arms.
<>
<>"It was at this point that Uncle Walter arrived on the scene, followed by Gargery and Bob, both
of whom carried lanterns. They had been wandering around the grounds, uncertain as to where the action was taking place. (Wandering gives an inaccurate impression, in fact, for it was obvious from Uncle Walter's appearance that he had been running as fast as he could, though
to little effect. Like Papa, he does not like being waked up suddenly and is slow to react.)
<>
<>"Bob lit the lamps and Gargery finished binding the arms and legs of our burglar. This was at
my direction, I am sorry to say that Uncle Walter lost his head completely. I have never seen
him behave so erratically. He rushed at Aunt Evelyn and shook her very hard. Then he embraced her as fiercely as ever I have seen . . . [Another phrase was scratched out. I knew what it must have been, though ] . . . others do. Then he shook her again. Strangely enough, Aunt Evelyn
did not seem to mind.
<>
<>"I do not have another sheet of paper, and cannot get one, since Uncle Walter has confined me
to my room until further notice, so I am forced to be brief. Ellis was on her way to meet a friend, as she explained, when the lion intercepted her. (Rose says people like Ellis manage to find friends wherever they go. It is an endearing characteristic, I think.) The burglar claimed he
was looking for valuables. Inspector Cuff has taken him off to London. Inspector Cuff is a very taciturn person. All he would say, before he left with his prisoner, was, 'I think I can be of
greater use to you elsewhere, Master Ramses. You will hear from me in due course.' As for
Aunt Evelyn, she says she has had the parasol for quite a long time. I have never seen her carry
it. It is like yours, Mama, very heavy and plain, not her usual little ruffled ones. I wonder why
she would have something like that if she never expected to need it? But that is another matter
we can discuss at a future time.
<>
<>"My paper tells me I must stop. Your loving son, Ramses.
<>
<>"P.S. I know that Papa is very busy with his excavations, but it would comfort me a great deal
to receive a message in his own hand."
<>

<>


Cyrus and I sat in silence for a few moments. Then he said, "Excuse me, Amelia. I will be right back."

When he returned he was carrying a bottle of brandy. I had a little sip. Cyrus had a little more.

"Comment," I said, "would be futile. Now let me read Evelyn's version."

But Evelyn made no reference to the events Ramses had described. After affectionate greetings and assurances that all were well, she explained that her chief reason for writing was to clarify in her own mind what might lie behind the mysterious events that had recently occurred.

My own poor powers of reasoning are so inferior to yours, dear Amelia, that I hesitate even to express thoughts that must long ago have been apparent to your clear, decisive mind. Yet I will venture to do so, in the hope that by sheer chance I may have stumbled on some notion that has not occurred to you.

I began as I believe you might have done, by asking how these terrible people could have learned the secret you were so careful to conceal. The story you gave out was plausible, so our enemies must have had sources of information not known to the public. Several possibilities have
occurred to me, I list them in the neat order you would approve.

1. One of us might unwittingly have betrayed information that could only have come from a visit to the place mentioned by Mr. Forth. You would never be indiscreet enough to do this, dear Amelia, search my conscience as I might, I can think of no occasion on which I might have done so. I do not wish to ask Walter, for the very idea that he might be responsible, however innocently, for the troubles that have befallen us would break his noble heart. Yet I wonder: Did he or Radcliffe speak in the articles they have written since your return, or to colleagues in archaeology, of things an expert might recognize as firsthand knowledge? The articles have not yet been published, but surely they have been read by the editors of the journals at least?

2. One of the officers at the military camp may have had more information about the matter than you realize. Had Mr. Forthright befriended any of them? Had they been shown the map? You mentioned that there were compass readings on it. I know little of such matters, but it would
seem to me that such precise details would arouse interest and intelligent speculation, particularly after you came back to Gebel Barkal with Nefret.


3. I hesitate to mention this, for it seems even more foolish than my other silly ideas, but I cannot help recalling the young man Nefret met at Miss Mclntosh's school. An individual whose
curiosity had already been aroused might seek her out with the intention of questioning her
about her experiences. As we all know, it is very difficult to avoid slips of the tongue, and an innocent child is particularly unwary. I wonder— I can put it no more strongly than that— I wonder if that fleeting acquaintance might not have been renewed, or an attempt made to do so,
if she had not already given him what he hoped to get? At my request she performed the Invocation to Isis for us one evening. (Do not fear, dear Amelia, I made certain she thought it
was only for our amusement.) Walter could not contain his excitement. He recognized some of
the phrases of the song, which he said were from an ancient ritual. And certainly no one could suppose that she learned that dance, or would have been permitted to perform it, at a Christian mission!

So I questioned her, with equal tact, I assure you, about the young man she called Sir Henry.
He had thick waving black hair, parted down the middle, a cavalry-style mustache, gray or pale-blue eyes and long lashes. He was of medium height and slender build, with a fair complexion and a rather pointed chin and narrow nose.

I know this description is too vague to be of much use (especially since, if my silly idea is right,
a disguise might have been employed}. However, I pass it on to you because another and very alarming thought has occurred to me. This person's failure to pursue the acquaintance with
Nefret might stem from the fact that he is no longer in England. Your recent communications
have attempted to reassure us, dear Amelia, but I know you very well, and I sense a formality
and stiffness that suggests you are concealing something from us. I would not urge you to
greater candor, I appreciate the tender affection that makes you reluctant to add to our concern. (Though I might add, my dear friend and sister, that speculation often conjures up fears far
worse than the truth.) Logic also forces upon me the conclusion that if the children have been threatened, you and Radcliffe must be in even greater peril. Pray take care! Curb your courageous propensity to rush headlong into danger! And try to restrain Radcliffe— though
I know that is no easy task. Remind him, as I remind you, that there are those to whom your health and safety are as important as their own. Chief among them is.

Your loving sister,

Evelyn.

Tears blurred my vision as I read the last lines. How blessed I was in such affection! And how I had underestimated Evelyn! Ramses's lecture on preconceptions had not been directed at me (at least I
trusted it had not), but everything he had written about himself could as well be applied to me. And I,
of all people, ought to have known better. Had I not seen Evelyn coolly confront the hideous mummy? Had I not heard her accept an offer that made every nerve quiver with revulsion in the hope that by
doing so she could save those she loved? I was as guilty of prejudice against my own sex as the blind, biased men I had condemned.

Evelyn had not said a word about her adventure. Instead she had bent all her efforts on trying to find
an answer to the mystery. The analysis was brilliant,- the mind that had composed it was as keen as
my own.

Cyrus had been rereading Ramses's letter. Sensitive to every change in my expression, he said gently, "What is it, Amelia? Some bad news Ramses did not mention? I find it difficult to believe he could or would omit anything, but— "

"In that assumption you are correct. Evelyn is far more considerate of my feelings than is my son." I folded the letter and slipped it into my pocket. Let it rest there, against my heart, to remind me of my good fortune and my shame!"

"I hope you will forgive me for not sharing this with you, Cyrus," I went on. "It was the tender expressions of affection it contains that brought the tears to my eyes."

I was more than ready to follow his advice that I seek my couch, for it had been a tiring day. Never has fatigue prevented me from doing my duty, however. I first inspected my patient, whose condition was unchanged, and then went in search of Bertha. The sooner I could find a suitable establishment for her, the better, it really was a nuisance having to play chaperone as well as perform my other duties.

Somehow I was not surprised to find her sitting by the dying fire, talking with Kevin. Knowing he would be all the more determined to speak to her if I made a mystery of her identity, I had simply described
her as another victim of the villain who had attacked Emerson. I had expected Kevin would seek her out. No journalist could resist the mysteriously veiled, seductively gliding figure, and victimized women are particularly popular subjects. I could have composed the heading for his story myself, the words "love-slave" would undoubtedly appear. In the private pages of this journal I will admit that I was willing to throw poor Bertha to this Hibernian wolf of the press if her story would distract him from other
aspects of the case.

However, there was no reason why I should go out of my way to accommodate Kevin, so I interrupted the discussion and sent Bertha off to bed. "You had better do the same, Kevin. We rise at dawn and it will be a long day."

"Not for me," said Kevin with a lazy smile. "We detectives keep our own hours. Wandering to and fro, questioning this one and that—"

"You will not be wandering. You will be with me, so I can keep my eye on you."

"Ah well, it was worth a try," Kevin murmured. "While I am with you, Mrs.— Miss Peabody, you can
tell me all about your daring rescue of the professor. It's bound to come out, you know," he added with
a challenging smile. "Even now some of my more enterprising colleagues are interviewing various citizens of Luxor. From what I have heard, you cut rather a wide swath. Wouldn't you rather have the true facts published than the exaggerated fantasies some of my associates— "

"Oh, be quiet and go to bed," I snapped.

He went off, crooning some sentimental Irish melody in a way that was calculated to annoy me. When
I reached my own tent, Bertha was already asleep, or pretending to be. I fully intended to ask her what she had talked about with Kevin, but at that time I had other matters on my mind. Having sought my couch, I had at last leisure to consider what Evelyn had proposed.

Her first two suggestions I had myself considered. The third, I confess, I had not, and chagrin threatened to overcome me when I realized how stupid I had been. That a young gentleman should appear at the school on the very day Nefret was expected there, and that he should insist on meeting some of the scholars—it was highly suspicious, and I could not think why I had not seen it at the time Was it possible that maternal instincts I had never supposed I possessed had clouded my normally clear intellect?

Highly unlikely, I decided.

Evelyn's incisive outline had made clear to me something else I ought to have realized much earlier. No single suspicious circumstance but a combination of many— a piling up of confirmatory evidence— would be strong enough to induce an enemy to act with such violence and persistence. He might have been alerted in the first place by remembering a conversation with Willoughby Forth, who appeared to have babbled to every archaeologist in Egypt. Skillful questioning of the officers of the Sudan Expeditionary Force would add additional evidence. Greatly as I shrank from holding Walter culpable in the least degree, I had had to caution him more than once to be careful of appearing to know more than he should. He had several friendly rivals in the philological game, had he dropped hints to Frank Griffith, or another, that he was about to make a miraculous breakthrough in the decipherment of Meroitic? Griffith was honest, I had never suspected him,- but he might have spoken of the matter to someone else.

Having by such means established a possibility, the villain would seek further confirmation— and what better source than Nefret herself? She was not nearly so naive and helpless as Evelyn believed, but Evelyn's view was shared— as Nefret had herself pointed out— by society. There were a number of ways in which an acquaintance thus begun might be continued, if all else failed, the good old reliable "accident outside the gates of the park" might serve How surprised the injured young gentleman would
be to recognize the charming girl he had met at Miss Mclntosh's! How reluctant he would be to impose
on our kindness! How gratefully he would accept my ministrations, the friendly attentions of the dear children!

It had not been necessary. Evelyn had hit the nail on the head. I had seen Nefret perform the Invocation to Isis, and there was no way on earth she could have learned it from a family of missionaries, or even
in a native village while under the supervision of such a family. It would take a trained scholar to recognize its origins— but that was true of the other evidence as well.

Yet still our deadly foe had held his hand until he discovered the final proof— objects, artifacts, that
could only have come from a place such as Willoughby Forth had postulated. He must have searched
our rooms in Cairo and found the scepters. The attacks on us had not begun until after we had been
in the city for several days.

Evelyn— my dear, sweet Evelyn, whose intelligence I had so sadly underrated— had been right in
every particular. The villain was no longer in England. He was in Egypt— in our very camp. I had
known there was a traitor among us. Now I knew who he was.

*  *  *

"Charlie?!"

I had been waiting for Cyrus when he emerged from his tent next morning—at a discreet distance, of course, lest I embarrass him by inadvertently observing his ablutions. The pleased smile with which he had greeted me vanished as he listened to my explanation, and the name burst from him with the force
of incredulity.

"He is new with you this season, Cyrus. You had not known him before."

"No, but ... I know his father, his family. I wouldn't hire a fellow without— "

"He may be the true Charles H. Holly. Engineers and archaeologists are no more immune to greed
than members of other professions."

"May be the true . . . Excuse me, Amelia, sometimes I have a doggone hard time following your train
of thought. You surely don't suspect Charlie of being your Master Criminal in disguise?"

"It is possible, but unlikely. I doubt that Sethos would dare face me again. I could not be in his presence for long without penetrating any disguise he might assume." I added, with some asperity— for his
skeptical expression annoyed me— "My reasons for suspecting Charles have nothing to do with Sethos. He fits the description of a man whom I have reason to believe— "

"Uh-huh. So you said. You want to run through that again, my dear? I am afraid I didn't follow you
the first time."

So I ran through it again, and finished by reading the description Evelyn had given.

"But— but," Cyrus stuttered, "that description doesn't match Charlie in any particular. It sounds more
like Rene. Not that I believe he— "

"That is the point, Cyrus. 'Sir Henry' was obviously disguised He would take care to change those
aspects of his appearance when he came to us— the color of his hair, the mustache The long chin and narrow nose match Charlie's, and Charlie is approximately the same age."

"Jimminy," Cyrus muttered. "How many men that age have long chins and narrow noses, do you suppose? Two million? Five million?"

"But only one of them is here," I cried impatiently. "And one of us is a spy for Sethos! Consider that
not only was our food drugged, but that the ambush set for me yesterday must have been arranged by one who anticipated I would follow that path. He must have read the note from Kevin and realized I would respond as soon as I was able."

"An assumption that would certainly be made by anyone who had the honor of your acquaintance,"
said Cyrus, stroking his chin. "My dear girl, I am not denying there may be something in what you say.
But you would be the first to agree I cannot condemn a man on such equivocal evidence."

"I am not suggesting we hold a marsupial court— "

"I beg your pardon?" said Cyrus, staring.

"It is an American term, I believe? Having to do with illegal trials?"

"Oh. Kangaroo court, you mean?"

"No doubt. You know me better, I hope, than to suppose I would leap to unwarranted conclusions or subvert the principles of British justice In fact, I am inclined to agree that we ought to let him go on believing he is not under suspicion. Sooner or later he will betray himself and then we will have him!
And perhaps his leader as well. An excellent idea, Cyrus. He will have to be watched closely, of course."

"I guess I could manage that," Cyrus said slowly.

"I am glad we are in agreement. Now go and get your coffee, Cyrus. You appear a trifle sluggish this morning No offense taken, I hope?"

"None in the world, my dear. You will join me for breakfast, I hope?"

"First I must see how Mohammed is getting on. I confess I find myself postponing that task, his very presence— not to mention the varied insect life that pervades his person— makes my skin crawl. And don't suggest, Cyrus dear, that I leave the disgusting duty to another. That is not my way. Besides, it is possible that he may be able to speak today and I trust no one else to question him."

"I long ago gave up trying to talk you out of anything you had set your mind on," said Cyrus, smiling. "Your sense of duty is as remarkable as your boundless energy. Do you want me to come with you?"

I assured him it was not necessary, and he went off, shaking his head. It had become a habit of his recently.

I stopped outside the shelter to speak with the guard He was one of Cyrus's crew, a stocky, dark-skinned fellow with the aquiline features that spoke of Berber or Touareg blood. Like the desert men, he wore a khafiya or headcloth instead of a turban. He assured me he had looked in on Mohammed at regular intervals during the night and had found no change.

Yet as soon as I pushed the curtained hanging aside I realized that there had been a change—the most final change of all. Mohammed lay in the same position in which I had last seen him, flat on his back, with his mouth ajar and his eyes half-closed. But now no breath of air stirred the bristling hairs of his beard, and blood had issued from his mouth to stain the bandages around his jaws a rusty brown.

CHAPTER 13

"Superstition has its practical uses."

"Sitt Hakim," said a voice behind me. "Will you admit this case is beyond even your skill?"

It was Emerson, of course, speaking in the annoying drawl that indicates he is trying to be sarcastic.
I turned, holding the curtain aside.

"He is dead," I said. "How did you know?"

"It requires very little medical expertise to realize that a man cannot live long with a knife in his heart."

I had not seen the shaft of the knife till then, I was a good deal more shaken than I would have admitted, especially to Emerson. "Not his heart," I said. "The knife is in the center of his chest. Many people make that mistake. The blade may have pierced a lung. A man in his condition would not survive even a slight wound."

Squaring my shoulders, I started toward Mohammed. Emerson pushed me rudely aside, and bent over
the body. I made no objection. Revolting as Mohammed had been in life, he was even more disgusting
dead. After a few moments I heard a nasty sucking sound and Emerson straightened, the knife in his hand.

"He has only been dead for a few hours. The blood has dried, but there is no sign of stiffening in the
jaw or extremities. The knife is the kind most of the men carry, with no distinctive features."

"We must search the place," I said firmly. "Let me pass. The killer may have left some clue."

Emerson took my arm and pushed me out of the shelter. "When you own a dog you are not supposed
to bark, Peabody. Where is your tame detective?"

He was sitting by the fire with the others, calmly drinking tea Surprise— and that short-lived— rather than horror was the general response to Emerson's terse announcement that Mohammed was no more. Charlie appeared to be as astonished as anyone, which only confirmed my suspicions. If a spy and a traitor does not learn how to counterfeit emotion convincingly, he does not last long in his profession.

Cyrus was the only one to comprehend instantly the seriousness of the blow "Doggone it! Don't feel
bad, my dear, you did all you could. A serious injury like that— "

"Even the great Sitt Hakim's talents could not have prevailed in this case," said Emerson. He had been holding the knife behind him, now he tossed it onto the ground. "Mohammed was murdered— and not
by me. In the dark of night the deed was done, with that knife."

The others eyed the weapon as if it had been a snake coiled to strike Charlie was the first to speak
"Then then he was deliberately silenced! This is horrible! It means there is a traitor among us!"

He did it very well, I must say.

"We knew that," Emerson said impatiently. "And now that it is too late, we know that Mohammed
was a danger to him or to his leader. How the devil did the killer get past your guard, Vandergelt?"

"I am going to find out pretty quick," said Cyrus grimly.

"Mr. O'Connell will wish to accompany you," said Emerson, as Cyrus got to his feet

Kevin was not at all anxious to volunteer. "At least let me finish my breakfast," he pleaded. "If the
fellow is dead, he can wait a few more minutes."

"You lack the dogged zeal that is supposed to characterize your profession, Mr. O'Connell," said Emerson. "I had expected you would be on fire to examine the body, study the ghastly face, probe
the wound, search the bloodstained garments, crawl around the floor looking for clues. The fleas and
lice and flies won't bother a man of your hardened nerve, but do watch out for scorpions."

Kevin's face had gone a trifle green. "Stop that, Emerson," I ordered. "Come, Kevin. I will go with you."

"Chacun a son gout," remarked Emerson, taking a chair and reaching for the teapot.

As I had expected, Kevin was of no help at all. After one glance at Mohammed's motionless form he hastily turned his back and began scribbling in his notebook while I crawled around the floor and carried out the other actions Emerson had suggested. I did allow myself to omit one, probing the wound was not necessary, since the stains on the knife blade were sufficient indication of how deeply it had penetrated.

While I searched for clues Cyrus was interrogating the guard. I heard most of what was said, for Cyrus's voice was rather loud and the guard's voice rose in volume as he defended himself. He stoutly denied
that anyone had approached during the night. Yes, he might have dozed off,  no one had relieved him, and a man could not do without sleep indefinitely. But his body had blocked the entrance to the shelter and he swore he would have sprung instantly awake if anyone had tried to pass him.

"Never mind, Cyrus," I called. "The killer did not enter that way. Come here and see."

The slit in the canvas wall would have escaped my notice had I not been searching for something of the sort. It had been made by a very sharp knife— probably the same one that had penetrated Mohammed's scrawny chest.

"The killer would not even have to enter," I said. "Only insert an arm and strike. He must have known exactly where Mohammed's pallet was placed. And I had left a lamp burning, so that the guard could
see inside. It was a waste of time looking for clues here Let us see if he left footprints outside."

But of course he had not. The ground was too hard to take prints.

I dismissed Kevin, who was very glad to go. Taking Cyrus's arm, I held him back and let Kevin draw ahead.

"Now will you take the precaution I suggested?" I hissed. "Charlie must be put under restraint! You
were willing to take such measures with Kevin— "

"And still am," Cyrus said grimly. "Archaeology is not the only profession whose members may be seduced by greed."

I believe I gasped aloud. "You don't mean— "

"Who would know better than the man who sent it that you had received an invitation you wouldn't resist? I thought from the start there was something funny about that, a die-hard like O'Connell would
be more likely to sneak up on you than ask you to come to him. He practically goaded you into bringing him here, and now you see what has happened— the first night after he arrived."

"No," I said. "Surely not Kevin!"

It was not the first time those words had burst from my lips. Kevin could not have heard them, but at
that very moment he turned his head and looked back. It might have been my overstrained nerves, it might have been the distorted angle at which I saw him, but on his face was a sly, secretive expression more sinister than any I had seen on that countenance before.

Ineptly assisted by Kevin, I interrogated the others in an attempt to establish alibis. I did not expect
useful results, and I got none. Everyone claimed to have slept the sleep of the innocent and weary, and denied they had heard anything unusual. Charles swore Rene could not have left the tent they shared without awakening him, Rene swore the same about Charles That meant nothing. I could— and did—
say the same about Bertha. But the dastardly deed could have been accomplished in five minutes or less, and innocent or guilty, we had all been tired enough to sleep soundly.

Emerson watched me with a sour amusement he made no attempt to conceal. At last he said, "Satisfied, Miss Peabody? I could have told you this was a waste of time. Does anyone save myself intend to do
any work today?"

Taking this for the order it undoubtedly was, Rene and Charles followed Emerson's example, and Emerson. So did the cat.

My spirits were rather low as I prepared my equipment— notepad and pencils, measuring rule and water flask, candles and matches. If the day went on as it had begun, I did not know how I could bear it. Emerson had returned to calling me MISS Peabody. He had not requested my assistance that day.
Instead of progressing toward that greater understanding for which I had hoped, we were farther apart than before.

Mohammed's death, before he could speak, was discouraging too.

If I had needed anything else to lower my spirits, the knowledge of where we were working that day would have done the job. Cyrus was determined to investigate the new tomb. It had not been mentioned by any of the earlier visitors to the wadi, so it could truly be called unknown, and nothing fires the imagination of an excavator so much as the hope of being the first to enter such a sepulcher. To be sure, the place had obviously been known to Emerson, but as Cyrus dourly remarked, "That son of a gun knows a lot more than he's saying about a lot of things. He doesn't think there's anything worth finding
or he'd have dug into the place himself a long time ago. But he's not the last word, consarn him! There's bound to be something there."

I had not told him of my discovery. The ring bezel was in my pocket even at that moment. I seemed to feel it pressing against my breast— which was nonsense, because it was very small and light. Had I followed the dictates of my archaeological conscience, I would have left it behind, safely enclosed in a box labeled with the location and date of the discovery. I cannot explain or defend the idle fancy that told me I must keep it close, like an amulet warding off danger.

The old demonic, animal-headed gods of Egypt had been proscribed by the heretic king, but it is easier
to pass edicts than enforce them when that which is forbidden appeals to passionate, deep-seated human needs and desires. Our earlier excavation had turned up evidence that the common people had not abandoned their beloved household gods. Sobek was a crocodile god whose chief center of worship was in the Fayum, far to the north. It was the first time any representation of him had been found at Amarna, but his presence was no more surprising than that of Bes, the grotesque little patron of matrimony, and Thoueris, who protected pregnant women. But for me to come upon the crocodile god's image there, after narrowly escaping another deadly threat... Is it any wonder superstition fought with reason in my mind?

First the snake, now the crocodile. Did the third fate still threaten us? If the traditions of myth and
folktale held true, it would be the most dangerous of all.

*  *  *

The men had to spend most of the day clearing the tomb entrance, which was choked with fallen rocks. Some were of considerable size, and the sloping scree had been hardened by repeated flooding and drying into the consistency of cement. It was I who pointed out to Cyrus that we must sift through this debris. Water must have poured into the tomb through the opening above, and through other apertures as yet undisclosed, on more than one occasion, and objects might have been flushed out onto the slope.

Only Cyrus's good manners— and, I would like to believe, his respect for my professional expertise— prevented him from objecting vigorously to this procedure, for it took a great deal of time. It was late
in the day before the wisdom of my methods was proved. The broken fragment we discovered would certainly have been overlooked by careless excavators.

It was only a piece of alabaster (more properly calcite), five centimeters long and apparently shapeless. The credit for recognizing its importance must go to Feisal— who, of course, had been trained in my methods. He brought it to me, smiling in anticipation of praise. "There is writing on it, Sitt. You see
the hieroglyphs."

The excitement that suffused every inch of my being when I read those few signs was enough to overcome, for the moment at least, all other considerations. Summoning Cyrus with a piercing cry, I indicated the broken inscription. " The king's great wife Neferneferuaten Nefertiti.' It is part of a
shawabti, Cyrus— a shawabti of Nefertiti!"

"A ushebti?" Cyrus snatched it from me. I forgave him this momentary lapse of courtesy/ like myself,
he understood the import of the words.

Ushebtis, or shawabtis, were strictly funerary in nature. They were images of the dead man (or woman), animated in the afterlife to perform services for him and work in his stead. The wealthier an individual, the more of these little statues he possessed. Fragments of many ushebtis bearing the name of Akhenaton had turned up, Emerson had found three more the previous day, in the royal tomb But this was the first
I had seen or heard of with the name of the queen.

"By the Almighty, Amelia, you're right," Cyrus exclaimed. "It's the lower legs and part of the feet of a ushebti. It can't have come from the royal tomb . ."

"That is not necessarily true." Some scholars, I regret to say, concoct fantastic theories from inadequate evidence, but I have never been prone to this weakness and I felt I must caution Cyrus against overen-thusiasm.

"Broken fragments of Akhenaton's funerary equipment, including ushebtis, must have been thrown out
of his tomb," I went on. "And a violent flood could have washed them some distance down the wadi.
But this was not part of bis tomb furnishings. Her name appears on many objects along with his, but ushebtis were designed and named only for the dead person."

Cyrus held the battered fragment as gently as if it had been solid gold. "Then this must have come from her tomb. This tomb!"

"No," I said regretfully. "I think not. If she had a separate tomb it would surely have been nearer his. From what little we have seen of this one, it is small and unfinished. However, this is a remarkable discovery, Cyrus. I congratulate you."

"The credit goes to you, my dear."

"And Feisal."

"Oh, sure." Cyrus gave Abdullah's son a hearty slap on the back "Big baksheesh for you, my friend.
Even bigger if you turn up any more pieces like this."

However, by the time sunset forced an end to the work, nothing more of interest had been discovered. The frustration of his hopes put Cyrus in a bad temper, though I must say it was a model of saintly forbearance compared to the demonstrations of which Emerson was capable. "I'm sure tired of trying to wash in a cupful of water," he grumbled, as we trudged along the dusty path. "If I don't get near a tub pretty soon, I won't be fit company for a mule, much less a lady."

"The lady is in no better case," I said with a smile. "I confess that of all the inconveniences of camping out, the absence of adequate means of ablution vexes me most. Unless I have lost count, tomorrow is Friday, the men will want their day of rest, so I presume Emerson intends to return to the river."

"You can't take anything for granted where that bullheaded billy goat is concerned," Cyrus said picturesquely.

I promised to see what I could do to convince Emerson. I hope no one will suppose that it was a lack of Spartan fortitude that made me favor a reprieve from our labors. A lady likes to be fresh and dainty at all times, and a lady who is attempting to win the heart of a gentleman cannot feel much confidence in her success when she looks like a dusty mummy and smells like a donkey. However, those were not my reasons (at least I think they were not) for wishing to leave the royal wadi. The place was beginning to oppress me. The rocky walls seemed to have edged in closer, the shadows were deeper. I had crawled
on hands and knees through dusty tunnels and squirmed through holes scarcely large enough to admit
my body without ever feeling the sense of claustrophobia that afflicted me now.

The others had returned from their work, so I went off to look for Abdullah. He and our other men had their own little camp, they were frightful snobs (as they had some reason to be, since they were the most sought-after trained workers in the country) and always refused to hobnob with lesser men. I had brought along my medical kit and when I saw the delighted smiles that greeted me I felt ashamed that I had not taken the time to fahddle with them, or even ask whether they needed attention.

I felt even more ashamed when they displayed a variety of minor injuries, ranging from a mashed finger to a bad case of ophthalmia. After I had washed out Daoud's eyes with a solution of boracic acid, and tended the other injuries, I scolded them for not coming to me at once.

"Tomorrow we will return to the river," I said. "My medical supplies are low, and we all need rest."

"Emerson will not go," said Abdullah gloomily.

"He will go willingly, or rolled in a rug and carried on our backs," I said.

The men grinned and nudged one another, and Abdullah's dour face brightened a trifle. But he shook
his head. "You know why he came here, Sitt."

"Certainly I know. He hoped to entice our enemy into attacking him again, so that he could catch the fellow. So far only half that brilliant plan has succeeded. We have been attacked twice— "

"Not we, Sitt Hakim. You."

"And Mohammed. That is three attempts, and we are no nearer a solution than before."

"It has made Emerson very angry," said Abdullah. "He did very foolish things today, even more foolish than is his custom. Once he almost escaped me. Fortunately Ali saw him slip away and followed him.
He was almost at the end of the wadi before Ali came up to him."

"What was he doing?" I demanded.

Abdullah spread his hands out and shrugged. "Who can follow the thoughts of the Father of Curses? Perhaps he hoped they were waiting to find him alone."

"All the more reason why we must persuade him to leave this place," I said firmly. "It is too dangerous.
I will go now and find him."

"I will have the rug ready, Sitt," said Abdullah.

Emerson was not in his tent. It was getting dark, night gathered in the narrow cleft like black water
filling a bowl. Stumbling over stones and swearing under my breath (an indication, if any were needed, that my state of mind was far from the calm that ordinarily marks it), I finally smelled tobacco and made out the red glow of his pipe. He was sitting on a boulder some distance from the fire. At first I took the dark shape at his feet for another rock. Then its outlines shifted, like shadows moving.

"Get up at once, Bertha," I said sharply. "A lady does not squat on the ground."

"I did offer her a rock," said Emerson mildly. "So spare me the lecture I feel sure you were about to deliver. She was in need of comfort and reassurance, as any normal female would be under these circumstances. You would not expect an English gentleman like myself to turn away a lady in distress."

"She might have come to me." I fear my tone was still a trifle critical. "What is the matter, Bertha?"

"How can you ask?" She continued to crouch at his feet, and I thought she pressed closer to him, if that were possible. "He is out there, watching and waiting. I can feel his eyes upon me. He is toying with me, like a cat with a mouse. Your guards are useless, he can come and go as he likes, and when he wishes to strike at me, he will." She rose to her feet and stood swaying. Even in the dark I could see the agitated trembling of her draperies. "This is a horrible place! It closes in around us like a giant tomb, and every rock, every crevice hides an enemy. Are you made of ice or stone, that you cannot feel it?"

I would have slapped her soundly across the cheek if I had been able to locate that part of her body precisely. Reaching out blindly, I took hold of some part— an arm, I believe— and shook it vigorously. "Enough of that, Bertha. None of us is pleased to be here, but an exhibition of unwomanly hysteria
won't help matters."

A voice from the dark repeated, "Unwomanly?"

Ignoring it, I went on, "You will only have to endure one more night here. We are leaving tomorrow."

"Do you mean it? Is it true?"

Emerson must have inadvertently inhaled a quantity of smoke. He began coughing violently. "Yes,"
I said loudly. "It is true. Now go and— and— oh, I don't care what the devil you do, only stop keening and wailing and getting everyone in a state of nerves."

She moved away, gliding over the uneven ground as easily as if she could see in the dark. Emerson had got his breath under control. He remarked, "Nothing seems to affect your nerves, MISS Peabody. Or your monstrous self-confidence. So you have decided we are leaving, have you?"

"Circumstances that should be apparent to any reasonable individual demand a brief interlude for rest
and reorganization. I cannot collate the rubbings and squeezes I made in the royal tomb under these conditions. The men are entitled to their day of rest, and I used most of my medical supplies on Mohammed, and furthermore . . Good Gad, why am I arguing with you?"

"It would be a departure for you to deign to explain your decisions," Emerson replied, in the same ominously mild voice. "I take it you have subverted Abdullah and the other men, as well as your
faithful follower Vandergelt? I cannot prevent you from doing as you like, but what is to stop me
from remaining here?"

"Abdullah and the other men, as well as my faithful follower Vandergelt," I replied smartly. "Now
come back to the fire. Don't sit here in the dark inviting someone to stab you in the back."

"I will sit where I like, MISS Peabody, for as long as I choose. Good evening to you."

*  *  *

No one tried to stab Emerson in the back, much to his disappointment, I felt certain. It was not long before he joined us at the fire I waited for him before making my announcement, since it is not my
habit to undermine his authority behind his back. Direct confrontation, and a brisk argument, saves
time in the long run, I had found.

The argument did not ensue, nor did the news of our departure produce the surprise and pleasure I
had expected. It appeared that everyone had taken it for granted.

"Friday is the Moslem holy day, after all," Charlie pointed out. "We figured an enlightened employer
like Mr. Vandergelt would be sympathetic to the rights of the laboring man and agree we were entitled
to the same " He gave his employer a cheeky grin.

Cyrus grunted, quite as Emerson might have done. Emerson did not even grunt.

I wondered what he was up to. A few moments of cogitation gave me an answer, however. He had
hoped to entice our enemy out into the open. So far that enemy had declined to take the challenge,
as any sensible person would. He had sent hired bullies and spies to do the dirty work, and if he had
been on the scene it had been under cover of darkness. I doubted that he had. His modus operandi, if
I may employ a technical term, was based on the principle of leading his regiment from behind. He had not dared face Emerson until the latter was chained and helpless.

Impatience is one of Emerson's most conspicuous failings, and although "stubborn" is too mild a word
for him, he does not refuse to accept a conclusion when it is forced upon him. His stratagem had not succeeded, nor was it likely to. Of course I had realized this from the first, and if Emerson had been willing to listen to reason I would have told him so. He had not been willing to listen, the conclusion had now been forced upon him, and he was getting bored with fighting off attentions that distracted him from his archaeological work and yielded no effective results. The time had come to shift his ground.

At least, I reflected, it had not been a complete waste of time. The removal of Mohammed was a dubious blessing, I did not doubt Sethos could find as many scurvy assassins as he wanted. But we (I use the word editorially) had done some good work in the royal tomb, and gotten some ideas about promising sites for future excavation. Kevin was firmly in hand, not wandering around the country causing trouble, and whether Cyrus admitted it or not, which he did not, I knew that Charlie was the man to be watched.
I was glad I had not yielded to my first unthinking impulse and put him under arrest. Secret surveillence of his movements might lead us to his master.

Most consoling of all— dare I admit it?— was the fact that we had survived two of the frightful fates mentioned in the antique tale. I did not dare admit it to anyone else, for fear of being laughed at, but as you will see, dear Reader, a woman's instincts are keener to discern the mysterious workings of Fate
than is cold logic.

*  *  *

We were all in good spirits when we set out next morning. We were on foot,- since we were leaving the tents and much of our equipment behind, there was no need for donkeys Bertha's musical laugh echoed frequently from the rocky walls,- it held a note of anticipation that made me realize she was, after all, very young. Inured as I am to the hardships of desert travel, I found myself looking forward with great anticipation to a bath and a change of clothing. I had brought three of my working suits with me, all
were in a frightful state of dust and muss, for of course it had been impossible to rinse them out.

I felt as if some invisible burden had fallen from my shoulders when we emerged from the widening mouth of the wadi and saw the plain stretching out before us. Open air, sunlight, distance! They came
as an indescribable relief after those days of confinement. The sun was high and the desert quivered
with heat, but beyond it the cool green of the cultivation and the glitter of water refreshed the eyes.

Our path led along the north side of the low hills that enclosed the Eastern Village. No one suggested we stop to rest, though we had been walking for two hours, we were all anxious to press on Emerson had forged ahead, as was his infuriating habit, the cat clung to his shoulder, and Abdullah was close on his heels. Bertha and the two young men had fallen behind. I am sure I need not say that Cyrus was beside me as he always was.

Only our voices broke the stillness. Gradually, however, I became aware of another sound, sharp-pitched and monotonous as the mechanical ringing of a bell. It rose in volume as we approached the end of the ridge. Ahead and to the left I saw the wall of the little house Cyrus had caused to be built. The sound might have been coming from it.

Emerson heard it too. He stopped, cocking his head. Lowering the cat to the ground he turned, heading for the house.

The sun beat down on my shoulders and head with the force of an open fire, but a sudden chill permeated every inch of my body I had recognized the sound It was the howling of a dog.

I shook Cyrus off and began to run. "Emerson!" I shrieked "Don't go there! Emerson, stop!"

He glanced at me and went on.

Though Emerson dislikes displaying any of the softer emotions, he is as fond of animals as I. His
efforts on behalf of abused and threatened creatures do not attain the extravagance to which his son is unfortunately prone, but he had often interfered to rescue foxes from hounds and hunters. The cries of the dog suggested it was in pain or distress. They drew Emerson as strongly as they would have drawn me— had I not had cause to anticipate danger from such a source

I saved my breath for running. I can, when it is necessary, attain quite a rapid pace, but on this occasion
I believe I broke my own record. Emerson had reached the house before I caught him up. He paused,
his hand on the latch, and looked at me curiously.

"The creature has got shut up inside somehow. What is— "

Being unable to articulate for want of breath, I threw myself at him.

It proved to be an error, but one for which I may be excused, I think. I had not observed his fingers
had already pressed the latch.

Hearing our voices, the dog had begun hurling itself at the door. It burst open. Emerson staggered back against the wall, and I fell rather heavily onto the ground.

The pariah dogs of the villages are scrawny, starved creatures of indeterminate breed. They are not pets, but feral beasts who have good cause to fear and hate human beings. Those who survive the hardships
of early life do so because they are tougher and more vicious than their peers. And this one was mad.

It would have gone straight for Emerson's throat if I had not shoved him aside. Now it attacked the first object it saw— my foot. Bloody foam flew in pink flecks from its jaws as it sank its teeth into my boot, shaking it, gnawing it. My parasol was still in my hand I brought it down on the dog's head. The blow would have stunned an animal less frenzied. It only drove this one to a more furious attack.

Emerson snatched the parasol from me. Raising it over his head, he struck with all his strength. I heard the crack of bone and a last, agonized howl that will haunt my memory forever. The beast rolled over, thrashing and kicking. Emerson struck again. The sound was less sharply defined this time but equally sickening.

Emerson seized me under the arms and dragged me away from the body of the dog. His face was as white as the bandage on his cheek— whiter, if I must be accurate, for the bandage had got very dirty,
and he had refused my offer to change it that morning. Abdullah stood nearby, his knife in his hand.
He was as still as a statue, and he too had gone pale.

Kneeling beside me, Emerson reached up and took Abdullah's knife. "Start a fire," he said. Abdullah stared blankly at him for a moment, and then nodded.

There was fuel at hand, part of Kevin's supplies. I was vaguely aware of Abdullah's rapid movements,
but most of my attention, I confess, was focused on my boot, at which Emerson was slashing. The laces were knotted and sticky with saliva, and the part of the boot around the ankle had been torn to shreds.

"Don't touch it!" I exclaimed. "Your hands are always scratched and cut, an open wound—"

I broke off with a cry of pain I could not repress, as Emerson seized the boot in a savage grip and wrenched it off. Cyrus came round the corner of the house in time to hear my exclamation. Fury darkened his brow and he was, I think, about to hurl himself on Emerson when he saw the body of the dog. The color drained from his face as, with his usual quick intelligence, he grasped the significance of the scene.

"God in heaven!" he cried. "Did it— "

"That is what I am trying to ascertain, you damned fool," said Emerson, inspecting my dirty stocking
with the intense concentration of a scientist peering through a microscope. "Keep them back," he added, as the others hurried up, exclaiming in question and in alarm. "And don't touch the— "

The sound that issued from his lips was not a gasp or a groan. It was a muttered expletive. I had seen
it too— such a small rent, barely an inch long. But it was large enough to mean my death.

Carefully Emerson stripped the stocking off and took my bare foot in his hand.

It is not proper to be vain about one's personal appearance, and heaven knows I had little cause, but in the privacy of these pages I will confess I had always believed I had rather pretty feet. Small and narrow, with high arches, they had been described in appreciative terms by no less an authority than Emerson himself. Now he stared fixedly, not at the appendage but at the tiny scratch on my ankle. The skin had barely been broken. There were only a few drops of blood.

For a moment no one spoke. Then Abdullah said, "The fire burns well, Father of Curses." He held
out his hand. I thought it trembled a little.

Emerson gave him the knife.

If Ramses had been there, he would already have been talking. Kevin was almost as perniciously loquacious as my son, so I was not surprised when he was the first to break the silence. His freckles
stood out dark against the pallor of his face. "It is only the merest scratch. Perhaps the dog was not
mad. Perhaps— "

"If someone does not silence that babbling idiot of an Irishman I will knock him down," said Emerson.

"We cannot afford to take the chance, Kevin," I said. "I am going to sit up now— "

"You are not going to sit up now," said Emerson, in the same remote voice. "Vandergelt, make yourself useful. Put your knapsack under her head and see if you can locate a bottle of brandy."

"I always carry a flask of brandy," I said, fumbling at my belt. "For medicinal purposes, of course.
There is water in this other flask."

Emerson took the brandy from me and wrenched off the top. I swigged it down like a hardened drunkard, for unnecessary martyrdom is not something I court. I only wished I could drink enough of the horrid stuff to render myself intoxicated and unconscious, but I knew if I consumed it too quickly I would only be sick.

Better sick, drunk, or in pain than dead. Hydrophobia is inevitably fatal, and it would be difficult to think of a more unpleasant way in which to die.

When Abdullah returned, my head was already spinning and I was glad to lie back against the support Cyrus had prepared. He knelt beside me, his face a mask of sympathetic anguish, and took my hand in his. The blade of the knife glowed cherry-red with heat. Abdullah had wrapped a cloth around the handle Emerson took it from him.

It is quite an uncomfortable sensation, of course. Oddly enough the thing I minded most was the hiss and the stench of burning flesh Someone cried out. Most probably it was I.

When I recovered my senses I felt someone's arms holding me. They were not Emerson's, blinking blurrily, I saw him standing nearby, with his back turned.

"It is all over, dearest Amelia," said Cyrus, pressing me closer. "Over, and safe, thank God."

"Excellent," I said, and fainted again.

The next time I woke I did not need to look to know who carried me cradled in his arms. I had been unconscious for some time, for when I opened my eyes I saw palm fronds overhead. A chicken squawked and flapped. Emerson must have kicked it aside. That was not like him, he usually stepped over them.

"Awake, are you?" he inquired, as I stirred feebly. "Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on behaving in a womanly fashion."

I turned my head and looked up at him. Perspiration had run down his cheeks and dried, leaving tracks through the dust that smeared them. "You may put me down now," I said. "I can walk."

"Oh, don't be an ass, Peabody," was the irritable reply.

"Let me take her," pleaded Cyrus, close at hand as always.

"Not necessary. We are almost there."

"How do you feel, my dear?" Cyrus asked.

"Quite well," I murmured. "Well, but rather odd. My head seems to be disconnected from the rest of me. Make sure it doesn't float away, Cyrus. It is so useful, you know. For putting one's hat onto."

"She is delirious," Cyrus said anxiously.

"She is dead drunk," said Emerson. "Interesting sensation, is it not, Peabody?"

"Yes, indeed. I had no idea."

I was about to go on, explaining some of the effects I was experiencing, when I heard the sound of running feet and a voice cried out, "Emerson! O Father of Curses, wait for me! It is well. The dog
was not mad. She is safe, she will not die!"

Emerson's arms squeezed like a vise and then relaxed. He turned, and I saw Abdullah hurrying toward
us, waving his arms. He was grinning from ear to ear and every few steps he gave an absurd little hop, like a child skipping.

We had reached the center of the village. The procession that had followed us from the cultivation—
men and women, children, chickens and goats— gathered around. Life in these villages is very dull.
Any excitement draws a crowd.

"Well?" said Emerson coolly, as his foreman came panting up.

"There had been a stick wedged in its jaws to hold its mouth open," Abdullah gasped. "The fragments pierced deep when the stick finally broke. And this"— he displayed a filthy, blood-stiffened length of tattered cord— "tied tightly around its— "

"Never mind," said Emerson, glancing at me.

"How horrible!" I exclaimed. "The poor creature! Just let me lay my hands on that villain and I will—
oh, dear. Oh, dear, suddenly I don't feel at all well. Wrath, I expect, has weakened my . . . Emerson,
you had better put me down immediately."

*  *  *