Lion in the Valley (20 page)

Miss
Marshall drew a long breath of amazement. "You quite take my breath away,
Mrs. Emerson. What a thrilling tale!"

I
thanked her, and Emerson growled, "Mrs. Emerson's rhetorical style, I
fear, is influenced by her taste for third-rate romances. You left out all the
important details, Amelia. Ramses' daring rescue—"

"I
will elaborate at another time, Emerson. Here we are, at our little camp; I do
hope, Miss Marshall, that you will be comfortable."

Emerson
cheered up when he saw that the second, smaller tent had been placed some
distance from our own. "Out of hearing range" was, I believe, his
precise phrase. I got the girl settled nicely and returned to my spouse, who
had already retired. The interior of the tent was quite dark; but when I asked
Emerson to relight the lamp, he refused in such terms that I decided not to
pursue the subject.

"I
cannot see a thing, Emerson," I said, edging toward the spot where I
believed he must be.

"I
can't see you either, but I can hear you jingling," said Emerson's voice.
A hand closed over the folds of my trousers and drew me down.

"You
see?" said Emerson, after a while. "The visual sense is not necessary
for the activities I had planned for this evening. One might even argue that it
is an interference."

"Quite
right, my dear Emerson. Only, if you don't
mind, I would prefer to
remove the net and combs and pins from my hair myself. You have just put your
finger in my eye."

When
these and other encumbrances to conjugal fraternization had been removed,
Emerson drew me into his strong arms. Not wishing to discourage the sensations
of intense affection that had begun to develop, I unobtrusively freed one hand
long enough to draw a blanket over us. Once the sun goes down, the desert
nights are chilly. Also, I had not closed the flap of the tent. However, I felt
sure Miss Marshall had closed hers; Emerson had mentioned at least four times
that she must be sure and do so, for fear of the night air.

As
I have had occasion to remark earlier in the pages of this journal, I do not
share the prudish attitude of some self-appointed guardians of righteousness
concerning the relationship of married persons. I rejoice— nay, I glory in—the
depth of the regard Emerson and I have for one another. The fact that Emerson
is as attracted by my physical characteristics as he is by my character and my
spiritual qualities should, in my opinion, be a source of pride rather than
embarrassment.

I
will therefore state, candidly and without reserve, that I sensed a subtle
change in his behavior that night. It was more tempestuous and at the same time
oddly tentative. This may sound contradictory. It
was
contradictory. I
cannot account for it, I can only say that such was the case.

Sometime
later, after we had settled into our usual sleeping positions—Emerson flat on
his back with his arms folded across his breast like a mummified Egyptian
pharaoh, I on my side with my head against his shoulder—I heard him sigh.

"Peabody."

"Yes,
my dear Emerson?"

"There
is, if I am not mistaken, a foolish convention known as the language of
flowers."

"I
believe you are not mistaken, Emerson."

"What
do red roses mean in the language of flowers, Peabody?"

"I
have no idea, Emerson. Like yourself, I am sublimely indifferent to foolish
conventions."

"I
think I can guess, though," Emerson muttered.

"Emerson,
I cannot imagine why you should concern yourself about such a trivial and
meaningless matter when we have so many other important issues to discuss.
Several things happened today that I want to tell you about. I met a
gentleman—a very interesting and attractive individual—"

Emerson
rolled over and seized me in a fierce embrace. "Don't talk to me about
interesting gentlemen, Peabody. Don't talk at all!"

And
he proceeded to make it difficult, if not impossible, for me to do so, even if
I had been so inclined, which at that particular moment I was not.

Seven

W
hen we
returned to the house next day, we found another group of would-be workers
patiently waiting outside the gates. Ramses advanced purposefully on Enid, and
she fled into her room. Nemo was nowhere to be seen; but I had observed the
flutter of a ragged robe in the doorway of the donkey shed, so I went after
him.

Since
part of the roof was missing, I had no trouble noticing that Nemo had obeyed
only part of my orders. He was clean-shaven, and smelled of Pears soap; his
hair had been combed and flattened down with water, though drying strands
curled around his neck and brow. I reminded myself I must not forget to give
him a haircut.

I
asked why he had not put on his new suit. Instead of answering he countered
with another question. "Is there any reason why I should not wear native
costume,

Mrs.
Emerson? I am used to it now, and it is much more comfortable."

"You
can wear anything you like, so long as it is clean. I do not tolerate
slovenliness on my expeditions. Is that your only robe? Well, then, we will
wash it this evening, and while it dries I will cut your hair."

Mr.
Nemo made a face, like a little boy about to be given medicine, but he had
learned the futility of arguing with me. "I wonder if I might ask you for
a pair of blue spectacles, Mrs. Emerson. The blazing sun is hard on my
eyes."

"Don't
try to deceive me, Mr. Nemo. I know why you want the spectacles—you will find a
pair in the third box on the second shelf in the sitting room. You are ashamed
of having the young lady see you. Childish, Mr. Nemo. Very childish. You will
have to face her sooner or later."

"Not
if I can help it," Nemo muttered. "Mrs. Emerson, all this fuss about
washing and cutting hair is a waste of time. Shouldn't we be bending all our
efforts to finding the criminal you mentioned? Surely we would have a better
chance of spotting him in Cairo. I could return to my old haunts, and—"

"No,
no, Mr. Nemo. You have not the faintest idea of how to proceed. Leave that to
me, and follow my orders implicitly. Was there any disturbance last
night?"

"No,
all was quiet. But that news seems to disappoint you, Mrs. Emerson. Were you
hoping for another attack on your son?"

"I
am
disappointed; I was hoping for an attack— though not necessarily on
Ramses. Do you not see, Mr. Nemo, that we have not a hope of finding the man we
want among the teeming thousands of Cairo? The fellow is a master of disguise;
he might be anyone. Our
best hope is to wait for him to come to
us."

"You
mean we must sit and wait—indefinitely?" "Not indefinitely. Not long,
in fact. Sooner or later he will visit us; he has made his interest plain; and
I have a few ideas as to how to attract his attention. No, do not ask me what
they are; just leave it to me. Now I must be going. Remember—watch
Ramses!"

"With
all respect, Mrs. Emerson, I cannot imagine why you talk about the boy as if he
were some sort of monster. He seems a decent little chap—frightfully
long-winded—I don't believe I have ever heard anyone use so many confounded
polysyllabic words. Aside from that, he appears normal enough. Is there
something you haven't told me? Does he suffer from—forgive me—fits of
hereditary madness?"

"I
would hate to think it is hereditary," I said. "No, Mr. Nemo, Ramses
is quite sane—cold-bloodedly, terrifyingly sane. That is why he is so
dangerous. Let me give you a brief summary.... No, I have not the time. Even a
brief summary would take too long. Just watch him!"

When
we set out for the dig a short time later, Nemo mingled with the men. We had
taken on an additional dozen or so diggers and a like number of basket
children, who were to work with me. We separated our forces, Emerson leading
his crew to the Bent Pyramid, and I proceeding toward the smaller one.

This
structure was some sixty yards south of its larger neighbor and was obviously
part of the same complex. The precise function of the subsidiary pyramids was
still being debated. There were three of them attached to the Great Pyramid at
Giza, and others at other sites. For my part, I felt certain they had been
built for the principal consorts of the kings who were buried in the larger
pyramids. If I could find a mark or inscription mentioning
a
royal lady's name, I could prove my thesis.

I
studied the charming little ruin, trying to decide where to begin. I could not
determine its height, for not only was the drifting sand piled high around its
base, but the removal of the casing stones which had once covered its surface
like frosting on a cake had allowed it to slump like an overweight lady after
she has removed her corsets. The first thing was to remove the sand and clear
the four sides down to ground level.

Enid
trailed after me like a dog who is afraid to lose his master. As I proceeded, I
explained to her what I was doing and why. "I have decided to begin with
the north face, since it is more likely that the funerary chapel would be on
the side closest to the principal monument. That hollow to the west will be our
dump site. We don't want to cover up any other tombs, and I see no evidence of
such a thing there. Here, on this plan, which has been mapped and surveyed, I
am indicating the area we will be excavating. It is marked out in squares of
ten feet by ten.... Miss Marshall, you are not paying attention. You will give
yourself away sooner or later if you don't learn to make noises like an
Egyptologist."

"Why
not sooner, then? This is hopeless, Mrs. Emerson. Perhaps the best thing for me
to do is to turn myself in. What good am I doing here?"

"Faint
heart never won... anything, my dear," I said, amending the quotation as
the situation demanded. "I am surprised to see you give up so soon."

"But
it is hopeless!"

"Not
at all. Kalenischeff—did I mention this?—was a member of the Master Criminal's
gang. He was murdered, if not by that man's hand, by his orders. All we have to
do—"

"Is
find this man—who, by your own admission, is
a master of disguise and
whose identity is unknown even to you—and force him to confess! You have your
own duties, Mrs. Emerson—your husband, your child, your work—"

"My
dear Miss Marshall, you underestimate me if you think I cannot carry on two or
more activities simultaneously. It is true that I am looking forward to solving
the mystery of this little pyramid, but that does not mean I cannot at the same
time put my mind to solving a mystery of another kind. I have several schemes
in mind—"

"What?"

It
was the second time someone had asked me that question, and I had to admit it
was a good question. "The less you know, the safer you will be," I
said. "Trust me."

"But,
Mrs. Emerson—"

"You
had better call me Amelia. Formality is absurd under these circumstances."

"My
name is Enid. It is my real name," she added, with a rueful smile.
"When I chose my nom de guerre, I took the chance of retaining my true
first name. It is hard to respond, with instinctive ease, to one that is
unfamiliar."

"Good
thinking. You see, you have a talent for deception that is worth cultivating.
But please don't employ it when you tell me about your cousin."

Enid
started violently. "Who?"

"Your
kinsman. Ronald—I forget his other name. Is he the sort of person who could
help us in our investigation?"

"Ronald!
I beg your pardon; I never think of him as a cousin, since the relationship is
so distant. No. Ronald is the last person on whom I would depend in time of
trouble. He is an amiable, empty-headed young man
who has never done a
useful day's work in his life, or employed his brain for anything more
demanding than totaling up his gambling debts."

"He
sounds a most unattractive person."

"No,"
Enid said. "Physically he is quite handsome; he has an engaging manner and
can be the most amusing companion in the world."

"But
you don't want me to tell him where you are— reassure him as to your
safety?"

"Heavens,
no. I am sure Ronald is concerned about me—in so far as he is capable of being
concerned about anyone but himself. But I am equally certain he didn't put
himself out hurrying to Cairo. He has been in Egypt for some weeks, on—on
business.... Which he abandoned in order to go hunting in the Sudan."

An
indefinable but unmistakable change in her voice and look made me suspect she
was holding something back. As later events proved, I was correct, but I will
frankly admit—since candor is a quality I prize, and since my errors in
judgment are so infrequent as to be worthy of mention—that I was mistaken as to
the cause of her reticence. Young ladies often abuse a gentleman in whom they
have an intense personal interest. I assumed Miss Debenham was in love with her
cousin and was ashamed to admit it because she considered him unworthy of her
affection.

Delicacy,
therefore, prevented me from pressing the subject, and Enid made it even more
difficult for me to do so by reminding me that the men were waiting for my
command to begin digging.