The Mummy Case (18 page)

So the baroness had papyri. In my opinion that fact justified a visit. Emerson would not be pleased, though. I had lost John
to the missionaries and Ramses to the baroness, and I had committed my husband to a social call of the sort he particularly abominated. However, there was one mitigating circumstance. We would be alone in the house that afternoon, and I had no doubt I could persuade Emerson to do his duty.

Emerson was duly persuaded. He refused to wear proper evening dress, and I did not insist, for I had discovered that my red velvet gown was not suited to riding donkey-back. I put on my best Turkish trousers and we set off, accompanied by Selim and Daoud.

Bastet had been even more annoyed than Emerson to learn I had not brought Ramses back with me. We had shut her in one of the empty storerooms to prevent her from attending church with us; when I let her out she addressed me in raucous complaint and bolted out of the house. She had not returned by the time we left, nor had John.

"Something must be done about this nonsense, Amelia," Emerson declared, as we jogged northward. "I won't have John turning into a Brother of Jerusalem. I thought he had more intelligence. I am disappointed in him."

"He has not been converted by Brother Ezekiel, you booby," I said affectionately. "He is in love, and as you ought to know, intelligence is no defense against that perilous condition."

Instead of responding to this tender remark, Emerson only grunted.

It was another of those perfect desert evenings. A cool breeze swept away the heat of the day. The western sky was awash with crimson and gold, while the heavens above our heads had the clear translucence of a deep-blue china bowl. Golden in the rays of the setting sun, the slopes of the great pyramids of

Dahshoor rose like stairways to heaven. Yet the somber tower of the Black Pyramid dominated the scene. Because of its position it appeared as high or higher than the nearby southern stone pyramid.

We passed close by its base on our way to the riverbank. The ground was littered with chips of white limestone, the remains of the casing blocks that had once covered the brick core. The previous season de Morgan had uncovered the ruins of the enclosure wall and the funerary chapel next to the pyramid. A few fallen columns and fragments of bas-relief were all that remained above the surface of the ground. So much for futile human vanity; in a few years the relentless sand would swallow up the signs of de Morgan's work as it had covered the structures designed to ensure the immortality of the pharaoh. The site was deserted. De Morgan was staying at Menyat Dahshoor, the nearest village.

We rode on, following the lengthening shadow of the pyramid toward the river. Several dahabeeyahs rocked gently at anchor, but it was easy to distinguish that of the baroness, since the German flag flew at the bow. A freshly painted plaque displayed the vessel's name: Cleopatra. It was precisely the sort of trite, obvious name I would have expected the baroness to select.

A gentle nostalgia suffused me when I set foot on the deck. There is no more delightful means of travel than these houseboats; the Nile steamers of Mr. Cook, which have almost replaced them, cannot compare in comfort and charm.

The main salon was in the front of the boat, with a row of wide windows following the curve of the bow. The baroness's dragoman threw open the door and announced us, and we stepped into a chamber swimming with sunset light and furnished with garish elegance. A wide divan covered with cushions filled one end of the room, and upon it, in more than oriental splendor, reclined the baroness. Golden chains twined the dusky masses of her unbound hair, and golden bracelets
chimed when she raised a hand in greeting. Her snowy robes were of the finest chiffon; a heavy necklace or collar, of carnelian and turquoise set in gold, covered her breast. I assumed that the absurd costume was meant to conjure up the fabulous queen after whom the boat was named, but I could not help being reminded of the late and not much lamented Madame Berengeria, who had also affected ancient Egyptian costume, laboring as she did under the impression that she was the reincarnation of several long-dead queens. Poor Berengeria would have turned green with envy at the magnificence of the baroness's garb, for her bracelets were of pure gold and the collar around her neck appeared to be a genuine antiquity.

From Emerson, behind me, came sounds of imminent strangulation. I turned to find that his apoplectic gaze was fixed, not on the lady's ample charms, but upon another object. It was a handsome mummy case, gleaming with varnish, that stood carelessly propped against the grand piano like some outre parlor ornament. A table was covered with an equally casual display of antiquities—scarabs, ushebtis, vessels of pottery and stone. On another table were several papyrus scrolls.

The baroness began to writhe. After a moment I realized her movements were not those of a peculiar, recumbent dance, but merely an attempt to rise from the couch, which was low and soft. Succeeding in this, she swept forward to welcome us. Since Emerson made no move to take the hand she held under his nose, she snatched his. The vigorous shaking she gave it seemed to wake him from his stupor. His eyes focused in a malignant glare upon her conspicuous bosom, and he inquired, "Madam, do you realize the object you have slung across your chest is a priceless antiquity?"

The baroness rolled her eyes and covered the collar with ringed hands.
"Ach,
the monster! Would you tear it from my helpless body?"

"Not at all," Emerson replied. "Rough handling might damage the collar."

The baroness burst into a roar of laughter. "It is the truth,
what they say about Emerson the most distinguished. They have of you me warned, that you would scold—"

"For heaven's sake, madam, speak German," Emerson interrupted, his scowl deepening.

The lady continued in that language. "Yes, yes, everyone speaks of Professor Emerson; they have told me you would scold me for my poor little antiquities. M. de Morgan is not so unkind as you."

She proceeded to introduce the other guests. If she had deliberately selected a group designed to vex Emerson, she could hardly have done better—de Morgan, Kalenischeff (in faultless evening dress, complete with ribbon and monocle), Brother David, and three of what Emerson called "confounded tourists," from the other dahabeeyahs. The only memorable remark made by any of the tourists the entire evening came from one of the English ladies, who remarked in a languid drawl, "But the ruins are so dilapidated! Why doesn't someone repair them?"

The one person I expected to see was not present, and during a lull in the ensuing conversation I inquired of the baroness, "Where is Ramses?"

"Locked in one of the guest chambers," was the reply. "Oh, do not concern yourself, Frau Emerson; he is happily engaged with a papyrus. But it was necessary for me to confine him. Already he has fallen overboard and been bitten by a lion—"

"Lion?" Emerson turned, with a cry, from the granite statue of Isis he had been examining.

"My lion cub," the baroness explained. "I bought the adorable little creature from a dealer in Cairo."

"Ah," I said, enlightened. "Ramses was no doubt attempting to free the animal. Did he succeed?"

"Fortunately we were able to recapture it," the baroness replied.

I was sorry to hear that. Ramses would undoubtedly try again.

The baroness reassured my snarling husband. The bite had not been deep and medical attention had been promptly applied. It was tacitly agreed that we would leave Ramses where
he was until it was time to take him home. Emerson did not insist. He had other things on his mind.

These were, I hardly need say, the illicit antiquities collected by the baroness. He kept reverting to the subject despite the efforts of the others to keep the conversation on a light social plane, and after we had dined he finally succeeded in delivering his lecture. Striding up and down the salon, waving his arms, he shouted anathemas while the baroness grinned and rolled her eyes.

"If tourists would stop buying from these dealers, they would have to go out of business," he cried. "The looting of tombs and cemeteries would stop. Look at this." He pointed an accusing finger at the mummy case. "Who knows what vital evidence the tomb robber lost when he removed this mummy from its resting place?"

The baroness gave me a conspiratorial smile. "But he is magnificent, the professor. Such passion! I congratulate you, my dear."

"I fear I must add my reproaches to those of the professor." The statement was so unexpected it halted Emerson's lecture and turned all eyes toward the speaker. David continued, in the same soft voice, "Carrying human remains about as if they were cordwood is a deplorable custom. As a man of the cloth, I cannot condone it."

"But this poor corpse was a pagan," said Kalenischeff, smiling cynically. "I thought you men of the cloth were only concerned about Christian remains."

"Pagan or Christian, all men are the children of God," was the reply. All the ladies present—except myself—let out sighs of admiration, and David went on, "Of course, if I believed the remains were those of a fellow-Christian, however misled by false dogma, I would be forced to expostulate more forcibly. I could not permit—"

"I thought he was a Christian," the baroness interrupted. "The dealer from whom I bought him said so."

A general outcry arose. The baroness shrugged. "What is the
difference? They are all the same, dry bones and flesh—the cast-off garments of the soul."

This shrewd hit—it was shrewd, I admit—was wasted on David, whose German was obviously poor. He looked puzzled, and de Morgan said soothingly, in the tongue of Shakespeare, "No, there is no question of such a thing. I fear the dealer deceived you, Baroness."

"Verdammter pig-dog," said the baroness calmly. "How can you be sure, monsieur?"

De Morgan started to reply, but Emerson beat him to it. "By the style and decoration of the mummy case. The hieroglyphic inscriptions identify the owner as a man named Thermoutharin. He was clearly a worshiper of the old gods; the scenes in gilt relief show Anubis and Isis, Osiris and Thoth, performing the ceremony of embalming the dead."

"It is of the Ptolemaic period," said de Morgan.

"No, no, later. The first or second century A.D."

De Morgan's lean cheekbones flushed with annoyance at Emerson's dogmatic tone, but he was too much of a gentleman to debate the point. It was young David Cabot who peppered my husband with questions—the meaning of this sign or that, the significance of the inscriptions, and so on. I was surprised at his interest, but I saw nothing sinister in it—then.

Before long the baroness became bored with a conversation of which she was not the subject. "Ach!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands. "So much fuss over an ugly mummy! If you feel so strongly, Professor, you may have it. I give it as a gift. Unless Brother David wants to take it, to bury it with Christian rites."

"Not I," David said. "The professor has convinced me; it is pagan."

"Nor I," said Emerson. "I have enough damned—that is, er ... Give it to the Museum, Baroness."

"I will consider doing so," said the lady, "if it will win your approval, Professor."

I could have told her that her elephantine flirtatiousness
would have no effect on Emerson. Tiring finally of a game in which she was the only player, she invited her guests to view her new pet, which was kept in a cage on the deck. Emerson and I declined; and when the others had gone, I turned to my unhappy spouse. "You have done your duty like an English gentleman, Emerson. I am ready to leave whenever you are."

"I never wanted to come in the first place, Peabody, as you know. As I suspected, my martyrdom was in vain. The confounded woman has no demotic papyri."

"I know. But perhaps your appeals on behalf of antiquities will affect not only the baroness but the other tourists who were present."

Emerson snorted. "Don't be naive, Peabody. Let us go, eh? If I remain any longer in this storehouse of disaster, I will choke."

"Very well, my dear. As always, I bow to your wishes."

"Bah," said Emerson. "Where do you suppose that dreadful female has stowed our poor child?"

It was not difficult to locate Ramses. One of the baroness's servants stood on guard before the door. He salaamed deeply when he saw us and produced the key.

Darkness had fallen, but the room was well lighted by two hanging lamps. Their beams fell upon a table well supplied with food and drink, and upon another table that held a papyrus scroll, partially unrolled. There was no sign of Ramses.

"Curse it," Emerson said furiously. "I'll wager she neglected to nail the porthole shut." He pulled aside the drapery that concealed the aforementioned orifice, and fell back with a cry. Hanging from the wall, like a stuffed hunting trophy, was a small headless body culminating in shabby brown buttoned boots. The legs were quite limp.

Accustomed as I was to finding Ramses in a variety of peculiar positions, this one was sufficiently unusual to induce a momentary constriction of the chest that kept me mute. Before I could recover myself, a far-off, strangely muffled but familiar voice remarked, "Good evening, Mama. Good evening, Papa.

Will you be so good as to pull me in?"

He had stuck, in actuality, somewhere around the mid-section, owing to the fact that the pockets of his little suit were filled with rocks. "It was a singular miscalculation on my part," Ramses remarked somewhat breathlessly, as Emerson set him on his feet. "I counted on de fact, which I have often had occasion to establish t'rough experiment, dat where de head and shoulders can pass, de rest of de body can follow. I had forgotten about de rocks, which are interesting specimens of de geological history of—"

"Why did you not pull yourself back into the room?" I inquired curiously, as Emerson, still pale with alarm, ran agitated hands over the child's frame.

"De problem lies in my unfortunate lack of inches," Ramses explained. "My arms were not long enough to obtain sufficient purchase on de side of de vessel."

He would have gone on at some length had I not interrupted him. "And the papyrus?" I asked.