The Mummy Case (32 page)

"A half-truth at best. This village is no longer safe, child. Can't you persuade your brother to go elsewhere?"

The girl lifted her head. "You see what we are doing here, sir. Can we admit defeat—can we abandon these helpless infidels?"

I caught the eye of one of the infidels, who was peeking at us from behind a tree trunk. She gave me a wide impudent grin. I shook my head, smiling.

Emerson shook his head, frowning. "You are in danger, and I believe you know it. Is there no way... What is it, Peabody?"

"Someone is watching from the window of the house," I reported. "I saw the curtain move. Yes, curse it—the door is opening; he is coming."

"Curse it," Emerson repeated. "Don't get up, Miss Charity; listen to me. There may come a time when you need our help. Send to us, at any hour of the day or night."

Charity did not reply. Brother Ezekiel was almost upon us.

"Well, if it isn't the professor and his worthy helpmeet," he said. "What are you setting there for, Charity? Why don't you invite them to come in?"

Charity rose like a puppet pulled by strings. "I am neglectful," she said. "Forgive me, brother."

"Not at all," said Emerson, though the apology had not been intended for him. "We were just—er—passing by."

"You will come into my house," Brother Ezekiel said solemnly. "We will break bread together. Charity, summon Brother David."

"Yes, brother." She glided off, hands clasped, head bowed, and we followed her brother into the house.

I had always thought the expression "painfully clean" a figure of speech. The small parlor into which we were ushered
made me wince, it was so bare, so blazingly whitewashed, so agonizingly spare of comfort. A few straight chairs, a table upon which were several candles and a Greek New Testament; no rug on the floor nor cloth on the table nor picture on the wall, not even one of the hideous religious chromos I had seen in homes of other religious persons. The Brethren of the Holy Jerusalem appeared to take the Bible literally, including the injunction against graven images. The only attractive piece of furniture in the room was a bookcase; I was drawn to it as a person coming in from the cold is drawn to a fire. Most of the books were ponderous theological tomes in several languages, or collections of sermons.

We were soon joined by Brother David. I had not seen him for some time, and the change in him made me stare. His black suit hung loosely on his frame; the glowing marble of his skin had a sickly cast, and his eyes were sunk in their sockets. My inquiries after his health were sincere. He smiled unconvincingly. "Indeed, I am quite well, Mrs. Emerson. Only a little tired. I am not accustomed to the—to the heat."

I exchanged an expressive look with Emerson. We were now well into the winter season, and the climate was superb—cool enough after sunset to make a wrap necessary and pleasantly warm during the day.

Brother Ezekiel appeared to be in an unusually affable mood. Rubbing his hands, he declared, "Charity is getting the food ready. You'll have a bite with us."

"We cannot stay," I said. "We found the entrance to the pyramid this morning and our men are at work shoring up parts of the passageway that have collapsed. We ought to be there."

I had unconsciously turned to Brother David as I made this explanation; it was his colleague who replied, and his words explained some of his good humor. "Yes, we heard you had stopped digging at the cemetery. I'm glad you took my words to heart, friends. You committed a grievous error, but your hearts were not of adamant; you did right in the end."

Emerson's eyes flashed, but he can control his temper when
it serves his purpose. "Er—yes. Mr. Jones, we came to talk to you about a serious matter. There have been a number of distressing incidents, not only here but in our house."

"You are referring to the death of poor Brother Hamid?" David asked.

"In the past ten days," said Emerson, "there has been a murder, three burglaries, a fire here at the mission and another mysterious fire in the desert. I understand Miss Charity was also attacked."

"Some naughty child—" Brother David began.

"It was no child who broke into my son's room."

"Are you implying that these incidents are connected?" Brother David asked doubtfully. "How can that be? The criminal acts committed against you—and the baroness—have nothing to do with us. Our own small difficulties are of the sort we have come to expect; the hearts of those who wander in darkness are of flint, but eventually our gentle persuasion will—"

Emerson cut him off with a loud "Bah!" He went on, "I warned you before. I warn you again. The dangers that threaten us all may not be entirely of your making, but you are not improving matters by your intemperate behavior. Leave off attacking the priest, or find another place in which to employ your gentle persuasion."

Brother Ezekiel only smiled smugly and emitted a string of pompous references to truth, duty, salvation and the glorious crown of the martyr. The final item cast a deeper gloom over Brother David's morose countenance, but he remained silent.

Emerson turned to me. "We are wasting our time, Amelia. Let us go."

"I bear no malice," Brother Ezekiel assured him. "The meek shall inherit the earth, and I stand ready at all times to pour the refreshing water of salvation on the spirit of the haughty. You have only to ask and it will be given unto you, for there is no way to the Father but through me. Come to me at any hour, Brother Emerson."

Fortunately Emerson was at the door when he heard this
affectionate epithet, and I was able to propel him out with a hard shove.

We had not gone far when we heard footsteps, and turned to see Brother David running toward us.

"Do you really think we are in danger?" he panted.

Emerson's eyebrows rose. "What the devil do you suppose I came here for if not to warn you of that? It was not for the pleasure of Jones's company, I assure you."

"But surely you overestimate the peril," the young man persisted. "Brother Ezekiel's zeal sometimes overcomes his sense of caution. The saints of the Lord do not know fear—"

"But we weaker vessels do," Emerson said drily. "Don't be ashamed to admit it, Mr. Cabot."

"I am concerned," David admitted. "But I tell you, Professor, the incidents you mentioned cannot be the result of our labors here."

"What is your theory?" Emerson asked, watching him keenly.

David flung out his hands in a despairing gesture. "It can only be that, by an unhappy accident, we have stumbled into the midst of some sinister conspiracy."

"An interesting idea," said Emerson.

"But what can we do?"

"Leave," Emerson said tersely.

"That is impossible. Brother Ezekiel would never consent—"

"Then let him stay and roast," said Emerson impatiently. "Take the young woman and go. That idea does not appeal to you? Think it over. If common sense triumphs over your devotion to your leader, we will assist you in any way possible. But the decision must be yours."

"Yes, of course," David said unhappily. He stood twisting his hands, the very picture of guilt and indecision.

We walked back to the fountain, where we had left the donkeys. As we rode away Emerson said, "An interesting encounter, Peabody. Cabot knows more than he is telling. Would you care
to hazard a guess as to the nature of the guilty secret that lies hidden in his heart?"

"Nonsense, Emerson. It is not guilt but terror that affects him. He is suffering all the torments of cowardice—afraid to go and afraid to stay. I am sadly disappointed in the young man. What a pity that his manly face and figure do not indicate his real character."

"So that is the way your theories tend, is it?"

"I will say no more at the present time," I replied. "Let us assume, however, just for the sake of argument, that the missionaries are innocent but stupid. Your attempt at persuasion has failed, as I knew it would; do you intend to take any further steps to save them?"

"I suppose I might talk to Murch or another of the Protestant missionaries, and endeavor to find the home base of the Brothers of Jerusalem. Ezekiel's superiors ought to know what is going on here. But I have a feeling, Peabody, that other events are about to transpire that will make such a step unnecessary."

I felt the same. But neither of us knew how imminent were those events, or how dreadful would be their consequences, not only to the missionaries but to ourselves and those we held dear.

Though in one sense our visit had not borne fruit, it had not been entirely without value insofar as our criminal investigations were concerned. I had confirmed one of my suspicions. I wondered if Emerson's thoughts tended along the same line. He looked rather pleased with himself, so I was afraid they did. We were not so lucky with our second group of suspects. De Morgan was not in camp, and his men were sprawled in the shade, resting and smoking. Emerson's roar made them scramble to their feet. The foreman came running to greet us. He hung his head when Emerson began lecturing him, but said that the effendi had given them leave to stop work; it was the time of the midday rest period. The effendi had gone to visit the lady on the dahabeeyah.

"What lady?" I asked.

"You know her, Sitt. The German lady who was here before. She has returned. It is said," the headman added naively, "that she wishes to give the effendi much money for his work. Will you go there also, to get money from the lady?"

"No," Emerson said hastily.

"No," I agreed. "When will M. de Morgan return?"

"Only Allah knows, Sitt. Will you wait for him?"

"Shall we, Emerson?" I asked.

"Hmmm." Emerson rubbed his chin. "I think I will just have a quick look around. You might wait in the tent, Amelia."

"But, Emerson, I also want to—"

"You might wait in the tent of M. de Morgan, Peabody."

"Oh. Oh, yes. That is an excellent idea, Emerson."

It seemed like an excellent idea then, but it did not prove to be so, except in a negative sense. I discovered that M. de Morgan was a tidy man, which I had already suspected, and that his notes were not well organized, which I had also suspected. However, there was nothing in the notes, or in the packing cases that served as storage cupboards, that should not have been there. I had never considered de Morgan a serious suspect, of course.

I felt a little uncomfortable searching the place, but told myself that all is fair in love, war and detective work. I then put my head in the next tent, which was presumably occupied by Prince Kalenischeff, but it was even more barren of clues. In fact, it was bare. There was no sign of his personal possessions.

I found Emerson squatting by one of M. de Morgan's tunnels, peering into the depths and lecturing the foreman. "Look at this, Peabody," he cried. "He has hopelessly disturbed the stratification. How the devil the man expects—"

"If you have finished, we had better return," I said.

"That wall is almost certainly of the Old Kingdom, and he has cut straight through without... What? Oh yes. Let us be off."

The head man's dour expression lightened. He had been deprived of most of his rest period; he saw hopes of enjoying a part of it, at least.

"Where is the other gentleman?" I asked.

"The One with the Glass Eye? He is gone, Sitt. He sails with the lady tomorrow."

"Aha," said Emerson.

"Aha," I repeated.

We mounted our donkeys. "Thank goodness that is over," Emerson said. "I have learned what I needed to know and can wind this business up in short order."

"What did you learn from the foreman, Emerson?"

"What did you find in the tent, Peabody?"

"Slow down, if you please. I cannot talk or think while bouncing up and down on a donkey."

Emerson obliged. "Well? Fair is fair, Peabody."

"Oh, certainly, Emerson. But I have nothing to contribute. Only the fact that Kalenischeff has left, which I deduced from the absence of his luggage."

"Nothing suspicious among de Morgan's gear?"

"Not a thing."

Disappointment lengthened Emerson's face. "Ah, well, I feared it was too good to be true. He is making little headway with his excavations. No sign of the burial chamber, and the nearby private tombs have all been robbed—stripped of everything, even the mummies."

"I never really suspected him, Emerson."

"Neither did I, Peabody."

When we reached Mazghunah we found that work had stopped. The passage was in such poor condition it could not be dug out. Mohammed had narrowly escaped being buried alive when the shattered walls gave way; and, after he had examined the situation, Emerson commended Abdullah on his good sense in halting further attempts.

"I feared from the start this would eventuate," he told me. "We will have to clear the entire area and get at the chambers of the substructure from above. The superstructure has entirely disappeared, except for that small mass of brickwork on the north side. Apparently the subterranean passageways have collapsed; you saw how the ground above has sunk in."

"I am sure you are right, Emerson."

"My heartfelt apologies, Peabody. I know how you love crawling on your hands and knees through dark, stifling tunnels; but in this case..."

"My dear Emerson, it is not your fault that the pyramid is in disrepair. We must not risk our men on a hopeless task."

My cheerful tone did not deceive my husband, but I kept the smile fixed on my face until he had left me. Only then did I allow my countenance to reflect the disappointment that filled my heart. I had resigned myself to a sunken pit in place of a towering pyramid, but I had hoped for a substructure. In some pyramids the burial chamber and the passages leading to it were built into the pyramid itself. The internal chambers of others were dug wholly or in part into the rock of the plateau on which the pyramid stood. Ours was one of the latter type, but now my dreams of exploring its mysterious interior were over.

Ramses heard the tragic news with his customary appearance of equanimity, remarking only, "I surmised as much when de wall fell on Mohammed." I had begun to believe he might have inherited my enthusiasm for pyramids, but this phlegmatic reaction cast grave doubts on such a hypothesis. He did not join us when we returned to work after a hasty luncheon.