The Mummy Case (40 page)

There was a brief pause, fraught with drama. Then Emerson turned to Ramses, who had been an interested spectator. "Very well, my boy; not even your mama can deny that you have a right to speak. What was in the manuscript?"

Ramses cleared his throat. "You understand dat I can only t'eorize, since de fragments remaining are only a small fraction of de whole. However—"

"Ramses," I said gently.

"Yes, Mama, I will be brief. I t'ink dat de manuscript is a copy of a lost gospel, written by Didymus Thomas, one of de apostles. Dat much could be surmised from de first fragment. It is de second fragment, found by Mama later, dat may provide an explanation for de madness of Brudder Ezekiel."

"Ramses," said Emerson.

"Yes, Papa. It contained t'ree words. Dey are: 'de son of Jesus.'"

"Nom de Dieu," de Morgan gasped.

"You are quick, monsieur," I said. "You see the significance of those words."

"They may not mean what we think," de Morgan muttered, passing a trembling hand across his brow. "They cannot mean what we think."

"But we may reasonably conclude from the actions of Brother Ezekiel that the lost gospel contained matter he would consider blasphemous and heretical—matter that must never come to light. It is not unheard of even for supposedly sane scholars to suppress data that does not agree with their pet theories. Imagine the effect of such information on a man whose brain was
already reeling; who suffered from incipient megalomania."

"You must be right," said de Morgan. "There is no other explanation that fits the facts. Mais, quel melodrame! You are a true heroine, madame; the murderer seized, the thieves routed__I congratulate you from my heart."

I stretched out a hand to Emerson. "Congratulate us both, monsieur. We work together."

"Admirable," said the Frenchman politely. "Well, I must return to work. I only hope the thieves have left me something to discover. What a coup it would be if I could find such a cache!"

"I wish you luck," I said politely. Emerson said nothing.

"Yes, a veritable coup." De Morgan sighed. "My picture would be in the Illustrated London News," he explained, rather pathetically. "I have always wanted to be in the Illustrated London News. Schliemann has been in the Illustrated London News. Petrie has been in the Illustrated London News. Why not de Morgan?"

"Why not indeed?" I said. Emerson said nothing.

De Morgan rose and picked up his hat. "Oh, but madame, there is one little thing you have not explained. Your escape from the pyramid was truly marvelous. Accept my felicitations on that escape, by the way; I do not believe I expressed them earlier. But I do not understand why the Master—the leader of the gang—should put you there in the first place. It was the evil Hamid and the insane Ezekiel who were responsible for the other attacks on you, searching for the mummy case and the papyrus. Was the Master—the leader of the gang—also looking for the papyrus?"

Ramses stopped swinging his feet and became very still. Emerson cleared his throat. De Morgan looked inquiringly at him. "A slight touch of catarrh," Emerson explained. "Hem."

De Morgan stood waiting. "It seems," I said, "that the leader— the Master Criminal—was under the impression we had some other valuables."

"Ah." De Morgan nodded. "Even Master Criminals are sometimes wrong. They suspect everyone, the rascals. Au revoir, madame. Adieu, professeur. Come soon to visit me, mon petit Ramses."

After the Frenchman had gone out I turned a critical eye on my son. "You must give it back, Ramses."

"Yes, Mama. I suppose I must. T'ank you for allowing me to arrange de matter wit' de least possible embarrassment to myself."

"And to me," Emerson muttered.

"I will go and talk to him immediately," said Ramses.

He suited the action to the word.

De Morgan had mounted his horse. He smiled at the small figure trotting toward him and waited. Ramses caught hold of the stirrup and began to speak.

De Morgan's smile faded. He interrupted Ramses with a comment that was clearly audible even at that distance, and reached out for him. Ramses skipped back and went on talking. After a time a curious change came over the Frenchman's face. He listened a while longer; then he dismounted, and squatted down so that his face was close to Ramses.' An earnest and seemingly amicable dialogue ensued. It went on so long that Emerson, standing beside me, began to mutter. "What are they talking about? If he threatens Ramses—"

"He has every right to beat him to a jelly," I said.

Yet when the conversation ended, de Morgan appeared more puzzled than angry. He mounted. Ramses saluted him courteously and started back toward the house. Instead of riding off, de Morgan sat staring after Ramses. His hand moved in a quick furtive gesture. Had I not known better, I would have sworn the cultured, educated director of the Antiquities Department had made the sign of the evil eye—the protection against diabolic spirits.

What was in the lost gospel of Didymus Thomas? We will never know the answer, although Emerson often engages in ribald and unseemly speculation. "Does he describe the trick the disciples played on the Romans, to make them believe a man had risen from the dead? Was Jesus married and the father of children? And what exactly was his relationship with Mary Magdalen?"

Brother Ezekiel, the only living person who actually read part of the lost gospel, will never tell us what it contained. He is a raving lunatic; and I have heard that he wanders the corridors of his home near Boston, Massachusetts, dressed in a simple homespun robe, blessing his attendants. He calls himself the Messiah. He is tended by his devoted sister and his sorrowing disciple, and I suppose that one day—if it has not already occurred—Charity and Brother David will be wed. They have in common not only their devotion to a madman but their invincible stupidity. Some persons cannot be rescued, even by me.

John was sure his heart was broken. He went about for weeks with his large brown hand pressed to the precise center of his breast, where he erroneously believed that organ was located. However, one of the housemaids is a charming girl, with mouse-brown hair and a dimple in her cheek, and I begin to detect signs of convalescence.

We left Egypt in March and returned to England to greet our newest nephew. Mother and infant survived the ordeal in excellent condition. We had uncovered the substructure of our pyramid before we left, and although no remarkable discoveries were made I became quite attached to the place. I was able to abandon it with equanimity, however, since de Morgan had offered us the firman for Dahshoor the following year. He was not very gracious about it, but that was of small concern to me. That half-submerged chamber in the heart of the Black Pyramid—I felt sure that under the dark water something fascinating awaited us.

It was not until after we had returned to England that we learned of de Morgan's remarkable discovery of the jewels of the princesses, near the pyramid of Senusret III. It was featured in the Illustrated London News, with a flattering engraving of de Morgan, mustache and all, holding up the crown of Princess Khnumit before the audience he had invited to admire his discovery. I could not but agree with Emerson when he flung the paper aside with a critical "These Frenchmen will do anything to get in the newspaper."

One of the necklaces on the mummy of the princess bore a striking resemblance to the one Ramses had found. I remembered the long conversation between Ramses and de Morgan; the sudden concession of the Frenchman to our wishes; and I wondered....

The lion seems to have settled in very nicely at Chalfont. Walter has suggested we bring back a young female next time.