Tomb of the Golden Bird (9 page)

year and the confession of the thief prove that." "Twice," Ramses said. "There is evidence of at least two breaches in the door." "They couldn't have stolen any large objects, if the holes were the size you describe," Cyrus said shrewdly. "What an incredible find! Even if the tomb was robbed, most of the funerary goods are still there. When is Carter taking the inner door down?" "Tomorrow, I believe," I said. "I sure admire his patience," Cyrus said, shaking his head. "I'd have been at it all night." "I would give anything to be there," Suzanne exclaimed. The lamps swung in a sudden puff of wind, sending strange shadows across the intent faces. No one answered Suzanne's implied request; but Jumana turned her head to look at the other young woman. IfSuzanne got into that tomb before she did, there would be trouble, and to spare. Bertie cleared his throat and looked hopeful, but dared venture no further. After his first ejaculation of wonder, Nadji had relapsed into silence. Fatima came to the doorway—or rather, since I knew she had been eavesdropping, she showed herself in the doorway. "Dinner is served," she announced. "Will you stay?" I asked Cyrus. "No, no, we've imposed enough already. Will we see you in the West Valley tomorrow? Emerson?" "What?" said Emerson. "I doubt it," I said. "But you may be sure we will keep you informed." Dinner was a silent meal. We were all tired, even Emerson, who sat hunched over his plate and who had to be reminded from time to time to put food in his mouth. For once Sethos spoke very little. His abstracted expression reawakened suspicions I had tried to dismiss. There was something on his mind, something of which he preferred not to speak. Instead of joining us for coffee in the sitting room, Nefret excused herself. "I'm awfully tired, and I want to look in on the twins." "Allow me to see you home," Ramses said, offering his arm. She laughed a little, and yawned. "There's no need, darling. I'm going straight to bed." Ramses said something in a low voice; she laughed again. "Thank you, kind sir." I smiled to myself and thought how nice it was to see them so devoted. Ramses had not allowed the thrill of the tomb to let him forget his familial obligations. They went out arm in arm, his dark head bent devotedly toward her. The little byplay passed right by Emerson. He did not even respond to Nefret's soft good night. I attempted a few conversational advances, getting no more response than Nefret had, and then decided to abandon indirection. "What is it now?" I demanded. "Your preoccupation arouses thedirest of suspicions, Emerson. I do hope you are not planning something underhanded. If you have some idea of breaking into that tomb—" Slowly, like a hunched vulture spreading folded wings, Emerson straightened his shoulders and got to his feet. The look he fixed on me was so dreadful, my tongue froze. My unpredictable brother-in-law burst out laughing. "It took you long enough, I must say. I was afraid I would have to mention the possibility myself." "You did," I cried, as realization dawned. "They will wait until the passage is cleared, you said. Good heavens!" "Not a possibility," Emerson muttered. "A probability. They will. Of course they will. And they may not be the only ones." "She did go straight to bed," said Ramses, in the doorway. "So I decided to come back for ...Is something wrong?" Emerson whirled on him. "Come with me. At once." Accustomed though he was to his father's eccentricities, this order caused Ramses's dark eyes to widen and his heavy brows to rise. "Where?" "The Valley, of course." Emerson pushed past him. "Hurry." "Wait for me," I cried, dropping my embroidery. Grinning, Sethos rose to his feet. "Wait for me," I repeated, this time to Ramses. Emerson had left. I dashed down the corridor to my room. My belongings were in perfect order as always, so I was able to lay my hands on the objects I wanted without delay. My parasol, of course, and two electric torches; there was not time for a change of clothing, nor even for the assumption of my useful belt of tools. (It took a certain amount of adjustment because of the tendency of the objects hanging from it to become entangled.) Hoping I would not need it, I hastened back to the sitting room. Sethos and Ramses had obeyed my order to wait. "Does this mean what I think it does?" Ramses demanded. "Yes. Perhaps. Cursed if I know," I said, rendered incoherent by confusion. Sethos had spoken of robbers attacking the tomb. Had Emerson been referring to another group of intruders? A distant bellow from Emerson propelled us into rapid motion. "He isn't planning to break into the tomb," I panted, trotting to keep up with Ramses's long strides. "At least I don't think so. I more or less accused him of it, and he said . . . He said something like, 'Of course they will, and so may others.' " "Damnation," said Ramses. "Why didn't I think of that?" Sethos cleared his throat in a pointed manner. We were soon mounted and on our way. I must have made a pretty picture riding astride with the skirts of my frock hitched up to my knees and my hair coming loose from its pins. I did not allow these minor inconveniences to distract me, for I was preoccupied with what might lie ahead of us. I hadn't thought of it either, and I ought to have done. Of course Carter and his patron would return to the tomb under the cloak of darkness and break into the enticing chamber. Whether they had the right to do so was questionable. By Emerson's rigid standards, no one would have set foot in that room until every angle of it had been photographed and every precaution taken to avoid damage to the artifacts. However, I could understand why Carter and Carnarvon might violate the spirit, if not the letter, of their concession. Few archaeologists could have resisted. And they might not be the only ones. By now every man in Gurneh would have heard that magical word "gold"; indeed, Cyrus had said as much earlier that day. Tonight might be their best chance. There was nothing to prevent a break-in except the wooden grille and a single layer of stone blocks. An experienced tomb robber, of which there were many on the West Bank, could get through both in a quarter of an hour. Ramses slowed Risha and fell back to ride beside me. "Are you all right, Mother?" I spat out a mouthful of hair. "Surely Howard posted guards." Ramses shrugged. His meaning was clear, at least to his mother, who was accustomed to his taciturnity. Offered a share of the treasure, few men could have remained faithful to their duty—especially men whose wage was a few piastres a day. When the Valley was closed to tourists the barrier at the entrancewas up. It now stood ajar, and the donkey park, which ought to have been empty, held several horses and donkeys. Emerson's theory was confirmed. With a vehement oath, he dashed through the opening. The moon was a silver sliver but the bright stars of Egypt shed a ghostly radiance. I had removed my heeled evening slippers, so that my progress was silent (and cursed painful). Ramses, on my right, walked as silently as a cat, and Sethos, politely holding my left arm, made little more noise. Why we bothered to move quietly I do not know, for the running feet of Emerson, well in advance, crashed like the hooves of a charging bull. A louder crash followed, mingled with the inarticulate roars of Emerson and a higher-pitched scream. My scream was louder. I had stepped on a sharp stone. Hopping and lurching, I pulled away from Ramses. "Hurry! Your father is in trouble." "Go on," Sethos said calmly. "I've got her." His arm encircled my waist and guided me forward. Rounding a spur of rock, we beheld a horrifying scene. The tomb of Tutankhamon lay before us, on the right side of the path. From its entrance came a dim glow. A squirming, shifting shape occupied the space in front of the steps. It resolved itself into the mighty form of Emerson, rising like Hercules from the fray and holding a slighter, still squirming form at arm's length. "Sorry, Peabody, for taking so long," said my husband apologetically. "Bastard had a knife. I trust you were not worried?" "Ramses!" I shouted. "Where are you?" "Here, Mother." He emerged from the black shadows next to the tomb, with another wriggling miscreant in his grip. "I fear Deib has got away. He's a nimble chap." "Ah," I said, relieved to see husband and son unscathed. "The ibn Simsahs." "They were hiding in the rocks above the tomb," said Emerson, giving his captive a shake that made his head snap back. "Where are the guards?" I asked. "Never mind that," said Emerson. "What I want to know is—" The glow from the mouth of the tomb strengthened, heralding thearrival of Howard Carter, torch in hand. Its wavering beam framed the former combatants in a theatrical glow: Emerson, disheveled and scowling; his captive even more disheveled, robe torn and turban askew. I recognized the scarred face of Farhat, the oldest and most unprincipled of the ibn Simsahs. He had realized who his captor was and he had stopped struggling. Howard's face was a mask of bewilderment. "What the devil is going on here?" he demanded. "Bluster will get you nowhere, Carter," Emerson growled. "What the devil are you doing here?" "I have every right to be here," Howard said, drawing himself up. "That remains to be seen," said Emerson. "I suppose the other co-conspirators are in the tomb chamber? Tell them to get up here. It's safe enough now. You damn fool, Carter, didn't it occur to you that you were risking not only your professional reputation but your patron's safety? These lads were lying in wait, and they are not known for patience." Lord Carnarvon and Lady Evelyn came up in time to hear the end of this speech. They were followed by the other co-conspirator, Pecky Callender. "See here, Emerson . . ." he panted. "No, you see here." Emerson rounded on him. "See Farhat ibn Simsah, to be precise. For all you know, there could be a hopeful thief behind every rock in the Valley. You ought not have come here without a dozen guards. But then there would have been witnesses to your illegal entry, wouldn't there?" Lord Carnarvon had got his breath back. He drew himself up to his full height and looked down his nose at Emerson, every inch the British aristocrat. "I can't say I care for your tone, Professor Emerson," he drawled. "I can't say I give a curse," said Emerson. "Emerson," I murmured. My gentle warning had no effect. Emerson had worked himself up into a state of righteous rage. "I presume you removed enough of the blocking stones to enter the tomb chamber? How much damage did you do—and what did you take?" Carnarvon offered his arm to his daughter. "You have no right to question me, sir. I bid you good night." Emerson pointed an accusing finger. His voice rolled like that of an outraged god. "Your pockets are bulging, Lord Carnarvon!" Ramses and I managed to stop him before he went in pursuit of Carnarvon, who was retreating with as much haste as his dignity allowed. I verily believe Emerson would have searched the fellow, which would have led to serious trouble. The damage was bad enough. Once at a safe distance, Carnarvon turned. "You are persona non grata here, Professor. Stay away from the tomb. Do not presume on my goodwill again." He walked off, followed by Carter and Callender and by Emerson's vehement curses. "Now you've done it," I said, relaxing my hold. "We'll never be allowed in the tomb again." His little outbursts generally refresh Emerson. Displaying his large white teeth in a jovial smile, he said, "In that case, we may as well make the most of the present opportunity." We left the ibn Simsah brothers bound securely with strips cut from their garments, after relieving them of various sharp instruments. In his confusion (and, I believe, guilt) Howard had not even remembered to lock the wooden grille. As we made our way down the corridor I said to Emerson, "You ought not have cursed Lord Carnarvon, Emerson." "Bah," said Emerson. "He was already out of temper with me." "You threatened him with everything from dying of the pox to being devoured by demons in the afterlife." Emerson emitted a loud groan. It was not caused by remorse, but by the sight visible in the beam of his torch: a gaping hole, several feet square, at the bottom of the blocked door. "You were prepared for that, surely," said the cool voice of Sethos behind us. "I hoped I was wrong," muttered Emerson. "Be fair, Emerson," said his brother. "What Egyptologist could have resisted?" "I do not require a lecture from you," said Emerson. He shone his torch into the opening and moved it slowly from side to side

. The full wonder of the chamber was disclosed, in a series of successive visions. It required some time for the eye to disentangle the strange shapes and sharp shadows: overlapping quartered circles that must be chariot wheels, three great gilded funerary couches with grotesque animal heads, laid end to end and piled with other objects. But what caught the eye and held it were two life-size statues that faced each other like guardians against the wall to the right. The exposed skin had been blackened with bitumen, the clothing and regal ornaments gleamed with gilt. On the brow of each figure the royal uraeus serpent reared its head, ready to strike any who threatened the king. Even Sethos, the imperturbable, was shaken. On hands and knees, he said, "There's a drop of about two feet." He turned as if to lower himself down. Emerson caught him by the collar. "There've been enough clumsy idiots tramping around in there. Go ahead, Ramses. Be careful where you step." "It seems to me," I began, "that as the smallest person present—" "Good Gad, Peabody, if I can restrain myself, so can you," growled my husband. "Ramses is light on his feet and agile as a cat." "And not likely to pocket any small objects," said my brother-in-law, not quite sotto voce. "Are you implying that I would?" I demanded. "I was referring to someone else," said Sethos. "Hmph," said Emerson. "Take the torch, Ramses." Ramses slipped carefully down and stood still for a moment, gazing around. "There seems to be an opening on the far wall, under one of the funerary couches." We saw him stoop and look in. "Good God. It's another room, packed full of incredible objects, and in even greater disorder than this one." "That blank stretch of wall between the two statues," Emerson said. "Have a closer look at it." Ramses started in that direction and then paused, as the beam of the torch framed a painted chest covered with miniature scenes as bright and precise as those in an illustrated codex. Ramses moved carefully round it, emitting low murmurs of admiration. "Curtail, if you please, your aesthetic instincts," Emerson growled. "Look at that stretch of wall." The truth dawned. It made even the discovery of a second room filled with treasure pale by comparison. What else could the noble figures guard except the body of the god-king himself? Did his burial chamber lie beyond that seemingly blank wall? "As usual, your instincts are correct, Father," Ramses reported. "There's a doorway, blocked and plastered, with seals stamped all over it. It hasn't been breached." Emerson shot back, "Look behind the basket and the other objects piled against the wall." The basket to which Emerson referred was of good size, a circular basin shape, atop a pile of withered reeds. Gently, using both hands, Ramses removed the basket and pushed the reeds aside. There was no opening, but even at a distance one could see that an area several feet across, at the juncture of wall and floor, was of a different nature. The outer layer of plaster was missing. There was no mortar between the stones thus disclosed. It was clear that some of them had been removed and then hastily replaced. "Blast and damn," said Emerson. "Carter." "How do you know?" I asked. "It might have been the ancient thieves." "The priests would have replastered the opening," Emerson said. "Since the damage has already been done, we may in good conscience repeat it. Take the loose stones out, Ramses, and have a look. What's in there?" After a moment Ramses said in a hushed voice, "It looks like a wall of solid gold." Emerson could contain himself no longer. Breathing hard, he lowered himself to the floor inside and picked his way to the north wall. Since he had not specifically forbidden me to do so, I followed. Peering through the newly opened space, I saw what seemed indeed to be a wall of gold, reaching almost to the ceiling and leaving only a narrow corridor alongside. "What is it?" I cried. "A funerary shrine," said Emerson, on hands and knees, looking in. "See the doors? And the wretches have been here too," he added passionately. "There are footprints in the dust." "Then we may also proceed," I exclaimed. "The opening is too small for me," said Emerson. "I will not enlarge it." "Emerson." My voice was scarcely louder than a whisper. Emerson turned his head and smiled at me. "All right, Peabody. Your turn." With painstaking care I stepped down to the floor of the inner chamber, which was several feet lower than the other. Before me stood two great gilded doors, adorned with decorative hieroglyphs on a background of blue faience. They were closed by a wooden bolt. I reported this to Emerson, who said, "Open it. I don't doubt Carter already has." The bolt slid smoothly back and the doors parted enough to allow me to see within. "I can't make it out," I gasped. "A framework— gilded—bits of brown, rotten cloth, sewn with gold rosettes—" "A canopy," said Emerson. "The cloth was a funerary pall. What else?" "Another shrine, I think. Various objects on the floor—bows and sticks leaning against the walls . . . Someone has cleared a space in front of the doors of the second shrine." "Carter," said Emerson, like a swear word. "Did he open those doors too?" "I can't see ...No, Emerson, he did not. The doors are closed in the usual way, with cords wound round the handles and a dab of mud over the knot. It's stamped with the necopolis seal—and it is intact." "He does have some scruples left," said Emerson. "All right, come out of there, Peabody, and close the doors of the outer shrine. We will leave everything precisely as Carter left it." "The walls are painted," said Ramses, also on hands and knees, his head twisted to see up. "A funerary procession, I think. And the cartouches of Tutankhamon." "So he's there," Emerson muttered. "Still there. Inside his coffins and his sarcophagus and the shrines, alone in the dark, as he has been for over three thousand years ..." This flight of fancy was so unlike my pragmatic husband that I looked at him in surprise. But I ought not to have been surprised; the sensitive, poetic side of Emerson's nature is known to only a few—of which I am one. "Perhaps he is with the gods he worshiped," I said softly. "Hmph," said Emerson. "Which gods? The multitudinous pantheon of Egypt, or the sole god Aton in whose faith he was raised? Don't talk rubbish, Peabody." Emerson's poetic moods do not last long. The burial chamber contained one more surprise—a rectangular opening near the far corner, leading to a fourth room filled, like the two outer rooms, with a fabulous jumble of artifacts. Vision and brain were so overwhelmed that I remember only two objects: a reclining statue of Anubis and behind it a golden chest with an exquisite statue of a goddess extending protective arms across its side. "It must be the canopic chest," I said, as Emerson helped me up. "I could only see one statue—the most beautiful thing, Emerson—" I had completely forgotten about Sethos, but Ramses had not. He stood watching his uncle as the latter moved slowly round the outer chamber. "Look here," Sethos said. "Don't touch it," Ramses snapped. "It's been opened." Sethos indicated a small gilded shrine. "Here's where your statuette came from." "By God, I think you're right," Ramses said. The interior of the boxlike shape was empty, except for a wooden pedestal on whose base were the cartouches of Tutankhamon. "There's room for another statuette next to it," Ramses said. "Remember the thief's confession—that his friend took the image of the queen?" "Enough," Emerson said in a subdued voice. His shoulders shifted uneasily. Naturally I understood his feelings. I too had a sense of profanation, of intruding into a realm where we had no right to go. Framed by darkness, the monstrous heads of the funerary couches looked as if they might at any moment turn to stare accusingly at the invaders. Dust motes swam in the light, and from time to time we heard the smallest whisper of sound—an ominous sound, for it betokened the fall of a scrap of gold or bit of cloth disturbed by the entrance of air into the long-sealed chamber. Following Emerson's orders, Ramses replaced the stones that had been taken from the entrance to the burial chamber. I held the torch, and I am not ashamed to admit my hand was a trifle unsteady. As I stood watching, the light caught the eyes of the uraeus serpents on the royal brows so that they seemed to blink and glare. Slowly, in a state of dreamlike disbelief, we made our way back along the passage and up the stairs. I had not realized how dead and musty the air in the tomb had been until I felt a cool breeze against my face. No one spoke. The wonder of what we had seen left us without words. The tomb had been robbed in antiquity, but enough was left to make the find unique—the first royal burial with most of its rich grave goods intact. Emerson was in the lead, Sethos and Ramses behind me. A sudden bellow from Emerson startled me, so that I toppled backward against Ramses, who let out a pained grunt but kept his balance. Cursing, Sethos shoved Ramses, who pushed me, and we stumbled to the top of the stairs. "Now what?" I demanded breathlessly. "Have the ibn Simsahs got away?" At first it appeared that they had attempted to do so, for Emerson gripped a dark form, which he was shaking as a terrier shakes a rat. Then I saw the miscreant brothers, still bound, and heard a plaintive voice gasp, "I give up. I give up. Please, Professor—" He must have bit his tongue, for the plea ended in a sharp scream. I recognized the voice, distorted though it was by pain and shortnessof breath and by the absence of the brogue that ordinarily marked his speech. "Kevin?" I cried. "Kevin O'Connell? What the devil are you doing here? I thought you were in London." "Language, language, Mrs. E.," said Kevin, his brogue firmly back in place. Emerson had stopped shaking him and he was himself again. "Where else would a journalist be but at the scene of what may be the greatest story of the year, or the decade, or—" Emerson gave his throat a final squeeze and dropped him. Kevin subsided onto the ground, and wisely decided to stay there. The ibn Simsah brothers rolled over to make room for him, staring wide-eyed. Emerson drew a deep breath; but before he could express his ire, Ramses's voice rang out. I turned. He was no longer behind me. "Father. Here's another one." "Another bloody journalist?" Emerson demanded. "Better than that." Ramses rose into sight from behind the low retaining wall above the tomb, pulling another individual to his feet. Recognition was immediate. Starlight silvered a mane of white hair. "Good Gad," I cried. "It is Sir Malcolm. What are you—" "Don't ask," said Emerson in a strangled voice. "That question is becoming unbearably repetitive. How many others are lurking about? Come out, come out, wherever you are." His tone of voice turned this into an unmistakable threat. It got immediate results, in the form of an apologetic cough in one voice and a bad word in another. Two forms emerged from the shadows near Tomb 55, across the way. "Jumana," I exclaimed, having recognized that young person's voice. "And Bertie?" "He followed me," Jumana said, giving Bertie a furious look. "What," said Emerson, enunciating each word slowly, "Brought. . . You ...Here?" Bertie cringed. "I tried to stop her." "Do be quiet," Jumana said impatiently. She threw her slim shoulders back and smiled at Emerson. "The same thing that brought you, Professor, I expect. Archaeological fever." "You," said Emerson in the same ominous voice, "meant to creep into the tomb tonight?" "I thought someone would," said Jumana, unabashed. "Tonight, while it lies open. I felt sure I could persuade one of the guards to let me in." She brushed her dark hair away from her brow in an exaggerated gesture of coquetry. I didn't doubt her assurance. Bertie wasn't the only man in Luxor who was infatuated by her dainty form and pretty face. "I didn't expect there would be no guards at all," Jumana went on. "That was a piece of luck. Or would have been, if Bertie hadn't held me back." Goaded into speech, Bertie burst out, "And if I hadn't, you would have walked into the arms of the ibn Simsahs." Sir Malcolm tried to free himself from Ramses's grasp. "Good evening, Miss . . . Jumana, is it? I have not had the pleasure of meeting you, but I hope to improve our—-" "Stop it," said Emerson, waving his fists. "Stop it at once. This is not a social occasion." "Here's another one," said Sethos, appearing in his turn. He addressed the cringing figure next to him in his fluent Arabic. "Fear us not, my friend, you were here only because your master ordered it. We mean you no harm." The unfortunate servant fell to his knees and tried to kiss Sethos's hand. Sethos snatched it away. "Kneel only to God. Certainly not to that piece of scum," he added in English, for Sir Malcolm's benefit. Emerson was obviously in a quandary, trying to decide which intruder to curse first. Sir Malcolm saved him the trouble, pulling away from Ramses and straightening his rumpled garments. "I will overlook this gratuitous attack from your son," he began. "Damned decent of you," said Emerson in the same well-bred drawl. "I trust you do not expect me to overlook your gratuitous act of trespass." Kevin, who had been listening with interest, finished smoothing his hair and reached into the breast pocket of his coat. "I wouldn't if I were you," I said to him. Kevin grinned unrepentantly, but he put the little notebook back in his pocket. "If I am trespassing, so are you," said Sir Malcolm. "I overheard what Lord Carnarvon said earlier. We are in the same boat now, Professor, and it would be to your advantage as well as mine to reach an agreement." Emerson looked at me. In a conversational tone he asked, "Is the fellow determined to drive me to violence? Any lesser man would have lost his temper long before this. Everyone is here who ought not be here, no one is here who ought to be here. Curse it, the situation is turning to pure farce, and I feel myself beginning to—" "Do not give way, Emerson, I beg you." I directed a severe look at Sethos, who had covered his mouth with his hand in an attempt to stifle his laughter. "Allow me to add a note of common sense. Kevin, you will come with us. Jumana and Bertie too." "Oh, but I haven't seen the tomb," Jumana cried. "You wouldn't be so cruel, after all the trouble I went to? Please, Professor—" "Er," said Emerson, deflating under the spell of her pleading voice. He is a perfect fool where women are concerned. "Well..." "She doesn't deserve to be rewarded for her reckless behavior," Bertie exclaimed. I had been about to say the same thing. "A quick look won't hurt," I said. "Go with her, Ramses. Just a look, and come straight back." "In that case ..."said Kevin eagerly. "If she goes . . ." Sir Malcolm began. "No!" I shouted.
"Good Gad, of all the effrontery!" "Now, Peabody, don't lose your temper," said Emerson. "I am the only one allowed to do that. Sir Malcolm, I advise you to leave at once. I cannot always control Mrs. Emerson when she is in this exasperated state of mind." "Very well," said that gentleman with sudden meekness. I took a deep breath, and then another. "Don't think you can linger until we have departed, Sir Malcolm. The tomb will be guarded now." "I would be delighted to oblige," said Sethos quickly. "I don't doubt it," muttered Emerson. "Stay if you like. With me." Bertie had—of course—gone down the steps with Ramses and Jumana. They now returned, both men more or less dragging the girl between them. "It wasn't long enough," she gasped. "There was so much ...I want one more . . . Bertie, let me go at once!" She pulled free from him, but not from Ramses. "Oh, no, you don't," he said. "Jumana, don't try me too far. And," he added with an unwilling grin, as she leaned against him and gazed imploringly into his face, "don't try that either. You've got your own way, and gone one up on Suzanne. That should be enough." Jumana chuckled. Emerson sighed. "Jumana, go home at once. With Bertie. Don't argue with him, don't try to get away from him—" "Don't call him bad names," I said. "Don't call him bad names," said Emerson in some confusion. "Er—I have made myself clear, haven't I, Jumana?" "Yes, sir. I will go straight back to the Castle and I will not call Bertie bad names." "Good. Ramses, take your mother and that. . . that. . . journalist back to the house." "What about them?" I asked, nudging one of the ibn Simsah brothers with my foot. "Oh, please, Sitt," he moaned. "Let us go. We repent. We are reformed. Do not leave us for the jackals to eat." "It's a tempting idea," said Emerson, scratching his chin. "But against our principles, eh? Untie them, Ramses. We know where to find them if we want them. At the moment they are only in the way. So are you, Sir Malcolm. Be off with you." In the end it was Ramses who stayed with his father and Sethos who escorted Kevin and me back to the donkey park where we had left the horses. Sir Malcolm had already departed—with, I supposed, his unfortunate servant running along beside. Jumana and Bertie had come on foot and would return the same way. I had given the girl one of my little lectures, so I felt sure she would do as she was told. As we rode off I could hear her and Bertie bickering in loud voices, but, to give her credit, I did not hear any bad words. Kevin had come without argument. He knew Emerson well enough to recognize the futility of learning more from him. "A whiskey and soda would certainly hit the spot," he said cheerfully. "Don't count on it," I said. "Over the years you and the Daily Yell have caused me considerable embarrassment, Kevin." "But, ma'am, remember the times I proved a true friend in your times of need." His voice was as caressing as that of an Irish tenor. "We will see," I said, "if friendship takes precedence over journalism on this occasion. Insofar as I am concerned, you are guilty until proven innocent." I will confess to my Readers that I did not finish recording the events I have described until several days later. I stick to the accuracy of the account, however; it was a night to remember, one of the most unforgettable of my life. Earlier excavations of the royal tombs had turned up only broken bits and pieces of the funerary equipment, tantalizing hints of the exquisite originals. Tetisheri's tomb, which we had found, was a reburial. This was the first tomb that still contained the vast majority of the king's original equipment, more or less in situ. Imagination had conjured up glittering images of what once had been; this was the reality. The only one of us who slept through the entire night was Nefret, and when she and Ramses joined us at the breakfast table her blue eyes were blazing with indignation. From his sheepish expression I deduced that Ramses had borne the initial brunt of her reproaches, but there were plenty left for me and Emerson. Instead of returning Kevin's cheery greeting, she fixed him with an inimical scowl. "Why is that man still here?" she demanded. "Why haven't you sent him packing?" Kevin attempted to look hurt. His carrot-red hair was sprinkled with gray and fine lines framed his blue eyes, but his freckles were as exuberant as ever. "I haven't done anything," he protested. "Our old friendship—" "He will be sent packing as soon as he has repeated to the rest of you what he told me last night," I said. "It is of some importance, as I believe you will agree. How much has Ramses told you, Nefret?" "Some of it." She transferred her frown from Kevin to the plate of eggs Fatima had placed before her. "I only woke half an hour ago." "And half that time was spent calling me names," said Ramses. "As I told her, we did not know when we left the house what we might run into. There was no time to—" "Let us not waste breath in futile recrimination and apology," I broke in. "We agree, I believe, on the following story: first, that we will mention Carter and Carnarvon's illicit entry into the tomb to no one. We went there because we feared an attempt at robbery, and discovered the ibn Simsah brothers. Emerson and Ramses remained on guard in order to prevent additional attempts until Reis Girigar arrived this morning." "Lie, you mean?" Nefret demanded. "I never prevaricate unless it is absolutely necessary, Nefret. In this case it is simply a matter of omitting certain details. Carter and Carnarvon had no right to enter that tomb, but Scripture tells us not to judge our fellowmen. Their own consciences must determine whether or not to confess." "I hate it when you quote the cursed Bible," Emerson growled. "I don't intend to give Carter away, but what about him?" He gestured at Kevin with the fork on which he had impaled a piece of egg. "He won't print anything," Ramses said. "He wants to stay in Carnarvon's good graces." "Quite right," Kevin agreed, wiping egg yolk off his crumpled cravat. "Anyhow, I'd be risking a suit for libel if you lot refuse to back me up. They can't charge me with anything except being in the Valley after hours. I never got into the tomb." "The same holds for Sir Malcolm, I fear," I said regretfully. "Whatever his intentions, he committed no act that could be considered trespass. Let us return to the point. Kevin has admitted that rumors of a great find have been circulating among his archaeological and journalistic connections for some weeks. Apparently Lord Carnarvon told various friends about Howard's telegram as soon as it arrived, and of course they told others. When Kevin learned that Arthur Merton of the Times had booked passage to Egypt, he took the next boat. You see what that means, don't you?" "Other journalists will follow, if they are not already on the way," Nefret exclaimed. "Including Margaret Minton," said Kevin, his pleasant countenance taking on quite a threatening aspect. "She's sharp as they come, and she'll stop at nothing to steal a march on me." I was not the only one who looked involuntarily at Sethos. Not a muscle twitched in his face. He had, of course, anticipated this, and had realized what it might mean to him personally. "She claims to be an old friend of yours," continued Kevin, who was, of course, unaware of the lady's relationship to "Anthony Bissinghurst." "See here, you won't let anything slip to her, will you? I've known you all longer than she has." "I won't let anything slip to anyone, including you," said Emerson. "Have you finished breakfast? It is more than you deserve. Be off with you." Kevin rose with alacrity. "The telegraph office should be open by now." He chortled. "I'll be the first, even ahead of Merton." "If you quote me or Mrs. Emerson I will have your head on a platter," Emerson shouted after his retreating form. "He won't dare," I said. "He's still counting on our goodwill. In fact, I don't see how he can find anything to write about. He didn't get inside the tomb." "He doesn't need facts," Emerson grumbled. "He'll invent a pack of rubbish and fill it out with innuendo." Sethos patted his lips with his napkin and put it neatly on the table. "I do hate to intrude on this discussion with my petty personal problems, but have any of you stopped to think what may ensue if Margaret comes here?" "She'll be badgering us for information," Emerson growled. Then his face changed. "Oh. Good Gad. You mean—" "Her arrival may reawaken the suspicions of those who know she is the wife of their quarry," I said. "We have been free of surveillance lately, but that may not last." "Hell and damnation," said Nefret. She was thinking of the children. "Can't we head her off?" "How?" Ramses demanded. "Any attempt to communicate with her will only arouse the interest we must avoid at all costs." I was watching Sethos, whose eyes were fixed on Nefret's worried face. I knew, as surely as if he had spoken aloud, what he meant to do. For the next few days I kept a close eye on my brother-in-law, though to be honest I had not decided what I would do if he made a conspicuous departure. He was torn too, I believe; having decided to throw himself to the wolves in order to lead them away from us, he was in no hurry to do so. There was, of course, the possibility that even that sacrifice would not save us if his pursuers believed we had a copy of the mysterious document. Ramses had gone back to work on it, realizing, as Sethos and I did, that its solution might offer the answer to our problems. Everyone else was totally preoccupied with the new tomb. On the day following our little adventure there, the wall was removed and Carter entered the outer chamber for, as he claimed, the first time. Neither he nor Carnarvon admitted to their noctural trespass. Inexplicably, Rex Engelbach declined to attend, sending his assistant Ibrahim in his place. The boatmen were kept busy ferrying tourists across to the West Bank. We knew from our own experience that Howard would be besieged by requests from people wanting to see the tomb. First, of course, came the formal viewings for officials of the government and the Antiquities Department. We were not included on either occasion. It was a deliberate snub, especially since Merton of the Times was among the second group of official visitors—the only journalist so favored. I fancied I could hear Kevin's curses all the way from the Valley. We got all the news, fresh off the press as some might say, from Daoud. Emerson did not go near the East Valley. He was too proud tosue for favors. I was not, but he refused to allow me or anyone else to make overtures, not even Nefret, who had a way with gentlemen. Instead, Emerson put us all back to work in the West Valley, with a fervor that almost made up for his earlier disinterest. "He's afraid Carnarvon will throw us out," said Cyrus. With Bertie and Jumana we were taking a little rest in the shade of the shelter I had caused to be erected. It was very warm, and we had been working hard that morning. Cyrus wrung out his goatee, which, like the rest of him, was soaked with perspiration, and then accepted a glass of cold tea. "What the dickens did Emerson say to his lordship? I've heard a dozen different versions, each worse than the last." I sighed. "I was afraid of that. Goodness, what a hotbed of gossip this place is! It was one of Emerson's characteristic diatribes, Cyrus, complete with curses. One cannot blame Carnarvon for being angry— especially in view of the fact that Emerson's accusations were probably true. "They are saying that the Professor accused Mr. Carter and the others of taking jewelry from the tomb," Jumana offered. "They wouldn't do that," Bertie protested, his ingenuous face troubled. Jumana shook her head. "You are soooo naive, Bertie." Bertie flushed, but before he could respond, Emerson appeared in the mouth of Ay's tomb, arms akimbo and brow threatening. "What are you doing there?" he shouted. "Get back to work. Bertie, you can start your measurements of the burial chamber now." The other three jumped up. I had not finished my tea, so I remained seated. "Have you finished clearing the floor?" I called. "Do you expect me to carry the sarcophagus lid out single-handed?" It was an outrageous complaint, since he had himself sent the men away for a rest, but Cyrus called, "Coming. Coming right away," and trotted off. I took a final sip of tea and with a nod of thanks handed the glass to Cyrus's excellent servant, who was in charge of the refreshments. I didn't believe Lord Carnarvon would actually go so far as to evict us— M. Lacau had confirmed our right to remain in the West Valley—but I was very vexed to hear that someone had spread the word about Emerson's curses. Carter and Carnarvon would not have dared to do so, since they would have had to admit entering the tomb illicitly. We could not accuse them without admitting our own presence, even if we had been disposed to behave dishonorably. The only other persons who had overheard the exchange were the tomb robbers and Sir Malcolm, and perhaps Kevin O'Connell and Bertie and Jumana . . . Some of them could not be trusted to hold their tongues, and for all we knew, other spectators had been there. At least the rumors were only that, unconfirmed and deniable. We became for a time very popular with visitors, who assumed (as any reasonable person might) that we were among Howard's confidants. When we disavowed special knowledge or influence, some refused to believe us and a few tried to bribe us. Emerson sent Wasim to the guardhouse with his antique rifle. Conspicuous among the ones who did not call were the members of the Metropolitan Museum crew at Deir el Bahri. They had all been friends of ours for many years, and I was unable to account for their absence until Ramses offered an explanation. "Carter has approached them for help. He needs all the expert assistance he can get, and he's had special relations with the Met for years." "Special relations, bah," said Emerson. "He's been selling them antiquities." "They can afford to pay well," Ramses said equably. "And Carter is, after all, a dealer. No doubt the Metropolitan is hoping for a share of the artifacts in return for its help. It isn't surprising that they should avoid us now that we are in disfavor with Carnarvon." He had come to tea straight from the workroom, where he had been closeted most of the afternoon. Emerson, who had been sulking most of the afternoon, nodded glumly. "They've got the experts he needs," he admitted. "Burton for photography, Hauser and Hall as draftsmen. They say . . ." He grimacedpainfully at the fact that he had been reduced to repeating rumors. "They say Breasted will be asked to assist with the translations." "Your old mentor," I said, with a nod at Ramses. "We ought to ask him to tea, don't you think?" "No," said Emerson. "Don't you like him?"