Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (106 page)

I was familiar with the general plan of the place from my reading, but Ramses had to point out the exit from this vestibule, which was more than twenty feet above the floor, in the southern wall of the chamber. Another room, with a fine corbelled ceiling – another passage … It was absolutely delightful, and I was enjoying myself immensely when the guide started to whine. The torch was burning low for lack of air; he was choking; he had sprained his ankle on the rubble littering the floor; and so on. I ignored his request that we turn back, but I was a trifle short of breath myself, so I suggested we sit down and rest for a while.

We were in one of the upper corridors near a great portcullis stone, which had been designed to block the passage and prevent robbers from reaching the burial chamber. For some reason it had never been lowered into place, and it provided a convenient back rest.

As we sat there, the full wonder and mystery of the place overshadowed me. We were not the first to penetrate that mystery; several modern archaeologists had entered the pyramid, and three thousand years before that, a group of hardy robbers had braved the physical dangers and the curses of the dead to rob the pharaoh of his treasures. When those intrepid but unscientific explorers, Perring and Vyse, explored the passages in 1839, they found only scraps of wood and baskets, and a few mummified bats, inside a wooden box. There was no sarcophagus and no royal mummy. Since Pharaoh Snefru, to whom the pyramid belonged, had another tomb, he may never have rested here; but something of value must have occupied the now-empty chambers or the ancient thieves would not have broken into them, with baskets to carry away their loot.

As I mused in blissful enjoyment, with the perspiration dripping from my nose and chin, there occurred the most uncanny event of that entire season. The stifling air was suddenly stirred by a breeze, which rose in an instant to a gusty wind. It felt cold against our sweating bodies. The torch flickered wildly and went out. Darkness closed in upon us – a darkness filled with movement. The guide let out a howl that echoed gruesomely.

I ordered him to be quiet. ‘Good Gad, Ramses,’ I said excitedly. ‘I have read of this phenomenon, but I never thought I would be fortunate enough to experience it myself.’

‘I believe Perring and Vyse mention it,’ said the high, piping voice of my annoyingly well-informed son, close beside me. ‘It is indeed a curious phenomenon, Mama, leading one to de suspicion dat dere are passageways and exits to de exterior as yet undiscovered.’

‘I had reached that conclusion myself, Ramses.’

‘It was in de investigation of dat t’eory I was engaged when M. de Morgan’s men interrupted me. One of dem had de effrontery to shake me, Mama. I spoke to M. de Morgan about it, but he only laughed and said – ’

‘I don’t want to know what he said, Ramses.’

The wind subsided as suddenly as it had begun. In the silence I could hear our guide’s teeth chattering. ‘Sitt,’ he moaned, ‘oh, Sitt, we must go at once. The djinns are awake and looking for us. We will die here in the darkness and our souls will be eaten.’

‘We could continue de search for de unknown opening, Mama,’ said Ramses.

To say that I was tempted is like saying a starving man is a trifle peckish. Common sense prevailed, however. The search Ramses proposed would be the work of days, possibly weeks, and it could not be carried out without advance preparation. I had lost all track of time, as I am inclined to do when I am enjoying myself, but I suspected we had been gone longer than we ought to have been. I was therefore forced to refuse Ramses’ request; and after I had relit the torch (a supply of matches, in a waterproof tin box, is part of my supplies), we retraced our steps.

Ramses must have sensed the pain that filled my heart, for as I was crawling up the last long passageway he said, ‘It is too bad Papa was not able to obtain de firman for Dahshoor, Mama.’

‘No one is perfect, Ramses, not even your papa. Had he allowed
ME
to deal with M. de Morgan … But that is over and done with.’

‘Yes, Mama. But you would like to have dis site, would you not?’

‘It would be futile for me to deny it, Ramses. But never forget that your papa is the greatest living Egyptologist, even if he is somewhat lacking in tact.’

Emerson kept a discreet distance from us as we rode back to Mazghunah. As Ramses had noted, the smell of bat droppings is extremely pervasive and unpleasant. I knew it was Emerson’s sense of smell, not his affections, that dictated the removal. After a while he called out, ‘Did you have a pleasant time, Peabody?’

‘Yes, thank you, my dear Emerson. Very pleasant.’

Emerson touched his donkey and the animal sidled nearer. ‘You know I would have got you Dahshoor if I could, Peabody.’

‘I know that, Emerson.’

There was a stiff breeze blowing from the south. Emerson’s nose wrinkled and he let his donkey fall behind. ‘Don’t you want to know what I learned from the sinister Russian while you were gadding about inside the pyramid?’ he called.

‘I would like to know, Papa,’ cried Ramses, turning his donkey. Emerson hastily covered his face with his sleeve. ‘Later, Ramses, later. Why don’t you ride with your mama?’

Emerson’s hints of Russian revelations were only intended to pique my curiosity, as he finally admitted. But after we had dined and Ramses had gone to his room, Emerson seated himself at the table, folded his hands, and regarded me seriously.

‘We must talk, Peabody. The time has come for us to face a painful truth. I have reason to believe that we are involved with a sinister criminal conspiracy.’

‘Emerson,’ I exclaimed. ‘You astonish me!’

My husband shot me a sour glance. ‘Sarcasm does not become you any more than it does me, Peabody. Until recently your wild theories were no more than that. The repeated invasions of our premises, however, indicate that for some reason as yet unknown we are the objects of active malice. Even more significant is the fact that someone has been digging near the Black Pyramid. And,’ he added, frowning, ‘if you use the words “Master Criminal” …’

‘We may as well call him that in lieu of a less distinctive pseudonym, Emerson.’

‘Humph,’ said Emerson.

‘Then you agree that our burglaries were committed by the gang of antiquities thieves?’

‘Wait.’ Emerson raised a magisterial hand. ‘For once, Peabody, let us work out this problem step by step, in strictly logical fashion, instead of leaping across an abyss of speculation onto an unstable stepping-stone of theory.’

I took up my mending. Emerson’s shirts always need to have buttons sewn on. ‘Proceed, my dear Emerson.’

‘Point number one: illicit digging at Dahshoor. You may recall my mentioning that one of the objects to come on the market recently was a Twelfth Dynasty pectoral, with a royal cartouche. Dahshoor has three Twelfth Dynasty pyramids, the Black Pyramid being one of them. There are other royal tombs of that period in Egypt; but, given the evidence of recent excavation, I think there is a strong presumption that the pectoral came from that site.’

‘I agree, Emerson. And the thieves have not finished, so there may be other tombs – ’

‘Point number two,’ Emerson said loudly. ‘Abd el Atti’s association with the Master … with the gang. His death, the presence of his renegade son here at Mazghunah, the latter’s murder, support this connection. Do you agree?’

‘Since it was I who first put forth that theory, I do agree.’

‘Humph,’ said Emerson. ‘But from here on, Peabody, we are adrift in a sea of conjecture. What possible interest could these villains have in an innocent party like ours? Their aim cannot be to silence us; neither of us saw anything that would identify the murderer of Abd el Atti – ’

‘We may have observed a clue without recognizing its significance.’

‘The fact remains, Peabody, that no attacks have been made on our persons. It seems clear that these people are looking for something we have in our possession – or that they believe we have in our possession.’

‘I believe you have hit it, Emerson,’ I exclaimed. ‘We know we have nothing of value; the mummy portrait was attractive, but not worth a great deal, and the papyrus fragments are completely worthless. Do you suppose something else was missing from the shop – sold, hidden away, or stolen by a third party – and that the gang attributes its loss to us?’

‘It is a plausible theory,’ Emerson admitted. ‘I have a fairly clear memory of the objects that were scattered around the shop that night. It is a pity you did not get into the back room on your first visit; we might then compare inventories.’

‘I didn’t but Ramses did. Shall we ask him?’

‘I hate to involve the lad in this dirty business, Amelia. I waited until he had retired before discussing it.’

‘Emerson, you underestimate Ramses. In the past weeks he has been taken in custody by the police, half-stifled in a sheet, and buried in the sand; he has stolen a lion and examined a body in an unpleasant state of disrepair, without turning a hair.’

Emerson demurred no longer. Detective fever burned as bright in his manly chest as it did in my bosom. I felt sure Ramses was not in bed, and the slit of light under his door proved me correct.

Emerson knocked. After a moment the door opened and Ramses’ tousled head appeared. He was in his nightgown, but his lamp was alight and there was a heap of papers on the table that served as his desk. The Coptic grammar was open.

Emerson explained his idea. Ramses nodded. ‘I believe I can supply de information, Papa. Shall we retire to de parlour?’

At my suggestion Ramses put on his dressing gown and one of his slippers. The other was nowhere to be found, and I was glad I had kept one pair in reserve. After Emerson had detached the lion cub from his bootlace we retired to the parlour, with Bastet following. Emerson took up his pen. Ramses closed his eyes and began.

‘A heart scarab of blue faience, with a prayer to Osiris; a tray of mixed beads, cylindrical; a piece of linen approximately ten centimetres by forty, wit’ a hieratic docket reading “Year twenty, day four of the inundation…”’

I picked up my mending. We had obviously underestimated Ramses’ powers of visual recall.

His voice droned on. ‘Fragments of a coffin of de Roman period, consisting of de foot and portions of de upper back; anodder coffin, Twenty-First Dynasty, belonging to Isebaket, priestess of Hathor…’

It was a good twenty minutes later before he stopped talking and opened his eyes. ‘Dat is all I can recall, Papa.’

‘Very good, my boy. You are certain there were no pieces of jewellery, aside from cheap beads?’

‘Small objects of value would be in de locked cupboards, Papa. I did not attempt to open dem, since Mama had forbidden me to touch anyt’ing.’

‘And because such an act would have been illegal, immoral, and unprincipled,’ I suggested.

‘Yes, Mama.’

‘It is a pity you didn’t, though,’ Emerson remarked.

‘Can you remember what items from Ramses’ list were missing?’ I asked. ‘Not that it would necessarily prove anything; Abd el Atti might have sold them during the afternoon.’

‘True.’ Emerson looked at the list.

‘I don’t remember seeing any mummy cases,’ I said.

Emerson threw the list across the room. The cat Bastet pounced on it and batted it back and forth. ‘I do not want to talk about mummy cases, Peabody!’

‘Yet dey continue to intrude, do dey not?’ Ramses said. ‘I believe we must consider de mummy case of de baroness as vital to de solution. Until we can explain dat, we are at sea.’

‘I agree, Ramses,’ I said. ‘And I have an idea.’

Ramses slid down off his chair and went to retrieve the list from Bastet. Emerson looked off into space. Neither asked me to explain my idea; so I proceeded.

‘We have concluded, have we not, that someone has found treasure at Dahshoor and hopes to find more.’

Emerson shook his head. ‘A possibility only, Peabody.’

‘But when you have eliminated de impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be de trut’,’ said Ramses, returning to his chair.

‘Very good, Ramses,’ exclaimed his father. ‘How pithy you are becoming.’

‘It is not original, Papa.’

‘Never mind,’ I said impatiently. ‘Gold and jewels are sufficient causes of violence, as the history of mankind unhappily demonstrates; but a commonplace mummy case is not. But what, I ask, is a mummy case?’ I paused for effect. My husband and son regarded me in stony silence. ‘It is a container,’ I cried. ‘Normally it contains a human body, but what if this mummy case were used as a hiding place for small, stolen antiquities? The baroness would have taken it away with her, out of the country, and it is most unlikely that the authorities would have inspected it. She purchased her antiquities openly and no doubt has the proper papers.’

‘That explanation had of course occurred to me,’ said Emerson, stroking his chin. ‘But why did the thieves steal the mummy case back from her if they meant her to smuggle their stolen goods out of the country?’

‘Because we were interested in it,’ I explained. ‘Don’t you see, Emerson? The baroness is a woman of volatile and impetuous character and she was trying to make an impression on you. She offered the mummy case to you upon one occasion; though she spoke half in jest, there was a chance she might have gone through with the plan. The thieves had to retrieve it. They extracted the stolen goods and destroyed the mummy case, having no more use for it.’

‘I perceive several difficulties wit’ dat explanation, Mama,’ said Ramses.

‘Hush, Ramses.’ Emerson pondered. ‘If that idea is correct, Peabody, the baroness cannot be the Master Criminal.’

‘I suppose you are right, Emerson.’

‘Cheer up, Peabody, it is only an idea. We may yet think of something that proves the baroness guilty.’ Emerson grinned at me.

‘The baroness was only one of our suspects,’ I replied. ‘Several of the others were present that evening, when the baroness offered you the mummy case. Or one of the servants – if he was in the pay of the Master Criminal he could have warned his superior that the hiding place was no longer safe.’

‘But who is that unknown superior? (If you have no objection, Peabody, I prefer that term to “Master Criminal,” which smacks too strongly of the type of sensational literature to which I object.) Our deductions may be valid so far as they go, but we are still in the dark as to the identity of the person who is behind all this.’