The Hippopotamus Pool (37 page)

"How do you know that?"

"I asked, two days ago, when we dined at the hotel with Cyrus," I said calmly. "It took only a moment."

"One of the other hotels, then."

"The Luxor is the best. I would not have supposed a man so fond of luxury as Riccetti would settle for less. We could inquire, though."

"I will do so tomorrow," Walter said.

The very idea made my blood run cold. Walter, poor innocent Walter, alone in Luxor, pursuing inquiries the success of which might lead to his being captured or killed?

"No," I said quickly. "Your expertise will be needed at the tomb, Walter. Emerson cannot spare you. I will—uh—I will send one of the men."

I hesitated because at that very moment a particularly clever idea had occurred to me. I wanted to think it over before I proposed it, since I have learned that particularly clever ideas do not always stand up under close scrutiny.

I found the opportunity later, while I gave my hair its hundred strokes, to scrutinize it. I had brought Nefret to sleep in my room that night; she had given no indication of being nervous, but I was nervous—just a little— about her. I had given her permission to read for a while, and I could see her reflection in the mirror, her face absorbed, as she turned the pages. (The book, I remember, was
Wuthering Heights.
Some might not have considered it soothing bedtime reading, but a girl who could coolly discuss the decomposition of a corpse was probably not, I thought, of a nervous nature.)

After due deliberation I decided my idea was a good one. The only problem would be persuading Emerson to accept it.

I was in error. There was another problem, which did not occur to me until it was too late. The sheer brilliance of the inspiration concentrated my attention so that I failed to anticipate what might ensue from one casual sentence. It was certainly an error; it came close to being a fatal error.

When we reached the tomb next morning, Emerson was building a fence and cursing a great deal, because he hates spending time that could be employed in excavation. The task was necessary. Early as was the hour, a crowd of onlookers had already assembled. The word had got out. We never discovered how; the speed by which gossip spreads in small close-knit societies seems at times to verge on magic. I had often observed it in my own household. The servants always knew everything, occasionally before I knew it myself.

When I say Emerson was building the fence I mean that, unlike other supervisors who claim the credit for the actions of others, he was actuallydriving in stakes. Handing the hammer to Ibrahim, he hastened to greet me.

"All's well, Peabody?"

"Yes, my dear. And here?"

"Not so much as a thrown stone. Very annoying," he added with a scowl.

The light of the rising sun reflected off his sable locks and outlined his splendid form. Though his ablutions had taken place in a bucket of Nile water and he had not had more than a few hours' sleep, he looked fresh as a youth half his age. I knew what was in his mind; he yearned to come to grips with our foes and hoped that the news of our discovery would draw them here, away from those he loved.

"Have you eaten, Emerson?" I asked.

"Eaten? What?"

"I thought not. I brought breakfast for you; come and partake of it. You cannot begin work until Sir Edward gets here. I have a little scheme I want to propose."

That captured his attention. "What scheme? Now, see here, Peabody—"

"We did not have time to discuss all the permutations last night." I slipped my arm through his and led him toward the shelter, where the others were waiting. "If secrecy is impossible, the widest sort of publicity is our next-best course."

"Another of your aphorisms, Peabody?" Amusement brightened the blue eyes under the lowering brows. After greeting the others he condescended to take a chair and a cup of tea.

"Very well, Peabody, I am braced and ready. Propose your scheme."

"The news is out," I said. "If it has not already spread to Luxor, it soon will, and then it will be on its way to Cairo. We must send official notification to M. Maspero."

"Cursed if I will," Emerson growled. "He will come haring down here and insist on opening the sarcophagus. I won't have him tramping through my debris."

"Would you rather he heard of it from someone else? For he surely will, and then he would have grounds for resentment."

"We were planning to build elevated ramps and platforms," Ramses said.

Emerson turned an awful frown on his son. "Sturdy enough to support Maspero's weight?"

"That is rude, Emerson," I said, as Walter stifled a laugh behind his hand. "And, if you will forgive me, irrelevant. If we cannot prevent the news from spreading, we can at least control it—and make good use of the loyal friends who can now be taken into our confidence."

"Whom did you have in mind?" Emerson inquired suspiciously.

"Cyrus, of course, and his new assistant; Howard Carter—"

"If you mention the name of a certain redheaded journalist, Amelia, I may lose my temper."

"I am only suggesting, Emerson, that you leave that side of the business to me. You will be fully occupied with the excavation. I will handle everything else."

"You will anyhow," Emerson muttered. "Oh, very well. Is that Sir Edward coming? High bloody time! Nefret, get your notebook."

I could not resist going up with them to have another look. On the previous afternoon the men had removed all but the lowest course of the remaining stones, and constructed a sloping ramp to the top of the sarcophagus. It was firmly anchored at the base and secured at its upper end by a complex arrangement of ropes, but the slope was steep, and I must admit it was rather amusing to watch Sir Edward creep up it on hands and knees, camera and tripod strapped to his back. He had obviously taken Emerson's threat to heart, for he moved very carefully.

There were wonderful things in that small room. To the left of the door a carved chair or throne lay on its side in what appeared to be a pool of gold. The wood had shrunk and split, and the gold leaf that had covered most of the surface had fallen off. Those paper-thin sections of gold defined the original dimensions of the chair. It could be rebuilt if the gold was handled carefully. The same was true of the other inlaid pieces of furniture— a low bedstead with lion's feet, long poles that might belong to a carrying chair or a canopy. Leaning against the wall stood two large circular objects that had wrung a reverent "By the Almighty!" from Emerson. They appeared to be wheels—but belonging to what sort of vehicle? My suggestion, that it had been the chariot of a warrior queen, made Emerson groan aloud. "Impossible," he muttered. "Not at this period. At least.. . Oh, good Gad!"

He would have to restrain his burning curiosity, for the wheels were at the far side of the room, separated from us by several feet of incredible litter—baskets, pots, stone vessels, objects of bronze and faience. My eye was drawn to a tumbled heap of beads—gold and carnelian, lapis and turquoise—mixed in with gold spacers and exquisitely inlaid clasps. The queen's jewelry box had collapsed and shattered and the strings had decayed; but if we could preserve the present arrangement, the jewelry could be restored to its original beauty. Paraffin wax, melted and dashed over the fragments, would hold those beads in place....

My fingers itched, but I turned away from the enticing mess. Emerson had not thanked me for my sacrifice; I felt certain, however, that he would acknowledge it at a later time. He knew—who better?—that I would have preferred to remain. Archaeological fever burned within me, but it must yield to the sacred ties of familial affection.

When I reached the Castle I learned that Cyrus had already left for theValley of the Kings. Cyrus's steward—or majordomo, as he preferred to be called—was a Belgian who had lived for many years in Egypt. I knew him well, as he knew me; at my request he showed me at once to the library.

The typewriting machine stood on the table, with a pile of manuscript next to it. Not much had been done; only a few pages of typewritten material were there. Well, I thought charitably, perhaps it takes a while to become accustomed to a new apparatus—and Emerson's handwriting was admittedly difficult to decipher. But why was Gertrude not presently at work?

The majordomo informed me the lady was in her room. He led me there, and I knocked on the door.

Not until I announced my identity did Gertrude open it. She was wearing a loose robe and appeared a trifle dazed.

"What is it?" she exclaimed. "What has happened?"

"Why, nothing. Why should you suppose that?"

She took hold of my sleeve. "I had a dream last night," she whispered. "I was in my room on the dahabeeyah, and I heard a cry—"

"Now, Gertrude, I have not time to listen to your dream. I came looking for Mr. Vandergelt. Yes, I know he has gone on, and I must go after him, but I thought I would drop in and make sure you are comfortable."

"Why do you want him?" She maintained her grip on my sleeve. "Are you telling me the truth? Nothing has happened to her?"

I began to feel a bit uneasy—not for my own safety, since that was absurd, but for her sanity. She looked absolutely wild-eyed. The room behind her was dim with shadow, for the shutters had been closed, and there was a scent of that strange incense.

"Nothing has happened to anyone, Gertrude. I wanted Mr. Vandergelt to tell him what I am going to tell you—that we have entered the burial chamber and found great things."

Her hand went to her breast. "The burial chamber? Oh, heavens, is it true? But the Professor said—"

"He changed his mind. What is wrong with you? Are you ill?"

"No! No, thank you. I am well, I am strong. Only tell me—is she there?"

"Your references are more than a little ambiguous, Gertrude," I said— for a firm, even censorious, tone is necessary when speaking to incipient hysterics. "If you mean Nefret, she is there, working with the Professor and the others. If you mean Queen Tetisheri, we don't know. The sarcophagus is closed and it will remain so until the Professor decides to open it."

"Today?"

"No, not today nor within the next few days. I must go, Gertrude. You had better lie down."

However, I did not go at once to the Valley. I took up a position in the mouth of one of the innumerable little ravines that cut into the cliffs, and waited. I could see the front of the house, but I did not think I could be seen, immobile in the shadows.

It was less than half an hour before Cyrus's carriage drew up at the front door. Gertrude, hat askew and hair disheveled, hurried out and got into the carriage. It moved away in a cloud of dust, and I watched until it was out of sight. It had not taken the southern road, to Drah Abu'l Naga and Deir el Bahri, but had gone directly toward the ferry.

What I would have given just then for the ability to be in two places at once! However, it would have been difficult for me to follow Gertrude unobserved, and if she observed
me
she would not go where she planned to go. I regretted now the impulse that had led me to speak to her. Not until after I had seen her strange reaction did it occur to me that she might hurry to report to her unknown leader.

Ah well, I thought philosophically, hindsight is of little practical use. Urging my steed into a trot, I proceeded to carry out my original plan.

I beheld Cyrus looking on while his workmen carried off basket after basket of sand without—as was evident from my friend's gloomy expression—any sign of a tomb. I guided my steed rapidly through the inconvenient tourists and came to a sudden stop in front of Cyrus.

My appearance had, perhaps, a trifle too much panache. Cyrus jumped back and exclaimed in agitation, "Consarn it, Mrs. Amelia, what's gone wrong?"

I reassured him and made my announcement. Relief and pleasure succeeded one another on his expressive countenance, to be replaced by a look of poignant envy. "Can I have a look?" he asked hopefully. "I'll go back with you this minute if you say it's all right. Just let me stop by the house for my horse; I walked over this morning."

"I have a little errand to do before I return," I replied. "But you are welcome to pay Emerson a visit as soon as you like. I am sure he will be delighted to see you."

"I'm not so sure," said Cyrus, grinning. "But you couldn't keep me away with a club." Turning to his assistant, he remarked, "Sorry, my boy, but you will have to wait. Professor Emerson is not keen on company, and I would rather not try his temper."

"I would rather not do that either," said Mr. Amherst, with considerable feeling. "But sir, you will ask him—"

"Why, sure. He may want our assistance. If so, we'll close this pitiful job down and join him. I will let you know this evening. Mrs. Amelia, will you walk back with me to the Castle, or are you in a hurry?"

"I will be glad to accompany you, Cyrus. There is something I would like to tell you."

Excitement had rendered Cyrus unsteady on his feet. As my tale unfolded, he kept stumbling over things. "Holy Jehoshaphat, Mrs. Amelia," he cried when I finished. "Is this true?"