The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog (36 page)

"Quite all right," said Emerson genially. "Contain your delight, Charles, I promise you will be the first
to have a go at it."
"Thank you, sir," said Charles.

*  *  *

"I cannot imagine what is wrong with me," I exclaimed, pressing my hands to my throbbing head. "Ordinarily I can follow Emerson's train of thought, even when it is incomprehensible to normal people, but I am at a loss to understand him now. He is up to something— but what?"
I was not talking to myself, but to Cyrus. He had insisted on taking me back to my room immediately after dinner. Since there were no other volunteers I accepted his offer, for I was not feeling quite up
to par.
He did not reply at once, being preoccupied with the difficulty of opening the door while both hands
were supporting me.
"Allow me," I said, reaching for the knob.
Cyrus's efficient steward had tidied the room and left a lamp burning. It was not until Cyrus was about
to lower me onto the bed that I saw something that brought a cry to my lips. "Curse it! Someone has
been going through my papers!"
Cyrus gazed around the room. Being a man, he saw nothing out of place "The steward . . ." he began.
"He would have no excuse for opening the box in which I keep letters and personal documents. See,
there is a corner of paper protruding; I hope you do not believe I would be so untidy! Hand me the
box, will you please?"
It was a metal container of the sort solicitors employ,  I had not locked it, since the only papers it presently contained were the letters I had received and my notes on "The Tale of the Doomed Prince " The rubbings I had made in the royal tomb and my excavation notes were in another portfolio.
Quickly I sifted through the pile of papers. "There is no doubt about it," I said grimly. "He did not
even bother to replace them in the same order. Either he is criminally inexperienced, or he did not care whether I detected his efforts."
"Is anything missing?" Cyrus asked.
"Not from here. Er— Cyrus, would you mind turning your back for a moment?"
He gave me a hurt, quizzical look, but at once complied. The rustling of the bedclothes must have
driven him wild with curiosity, his shoulders kept twitching. Like the gentleman he was, he remained motionless until I bade him turn around.
"Even more curious," I said, frowning. "Nothing at all is missing. One would have supposed . . ."
"That a trained thief would look first under the mattress?" Cyrus inquired, eyebrows raised. "I won't
ask what you've got there, Amelia, but you sure could find a better hiding place. Never mind, doesn't
the fact that your treasure, whatever it is, has not been taken suggest that it was only a curious servant who searched your papers?"
"It suggests to me that the searcher's motive is even more sinister than I could suppose, since I am
unable to determine what it is."
"Oh," said Cyrus. He scratched his chin.
His lean frame and rough-hewn features, the epitome of masculinity, looked quite incongruous in the pretty, luxurious room. I invited him to sit down, and he perched uncomfortably on the edge of a fragile chair.
"It's no wonder you're feeling poorly, my dear," he said. "Most men would be flat-out after such an experience. I wish you would take it easy."
I ignored this ridiculous suggestion. "Since idle speculation as to the motives of the searcher is a waste
of time, let me return to the subject of Emerson. He is extremely pleased with himself, Cyrus. That is
a bad sign. It can only mean that he has discovered a clue to the identity or the whereabouts of our enemy— some fact already known to him, or it would not have prompted his cry of 'What a fool I am!' What can it be? If Emerson can think of it, I ought to be able to. He was talking about taking me to Cairo— strangers on the train . . medical attention . . . Of course! What a fool I am!"
The dainty chair creaked ominously as Cyrus shifted his weight I was too excited to note this evidence
of discomfort. "Follow my reasoning, Cyrus," I cried. "If we had believed that I— or Emerson, who
was the intended victim— had been infected, we would have set out for Cairo. Our enemy would have intercepted us. But why would he delay until we were on the train? He would have a better opportunity
of ambushing our party between here and Derut— on the felucca that carried us across the river, or
along the road to the railroad station. He was here, Cyrus— here in the village, staying with the 'Omdeh
in all probability, for that is where tourists find accommodations— and that is where Emerson was going, to the house of the 'Omdeh! If you had not— "
The chair gave off a series of alarming squeaks. Cyrus leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
"Cyrus," I said very gently. "You knew this. You lied to me, Cyrus. I asked you where Emerson had gone, and you said— "
"It was for your own good," Cyrus protested. "Doggone it, Amelia, you scare the dickens out of me sometimes, the way you figure things out. You sure you don't practice witchcraft on the sly?"
"I wish I did. I would like to be able to put curses on certain people. Speak up, Cyrus. Tell me all."
I had been absolutely correct, of course. A party of tourists had arrived that morning, on horseback.
They had requested the hospitality of the 'Omdeh but had changed their minds and departed, somewhat abruptly, shortly after we returned.
"They— or someone who reported to them— must have overheard Abdullah announce the dog was not rabid," I mused.
"The whole darned countryside heard Abdullah," Cyrus grunted.
"It was not his fault. It was no one's fault. So that is why Emerson was wandering around the northern cliffs this afternoon! He believes the 'tourists' are still in the neighborhood. It may well be so, our enemy is not likely to give up now. And Emerson means to deal with the fellow himself, of course. I cannot permit that. Where is Abdullah? I must— "
I started to swing my feet off the bed. Cyrus sprang to my side, gently but firmly he forced me to lie back. "Amelia, if you don't stop this I will hold your nose and pour a dose of laudanum down your
throat. You will only aggravate your injury if you don't give it a chance to heal."
"You are right, of course, Cyrus," I said. "It is so cursed inconvenient! I cannot even pace to relieve
my pent-up feelings."
How quickly he had overcome his embarrassment at being alone with me in my room! He was now actually sitting on the bed, and his hands still rested on my shoulders. He looked deeply into my eyes.
"Amelia—"
"Would you be good enough to get me a glass of water, Cyrus?"
"In a minute. You have to hear me out, Amelia. I can't stand this any longer."
Out of respect for feelings that were— I am convinced— genuine and profound, I will not record the words in which he poured them out. They were simple and manly, like Cyrus himself. When he paused
I could only shake my head and say, "I am sorry, Cyrus."
"Then—there is no hope?"
"You forget yourself, my friend."
"I'm not the one that's forgotten," said Cyrus harshly. "He doesn't deserve you, Amelia. Give it up!"
"Never," I said. "Never, if it takes a lifetime."
It was a dramatic moment. I believe my voice and my look carried conviction. I certainly meant them to.
Cyrus took his hands from my shoulders and turned away. I said gently, "You mistake friendship for deeper feelings, Cyrus. One day you will find a woman worthy of your affection." Still he sat in silence, his shoulders bowed. I always think a little touch of humor relieves difficult situations, I added cheerfully, "And just think—it is most unlikely she will have a son like Ramses!"
Cyrus squared his broad shoulders. "No one else could have a son like Ramses. If you mean that as consolation, however . Well, I will say no more. Shall I fetch Abdullah to you now? I guess if I don't you'll hoist yourself out of bed and go stumping off after him."
He had taken it like a man. I had expected no less of him.

*  *  *

Abdullah looked even more out of place in my room than Cyrus had. He studied the frills and furbelows with a scowl of deep suspicion, and refused the chair I offered. It did not take me long to force him to confess that he too had deceived me.
"But, Sitt, you did not ask me," was his feeble excuse.
"You ought not have waited till you were asked. Why did you not come to me at once? Oh, never mind," I said impatiently, as Abdullah rolled his eyes and tried to think of another lie. "Tell me now. Precisely what did you learn this afternoon?"
Before long Abdullah was squatting comfortably on the floor next to the bed, and we were deep in friendly consultation. Accompanied by Abdullah, Daoud and Ali (he had at least had sense enough to take them with him), Emerson had attempted to learn where the mysterious tourists had gone. No boatman admitted to having taken them across the river, and it was unlikely the former would have lied— for, as Abdullah innocently expressed it, "the threats of the Father of Curses are stronger than any bribe." That meant that the men we sought were still on the east bank. An itinerant camel driver had confirmed this assumption, he had seen a group of horsemen heading for the northern end of the plain, where the cliffs swung close to the river.
"We lost them then," Abdullah said. "But they must have a camp somewhere in the hills or on the high desert, Sitt. We did not look farther, it was growing late, and Emerson said we would turn back. He
was looking very pleased."
"Of course he is, curse him," I muttered, clenching my fists. "That explains his sudden interest in boundary stelae, it is only an excuse to search that area and, with any luck— as Emerson would
probably put it— be violently attacked again. Furthermore, he believes I am out of commission and
cannot interfere with his idiotic scheme. Well! Just wait till he sees— "
An almost imperceptible twitch of Abdullah's beard made me break off. His is a particularly impassive countenance, or so he fondly believes. Since he also believes that I have occult powers, he finds it difficult to conceal his thoughts from me.
"Abdullah," I said. "My father. My honored friend. If Emerson tries to leave the boat tonight, stop him
by any means necessary, including violence. And if you tell him of our conversation . . ."
I paused for effect, having found that unuttered threats are the most terrifying. Besides, I could not really think of one I was capable of carrying out.
"I hear and will obey." Abdullah rose in a graceful flutter of skirts. The formal words of submission
would have impressed me more if he had not been trying to repress a smile. He added, "It is very difficult, Sitt, to walk the knife's edge between your commands and those of Emerson. He said the
same thing to me not an hour ago."

CHAPTER 15

"Martyrdom is often the result of excessive gullibility."

I was up and dressed at dawn, belt of tools strapped at my waist, parasol in my hand. My martial appearance was only a trifle marred by the pale-blue woolly slipper on my left foot. Leaning heavily on
the parasol, I made my way to the dining saloon. (The stairs presented something of a difficulty until I thought of ascending them in a sitting position.)
There was less fuss and complaint than I had expected. Kevin greeted me with a knowing grin, and Cyrus's feeble, "Amelia, I really don't think you ought . . ." was never completed. Emerson looked
at the pale-blue woolly slipper, raised his eyebrows, opened his mouth, closed it, and reached for
another piece of bread.
After we had finished eating, Cyrus went off to make sure the donkeys were ready. Bertha, followed
by the three young men like ganders after a comely lady goose, had offered to collect my gear, an offer
I was glad to accept.
"Just a moment, Emerson," I said, as he pushed his chair away from the table. "I want to speak to you
for a moment about Charles."
He had not expected that Pausing with his hand on the back of the chair, he studied me suspiciously,
his head tilted. "What about him?"
"He has not told you of his fear of heights? Oh, dear, I feared he would not. Men are so— "
"He did tell me," Emerson interrupted. His brows drew together in a scowl "How he ever expects to qualify as an archaeologist I cannot imagine. What with tombs in the cliffs, and pyramids, and— "
"That is all right, then," I said, recognizing the start of one of Emerson's notorious lectures. "It was
cruel of you to tease him about it yesterday."
"Don't push me too far, Peabody," said Emerson between clenched teeth. "I am holding on to my
temper with both hands as it is. How dare you turn up this morning in that preposterous slipper wearing that expression of maddening self-confidence? I ought to lock you in your room and tie you to the bed! By heaven, I will!"
Though my parasol was fastened to my wrist by its little strap I made no attempt to prevent him from sweeping me up into his arms. I am a strong-minded woman, but even the best of us is not always able
to resist temptation. When he started toward the stairs, I said firmly, "Just carry me directly to a donkey, if you please. You may as well spare yourself time and trouble, Emerson, for no method you employ
will suffice to keep me in that room if I choose to leave it."
Emerson deposited me on the donkey and stormed off, shouting at Abdullah, since he knew there was
no use in shouting at me Abdullah glanced at me. If he had been English he would have winked.
We were soon on our way. Bertha and I rode donkeys. After considering its options with an uncanny
air of deliberation, the cat chose to ride with me. The others walked, including Kevin, over his piteous objections. Our path led us almost due north along the bare desert track that passes through the mountain defile at one end of the Amarna plain and runs parallel to the river before rising again over the hills to the south. Nothing marked it except the prints of men and donkeys, on either side the waterless waste lay empty under the sun. Yet once this had been the royal road of a great city, lined with fine houses and painted temples. From the Window of Appearance of the king's palace he had thrown collars of gold to favored courtiers. Now only low mounds and sunken hollows remained, time and the ever-encroaching sand had destroyed the evidences of man's ephemeral presence, as they would one day destroy all traces of our own.
The distance from Haggi Qandil to the northern boundary is a little over three miles. Already the sun
was hot. Kevin puffed and groaned and mopped his streaming brow. I offered him my parasol, but he refused it,- some silly notion of appearing unmanly, I suppose. I only hoped he would not inconvenience me by collapsing with heat prostration. Unlike the others he was unused to the climate, and Emerson moderated his pace for no man— or woman.
To the right, several miles distant, were the northern tombs and the boundary stela we had seen on the first day. Emerson did not turn aside. As we went on, the cliffs curved more sharply toward the river, until only a narrow space a few hundred yards wide separated them from the bank. The shade they offered was welcome, but I began to feel the same sense of oppression that had overshadowed me while we were camping in the royal wadi. The rock face was even more broken here (or so it seemed to my anxious eyes), not only by crevices and innumerable small wadis but by the remains of ancient quarries
At last Emerson came to a stop and looked up Anubis jumped down from my lap and went to stand by him.
High above on the stony wall I saw fragmentary reliefs and rows of hieroglyphic signs. So there was a stela. I would not have been surprised to find that Emerson had invented one. This was a new one—
new to archaeologists, I mean, for it was certainly very old and worn—and far north of any of the
others. A brief tremor of archaeological fever ran through me, but it quickly passed. I felt sure Emerson had not come here to add a few more hieroglyphs to the texts of the boundary stelae.
Cyrus managed not to swear aloud, though he choked on the unut-tered word. "Holy— er— Jimminy.
All this way— for that!"
"The text is probably identical with the others," I replied. "But you know how battered they all are,- we may find a portion here that has not survived elsewhere, and fill in some of the missing sections."
"Well, you sure aren't going to find anything," Cyrus declared. "Only a lizard could slither up that cliff. Come and sit down here in the shade, my dear—what there is of it."
He lifted me off the donkey and placed me on the rug Bertha had spread out. The men were already unloading the supply donkeys. Rene and Charles, goaded by Emerson's caustic comments, pitched in
with a will. Kevin flung himself down at my feet with a martyred sigh and begged for water I poured a cup for the afflicted journalist and reminded him that it was his own fault he was enduring thirst and
heat "Curiosity killed the cat, you know, Kevin. I hope yours may not be the death of you."
"Speaking of cats," Kevin said, "tell me about that diabolical-looking creature that follows the professor around. I thought when I first saw it that it was the one you adopted after l'affaire Baskerville, but this one appears to be much more savage and less domesticated."
"We are taking care of it temporarily for a friend," I replied. "There is no news story in that, Kevin.
Will you excuse me? I want to see what they are doing."
"Should you be walking on that ankle?" Kevin asked, as I levered myself to my feet with the aid of
my trusty parasol.
"It is not broken or sprained, only a trifle sore. Stay here, Kevin, I don't need you."
Under Emerson's direction the men were fitting together a rough scaffold, binding the strips of wood together with rope. It was a horribly ramshackle affair, but I knew that it was a good deal sturdier than
it looked. I had often seen our men scampering up and down such structures with the insouciance of tightrope walkers, apparently oblivious to the way the boards creaked and swayed This time, I knew it would have to bear a heavier weight.
Cyrus was so intent on the work that he did not see me until I stood next to him. I brushed aside his protests and his attempt to pick me up. He followed me, still protesting, as I hobbled on
Beyond the shoulder of rock a ravine cut at a sharp angle into the cliff. The usual litter of broken stone and flood-deposited pebbles covered its floor, and the sides were laced with black shadows where crevices of all sizes and shapes broke the rocky walls.
I looked up and my heart gave a great leap as I saw the figure of a man silhouetted against the sky. Then I recognized Ali. Leaning precariously over the edge, he helped another of the men to climb up beside him. Turning, they looked down, not at me but at those just around the corner of the cliff.
"What are they doing?" Cyrus asked curiously.
"Ali and Daoud are lowering ropes. The men below will fasten them to the top of the scaffold. There
is no other way of anchoring the structure, since even steel spikes, which we do not have, would be
difficult to drive into solid rock. Emerson will tie another rope around his waist as a safety measure.
At least I hope he will."
"If he does not, you will remind him," Cyrus said with a smile.
"Certainly. I had better go and make sure"
Before we went on, I turned for another look at the desolate valley behind us and at the cliff that
bounded its northern side. The rickety scaffold and those on it were fully exposed to anyone who might be lying in hiding behind the tumbled rocks on the top.
"You and your men are still armed, I observe," I said.
"And will be," Cyrus said grimly. Shading his eyes with his hand, he looked up "Yep, that would be a good spot for a lookout. I'll send one of the boys, if you'll go back and sit down."
He gave me no opportunity to argue, picking me up and walking with long strides back to the rug. Emerson was already on the scaffold and Rene was climbing up to join him. Both, I was relieved to observe, wore safety ropes
The sun rose higher and the shade shrank. Cyrus's foresight had provided even for that, his men rigged a little shelter, with piled-up rocks and canvas stretched over it. By the time the men stopped for food and rest, the temperature was well into the nineties. Of them all, Rene appeared most exhausted, which was no wonder, since he had been on the scaffold in the boiling sun for several hours.
As the long afternoon wore on without incident, the uneasiness with which I had faced the day ought to have lessened Instead it mounted, hour by slow hour, until every inch of my skin felt raw and exposed.
I was surprised and relieved when Emerson announced that we would stop for the day. It lacked several hours till sunset: I had expected he would go on, as he always did, until the last possible moment.
The announcement was greeted with a universal sigh of thankfulness. Hands on his hips, fresh as ever, Emerson swept scornful eyes over his sweating subordinates and scowled at Kevin, who was reclining gracefully at Bertha's feet.
"Tomorrow you can employ your detectival talents elsewhere," he announced. "You are a nuisance,
Mr. O'Connell, listening to you groan and complain distracts me, and unless I miss my guess, you are
on the verge of heat prostration. The rest of you aren't much better. We may as well go back."
Ordinarily the dry baking heat of my beloved Egypt is much more to my taste than the climate of my native heath I may have had a little temperature that afternoon. However, I am more inclined to believe that it was nervousness—for Emerson, not myself—that made me feel so warm and miserable. That sensation lessened as we started on the homeward path I had for once been in error, the danger I expected had not materialized. I reminded myself that it was perfectly in character for Emerson to be distracted from threats to life and limb by an archaeological discovery, but I felt sure he had not abandoned, only postponed, whatever underhanded scheme he had in mind. I would have to watch
him closely that night.
Musing thus, endeavoring to anticipate Emerson's next move, lethargic from heat, lulled by the ambling pace of the donkey, I fell into a kind of waking doze. I was not asleep. The donkey must have stumbled, or I would not have come close to pitching head-foremost off its back. A hand at once steadied me, blinking, I saw Cyrus's face beside me. "Hang on a little longer, my dear," he said. "We are halfway home."
I looked around. To my right the village of El Til huddled among the palm trees. A faint breeze from the river carried the scent of the cooking fires. The swollen molten orb of the sun hung low over the western cliffs,- Akhenaton's god, the living Aton, was about to leave the world to darkness and a sleep like death. But he would rise again as he had risen thousands upon thousands of times, to fill every land with his
love and waken every living creature to praise his coming.
I am often given to poetic fancies. I could have wished they had not come upon me at that particular
time, however. They cost me several precious seconds.
Bertha rode beside me, silent as a statue. The donkeys had drawn ahead of the weary men. I saw them coming along behind us in a ragged procession. Kevin was among the last stragglers, his fiery hair blazed in the rays of the declining sun. Charlie walked beside him, slowing his steps to those of his limping friend. Rene . .
I snatched the reins from Cyrus and brought the poor donkey to a sudden halt. "Where is he?" I cried. "Where is Emerson?"
"He is coming," Cyrus answered. "Just behind. He and Abdullah stopped to— "
"Abdullah. I don't see him either. Or your two guards. Or the cat!"
The truth, the terrible truth, struck like a bolt of electricity. "Curse you, Cyrus," I cried. "How dare you?
I will never forgive you for this!"
I much regretted having to knock him down, but I would never have got away from him otherwise. He was trying to pull the reins from my hand when my parasol struck his arm away. In avoiding a second blow he tripped over his feet and fell. I dug my heels into the donkey's side.
I think it was my scream of pain that inspired the donkey to rapid motion, I had forgotten I was wearing only a slipper on the injured foot. Since no one but the donkey could hear me I allowed myself to use a few expressions I had learned from Emerson. They helped to relieve my feelings, but not a great deal.
They had all conspired against me— Cyrus, Abdullah, and of course Emerson. It was small consolation
to know that it had taken all three to get the better of me. How long had they been planning this? Since the previous night, at least, the expedition today had been designed only to put me off the track and
wear me out so that by the end of that long tiring day my vigilance would relax. I ground my teeth.
What a dastardly, unsportsmanlike trick!
I have never struck an animal and I did not do so on this occasion. The sound of my voice crying
"Yalla! Yallal" was spur enough. Ears back, the little donkey thundered on at a speed it had probably never attained before. Like all the donkeys on all my expeditions, it had been given good care since it came into my hands, and now kindness had borne useful fruit, as the Scripture assures us it must.
As I rode I strained my eyes in the hope of seeing a moving form among the foothills. I saw nothing,
the uneven terrain offered ample opportunity for concealment, and his dusty clothing would blend with the pale shade of the rocks. He had gone that way, I felt certain, following the curve of the bow while