Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (92 page)

‘He knows less about excavation than Ramses,’ said Emerson.

‘I will be glad of Master Ramses’ expertise,’ said de Morgan, smiling but clearly annoyed. ‘Ah, your highness – you have met Professor and Mrs Emerson?’

Kalenischeff shook Emerson’s hand, kissed mine, apologized for his disarray, asked after Ramses, commented on the heat and hoped that we were pleased with Mazghunah. Neither of us felt inclined to reply to this last remark. Kalenischeff put his monocle in his eye and ogled me in a familiar fashion. ‘At any rate, Madame lends beauty to an otherwise dismal site,’ he said. ‘What a fetching costume!’

‘I did not come here to talk about women’s clothing,’ said Emerson, scowling fiercely as the Russian studied my booted calves.

‘Of course not,’ Kalenischeff said smoothly. ‘Any advice or assistance we can offer you – ’

That is only a sample of the unsatisfactory tenor of the conversation. Every time Emerson tried to introduce a sensible subject, de Morgan talked about the weather or the Russian made some slighting suggestion. Needless to say, I burned with indignation at seeing my husband, so infinitely superior in all ways, insulted by these two, and finally I decided to suffer it no longer. I can, when necessary, raise my voice to a pitch and volume very trying to the ears, and impossible to ignore.

‘I wish to talk to you about the illegal antiquities trade,’ I said.

Kalenischeff’s monocle fell from his eye, de Morgan choked in mid-swallow, the servants jumped, and one dropped the glass he was holding. Having achieved my immediate goal of capturing the gentlemen’s attention, I continued in a more moderate tone. ‘As director of Antiquities, monsieur, you are of course fully informed about the situation. What steps are you taking to halt this nefarious trade and imprison the practitioners?’

De Morgan cleared his throat. ‘The usual steps, madame.’

‘Now, monsieur, that will not suffice.’ I shook my finger playfully and raised my voice a notch or two. ‘You are not addressing an empty-headed lady tourist; you are talking to
ME
. I know more than you suppose. I know, for instance, that the extent of the trade has increased disastrously; that an unknown Master Criminal has entered the game – ’

‘The devil!’ Kalenischeff cried. His monocle, which he had replaced, again fell from its place. ‘Er – your pardon, Madame Emerson …’

‘You appear surprised,’ I said. ‘Is this information new to you, your highness?’

‘There has always been illicit digging. But your talk of a Master Criminal …’ He shrugged.

‘His highness is correct,’ de Morgan said. ‘Admittedly there has been a slight increase in the illegal trade of late, but – forgive me, madame – the Master Criminal exists only in sensational fiction, and I have seen no evidence of a gang at work.’

His denials proved to me that he was quite unfit for his responsible position. Kalenischeff was obviously hiding something. I felt I was on the verge of great discoveries, and was about to pursue my inquiries more forcibly when a shout arose. It held such a note of terror and alarm that we all started to our feet and ran in the direction from which it had come.

Selim lay flat on the ground, his arms flailing, his cries for help rising to a frenzied pitch. Such a cloud of sand surrounded him that we were quite close before I realized what the trouble was. The terrain, west of the pyramid base, was very uneven, covered with sunken hollows and raised ridges – certain evidence of ancient structures buried beneath the sand. From one such hollow an arm protruded, stiff as a tree branch. Around it Selim was digging furiously, and it required very little intelligence to deduce that (
A
), the arm belonged to Ramses, and (
B
), the rest of Ramses was under the sand.

Bellowing in horror, Emerson flung Selim aside. Instead of wasting time digging, he seized Ramses’ wrist and gave a mighty heave. Ramses rose up out of the
souterrain
like a trout rising to a fly.

I stood leaning on my parasol while Emerson brushed the sand off his son, assisted halfheartedly by the others. When the worst of it was removed I uncorked my flask of water and offered it to Emerson, together with a clean white handkerchief.

‘Pour the water over his face, Emerson. I observe he has had the sense to keep his eyes and mouth tightly shut, so the damage should not be extensive.’

And so it proved. Emerson decided we had better take Ramses home. I agreed to the suggestion; the interruption had shattered the web I had been weaving around the villainous Russian, and there was no point in continuing. De Morgan did not attempt to detain us.

As we bade a reluctant farewell to Dahshoor, Selim tugged at my sleeve. ‘Sitt, I have failed you. Beat me, curse me!’

‘Not at all, my boy,’ I replied. ‘It is quite impossible to prevent Ramses from falling into, or out of, objects. Your task is to rescue him or summon assistance, and you performed quite well. Without you, he might have smothered.’

Selim’s face cleared. Gratefully he kissed my hand.

Emerson, with Ramses, had drawn a short distance ahead. Overhearing what I had said, he stopped and waited for us.

‘Quite right, Peabody. You have summed up the situation nicely. I have already cautioned Ramses to be more careful and – er – no more need be said on the subject.’

‘Humph,’ I said.

‘All’s well that ends well,’ Emerson insisted. ‘By the way, Peabody, what was the purpose of your quizzing de Morgan about antiquities thieves? The man is a perfect fool, you know. He is as ineffectual as his predecessor in office.’

‘I was about to question Kalenischeff about Abd el Atti’s death when Ramses interrupted, Emerson.’

‘Interrupted? Interrupted! I suppose that is one way of putting it.’

‘Kalenischeff is a most suspicious character. Did you observe his reaction when I spoke of the Master Criminal?’

‘If I had been wearing a monocle – ’

‘A most unlikely supposition, Emerson. I cannot imagine you wearing such an absurd accoutrement.’

‘If,’ Emerson repeated doggedly, ‘I had been wearing a monocle, I would have let it fall on hearing such a preposterous suggestion. I beg you will leave off playing detective, Amelia. That is all behind us now.’

Emerson was, of course, engaging in wishful thinking when he said our criminal investigations were ended. If he had stopped to consider the matter, he would have realized, as I did, that removal from Cairo did not mean we were removed from the case. The thief who had entered our hotel room had been led thither as a result of our involvement in Abd el Atti’s death. I was as certain of that as I was of my own name. The thief had not found the object he was looking for. It must be something of considerable importance to him or he would not have risked entering a place as well guarded as Shepheard’s. The conclusion? It should be obvious to any reasonable person. The thief would continue to search for the missing object. Sooner or later we would hear from him – another attempt at burglary, or an assault on one of us, or some other interesting attention. Since this had not occurred to Emerson, I did not feel obliged to point it out to him. He would only have fussed.

On the following day we were ready to begin work. Emerson had decided to start with a late cemetery. I tried to dissuade him, for I have no patience with martyrs.

‘Emerson, you know quite well from the visible remains that this cemetery probably dates from Roman times. You hate late cemeteries. Why don’t we work at the – er – pyramids? You may find subsidiary tombs, temples, a substructure – ’

‘No, Amelia. I agreed to excavate this site and I will excavate it, with a thoroughness and attention to detail that will set new standards for archaeological methodology. Never let it be said that an Emerson shirked his duty.’

And off he marched, his shoulders squared and his eyes lifted to the horizon. He looked so splendid I didn’t have the heart to point out the disadvantages of this posture; when one is striding bravely into the future one cannot watch one’s footing. Sure enough, he stumbled into Ramses’ pile of potsherds and went sprawling.

Ramses, who had been about to go after him, prudently retired behind my trousers. After a malignant glance in our direction Emerson got up and limped away.

‘What is Papa going to do?’ Ramses inquired.

‘He is going to hire the workers. See, they are coming now.’

A group of men had gathered around the table where Emerson now seated himself, with John at his side. We had decided to put John in charge of the work records, listing the names of the men as they were taken on, and keeping track of the hours they worked, plus additional money earned for important finds. Applicants continued to trickle in from the direction of the village. They were a sombre group in their dark robes and blue turbans. Only the children lent some merriment to the scene. We would hire a number of the latter, both boys and girls, to carry away the baskets of sand the men filled as they dug.

Ramses studied the group and decided, correctly, that it promised to be a dull procedure. ‘I will help you, Mama,’ he announced.

‘That is kind of you, Ramses. Wouldn’t you rather finish your own excavation?’

Ramses gave the potsherds a disparaging glance. ‘I have finished it, to my own satisfaction. I was desirous of carrying out a sample dig, for, after all, I have had no experience at excavation, t’ough I am naturally conversant wit’ de basic principles. However, it is apparent dat de site is devoid of interest. I believe I will turn my attention now –’

‘For pity’s sake, Ramses, don’t lecture! I cannot imagine whence you derive your unfortunate habit of loquacity. There is no need to go on and on when someone asks you a simple question. Brevity, my boy, is not only the soul of wit, it is the essence of literary and verbal efficiency. Model yourself on my example, I beg, and from now on – ’

I was interrupted, not by Ramses, who was listening intently, but by Bastet. She let out a long plaintive howl and bit me on the ankle. Fortunately my thick boots prevented her teeth from penetrating the skin.

In the pages of this private journal I will admit I made a mistake. I should not have interrupted Ramses when he spoke of his future plans.

I was fully occupied all that morning with domestic arrangements. Not until after the men resumed work after the midday break did I have time to look them over.

The first trench had been started. We had fifty men at work with picks and shovels, and as many children carrying away the detritus. The scene was familiar to me from previous seasons, and despite the fact that I expected nothing of interest to turn up, my spirits lifted at the well-loved scene – the picks of the men rising and falling rhythmically, the children scampering off with the loaded baskets, singing as they worked. I walked along the line, hoping someone would stop me to announce a find – a coffin or a cache of jewellery or a tomb. Not until I reached the end of the trench did I make the discovery.

One frequently hears, from English and European tourists, that all Egyptians look alike. This is nonsense, of course; Emerson calls it prejudice, and he is probably correct. I will admit, however, that the omnipresent, shapeless robes and turbans create an impression of uniformity. The facial hair to which our workers were addicted also added to the impression that they were all closely related to one another. Despite these handicaps, it was not five minutes before I had seen one particular face that made an electrifying impression on me.

I sped back to Emerson. ‘He is here,’ I exclaimed. ‘In section A-twenty-four. Come at once, Emerson.’

Emerson, with a singularly sour expression on his face, was inspecting the first find of the day – a crude pottery lamp. He glowered. ‘Who is here, Amelia?’

I paused a moment for effect. ‘The man who was talking to Abd el Atti.’

Emerson flung the lamp onto the ground. ‘What the devil are you talking about? What man?’

‘You must remember. I described him to you. He spoke the gold sellers’ argot, and when he saw me, he – ’

‘Are you out of your senses?’ Emerson bellowed.

I seized his arm. ‘Come quickly, Emerson.’

As we went, I explained. ‘He was a very ill-favoured fellow, Emerson. I will never forget his face. Only ask yourself why he should turn up here, unless he is following us with some nefarious purpose in mind.’

‘Where is this villain?’ Emerson inquired, with deceptive mildness.

‘There.’ I pointed.

‘You, there,’ Emerson called.

The man straightened. His eyes widened in simulated surprise. ‘You speak to me, effendi?’

‘Yes, to you. What is your name?’

‘Hamid, effendi.’

‘Ah, yes, I remember. You are not a local man.’

‘I come from Manawat, effendi, as I told you. We heard there was work here.’

The answer came readily. The fellow’s eyes never left Emerson’s face. I considered this highly suspicious.

‘Proceed discreetly, Emerson,’ I said in a low voice. ‘If accused, he may strike at you with his pick.’

‘Bah,’ said Emerson. ‘When were you last in Cairo, Hamid?’

‘Cairo? I have never been there, effendi.’

‘Do you know Abd el Atti, the dealer in antiquities?’

‘No, effendi.’

Emerson gestured him to return to his work and drew me aside. ‘There, you see? You are imagining things again, Amelia.’

‘Of course he will deny everything, Emerson. You did not carry out a proper interrogation. But never mind; I didn’t suppose we would wring a confession from the villain. I only wanted to draw your attention to him.’

‘Do me a favour,’ Emerson said. ‘Don’t draw my attention to anyone, or anything, unless it has been dead at least a thousand years. This work is tedious enough. I do not need further aggravation.’ And off he marched, grumbling.

To be honest, I was beginning to regret I had acted so precipitately. I might have known Emerson would question my identification, and now I had let my suspect know I was suspicious of him. It would have been better to let him believe his disguise (of an indigo turban) had not been penetrated.

The damage was done. Perhaps, knowing my eyes were upon him, Hamid might be moved to rash action, such as a direct attack on one of us. Cheered by this reasoning, I returned to my work.