Read Crocodile on the Sandbank Online
Authors: Elizabeth Peters
Tags: #Historical fiction, #Detective and mystery stories, #Mystery fiction, #Fiction, #General, #Mystery & Detective, #Women Sleuths, #Historical, #Suspense, #Crime & mystery, #Political, #Women detectives - Egypt, #Peabody, #Amelia (Fictious character), #Crime & Thriller, #Mummies, #Peabody, #Amelia (Fictitious character), #Egyptology, #Cairo (Egypt), #Mystery, #Detective, #Women detectives, #Emerson, #Radcliffe (Fictitious character), #Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, #Archaeologists' spouses, #Mystery & Detective - General, #Egypt, #Fiction - Mystery
Crocodile on the Sandbank (13 page)
"An interesting suggestion," Emerson said. His voice was very quiet; it
grated like a grinding stone.
"What do you say, Abdullah?"
"Very good, very good. We go. Work at Sakkarah, Luxor. I know tombs in
the Valley of the Kings," he added, with a sly glance at Emerson.
"Royal tombs, many not found yet. I find you good king's tomb
and we go
to Thebes, where is my home, where I have friends who work gladly."
"Hmm," said Emerson. "There certainly are undiscovered tombs in the
Valley of the Kings. It is a tempting suggestion, Abdullah. You seem to
forget, however, that one cannot excavate in Egypt without permission
from the Antiquities Department. I had a difficult enough time wringing
this concession out
of Maspero; he certainly will not allow me to dig
in any spot where he hopes to find interesting objects. There is also a
minor matter of money to be considered. Walter— what is your opinion?"
Walter had been looking at Evelyn. He started when his brother
addressed him, and faint color stained
his tanned cheeks.
"Why, Radcliffe, you know I will do whatever you wish. But I urge one
thing most strongly. Whether
you and I go or stay, the ladies must
leave. Not that our situation holds any danger; but it is unpleasant,
and the ladies have already given too much time to us. They must
depart; today, if possible."
A tear glimmered in my eye as I gazed at the gallant young fellow. He
was a true Briton, ordering the
girl he loved out of danger and
remaining loyal to his billy goat of a brother. Evelyn clasped her
hands
and gazed at me beseechingly. She felt the same loyalty to me,
and would not oppose my decision.
There was no need for her appeal. I
had no intention of being removed, like a bundle of laundry, to a
safe
spot behind the lines of battle.
"The suggestion is well meant, but I cannot accept it," I said briskly.
"Either we all go, or all of us remain."
Emerson now turned his full attention to me. He drew a deep breath; the
buttons of his shirt strained across his broad chest. They were all
loose, and I reminded myself to fetch my sewing kit as soon as
the
argument was over.
"Ah, Miss Peabody," he said, in a low growl. "My dear Miss Peabody. May
I take the liberty of inquiring how the devil— " His voice rose to a
roar; a gesture from Walter stopped him, and he continued in a
moderated voice that shook with the strain of control. "How on earth
did you come to be mixed up in my affairs? I am a patient man; I seldom
complain. But my life was calm and peaceful until you came into it. Now
you behave as if you were the leader of the expedition! I quite agree
with Walter; the women must go. Now don't argue with me, Peabody! Do
you realize that I could have you bundled up and carried off to your
boat? Michael and Abdullah would be delighted to do the job."
I glanced down at Michael, who was listening in open-mouthed interest.
"No, Michael would not obey you. He would prefer to see me out of here,
I'm sure, but he would not disregard my wishes. Now,
Emerson, don't waste time arguing. I can see that you intend to remain
here, and I must admit that I am reluctant to abandon the work— to see
the British lion skulk away with its tail between its legs..."
"Oh, God," said Emerson. He rolled his eyes until the whites showed. I
felt that the remark was not intended as a prayer, but decided not to
make an issue of it. I continued.
"Having decided to remain, we must consider the next step. You cannot
obtain workmen here. Unless
my crew..."
I glanced at Michael, who shook his head, and went on, "No, I thought
they would not. And I fear any workers you might import might be
subject to the same harassment. I suggest, then, that today we all work
at finishing up the pavement. Evelyn must complete her sketch; I will
apply the rest of the tapioca. Tonight we will proceed to the obvious
course of action. We must catch the Mummy, and unmask him!"
Walter sat upright and clapped his hands.
"Miss Amelia, you are a wonder. Of course! With four of us on guard— "
"Six of us," I said. "I think that is sufficient; mere is no need to
bring the boat crew into this. I suggest
that one of us watch the
village. Mohammed must slip out in his disguise if he wants to haunt
us, and since he is determined to get rid of us, he will probably pay
us a visit tonight. The rest of us will lie in
wait for him. Have you
firearms?"
Evelyn let out a little cry of alarm.
Emerson's face underwent a series of silent convulsions. He said in a
muffled voice, "I do not have firearms. They are dangerous and
unnecessary."
"Then we will have to use clubs," I said.
Emerson's lips writhed. "I can't stand this," he muttered, and sprang
to his feet. As he walked away, I
saw that his shoulders were shaking
uncontrollably, and I realized he must be weaker than I had thought.
"Have a good rest," I called out after his retreating form.
"We should all sleep this afternoon, in order to be alert tonight."
Emerson's only response was a sort of muted roar. He disappeared into
his tomb, and I turned to Walter, who was staring after his brother.
"He is weak with exhaustion, Walter. You had better— "
"No," said Walter. "I don't think so."
"What is wrong with him, then?"
Walter shook his head dazedly. "It is impossible... But if I did not
know better, I would swear he was laughing."
finished her sketch of the pavement.
It was a lovely thing; she had
caught perfectly the muted pastel shades of the original. I then sent
her
back to rest while I finished applying the protective coating. It
was early evening before I was done, and when I returned to camp I
found dinner underway. Thanks to my efforts, mere was a new spirit
about
the place. We were a small, reduced force, but we were united.
Even Michael and Abdullah seemed cheerful and alert. Over dinner we
made the rest of our plans.
Walter and Abdullah were to watch the village, with special attention
to the mayor's house. Like all primitive groups, the village retired as
soon as the sun went down. We did not expect any activity much before
midnight, but the watchers were to take their places as soon as it was
completely dark. Should Mohammed emerge, they were to follow him. He
probably did not keep his mummy disguise in the house; Emerson felt
sure that his father was not one of the plotters. The old man's fear
had seemed genuine. Mohammed, then, would go to the spot— of which
there
were many in the crumbling cliffs—where he had concealed his costume,
and assume it there. The watchers were not to interfere
with him until
they saw him actually in his disguise.
They would then apprehend him; one would hold him captive while the
other ran to give us the news.
In a body bag we would haul the
miscreant back to the village and expose his trickery.
On the remote chance that Mohammed was able to elude our gallant
watchers, the rest of us prepared a second line of defense. Evelyn,
with Michael to guard her, would retire to her chamber, though not to
her bed, of course. From the doorway Michael would keep watch.
Meanwhile, Emerson and I would take
up our positions in his tomb
chamber, which was some distance down the ledge from the one we ladies
occupied. Any visitor would have to pass this door in order to reach
Evelyn, who would thus be doubly protected. I must confess I felt a
trifle uneasy on Evelyn's behalf. Mohammed's vile remark fit only too
neatly with the mute evidence of the crumbled wrappings outside the
door of the chamber where Evelyn slept
As soon as it was dark, Walter and Abdullah slipped away. I settled
Evelyn, with Michael standing by;
he was holding a long cudgel, and
although he began to show signs of uneasiness as the mysterious dusk
gathered, I felt sure he would use the club if anything threatened
Evelyn. I did not expect such a necessity would arise. If the Mummy
eluded the watchers at the village, Emerson and I would take care of
him.
After assuming a suitable costume, I crept along the ledge to Emerson's
tomb. He was seated at the packing case that served as a desk, writing
by the light of a lamp. When I slid stealthily into the chamber, he
dropped his pen and stared. "Is this a masquerade party, Peabody? The
Mummy will win first prize in any case; your old gypsy lady will not
compete."
"Obviously dark clothing is necessary if I wish to be unseen," I
replied, in some annoyance. "The black head scarf keeps my hair from
flying about, and the dirt is necessary to darken the comparative
pallor of my face and hands. I was about to suggest the same
precautions for you. And put out the lamp, if
you please."
"I will put out the lamp at the usual time," Emerson said coldly. "If
someone is watching, we do not wish to alarm him by any deviation from
our routine. I suggest you squat there in the corner, Peabody, where
you will not be visible from the doorway. No one would ever believe,
seeing you as you look just now, that I had invited you here, for— er—
amorous purposes."
I did not think it worthwhile to dignify this remark with a reply.
Giving him a haughty look, I went to
my corner.
The ensuing hours dragged tediously. At first I amused myself by
watching Emerson, who continued to write as if I had not been there. He
needed a haircut. Despite his illness his hair was
healthy-looking— thick and black and a little wavy where it curled over
his collar. The movement of the muscles of his back, under his thin
shirt, was interesting to a student of anatomy.
After a time this occupation palled. I crawled across to the
packing-case table, this maneuver winning an irritable growl from
Emerson, and took one of the books that was scattered on its surface.
It was a volume on the pyramids of Gizeh, by a certain Mr. Petrie. I
remembered hearing Emerson mention this young scholar, if not with
approval— for Emerson did not speak of anyone with approval— at least
without the invective he directed toward most other archaeologists, so
I began to read with considerable interest. I could see why Emerson
approved of Mr. Petrie. The meticulous care with which his measurements
were carried out, checked, and re-checked was most impressive. He had
totally disproved the mystical theories of the people who think the
Great Pyramid to be a great prophecy in stone; and his description of
the methods used by the ancients in cutting and shaping stones with the
most primitive tools was convincing and interesting. So I read on, in
the dim light, the silence broken only by the whisper as I turned a
page, and by the scratch of Emerson's pen. I suppose I must have
presented a curious figure as
I squatted there in my dusty black skirt
and cloak, with my
dirty face bent over the tome.
Finally Emerson laid down his pen and rose. He yawned and stretched
ostentatiously. Then, without so much as a glance in my direction, he
blew out the lamp. Darkness obliterated every object. As my eyes
gradually adjusted, I made out the open entrance, a square of sky
glittering with stars.
Placing the book carefully on the table, I crawled to the doorway. A
whisper from Emerson told me of
his position; I took up my post on the
other side of the door.
An even more boring period of time followed. I had no book with which
to beguile my time, and Emerson did not seem inclined for conversation.
I believed it was safe to whisper; we could see some distance, and
would have seen an intruder long before he could have heard low voices.
Nor did I really believe Mohammed would get this far. He had no reason
to expect an ambush, and would be trapped by Abdullah and Walter as
soon as he betrayed himself by assuming his mummy attire.
But Emerson squelched my first attempt to discuss the theories of Mr.
Petrie, so I did not try again.
The beauty of the night was unbelievable. I have never seen stars so
thickly clustered as those that bestrew the night sky of Egypt; they
blazed like a pharaoh's treasure against the dark. The cool, sweet
air
was as refreshing as water after a long thirst, and the silence was
infinitely soothing. Even the distant howls of the jackals seemed
fitting, a lonely cry that mourned the loss of past splendor.
I confess I was half asleep, leaning against the wall, when another
sound broke the silence. I really did
not expect it; I was so surprised
and so stupid with sleep that I moved, and the brush of my sleeve
against the stone sounded like an alarm. Emerson's arm moved in an
abrupt warning gesture. My eyes were accustomed to the dark and the
light from without helped me to see his movements; I was aware of the
moment when his whole body stiffened and his head shifted forward as he
stared.
From his side of the doorway he could see the far end of the ledge and
the lower slope where the cooking tent, and the tent Abdullah occupied,
were located. I saw the other end of the ledge, where it passed
Evelyn's tomb. There was nothing to be seen there, although I thought
the curtain before the doorway was pulled back just a little, where
Michael stood watch.
Emerson put out his hand. We understood one another that night
without the need of words. I grasped
his hand and took two slow, silent
steps to his side.
The thing was there. Pale in the moonlight, it stood motionless, not on
the ledge, but on the lower slope. This time the moon shone full upon
it, and there could be no mistake as to its nature. I could almost make
out the pattern of the bandaging across its breast. The featureless
head was wrapped all around with cloth. It was bad enough to see mis
monstrosity when it stood motionless; but as I watched, the head
turned. Its slow, weaving movement was appalling, like that of an
eyeless creature of the abyss blindly seeking some source of attraction
even more alluring than light.
Emerson's hand closed over my mouth. I let it remain; I had been about
to gasp aloud, and he had heard the inspiration of breath that warned
him of my intent. Insanely, the Mummy seemed to hear it too, although I
knew that was impossible. The blind head turned up, as if looking
toward
the ledge.
Emerson's fingers were ice cold; he was not so impervious as he
pretended. And as the creature's right arm lifted, in a threatening
gesture, Emerson's self-control broke. Releasing me so abruptly that I
staggered, he bounded out onto the ledge.
I was at his heels. Secrecy was useless now. I called out a warning as
Emerson, disdaining the ledge path, plunged over the edge and slithered
down the slope amid an avalanche of sliding pebbles. It was an
imprudent thing to do, in the poor light, and it received the usual
consequences of imprudence.
Emerson lost his footing, slipped, and fell headlong.
The Mummy was in full flight. I watched it for a moment; its lumbering,
stiff-kneed stride attained unexpected speed. I knew I should not be
able to catch it up; nor, to be honest, was I anxious to do so.
I
followed the path down and picked my way through the fallen rocks to
where Emerson was struggling
to sit up. Evelyn and Michael were both on
the ledge, calling out to me, and I shouted a brief synopsis
as I went
along.
"It was here; it has gone. Michael, don't come down. Don't stir from
Miss Evelyn's side."
For, by this time, I was ready to grant the nocturnal horror any degree
of slyness. This might be a diversion, to draw us away from its
intended victim.
Why did I believe the creature meant to do more than frighten us?
Emerson asked this very question, when we had all calmed down and were
seated in his tomb discussing the event.
"I can't say for sure," I answered, in a tentative manner that was
uncharacteristic of me. "In part, it is simply logic; for if we fail to
be frightened by the mere appearance of the thing, it must resort to
more drastic measures. Then there is Mohammed's statement— you recall,
Emerson, when we went to the village— "
I had not told Evelyn of this, and I did not intend to. Emerson
understood my reference, and nodded.
He was looking very grim; the
bloodstained bandages around his brow and hands added to the warlike
atmosphere of our council meeting.
"Yes, I recall. I think that was an empty threat, however; not even
Mohammed would dare . . . Well,
this has been a useless night. I will
have something to say to young Walter when he wanders in; Mohammed
diddled him and Abdullah very neatly."
"Should we not go out and look for them?" Evelyn asked anxiously. "Some
accident may have befallen them."
"Not to both of them; that was why I sent two men, so that one might
assist the other in case of misadventure. No, my two incapable friends
are probably still hovering around the village waiting for Mohammed to
come out. They may see him when he returns; but unless he has his
disguise actually on his body, there is no use in apprehending him. No,
Miss Evelyn, don't try to make me change my mind. Walter is perfectly
safe, and we should only wander aimlessly in the dark if we went to
search for him."
So far had the strangeness of our situation broken down formality that
he actually addressed Evelyn by her first name. But then, I reflected
in some surprise, we had all been informal, shockingly so. Several
times, in the stress of emotion, I had so forgotten myself as to
address Walter by his given name. I felt a genuine warmth toward the
lad; it seemed as if I had known him a long time. Emerson, of course,
could be called by no other name. His impertinence toward me did not
allow me to address him respectfully, and I had no inclination to call
him by his first name.
There was no sleep for us the rest of the night, although Emerson
persuaded Evelyn to lie down on his cot. We had a long wait; the first
streaks of dawn were red in the sky when the wanderers returned; and
their astonishment, when they heard what had transpired, was equal to
ours when we heard their report. Both were willing to swear that no one
had left the village that night. Walter himself had watched the mayor's
house, from an uncomfortable perch in a tree nearby. There was no
possible way in which Mohammed could have been the Mummy.
grated like a grinding stone.
"What do you say, Abdullah?"
"Very good, very good. We go. Work at Sakkarah, Luxor. I know tombs in
the Valley of the Kings," he added, with a sly glance at Emerson.
"Royal tombs, many not found yet. I find you good king's tomb
and we go
to Thebes, where is my home, where I have friends who work gladly."
"Hmm," said Emerson. "There certainly are undiscovered tombs in the
Valley of the Kings. It is a tempting suggestion, Abdullah. You seem to
forget, however, that one cannot excavate in Egypt without permission
from the Antiquities Department. I had a difficult enough time wringing
this concession out
of Maspero; he certainly will not allow me to dig
in any spot where he hopes to find interesting objects. There is also a
minor matter of money to be considered. Walter— what is your opinion?"
Walter had been looking at Evelyn. He started when his brother
addressed him, and faint color stained
his tanned cheeks.
"Why, Radcliffe, you know I will do whatever you wish. But I urge one
thing most strongly. Whether
you and I go or stay, the ladies must
leave. Not that our situation holds any danger; but it is unpleasant,
and the ladies have already given too much time to us. They must
depart; today, if possible."
A tear glimmered in my eye as I gazed at the gallant young fellow. He
was a true Briton, ordering the
girl he loved out of danger and
remaining loyal to his billy goat of a brother. Evelyn clasped her
hands
and gazed at me beseechingly. She felt the same loyalty to me,
and would not oppose my decision.
There was no need for her appeal. I
had no intention of being removed, like a bundle of laundry, to a
safe
spot behind the lines of battle.
"The suggestion is well meant, but I cannot accept it," I said briskly.
"Either we all go, or all of us remain."
Emerson now turned his full attention to me. He drew a deep breath; the
buttons of his shirt strained across his broad chest. They were all
loose, and I reminded myself to fetch my sewing kit as soon as
the
argument was over.
"Ah, Miss Peabody," he said, in a low growl. "My dear Miss Peabody. May
I take the liberty of inquiring how the devil— " His voice rose to a
roar; a gesture from Walter stopped him, and he continued in a
moderated voice that shook with the strain of control. "How on earth
did you come to be mixed up in my affairs? I am a patient man; I seldom
complain. But my life was calm and peaceful until you came into it. Now
you behave as if you were the leader of the expedition! I quite agree
with Walter; the women must go. Now don't argue with me, Peabody! Do
you realize that I could have you bundled up and carried off to your
boat? Michael and Abdullah would be delighted to do the job."
I glanced down at Michael, who was listening in open-mouthed interest.
"No, Michael would not obey you. He would prefer to see me out of here,
I'm sure, but he would not disregard my wishes. Now,
Emerson, don't waste time arguing. I can see that you intend to remain
here, and I must admit that I am reluctant to abandon the work— to see
the British lion skulk away with its tail between its legs..."
"Oh, God," said Emerson. He rolled his eyes until the whites showed. I
felt that the remark was not intended as a prayer, but decided not to
make an issue of it. I continued.
"Having decided to remain, we must consider the next step. You cannot
obtain workmen here. Unless
my crew..."
I glanced at Michael, who shook his head, and went on, "No, I thought
they would not. And I fear any workers you might import might be
subject to the same harassment. I suggest, then, that today we all work
at finishing up the pavement. Evelyn must complete her sketch; I will
apply the rest of the tapioca. Tonight we will proceed to the obvious
course of action. We must catch the Mummy, and unmask him!"
Walter sat upright and clapped his hands.
"Miss Amelia, you are a wonder. Of course! With four of us on guard— "
"Six of us," I said. "I think that is sufficient; mere is no need to
bring the boat crew into this. I suggest
that one of us watch the
village. Mohammed must slip out in his disguise if he wants to haunt
us, and since he is determined to get rid of us, he will probably pay
us a visit tonight. The rest of us will lie in
wait for him. Have you
firearms?"
Evelyn let out a little cry of alarm.
Emerson's face underwent a series of silent convulsions. He said in a
muffled voice, "I do not have firearms. They are dangerous and
unnecessary."
"Then we will have to use clubs," I said.
Emerson's lips writhed. "I can't stand this," he muttered, and sprang
to his feet. As he walked away, I
saw that his shoulders were shaking
uncontrollably, and I realized he must be weaker than I had thought.
"Have a good rest," I called out after his retreating form.
"We should all sleep this afternoon, in order to be alert tonight."
Emerson's only response was a sort of muted roar. He disappeared into
his tomb, and I turned to Walter, who was staring after his brother.
"He is weak with exhaustion, Walter. You had better— "
"No," said Walter. "I don't think so."
"What is wrong with him, then?"
Walter shook his head dazedly. "It is impossible... But if I did not
know better, I would swear he was laughing."
* * *
The rest of the day proceeded according to plan— my plan. Evelynfinished her sketch of the pavement.
It was a lovely thing; she had
caught perfectly the muted pastel shades of the original. I then sent
her
back to rest while I finished applying the protective coating. It
was early evening before I was done, and when I returned to camp I
found dinner underway. Thanks to my efforts, mere was a new spirit
about
the place. We were a small, reduced force, but we were united.
Even Michael and Abdullah seemed cheerful and alert. Over dinner we
made the rest of our plans.
Walter and Abdullah were to watch the village, with special attention
to the mayor's house. Like all primitive groups, the village retired as
soon as the sun went down. We did not expect any activity much before
midnight, but the watchers were to take their places as soon as it was
completely dark. Should Mohammed emerge, they were to follow him. He
probably did not keep his mummy disguise in the house; Emerson felt
sure that his father was not one of the plotters. The old man's fear
had seemed genuine. Mohammed, then, would go to the spot— of which
there
were many in the crumbling cliffs—where he had concealed his costume,
and assume it there. The watchers were not to interfere
with him until
they saw him actually in his disguise.
They would then apprehend him; one would hold him captive while the
other ran to give us the news.
In a body bag we would haul the
miscreant back to the village and expose his trickery.
On the remote chance that Mohammed was able to elude our gallant
watchers, the rest of us prepared a second line of defense. Evelyn,
with Michael to guard her, would retire to her chamber, though not to
her bed, of course. From the doorway Michael would keep watch.
Meanwhile, Emerson and I would take
up our positions in his tomb
chamber, which was some distance down the ledge from the one we ladies
occupied. Any visitor would have to pass this door in order to reach
Evelyn, who would thus be doubly protected. I must confess I felt a
trifle uneasy on Evelyn's behalf. Mohammed's vile remark fit only too
neatly with the mute evidence of the crumbled wrappings outside the
door of the chamber where Evelyn slept
As soon as it was dark, Walter and Abdullah slipped away. I settled
Evelyn, with Michael standing by;
he was holding a long cudgel, and
although he began to show signs of uneasiness as the mysterious dusk
gathered, I felt sure he would use the club if anything threatened
Evelyn. I did not expect such a necessity would arise. If the Mummy
eluded the watchers at the village, Emerson and I would take care of
him.
After assuming a suitable costume, I crept along the ledge to Emerson's
tomb. He was seated at the packing case that served as a desk, writing
by the light of a lamp. When I slid stealthily into the chamber, he
dropped his pen and stared. "Is this a masquerade party, Peabody? The
Mummy will win first prize in any case; your old gypsy lady will not
compete."
"Obviously dark clothing is necessary if I wish to be unseen," I
replied, in some annoyance. "The black head scarf keeps my hair from
flying about, and the dirt is necessary to darken the comparative
pallor of my face and hands. I was about to suggest the same
precautions for you. And put out the lamp, if
you please."
"I will put out the lamp at the usual time," Emerson said coldly. "If
someone is watching, we do not wish to alarm him by any deviation from
our routine. I suggest you squat there in the corner, Peabody, where
you will not be visible from the doorway. No one would ever believe,
seeing you as you look just now, that I had invited you here, for— er—
amorous purposes."
I did not think it worthwhile to dignify this remark with a reply.
Giving him a haughty look, I went to
my corner.
The ensuing hours dragged tediously. At first I amused myself by
watching Emerson, who continued to write as if I had not been there. He
needed a haircut. Despite his illness his hair was
healthy-looking— thick and black and a little wavy where it curled over
his collar. The movement of the muscles of his back, under his thin
shirt, was interesting to a student of anatomy.
After a time this occupation palled. I crawled across to the
packing-case table, this maneuver winning an irritable growl from
Emerson, and took one of the books that was scattered on its surface.
It was a volume on the pyramids of Gizeh, by a certain Mr. Petrie. I
remembered hearing Emerson mention this young scholar, if not with
approval— for Emerson did not speak of anyone with approval— at least
without the invective he directed toward most other archaeologists, so
I began to read with considerable interest. I could see why Emerson
approved of Mr. Petrie. The meticulous care with which his measurements
were carried out, checked, and re-checked was most impressive. He had
totally disproved the mystical theories of the people who think the
Great Pyramid to be a great prophecy in stone; and his description of
the methods used by the ancients in cutting and shaping stones with the
most primitive tools was convincing and interesting. So I read on, in
the dim light, the silence broken only by the whisper as I turned a
page, and by the scratch of Emerson's pen. I suppose I must have
presented a curious figure as
I squatted there in my dusty black skirt
and cloak, with my
dirty face bent over the tome.
Finally Emerson laid down his pen and rose. He yawned and stretched
ostentatiously. Then, without so much as a glance in my direction, he
blew out the lamp. Darkness obliterated every object. As my eyes
gradually adjusted, I made out the open entrance, a square of sky
glittering with stars.
Placing the book carefully on the table, I crawled to the doorway. A
whisper from Emerson told me of
his position; I took up my post on the
other side of the door.
An even more boring period of time followed. I had no book with which
to beguile my time, and Emerson did not seem inclined for conversation.
I believed it was safe to whisper; we could see some distance, and
would have seen an intruder long before he could have heard low voices.
Nor did I really believe Mohammed would get this far. He had no reason
to expect an ambush, and would be trapped by Abdullah and Walter as
soon as he betrayed himself by assuming his mummy attire.
But Emerson squelched my first attempt to discuss the theories of Mr.
Petrie, so I did not try again.
The beauty of the night was unbelievable. I have never seen stars so
thickly clustered as those that bestrew the night sky of Egypt; they
blazed like a pharaoh's treasure against the dark. The cool, sweet
air
was as refreshing as water after a long thirst, and the silence was
infinitely soothing. Even the distant howls of the jackals seemed
fitting, a lonely cry that mourned the loss of past splendor.
I confess I was half asleep, leaning against the wall, when another
sound broke the silence. I really did
not expect it; I was so surprised
and so stupid with sleep that I moved, and the brush of my sleeve
against the stone sounded like an alarm. Emerson's arm moved in an
abrupt warning gesture. My eyes were accustomed to the dark and the
light from without helped me to see his movements; I was aware of the
moment when his whole body stiffened and his head shifted forward as he
stared.
From his side of the doorway he could see the far end of the ledge and
the lower slope where the cooking tent, and the tent Abdullah occupied,
were located. I saw the other end of the ledge, where it passed
Evelyn's tomb. There was nothing to be seen there, although I thought
the curtain before the doorway was pulled back just a little, where
Michael stood watch.
Emerson put out his hand. We understood one another that night
without the need of words. I grasped
his hand and took two slow, silent
steps to his side.
The thing was there. Pale in the moonlight, it stood motionless, not on
the ledge, but on the lower slope. This time the moon shone full upon
it, and there could be no mistake as to its nature. I could almost make
out the pattern of the bandaging across its breast. The featureless
head was wrapped all around with cloth. It was bad enough to see mis
monstrosity when it stood motionless; but as I watched, the head
turned. Its slow, weaving movement was appalling, like that of an
eyeless creature of the abyss blindly seeking some source of attraction
even more alluring than light.
Emerson's hand closed over my mouth. I let it remain; I had been about
to gasp aloud, and he had heard the inspiration of breath that warned
him of my intent. Insanely, the Mummy seemed to hear it too, although I
knew that was impossible. The blind head turned up, as if looking
toward
the ledge.
Emerson's fingers were ice cold; he was not so impervious as he
pretended. And as the creature's right arm lifted, in a threatening
gesture, Emerson's self-control broke. Releasing me so abruptly that I
staggered, he bounded out onto the ledge.
I was at his heels. Secrecy was useless now. I called out a warning as
Emerson, disdaining the ledge path, plunged over the edge and slithered
down the slope amid an avalanche of sliding pebbles. It was an
imprudent thing to do, in the poor light, and it received the usual
consequences of imprudence.
Emerson lost his footing, slipped, and fell headlong.
The Mummy was in full flight. I watched it for a moment; its lumbering,
stiff-kneed stride attained unexpected speed. I knew I should not be
able to catch it up; nor, to be honest, was I anxious to do so.
I
followed the path down and picked my way through the fallen rocks to
where Emerson was struggling
to sit up. Evelyn and Michael were both on
the ledge, calling out to me, and I shouted a brief synopsis
as I went
along.
"It was here; it has gone. Michael, don't come down. Don't stir from
Miss Evelyn's side."
For, by this time, I was ready to grant the nocturnal horror any degree
of slyness. This might be a diversion, to draw us away from its
intended victim.
Why did I believe the creature meant to do more than frighten us?
Emerson asked this very question, when we had all calmed down and were
seated in his tomb discussing the event.
"I can't say for sure," I answered, in a tentative manner that was
uncharacteristic of me. "In part, it is simply logic; for if we fail to
be frightened by the mere appearance of the thing, it must resort to
more drastic measures. Then there is Mohammed's statement— you recall,
Emerson, when we went to the village— "
I had not told Evelyn of this, and I did not intend to. Emerson
understood my reference, and nodded.
He was looking very grim; the
bloodstained bandages around his brow and hands added to the warlike
atmosphere of our council meeting.
"Yes, I recall. I think that was an empty threat, however; not even
Mohammed would dare . . . Well,
this has been a useless night. I will
have something to say to young Walter when he wanders in; Mohammed
diddled him and Abdullah very neatly."
"Should we not go out and look for them?" Evelyn asked anxiously. "Some
accident may have befallen them."
"Not to both of them; that was why I sent two men, so that one might
assist the other in case of misadventure. No, my two incapable friends
are probably still hovering around the village waiting for Mohammed to
come out. They may see him when he returns; but unless he has his
disguise actually on his body, there is no use in apprehending him. No,
Miss Evelyn, don't try to make me change my mind. Walter is perfectly
safe, and we should only wander aimlessly in the dark if we went to
search for him."
So far had the strangeness of our situation broken down formality that
he actually addressed Evelyn by her first name. But then, I reflected
in some surprise, we had all been informal, shockingly so. Several
times, in the stress of emotion, I had so forgotten myself as to
address Walter by his given name. I felt a genuine warmth toward the
lad; it seemed as if I had known him a long time. Emerson, of course,
could be called by no other name. His impertinence toward me did not
allow me to address him respectfully, and I had no inclination to call
him by his first name.
There was no sleep for us the rest of the night, although Emerson
persuaded Evelyn to lie down on his cot. We had a long wait; the first
streaks of dawn were red in the sky when the wanderers returned; and
their astonishment, when they heard what had transpired, was equal to
ours when we heard their report. Both were willing to swear that no one
had left the village that night. Walter himself had watched the mayor's
house, from an uncomfortable perch in a tree nearby. There was no
possible way in which Mohammed could have been the Mummy.
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