Seeing a Large Cat (42 page)

"Peabody," Emerson exclaimed. "If you move one step-"

"Now, Emerson, calm yourself," I said. The shotgun was aimed at his chest, and Nefret was beside him.

"Come here, Mrs. Emerson," the Colonel repeated.

I could not see that I had much choice. As soon as I was close enough he caught hold of me with his left arm. I had hoped I might be able to wrest the weapon away from him, but I realized at once there was no chance of that. His finger was firm on the triggers, and in that confined space even a random shot would strike someone. My only hope, and a frail hope it was, lay in persuading him to talk and go on talking. Murderers, I have observed, like to boast of their cleverness. And one never knew-something to our advantage might yet turn up!

"So," I said encouragingly. "How were you able to track Scudder and Lucinda down, when the police failed to do so?"

"I made certain the police would not find them, Mrs. Emerson. It was a private matter, a matter of honor. I knew her maid must have been involved; without her assistance Lucinda could not have left the hotel unobserved. When I questioned the wretched creature she confessed all. Lucinda had worn one of her dresses and gone out the servants' entrance, where she met Scudder, who had disguised himself as an Egyptian. With that information it was not difficult to track them, especially when the Negress told me he had mentioned a village near the Wadi Natrun."

"Very clever," I said. My eyes remained fixed on his right hand. The finger had not moved.

"It was clever of you," Bellingham said with a horrible travesty of politeness, "to notice, as I suppose you did, that the wound that killed her was not made by a knife, but by something longer and not so heavy. I still carry that stick. It is a memento, one might say.

"I thought I had killed Scudder too, but I could not stay to make certain; Lucinda's screams had attracted attention, and I could hear people approaching. A few shots from my pistol dispersed the crowd, and I got away in the dark without being recognized."

"Even if they had seen you clearly, the villagers would not have dared go to the police," Ramses said. "They have more to fear than to hope from our so-called justice."

The muzzle of the shotgun swung toward him. "That is close enough, young man," Bellingham said sharply. "I have been watching you; don't move again."

"The message from Scudder that brought you back to Egypt threatened you with exposure," I said, trying to distract his attention from Ramses. "You feared-"

"Feared?" Bellingham's grip tightened, squeezing my ribs in a painful fashion. "It was vengeance, not fear, that brought me back, Mrs. Emerson. I fear no man. He had informed me he intended to involve you and your husband, so I took pains to make your acquaintance-"

"And encouraged your daughter to make that of Ramses?"

"That was not planned, Mrs. Emerson, but it might have served me well if fate had not intervened. Scudder hoped to force a confession out of me by threatening Dolly, and I hoped that by following her, I could get my hands on him."

"Contemptible!" I exclaimed. "To use your own daughter-"

"Enough! I tire of this, Mrs. Emerson. Have I satisfied your curiosity? It is a dangerous trait. You know the saying: 'Curiosity killed the cat.'"

He took a step back, pulling me with him. Emerson said very quietly, "You talk of honor, while using a woman as a shield? Let her go, Bellingham. There is still a way out for you, so long as you harm no one else. You can live-"

"Live? To face scandal, disgrace, and possibly prison? I know you, sir; you would do your best to see me accused and convicted. As for your wife-women like her should not be allowed to live! Defiant of authority, demanding her own way-sooner or later she would betray you, as Lucinda did me. I have no wish to harm the rest of you," he went on, looking at the pale faces that stared at him in horror from the shadows. "Retreat, before it is too late."

He gave them little time to save themselves. Almost negligently he raised the weapon and fired both barrels at the juncture of wall and ceiling, where the bracing beams met. The roof gave way with a thunderous crash as he pulled me off my feet and drew me through a hail of stone into the darkness of the chamber beyond.

I felt fairly confident that one of two things would happen. Either I would be crushed and/or mangled by falling rock, or I would find myself entombed with an individual who could murder me at his leisure and without fear of interruption. Before I could proceed with this depressing chain of reasoning, darkness and intense pain overcame me.

The darkness was that of unconsciousness, but it did not endure long; I opened my eyes to another kind of darkness, the complete absence of light. When I tried to move, a stab of pain shot through my body. I had struck the rocky floor with considerable force, but the worst of the pain seemed to emanate from one of my lower limbs. Gritting my teeth, I dragged myself toward my right, where, if memory served, there was a wall. It is always a good idea to have a wall at one's back.

Especially at the present time. Something strange was going on. I could see nothing, but I could hear, and the sounds I heard were not the sort I had expected. They were strongly suggestive of a violent struggle-grunts, gasps, the thud of blows. Though I was still giddy with pain and confusion, my intelligence drew the logical conclusion. I was not alone with my murderer. Someone, or some thing, was there too.

My first thought, of course, was of my devoted spouse. But no-impossible-I told myself. Not even Emerson could have got there in time; he had been a good ten feet distant when I was dragged through the rain of stones. Who-or what-had lurked, waiting, in the dark recesses of the tomb?

Intense curiosity gave me renewed strength. I fumbled in my pockets until I located a candle stub and a box of matches. The match flared up. I stared, struck dumb and motionless with astonishment, until the flame seared my fingers and I was forced to drop the match.

"Mother?"

If I had not seen him, I would not have known the voice was his. (Though logic would have reminded me that no one else uses that name to address me.) What I had seen was as stupefying as the mere fact of his presence-my son astride the prostrate body of Bellingham, in the act of smashing the latter's head against the floor.

"Here," I croaked, and then let out an involuntary scream as Ramses stumbled over my outstretched lower limbs.

"Thank God," Ramses gasped. "I feared . . . Are you injured?"

"I believe my leg-that is, my lower limb-is broken. What... How ... ?"

I knew the answer, though. He had been closest to me of any. He must have moved at the same instant as Bellingham, diving through the rain of falling rocks.

'It could be worse." His voice was back to normal-cool, unemotional. "Can you strike another match?"

"Certainly, and I believe it would be advisable to do so at once. Perhaps you had better take the candle."

Our hands fumbled in the darkness. I confess without shame that it took me some time to get the flame of the match in contact with the wick of the candle. Ramses's hand was steady, but not even the eerie flickering light could account for the alteration of his features.

"Are you hurt?" I asked.

"Only a few bruises."

Just beyond the limited circle of light I made out a dark, motionless form. "You had better tie him up," I said. "My belt and yours-"

"No need. I think ... I am fairly certain he is dead." After a brief pause, during which I could think of nothing to say, he went on, "You look rather ill, Mother. May I suggest a sip of that brandy you always carry?"

We both had a little nip of the brandy-for medicinal purposes.

"Now," said Ramses, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, "tell me what I can do for you. With your verbal assistance I feel certain I could set your-er-lower limb."

"No, thank you," I said firmly. "At the moment it is not too painful, and I don't see anything that would serve as a splint. In my opinion, we would be better employed in searching for a way out of here. Is that blood on your mouth?"

"What? Oh. A cut lip, that is all." He extracted a filthy handkerchief from his pocket. Ramses's handkerchiefs are always nasty; I do not suppose he will ever grow out of that deplorable habit, since his father never has. I took it away from him and gave him mine, and my canteen.

"Your father will dig us out eventually," I continued. "But it may take him a while, and-ouch! Give me the handkerchief, Ramses, and I will wipe my own face. Do not believe I am insensible of the kindly motive behind the gesture, however. Er-are you sure ..."

"Yes." I saw he was shivering. The air was not cool. Quite the reverse, in fact.

I said quickly, "As I was saying, your father will certainly reach us, but since we have nothing better to do anyhow, we may as well explore the tomb. There must be another way out, or Bellingham would not have retreated here."

Ramses eyed me askance. "If you will forgive me for saying so, Mother, that is a most unlikely possibility."

I was relieved that my attempt to distract him had succeeded. An Emerson who can argue is back to normal.

"Be that as it may," I began.

"Yes, quite. It will do no harm to have a look. You mean me to do so, I presume, for movement on your part would be ill advised, if not actually impossible. I don't like to leave you alone in the dark, though."

"I have another candle. But I think we ought not squander them. Go on, I am not afraid of the dark."

I gave him my candle. He hesitated for a moment, nodded without speaking, and moved away.

I then allowed myself to lean against the wall. I did not want him to see how ill I felt or how frightened I was-not for myself, or even for Ramses. Our position was by no means enviable, but we lived, and Emerson would certainly dig until he got us out.

If he lived. My last view of the avalanche had been far from reassuring. Would the supports he had erected hold, or would they fall like a row of dominoes under the weight of tons of stone? Had he rushed impulsively toward me instead of retreating, as prudence would dictate? Emerson was not prudent when my safety or that of Ramses was concerned.

Ramses knew this as well as I. He knew he might have lost those he loved best-his father, his sister, his best friend. He also knew, as did I, that there was no other way out. Egyptian rock-cut tombs are not constructed with back doors. But the search would keep him busy, and away from the thing lying motionless on the floor.

Since I had nothing better to do at the moment, I tried to remember how many people I had killed. After considerable cogitation I found, rather to my surprise, that the total appeared to be nil. Somehow I had had the impression there had been quite a few. Not that I hadn't tried-always, of course, in self-defense or defense of my loved ones. I consoled myself with the reminder that a parasol, useful though it is, is not really a lethal weapon, and that my little pistol had a very limited range.

The rumble of a rockfall deep in the recesses of the tomb made me start. It was followed by Ramses's voice. "All right. No harm done."

"Be careful," I called-as if that were possible.

No doubt, I reflected, one's first homicide would be something of a strain on the nerves, especially a homicide as brutally intimate as that one. It would be a long time before I could forget the sound I had heard-the crack of shattering bone and a kind of liquescent, soggy splash.

I felt sure Ramses had not intended to kill the man, only incapacitate him in order to prevent him from killing one of us. He was young and inexperienced, and he had been fighting for his life and mine against an opponent crazed by fury and despair. It is difficult to calculate the precise degree of force required under those conditions. Christian woman though I am, I could not regret the fact. We were in dire enough straits without having to worry about controlling a malevolent murderer.

They would find us eventually, even if Emerson had been . . . But no! I would not entertain that idea for an instant. He lived, and he would demolish the entire cliff if he had to, with a dozen devoted men working like fiends at his side. I did rather hope it would not take them too long. The air was not very good. In fact, it was very bad. We would run short of water before we ran short of air, however. The heat was intense.

The faint glow of Ramses's candle had vanished. I was alone in the dark.

From Manuscript H:

He knew why she had sent him away. Action, however futile-and this search -was unquestionably futile-was easier than waiting in the dark. Perhaps she wanted to cry a little; she would not break down in front of him, and she was desperately worried about his father. The others too, of course, but mostly his father. He had always known they cared more for one another than for anyone else.

He stopped crawling in order to catch his breath and force his shaking hands to steadiness. Nefret must be all right; his father would have seen to that. He would have realized there was no chance he could reach his wife. He loved Nefret too. He wouldn't let her...

He was afraid even to think about David. David had been closer to the others than to him, but if loyalty had overcome good sense.. . No, he wouldn't think about David. Or Nefret.

He wiped the stinging sweat out of his eyes with the back of his hand and started forward.

The passage curved and climbed. The floor was almost clear; he crawled over one pile of rock that had fallen from the ceiling, but there was no rubble, no fill. That was odd, he thought, trying to concentrate on something other than the image of bodies broken and buried-of one white arm and a flood of golden-red hair protruding from under a pile of stones...

Odd, yes. If there was a burial chamber, the fill ought to be present throughout the passage. He had seen no artifacts, not even a piece of broken pottery, only blank walls and bare floor. That would indicate that the tomb could not have been finished or used for a burial....

He wondered why he was doing this. He should not have left his mother alone. She was hurt, possibly unconscious by now. The least he could do was hold her hand and give her the little comfort he could offer.