Seeing a Large Cat (43 page)

Perhaps she could comfort him. God knew he needed it.

He had been crawling on his hands and knees, since the ceiling was just a little too low for him to walk upright, and it was hard to see the occasional protrusions in the dim light. He rose to his knees, preparatory to turning back.

Straight ahead the passage ended.

For a few seconds he remained motionless, staring bemus-edly at the wall. He couldn't seem to think clearly. The end of the passage-right. Time to turn back. Past time. But it was odd, that wall. Not rubble or rough stone. Squared-off blocks, carefully mortared.

After a moment he realized the strange sound was that of harsh laughter-his own. She'd been right after all. He ought to have known; his mother was always right. There was a back door.

One fading part of his consciousness informed him he was losing his mind. "Too much heat, not enough oxygen. There are no back doors in Egyptian tombs, you bloody fool." A burial chamber, perhaps. Not a back door.

"Delayed shock," the remnant of common sense insisted. "It wasn't pleasant, was it, hearing that crunch of bone, knowing you had killed a man? I wonder if your father felt so sick the first time he..."

No, he thought, not Father. Father is Zeus and Amon-Ra and all the heroes of all the sagas rolled into one. He can do anything. He fears nothing. Forget the burial chamber. Go back and hold your mother's hand, you poor little coward.

He stuck the stub of the candle onto the floor and pulled his knife from its scabbard.

It didn't seem to take long. The mortar was dry. It fell in a shower of flakes, and he began to lever one of the blocks out. He wasn't thinking at all now, just moving by instinct. He knew how to do it, he had watched his father often enough. The block slipped neatly out onto his hands. He laid it aside and put his head through the hole.

Through a fog of dusty dimness four wide terrified eyes stared back at him. The bare bulb in the lamp one of them carried half blinded him.

Even if he had been entirely in his right mind, it would not have been possible for him to resist. "Salaam aleikhum, friends. Will one of you tell Carter Effendi I am here? "

"Mr. Carter was not there, of course," Ramses said, ending his surprisingly brief and boringly factual description of his discovery. "He had gone round to help Father and the others dig us out. I would have returned to you at once, Mother, had I not known you would be vexed with me if I did so without first ascertaining how the rest of the family had fared. When I reached them I discovered they were on the verge of getting through, so I remained to help."

He was perched on the wall in his favorite position, and except for his bandaged hands and the darkening bruises on his face he looked and sounded quite normal. However, the infallible instincts of a mother informed me that he was, as usual, concealing something.

The most difficult thing to believe was that I had been in that hellish place for less than an hour. It had seemed a good deal longer, even though I had fallen asleep shortly after he left me and had failed to hear the reassuring sounds of activity beyond the rockfall. It was the relatively fresher air that woke me. The first sight my eyes beheld was the face of Emerson, and when he caught me up in his arms I hardly felt the pain of my hurt leg.

Nefret made him put me down at once and supervised my removal on a litter. They were all there, David and Abdullah and Selim; Selim was crying, and Abdullah was thanking God in a loud, tremulous voice, and David kept taking my hand and then reaching for the hand of Ramses and then trying to take mine again. I had seen Ramses, of course, but because I was still a trifle sleepy I had not fully realized how he had got there until he told his story.

He had waited until we were back at the house and our more pressing needs had been attended to. Nefret and I had decided my leg was probably not broken, but it was badly bruised and swollen, so she bound it up-following my instructions-and helped me bathe, and after I had changed into a loose but becoming gown Emerson carried me out onto the verandah and settled me on the sofa. Howard and Cyrus were there too, and Abdullah and Selim and Daoud, so we made quite a jolly party. I had told the cook to prepare a very large luncheon.

"So it was Hatshepsut's tomb you broke into?" I asked. "Astonishing! You know, Ramses, when I sent you off I really did not expect you would find another way out."

"Nor did I," replied my son. "Yet I suppose that unconsciously I had been aware of the direction in which the passage was leading. You had not observed the opening, Mr. Carter?"

"It was not an opening," Howard replied somewhat snappishly. "It had been neatly plastered on the other side and we did not use the electric bulbs until after we had passed that point, and the candlelight... Well, never mind that. Your tomb is obviously later in date than that of Hatshepsut. When the workmen broke by accident into hers, they carefully disguised the opening and-"

"And Scudder found it," Nefret exclaimed. "While working for you last year, Mr. Carter."

Howard looked as if he wanted to laugh, but was too polite to do so. "Now, Miss Nefret, that is deuced unlikely, you know. He might have followed the passage partway, but he could not have got through to the original entrance. It took your crew days to remove the hardened fill."

"Unlikely, but not impossible," said Emerson, unable to endure the look of disappointment on Nefret's face. "He had all summer, after you ended your season's work. He might have deduced where the entrance was located and come at it from the other end."

"Never mind the dad-blamed tomb," Cyras exclaimed. "You folks may not want to talk about it, but it's got to be faced sooner or later. Bellingham is dead-and a durned good job, too, in my opinion. He murdered Scudder in cold blood, didn't he?"

"Yes," I said. "Mr. Scudder never wanted to kill the Colonel; he wanted to expose him as the murderer of his own wife. That was why Scudder selected us as the ones to find poor Luanda's body. He knew we had been working in Thebes, and we had acquired a certain reputation for our detectival talents. He believed we would see through Bellingham's lies and discern the truth. Which we did-eventually."

"Too late for Scudder," Emerson said grimly.

"It was all because Mr. Scudder was a hopeless romantic," I explained. "When romanticism is not tempered by common sense, Nefret and gentlemen, it becomes a fatal weakness. All Mr. Scudder's actions were directed by untempered romanticism-the way he prepared her body, the mysterious hints he sent us-and it led inevitably to tragedy. The saddest example of this weakness was the way he lured Bellingham onto the scene when we removed Lucinda's body from the tomb. I expect he actually believed Bellingham would confess on the spot."

"No," Ramses said. "The saddest were his attempts to get me to meet with him in private. He only wanted to talk to me. I was too stupid to understand."

I assumed it had been Nefret who had bandaged his torn hands and made him wash. He must have done something to annoy her, for she was watching him intently, and when she spoke her voice was hard and unsympathetic.

"If there is blame, we all share it. Including Scudder. He might have been more direct, you know."

"I doubt anyone would have believed such a wild tale," I admitted. "No, Emerson, not even I! We would have thought him mad, especially after seeing what he had done to her body."

"He was mad," Ramses said. "Grief and guilt combined-"

"Why should he feel guilty?" Nefret demanded. She sounded angry, though I could not think why. "It was her husband who ran her through with that sword stick of his."

"As she tried to shield Scudder with her own body," Ramses said. "But it was he who brought her to her death. At least that is how he would have seen it."

"So now you are reading his mind?" Nefret said unpleasantly. "You are a damned romantic yourself, Ramses, and I advise you to stop it at once. I don't doubt it was Lucinda who instigated the elopement. She didn't run away with Scudder, she ran sway from Bellingham. I hate to think what he did to her after they were married and she was in his power-"

Emerson and I spoke as one.

"Nefret, please!"

"Oh, very well," she snapped. "I suppose that is another of the subjects a woman is not supposed to talk about! All I am saying is that some people take too much on themselves. Bellingham was the only villain, no one else is at fault-not even Scudder. Of course the poor man lost his mind after seeing her murdered so viciously. Who could blame him?"

"Not I," Cyrus said heavily. "Nor any man who ever loved a woman."

"What will become of Dolly?" I asked, for I felt the atmosphere was getting a bit thick.

"Cat-I mean, Katherine-is with her," Cyrus said. "She says she'll take her back home. I kind of-well-left it to her. Now, if you'll excuse me-"

"You musn't go just yet, Cyrus," I said. "At the risk of sounding callous, we have much to be thankful for. Poor Mr. Scudder has been vindicated and his loss avenged. Death was undoubtedly the happiest ending for him; the only possible alternative would have been an asylum. And we have survived! Stay and have luncheon."

"I'll stay for a while, I guess," Cyrus said. He sighed. "I was told to keep away."

I was beginning to have an idea as to why he seemed depressed. If I was right-and I usually am-the subject was not one to be discussed in the presence of the others. I promised myself I would deal with it as soon as I could.

My dear Emerson was the next to speak. He had kept tight hold of my hand the entire time. Now he returned it to me. Rising to his impressive height, he cleared his throat.

"Ramses."

Ramses started. "Er-yes, sir? Have I done something?"

"Yes," said Emerson. Going to Ramses, he held out his hand. "You saved your mother's life today. If you had not acted instantaneously and without regard for your own safety, she would have been another of Bellingham's victims. You acted as I would have done had I been able. I-er-I-hmph-I appreciate it."

"Oh," Ramses said. "Thank you, sir." They shook hands.

"Not at all." Emerson coughed. "Well! Have you anything to add, Peabody?"

"No, my dear, I think not. You have summed up the situation quite neatly." Emerson gave me an odd look, and I went on cheerfully, "It is early, but I think perhaps we might indulge in a whiskey and soda before luncheon. We have some justification for celebrating, after all. I shall propose a little toast."

They gathered round my couch, and Emerson served us- lemon juice and water for the others, whiskey without soda for Cyrus, and the usual for me.

"Another whiskey and soda, please, Emerson," I said, and handed mine to Ramses.

For a moment that rigidly controlled countenance relaxed into a look of boyish pleasure and surprise. Only for a moment. With a little bow he took the glass from my hand. "Thank you, Mother."

Smiling broadly, Emerson supplied me with a glass of my own. I looked round at the faces of my friends and beloved family.

"Cheers!" I said.

Life is never so simple as that, however. There were still a number of loose ends to be tied up. I had to leave some of them to Emerson, since I was confined to the house by my confounded leg, but in fact I did not particularly want to deal with the British and American authorities. They carried on quite unnecessarily and extravagantly about the arrangements for disposing of the various bodies. There was one matter I meant to attend to myself, and I found an opportunity of doing so the following day while Emerson was in Luxor telegraphing to some people and shouting at others. I had asked Mrs. Jones to come to me, which she was good enough to do. She looked quite her old self, smartly dressed and in command of herself. Only a perceptive observer like myself would have seen that her eyes looked tired.

"How is Dolly getting on?" I asked after Ali had served tea.

"As you might expect. She does nothing and says nothing."

"I hope you will express my condolences and apologies for not calling on her. There will not be time for me to see her, I suppose, before you go."

"We leave tomorrow. But I don't believe she particularly wants to see you, Mrs. Emerson."

"That is understandable. Is it true that you mean to accompany her all the way back to America?"

Mrs. Jones shrugged. "She cannot travel alone. Who else is there?"

"Mrs. Gordon," I said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The wife of the American vice-consul. Or some other lady from that office. It is their responsibility, after all, and I expect they would be glad of an excuse to go home for a visit. You are looking for an excuse too, I think. Why are you running away?"

It was most interesting to observe the varied emotions that passed in rapid succession across her face. She did not reply, so I went on.

"I do not believe in beating around the bush, Mrs. Jones. I had thought you were of the same mind. Has Cyrus asked you-er-has he proposed-"

"He has proposed marriage," said Mrs. Jones.

"He has?" I gasped.

"Ah, that surprises you. What did you think he had proposed?"

She looked almost her old self again, cynically amused and watchful.

"I ought to have known," I admitted. "Cyrus is too well bred to suggest anything improper. When will the nuptials take place?"

"They will not. I have refused him."

That surprised me even more. "Why, in heaven's name? He is a wonderful man, and rich besides! Not in his first youth, perhaps, but you are no romantic girl."

"Not a girl, certainly, but romance, as you of all people know, does not necessarily vanish with age. I have not lost all sense of decency. How could I accept-being what I am?"

"Do you care for him?"

"I have never known a man like him," she said softly. "Kind, generous, intelligent, understanding, brave ... He makes me laugh, Mrs. Emerson. I have not laughed a great deal."

"Then you ought to marry him."

"What?" She stared at me. "You cannot be serious."

"I am entirely serious. You are worse than romantic, you are hopelessly silly if you throw away a chance of happiness such as few women can know on such grounds. You have been unfortunate, but that is in the past. Your sins, if they can be viewed as such, are light compared with those of many others. If you will take my advice..."