The Golden One: A Novel of Suspense (39 page)

Cyrus was bitterly disappointed when he learned of Sethos’s departure, though the arrival of the steel door, a day ahead of schedule, distracted him temporarily. Selim assured him the men would bend their best efforts to have it in place the following day. “Then I can send out my invitations to the fantasia,” Cyrus said. “Shame Ismail had to leave so soon, I was looking forward to seeing more of him.” “Typical,” Emerson growled. “Comes and goes at his own convenience.” “He has other duties,” I said reprovingly. “As you are well aware.” We did hear from him once again, however. A letter, hand-delivered, awaited us when we got to the house that afternoon. It contained only two sentences: “There are strangers in Luxor. And my former customer is still in the market.” “I can guess who that’s from, but what the dickens does it mean?” asked Cyrus, who had come back with us for tea. Emerson glanced around to make sure Sennia wasn’t listening. He lowered his voice. “It is confirmation of my suspicions, Vandergelt. Tonight is the last night the tomb will be open. I had a feeling Albion wouldn’t give up without a final attempt. He won’t get help from the Gurnawis, but strangers, hired criminals, might be willing to attack us if the rewards were high enough.” “Good Lord!” Cyrus ejaculated. “We’d better get over to Luxor right away. Have the fellows rounded up and put the fear of God into Joe Albion.” “I am surprised at you, Vandergelt. One cannot arrest people without evidence of a crime.” Emerson smiled. It was not a nice smile. “I weary of Mr. Albion and his family. We will arrange a little ambush and catch them red-handed.” “Hmmmm.” Cyrus stroked his goatee. “I like the idea, Emerson. Just so nobody gets hurt.” “And how do you mean to guarantee that?” I demanded. “What if they are armed?” “We will have your pistol, Peabody,” said Emerson, grinning. “We better have more than that,” Cyrus said. “I’ve got a couple of rifles and a pistol, latest-model Mauser. I only hope I can sneak ’em out of the house without Katherine seeing,” he added uneasily. We had to get Sennia off to bed before we made the final arrangements. Emerson had sent word to Selim, warning him of our suspicions and giving him his instructions, and Cyrus did manage to get his weapons smuggled out of the Castle without Katherine’s knowledge. She would have been deeply distressed if she had known what we were up to. A little contretemps arose at the last minute, when the men realized that Nefret and I and Jumana meant to accompany them. I put an end to their protests in short order, however. “So long as you don’t bring that damned sword parasol” was Emerson’s way of conceding defeat. The moon was on the wane, but the dazzling desert stars gave sufficient light for us to make our way over the ancient path that crossed the gebel. When we reached Deir el Medina, all was quiet. The coals of a fire burned near the place where our men were stationed; there were only four of them, including Selim. They had been ordered to look as if they had relaxed their guard, and on no account to resist an attack. One by one we descended the slope, and found concealment in the shadows of the ruined tombs. We waited for over an hour before they came, from the south, creeping along the base of the hill. I counted the dim shapes: twelve in all. The last two carried rifles. Like the others, they were masked, but I had no difficulty in recognizing the rotund form of Mr. Albion and the taller outline of his son. One might have expected they would lead their troops from behind! When Selim sprang to his feet, Sebastian advanced, with his weapon aimed, while one of his hirelings called out in Arabic, “Do not move or we will shoot!” For a moment I was afraid Daoud would forget his orders. It is not in his nature to submit meekly to threats. However, he remained seated, and within a few minutes our fellows were tightly bound, gagged, and blindfolded. “Now?” Cyrus whispered. Emerson shook his head. Sebastian put his rifle down and began to climb the ladder. Obeying his gesture, five of the others followed. Neither he nor his father had spoken; our people could hear, if they could not see, and the use of English would have been a dead giveaway. Mr. Albion sat down with a grunt, and the other men stood close by him. Emerson waited until Sebastian had reached the platform outside the tomb. His stentorian voice echoed between the cliffs. “Stop where you are, all of you. You are surrounded by armed men.” He added in English, “Drop the rifle, Albion.” “Better fire a warning shot,” Cyrus advised. “In case they haven’t noticed our weapons.” We were all on our feet, except for Nefret, who had given me her word she would not expose herself to gunfire. Emerson pointed his rifle toward the temple and pulled the trigger. The men with Albion broke like a drop of quicksilver, scattering in all directions. “Let them go,” said Emerson, plunging down the slope. “It’s Albion I want.” However, he was too late. I would never have supposed such a round, elderly man could move so fast. The bullet Emerson aimed at his heels only made him run faster. “Emerson,” I said, tugging at his arm. “We had better do something about Sebastian, don’t you think?” Emerson looked up and let out an exclamation. The men who had started to follow Sebastian up to the platform were dropping to the ground, but Sebastian himself was still there — hanging by his hands from the edge of the platform and screaming at the top of his lungs. Quite a number of people were shouting, so his cries had been lost in the uproar. He must have lost his balance when the gun went off. “I’ll get him,” Ramses said. “Give him a hand, Bertie,” Emerson ordered. “You’ll need to get a rope round the bloody idiot. There’s plenty in the supply shed. I wonder how much longer he can hold on,” he added with mild interest. Nefret and I set about freeing our men, who set about collecting fallen tomb robbers. Some of them had dropped quite a distance, so there were sprains and a broken bone or two, which Nefret treated in her usual efficient fashion. “Have they got him?” she asked, referring to Sebastian. He was still screaming. “I can’t see from here.” “Bertie got a rope around him,” Cyrus said. “They don’t seem to be in any hurry to pull him up, though.”

Leaving the robbers in Selim’s charge, we took a silent, shivering Sebastian back to his ma and pa. As Emerson declared, he had not finished with Mr. Albion, not by a damned sight. We all went along, naturally. No one wanted to miss the denouement. There was no response to Emerson’s emphatic knocks on the door of the Albions’s sitting room. Fearing that he would wake the poor convalescent officers, I announced in low but penetrating tones, “We have your son. If you want him back you must let us in.” The door was flung open by Mrs. Albion. Despite the lateness of the hour she was fully dressed and bejeweled. “What have you done to him?” she cried, seizing hold of the young man. “He did it to himself,” I replied, pushing mother and son out of the way. Mr. Albion was sitting on the sofa. He must have arrived just before we did, since he was breathless, disheveled, and very red in the face. “Now you’ve brought him back, get out,” he said. “This is not a presentation, it is an exchange,” said Emerson. “Peabody, my dear, may I invite you to take a chair, since no one else has had the courtesy to do so? Albion, I want the artifacts you got from Jamil.” “Be damned to you!” Albion growled. Having determined that her son was intact, Mrs. Albion turned indignantly on Emerson. “Mr. Albion paid for those objects, sir. Are you a common thief?” “Not at all common, madam,” said Emerson, with a smile that reminded me of his brother. “I propose not to press charges for armed assault and purchasing illegal antiquities, in return for the objects that were stolen — and for your promise to leave Luxor immediately. Your husband and your son are extremely inept criminals, but I cannot have this sort of thing. It interferes with my work. Come now, Albion, you are a practical man. Admit you’ve lost.” “Lost?” Mrs. Albion gasped. “Mr. Albion does not lose. Mr. Albion —” “Is a practical man,” her husband said, with difficulty. “All right, then. I’ll get them.” “And I will come with you,” Emerson declared. “To make sure you don’t overlook anything.” They returned with a heavy box, which Emerson handed to Cyrus. “All there. All yours. Shall we go, my dears?” Mrs. Albion appeared to be in a state of shock. Her eyes had a bewildered look and she kept murmuring, “Mr. Albion does not lose. Mr. Albion . . .” Was in for a spot of marital trouble, if I was any judge. I sincerely hoped so. “Just one more thing,” Bertie said, in his quiet voice. “Sebastian, take off your glasses and put up your hands.” “Hopelessly, incorrigibly well-bred,” said Emerson, shaking his head, as Bertie knocked Sebastian flat.

Cyrus’s fantasia was remembered for years as the finest, most extravagant entertainment Luxor had ever seen. The courtyard and the Castle were thrown open; tourists, convalescent officers, Egyptian workmen, and the permanent residents of Luxor mingled in amity, eating and drinking, dancing and singing. It was such a crush I soon gave up trying to do my social duty and was enjoying the sight of Selim and Nefret trying to waltz to the beat of an Egyptian drum, when someone tapped me on the shoulder and I turned to see Marjorie Fisher, a longtime friend who lived in Luxor. “It’s been ages, Amelia,” she said. “What have you been up to?” “Just the usual,” I replied. “And what have you been up to?” She laughed. “The usual. Lunches, teas, visitors . . . That reminds me, I ran into someone recently who asked to be remembered to you. A sweet little thing with freckles on her nose. Her name is Molly Throgmorton.” I swallowed the wrong way. “Molly what?” “She has been recently married,” Marjorie said. “Her husband was with her — a very pleasant but rather coarse American, who looked to be at least fifty years her senior — but she was wearing a diamond the size of a lima bean, my dear, so he must be extremely rich. She said you knew her by her maiden name, but I’m afraid I have forgotten it. Do you know who I mean?” “Yes. I know who you mean. Where is she — where are they staying?” “They left Luxor on Tuesday. Is something wrong, Amelia?” “No. It’s just that I am . . . sorry to have missed her. I don’t suppose she happened to mention where they were going?” Marjorie shook her head. “She said she hoped to see you another time. Her exact words were ‘Tell her she hasn’t seen the last of me.’ Rather an odd way of expressing it, but I suppose she meant it as a touch of humor.” “No doubt,” I said. “I am going to break all the rules of decorum and ask Selim to dance with me,” Marjorie announced with a smile. “He waltzes beautifully! Come to tea on Friday, Amelia?” “Thank you. That would be nice.” The festivities were still in progress when we took our departure, leaving Jumana to “cavort with the young people,” as Emerson put it. The sounds of revelry faded into silence as the carriage traversed the winding road, and the still, starry night of Egypt enclosed us. “Vandergelt informed me that the Albions left Luxor yesterday,” Emerson remarked. He added pensively, “I must say that the general quality of criminals has sadly deteriorated. Not that I mind — especially at the present time. How are you feeling, my dear?” He put his arm round Nefret and she leaned against his shoulder. “A little tired, perhaps. But it was a wonderful evening.” “Life,” Emerson declared, in such a happy frame of mind he actually committed an aphorism, “life could not be better. Eh, Peabody?” “Indeed, Emerson.” Not for worlds would I have cast a shadow on his good humor. Nor was there cause to do so; my fancies were no more than that, idle thoughts of a wandering mind. Yet the words kept going round and round in my head, like a broken gramophone record. “If she blames me for her mother’s death, how do you suppose she feels about you?” . . . “Tell her she hasn’t seen the last of me . . .” “The young serpent also has poisoned fangs.”

The Amelia Peabody Mysteries

Crocodile on the Sandbank When strong-willed Amelia Peabody’s studious father dies, Amelia decides to use her ample inheritance to travel. After rescuing a gentlewoman (Evelyn Barton-Forbes) in considerable distress, the two become friends and Amelia hires Evelyn to be her companion on the next leg of her trip, which takes them to Egypt. There Amelia encounters mysteries, missing mummies, and Radcliffe Emerson, an opinionated archaeologist who doesn’t need a woman’s help to solve the mystery — or so he thinks.

The Curse of the Pharaohs When Lady Baskerville’s husband Sir Henry dies after discovering what may be an undisturbed royal tomb in Luxor, she appeals to eminent archaeologist Radcliffe Emerson and his wife Amelia to take over the excavation. Amid rumors of a curse haunting all those involved with the dig, the intrepid couple proceeds to Egypt, where they begin to suspect that Sir Henry did not die a natural death, and they are confident that the accidents that plague the dig are caused by a sinister human element, not a pharaoh’s curse.

The Mummy Case Amelia and Emerson bring their young son Ramses along on this adventure, where they find themselves investigating the mysterious death of a dealer in illegal antiquities. Before long, mummy cases start appearing and disappearing and a second murder complicates the mystery. When it becomes clear that a Master Criminal is behind the mysterious goings on, Amelia determines to unmask the dastardly fiend.

Lion in the Valley Amelia finally gets her wish — she is returning to Egypt with her beloved husband and colleague in archaeology, Emerson, to excavate a pyramid. However, her excavation is quickly complicated by a disguised nobleman, distressed damsels, and a brilliant (and dashing!) Master Criminal. Amelia, with a pyramid to explore and a mystery to solve, is in her element.

The Deeds of the Disturber [PerfectBound e-book] This time Amelia doesn’t need to leave England to find murder and mayhem. When a night watchman at the British Museum dies with a terrified expression on his face in front of a "haunted" mummy case, Amelia knows she needs to get to the bottom of it.

The Last Camel Died at Noon In this affectionate tribute to H. Rider Haggard (King Solomon’s’ Mines) the Emerson family heads to the Sudan for the season, following an ancient map they hope will lead them to a secret oasis. What they find is one of the most perilous adventures of their lives.

The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog With the children at home in England pursuing their studies, Amelia and Emerson head back to Amarna for a dig that promises to be just like old times. The trip turns out to be more like old times than they plan, however: Emerson’s memory disappears, and Amelia must try to win his love again, amid peril from enemies both old and new!