VII

I REMEMBER standing on the ledge, oblivious to the slow beauty of sunrise on the cliffs, as the impact of Walter’s statement sank into my mind. None of us tried to argue with him; to believe that Mohammed had tricked both watchers, being unaware of surveillance, was really beyond the bounds of credibility.

Suddenly Emerson rose from his chair and ran off along the ledge. I knew where he was going. How I knew I cannot explain, but I did know; and I also knew what he would find. I followed him more slowly, my steps slowed by dread of the discovery. When I came up to him he was standing by the wooden shelter that had covered the painted pavement. The painting was no longer there. Only a broad expanse of broken shards covered the sand. The destruction had been vicious; some sections had been ground into powder.

So my work had gone for naught and the sacrifice of my skinned fingers had been in vain. This was not my first thought, however. The senseless, wanton loss of beauty miraculously preserved hurt like a physical blow.

Without conscious premeditation my hand reached out to Emerson’s; his fingers closed bruisingly over mine and we stood for a moment with hands locked. After a moment Emerson seemed to realize what he was doing, and flung my hand away. The cut on his forehead was still oozing blood, but I knew his drawn, haggard expression was not caused by physical pain. I did not even resent his gesture.

‘A vindictive apparition, our mummy,’ I said.

‘All part and parcel of the ridiculous story Mohammed is promulgating,’ Emerson said. ‘The priest of Amon wreaking his vengeance on Khuenaten’s city. Peabody, has it occurred to you that this plot is too complex for a man of Mohammed’s limited intelligence?’

‘Perhaps you underestimate his intelligence.’

‘I think not. His motive is equally obscure to me. Why should he go to so much trouble for a petty revenge? Our presence brings income to the village – money these people badly need, however small it may seem to us.’

‘But if Walter is correct in claiming that Mohammed never left the village – ’

‘I cannot accept that. Who else could the mummy be?’

‘Then you think we must search for some power behind Mohammed. Who could that be?’

‘That is equally difficult to understand. Unless some wealthy amateur excavator covets the site – ’

‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous!’ I exclaimed. ‘Next you will be accusing M. Maspero of planning this, in order to discredit you.’

This injudicious remark ended the discussion. Emerson shot me a hateful look and started back toward camp.

Our spirits were at very low ebb that morning; if it had not been for Emerson’s stubbornness, I think we would have taken our leave of Amarna. Only Evelyn’s intervention prevented a full-scale battle at breakfast, and it was she who insisted that we all get some sleep before discussing the matter again. All our tempers were strained by fatigue, she said; we could not think clearly. This was, of course, Evelyn’s tact; her temper was never strained, and I am rational under all circumstances. It was Emerson who needed rest in order to be sensible, although I doubted that sleep would improve his disposition very much.

We were all sleeping, then, when a shout from Abdullah, on guard below, roused us to the realization that some new factor had entered the scene. Stumbling out of the tomb and blinking against the brilliant sunlight, I made out a procession approaching us from the direction of the river. The leading figure was mounted on a donkey. It was soon clearly identifiable.

I turned to Evelyn, who stood shading her eyes with her hand. ‘Reinforcements have arrived,’ I remarked. ‘It will be interesting to see what Lord Ellesmere makes of our little mystery.’

‘Lucas!’ Evelyn exclaimed.

Walter, followed by his brother, came out in time to hear our exchange. At Evelyn’s exclamation he gave her a piercing look. The surprise in her voice might well have been taken for another emotion; and Walter turned to view the newcomer with a frown. Lucas had seen us; he raised his arm and waved vigorously. We could see the flash of his white teeth against a face that was now tanned almost as deeply as the skin of the natives. Walter’s frown became a scowl.

‘So you are acquainted with this infernal intruder?’ Emerson inquired. ‘I might have expected he would be a friend of yours, Peabody.’

‘After all, Emerson, this site is not your private property,’ I replied spiritedly. ‘It is surprising that we have not had more visitors.’

This reasonable comment seemed to strike Emerson; he nodded thoughtfully. I went on to give the explanations I felt were his due.

‘Lord Ellesmere is a distant relative of Evelyn’s. We met him in Cairo just as we were about to sail, and he told us of his intention to take the same trip. We were expecting to meet in Luxor. No doubt he recognized the Philae at her moorings, and enquired as to our whereabouts.’

I was rather pleased with this account, which seemed to me to convey the necessary information without adding any extraneous facts. I intended to caution Lucas not to betray his real relationship with Evelyn, or hers with the late Lord Ellesmere. Neither of the Emersons were interested in scandal, unless it concerned the love affairs of ancient Egyptian pharaohs, so it was unlikely that they should have heard of the escapade of the late Lord Ellesmere’s young heiress; but there was no point in taking chances.

Then I looked at Evelyn; and my heart sank down into my scuffed boots. How could I try to shield her, when she was fully determined to expose the whole affair if it became necessary? She had paled a trifle as she watched her cousin’s advance; her lips were set in an expression I had come to know very well. Young Walter’s face, as he looked from Evelyn to the newcomer, gave his own feelings away more clearly than speech.

I experienced a revelation in that moment. I wanted Walter for Evelyn. They were ideally suited; he was an honourable, lovable young fellow, who would treat her well. If I had to give her up, I would not repine seeing her in the tender care of a man like Walter. I determined, in that instant, that it should come to pass. But I foresaw that it would take some effort, even for me.

Lucas was now close. Waving and laughing and shouting greetings, he came on. Walter turned to Evelyn.

‘Will you not go down to meet this relative of yours?’

His tone was positively spiteful. I smiled to myself.

Evelyn started. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said.

‘I will meet him,’ I said, taking her by the arm. ‘Stay here; I will have Michael bring tea.’

Lucas fell on me with shouts of joy. The fellow would have embraced me if I had not fended him off with a well-placed shove. I interrupted his babble with the caution I had intended to give; and he shot me a reproachful look.

‘No such warning was necessary, Miss Amelia, I assure you. But tell me, what are you doing here? Your reis informed me that you have been here almost a week. Who are your friends, and why – ’

Explanations and introductions followed, slowly, since Lucas kept interrupting. The interruptions ceased, however, when I – for of course it was I who was telling the story – reached the part of the narrative involving the mummy. Lucas listened in silence. A grin spread slowly over his face, and when I concluded my story he burst into a shout of mirth.

‘Excellent! Splendid! Little did I think when I set out for Egypt that I would have such luck. This is like one of Rider Haggard’s tales; or the novels of Herr Ebers. How I look forward to meeting the mummy!’

‘I don’t know that such an encounter will ever take place, Lord Ellesmere,’ Walter said. ‘There is no reason why you should concern yourself with our problems. If you will escort the ladies into safety, we – ’

Lucas leaned forward; impetuously he placed a hand on the other young man’s arm.

‘But, my dear fellow, you would not deprive me of a part in this adventure? I don’t claim any noble intentions; I’m sure you can manage quite well without me. My motives are purely selfish, and therefore you must give way to me!’

Watching his beaming face, hearing his jovial tones, I could understand why Mr Dickens’ Scrooge found his jolly nephew so irritating. I was also struck by the contrast between the two young men. They were almost of an age, I thought. Walter’s slim height looked boyish next to Lucas’ breadth of chest and shoulders. His tumbled dark hair and thin cheeks made him appear even younger. Lucas was dressed with his usual elegance; his pith helmet shone like snow in the sun, his light suit was tailored like a uniform and fitted him like a glove. Walter’s shirt was open at the throat, displaying reddened, peeling skin. His boots were shabby and dusty, his hands calloused from hard labour.

At that, he looked relatively respectable next to his brother, whose bandaged brow and hand added to his look of a battered warrior just come off the battlefield. Emerson was contemplating Lucas with an expression that made me think we might become allies in this, if in nothing else. When he spoke, it was in the rasping growl that was more dangerous than his shouts.

‘You should appeal to me, my lord, for permission to join our group. I confess I cannot think of any means of preventing you from pitching a tent anywhere you choose.’

From Emerson this was positively a gracious speech. Lucas seemed to realize it; he turned his considerable charm on Emerson, who continued to study him with all the enthusiasm of a gruff old mastiff watching the gambols of a puppy. When Lucas expressed interest in the antiquities of the area, he unbent a trifle and offered to show Lucas some of the tombs.

‘We have uncovered very little of the city,’ he explained. ‘The ruins that remain are not interesting to a layman. The carvings in the tombs have a certain appeal, however.’

‘I regret that I have not had time to examine them more closely,’ I interrupted. ‘I meant to ask you, Emerson, whether there might not be more tombs to be discovered. What of the king’s own tomb, for instance? He of all people must have had a sepulchre here.’

‘That is one of the projects I had hoped to undertake this season,’ Emerson replied. ‘The royal tomb has never been properly cleared out, although these villainous villagers removed anything of saleable value some time ago. There was not much; the reliefs in the tomb were never finished, and I question whether Khuenaten was ever buried there, although fragments of a sarcophagus may still be seen in the burial chamber. Hmmm. Yes, Peabody, I would like to have another look at it. Suppose we go this afternoon.’

‘The royal tomb is not to my taste today,’ Lucas said, stretching out his booted feet lazily. ‘It is quite a distance, I am told, and the path is rugged.’

‘It would mar the finish of your boots,’ Emerson agreed gravely. ‘You seem to know something about Amarna, Lord Ellesmere. The royal tomb is not on the ordinary traveller’s list of sights.’

‘Oh, I have become an interested student of all things Egyptian. Already I have made a splendid collection of antiquities, and I hope to acquire more along the way. I intend to set up an Egyptian gallery at Ellesmere Castle.’

Emerson had been keeping himself under tight rein – for what reason I could not imagine – but this was too much for him.

‘Another amateur collection, ignorantly displayed and isolated from scholars,’ he burst out. ‘Of course you are collecting your antiquities from the dealers, my lord – which means that they have been wantonly pilfered from the original places, with no records kept – ’

‘I seem to have struck inadvertently at a tender spot,’ Lucas said, smiling at Evelyn.

She did not return the smile; instead she said seriously, ‘Mr Emerson’s feelings are more than justified, Lucas. It is vital that excavations should be carried out only by trained archaeologists. Some objects are fragile and can be damaged by unskilled hands. More important, the provenance of an object can sometimes tell us a great deal – where it was found, with what other objects, and so on. If visitors would not buy from dealers and peasants, they would stop their illicit digging.’

‘Dear me, you are becoming quite an enthusiast yourself,’ Lucas exclaimed. ‘That is what I shall need for my Egyptian gallery – an expert who will tend and classify my collection. Then perhaps Mr Emerson will not despise me.’

Evelyn’s eyes fell under his meaningful regard.

‘Emerson will despise you in any case,’ I said. ‘The only steps you can take to redeem yourself are, one, to cease buying antiquities, and two, to present the ones you have to the British Museum. The scholars there will take proper care of them.’

Emerson muttered something which, though indistinct, was clearly uncomplimentary to the British Museum.

Lucas laughed. ‘No, I cannot give up my collection. But perhaps Mr Emerson will read my papyrus for me.’

‘You have a papyrus?’ I inquired interestedly.

‘Yes, quite a good one – brown with age, crumbling, covered with those strange little scratches which were, I am told, developed from the hieroglyphic picture writing. When I unrolled it – ’

An ominous moaning sound emerged from Emerson.

‘You unrolled it,’ he repeated.

‘Only the first section,’ said Lucas cheerfully. ‘It began to break apart then, so I thought…. Why, Mr Emerson, you look quite pale. I gather I have done something reprehensible.’

‘You might as well confess to a murder,’ Emerson exclaimed. ‘There are too many people in the world as it is, but the supply of ancient manuscripts is severely limited.’

Lucas seemed subdued by the reproof.

‘I will give it to you, then, if you feel so strongly. Perhaps it will count as my payment of admission to this charming group,’ he added more cheerfully. ‘I must send back to my dahabeeyah for supplies, if I am to spend the night. Let us just have a look round, shall we? I can hardly wait to see the scenes of the mummy’s appearance, and select a tomb for myself.’

Emerson acquiesced with no more than a mumble. I was at a loss to account for his amiability at first. Then two explanations occurred to me. I was ready to believe either or both, since neither reflected any credit on Emerson.

Money for excavation was hard to come by; a wealthy patron could relieve Emerson’s anxieties in this area. Furthermore, it was as clear as print that Lucas was interested in Evelyn. His eyes seldom left her face, and he made no attempt to conceal his tender concern. Emerson must realize that Walter also loved the girl. He would not be pleased to lose his devoted acolyte; perhaps he meant Walter to marry well, in order to supply more funds for the gaping maw of his research. By encouraging a rival to his brother, he kept that brother under his calloused thumb.

My suspicions were confirmed when Emerson waxed positively jovial as he showed Lucas the camp. As for Lucas, he bubbled with enthusiasm and admiration. Nothing could be more charming! He could not imagine anything more delightful than camping out in an ancient tomb! The scenery was magnificent, the air was like wine, and – in short, you would have thought our meticulous lordship was rhapsodizing over a modern luxury hotel and a vista of wooded grandeur. He plied Emerson with questions; shook his head over the perfidy of Mohammed and the superstitions of the villagers; insisted on pressing the hand of the faithful Abdullah, who looked askance at this demonstration. The only thing he expressed doubt about was Michael.

‘Are you certain you can trust him?’ he asked in a low voice, as we walked past the cook tent where Michael was preparing a simple lunch. The devoted fellow had taken over menial duties that would ordinarily have been below his dignity, since the villagers had abandoned us. We had decided not to involve any of our servants from the boat; there was no telling how they would react to the story, much less the sight, of the mummy.

‘I trust him implicitly,’ Evelyn replied firmly. ‘Amelia saved the life of his child; he would die for her, I think.’

‘Then there is no more to be said,’ said Lucas. But he did say more – a good deal more. Michael was, after all, a native. Was he not just as superstitious as the villagers? Could he be trusted to risk, not only his life, but his immortal soul, as he believed, with a demon of the night?

‘I have considered that,’ Emerson replied shortly. ‘You need not concern yourself about it, your lordship.’

His tone brooked no argument. Even Lucas recognized this, and he abandoned the subject.

Of the tombs in our immediate vicinity only a few were habitable; some were blocked by rock falls or heaps of debris. They were similar in plan, having a large hall with columns beyond the entrance corridor, from which another corridor led on to more rooms, including the burial chamber.

Evelyn and I occupied a tomb that had once belonged to a royal craftsman who bore the engaging title Washer of Hands of his Majesty. The title delighted me because it was a reminder of the constancy of human nature; I could not help recalling our own Tudor and Stuart monarchs, who were served by high noblemen who considered it an honour to be the official holders of the royal trousers.

But I digress.

Lucas was with difficulty dissuaded from moving into the most grandiose of the nearby tombs, that of one Mahu, who had been chief of police of the city. Clearing it out would have taken days. So Lucas’s servants were set to work on another, smaller tomb, and one of them was sent back to the dahabeeyah with a long list of Lucas’s requirements for the next day or two.

After luncheon we separated, Evelyn to rest, Walter to work at recording some pottery fragments which had been found on the last day of digging, and Lucas to explore. He went jagging off on his little donkey, looking sufficiently ridiculous with his long legs trailing. When he was out of sight, Emerson turned to me.

‘Come along, Peabody.’

‘Where to?’

‘You said you wanted to see the royal tomb.’

‘What, now?’

‘Now is as good a time as any.’

I looked up at the broiling sun, now near the zenith; then I shrugged. If Emerson thought to subdue me by such tactics, he would soon find out that I could keep up with any project he proposed. I went to my tomb to assume my rationals. They were dreadfully creased and dusty, and I wished I had purchased several similar costumes.

When I emerged, Emerson was pacing up and down and glaring at his watch.

‘Will Walter come?’ I inquired, deliberately dawdling.

‘Walter had better remain here. There must be someone on guard; I have told Abdullah to go after his lordship, in case the fool breaks a leg trying to climb the cliffs or tumbles off his donkey. Come, come, Peabody; if you don’t hurry I will go alone.’

I went – not because he had ordered me to do so, but because I suspected he wanted a private discussion with me.

However, no such development ensued. The walk was too difficult for leisurely conversation. We turned into a long rocky wadi, or canyon, and followed its course for several miles. It was the most desolate area I had seen yet. The steep, barren walls of the wadi were streaked and cracking; not a single blade of grass or hardy weed found sustenance in the sunbaked soil. The floor of the valley was covered with rocks of all sizes, from enormous boulders to pebbles, which had fallen from the cliffs. The silence was absolute. It was like being in another world; a world in which life was an intrusion.

After about three miles the rock walls closed in and smaller wadis opened up to left and right. We turned to the northeast and picked our way through a narrow valley. As we stumbled along, Emerson began to ask questions, but they were not the questions I had expected. Instead he interrogated me about Lucas. I answered as shortly as I could. The drift of Emerson’s curiosity convinced me that I had been correct in both my assumptions; he was immensely curious about the extent of Lord Ellesmere’s fortune and the degree of his interest in Evelyn. I found it increasingly difficult to avoid his inquiries and finally put an end to them by picking a quarrel. That was never difficult with Emerson. He stalked along in offended silence until we reached the isolated tomb which had been prepared for the heretic king and his family.

In an effort to protect it from thieves seeking the rich treasures buried with the dead, the royal tomb had been situated in a remote part of the cliffs. The attempt at security had failed; the tomb had been robbed again and again. If Khuenaten had ever been buried there, the royal mummy had vanished centuries ago.

I shivered, even in the breathless heat, as I looked up the slope at the high dark hole that marked the entrance to the tomb. An air of brooding desolation hung over the spot. Disappointment and failure haunted it. Towards the end of his life, the royal reformer must have known that his religious revolution would not succeed. After his death his very name had been obliterated. I thought I would not like to come here after dark; it would be too easy to hear, in the jackals’ howls, the lament of a starving, nameless ghost.

Emerson, unaffected by the aura of the place, was already scrambling up toward the entrance. Before it was a little plateau, about fifteen feet off the ground. I followed him, unassisted. He had brought candles; we lighted two of them and went in.

The tombs of Egyptian royalty were not the simple structures their subjects built. This one had long corridors, steep stairs, turns and curves designed to frustrate the cupidity of thieves. These devices had succeeded as well as such devices usually do – that is to say, not at all. The royal tomb had been roughly cleared, probably by the experienced thieves of Haggi Qandil. Otherwise we would not have been able to penetrate its interior at all, and even so, it was a breathless, dusty, uncomfortable trip. We were unable to reach the burial chamber, because a deep pit, like the one in the other tomb I had seen, cut straight across the corridor. There was nothing to bridge it with. Emerson’s suggestion that we run and jump was probably not to be taken seriously. I certainly did not take it seriously.

We retraced our steps to the top of the second flight of stairs, where three small rooms were located off the main corridor. Here crumbling reliefs showed the death and burial of a princess, one of Khuenaten’s daughters. She had died young, and had been laid to rest in her father’s tomb. The little body, stretched out stiffly on its bed, looked very pathetic, and the grief of the parents, holding one another’s hands for comfort, was strangely moving. Almost one could hear a thin moan of anguish echoing down the deserted corridors….

And then there was a moan – or at least, a faint sound of some kind. The reader can only faintly imagine the horrific effect of such a sound – of sound of any sort – in those dark, musty rooms that had never been inhabited except by the dead. Before my scalp had time to prickle, the fainter sound was followed by another, less ghostly, but even more alarming. It was a loud crash of falling rock. Whatever the sound lost by reason of distance was regained by the rolling echoes. I started and dropped my candle.

Using language no lady could possibly remember, much less reproduce, Emerson scrabbled around in the debris that littered the floor until he found the candle. He relighted it from his own. Then he looked directly at me and spoke in the quiet voice he employed in moments of emergency.

‘You are no fool, Peabody, if you are a woman. You know what that sound may mean. Are you prepared? You will not swoon, or scream, or become hysterical?’

I gave him a look of withering scorn, and in silence started out of the room.

With Emerson breathing heavily behind me, I made my way along the corridor. I did not expect that we would meet with any obstruction there. The walls and floors were carved from the living stone of the mountains. No; the difficulty would be at the entrance, and long before we reached that spot I knew that my surmise was unhappily correct. From the foot of the final stair I saw that the light which should have been apparent at the entrance was – not apparent.

We made our way up the stairs, not without difficulty, for rocks littered the steps, and stood at last before the entrance. The narrow opening was closed by stones – some as small as pebbles, some as large as boulders.

I blew out my candle. It was obvious that we had better conserve what little light we had. I was stooping to pluck at the rocks when Emerson turned to stick his candle onto a ledge in a pool of its own grease.

‘Take care,’ he said curtly. ‘You may start another landslide that will sweep both of us down the stairs.’

We dug for a long time; not as long as it seemed, perhaps, but the first candle was almost burned out when there came a sound from without. It was, to say the least, a welcome event. At first the words were indistinguishable. Then I realized that the person was speaking Arabic. I recognized the voice and, in the stress of the moment, understood what was being said. The voice was Abdullah’s. He demanded to know if we were within.

‘Of course we are within,’ shouted Emerson angrily. ‘Oh, son of a blind, bow-legged mule, where else should we be?’

A howl, which I took to be one of delight, followed this question. The howl was followed by a shout in quite another voice: ‘Hold on, Miss Amelia! Lucas is on the job!’

All at once Emerson threw his arms against me and pushed me against the wall, pressing his body close to mine.

Although I am now alone as I write, my Critic having gone off on an errand, I hesitate to express the thoughts that flashed through my mind at that moment. I knew Emerson was no weakling, but I had not fully realized his strength until I felt the rigid muscles of his breast against mine and felt my bones give under the strength of his grasp. I thought … I expected…. Well, why not admit it? I thought he was embracing me – relief at our unexpected rescue having weakened his mind.

Luckily these absurd notions had no time to burgeon in my brain. A horrible rattling crash followed, as the barricade gave way, and great rocks bounded down the stairs and banged against the walls. I felt Emerson flinch and knew he had been struck by at least one rock, from whose impact his quick action had saved me; for my body was shielded by his and his big hand pressed my face into the shelter of his shoulder.

I was quite out of breath when he released me, and gulped air for several seconds before I realized it was the clean, hot air of the outer world I breathed, and that sunlight was streaming into the vault.

The sunlight was too bright for my dazzled eyes, accustomed to darkness. I could just make out the silhouettes of the heads and shoulders of two men above the heap of rock that still lay on the threshold.

Emerson leaned back against the wall, his left arm hanging at an odd angle. As Abdullah and Lucas came scrambling in over the rocks, Emerson turned his head toward his foreman. Rivulets of perspiration were streaming down his face, turning the dust that covered it into a muddy mask.

‘You d—— fool,’ he said.

‘You are hurt,’ said Abdullah intelligently.

‘Words fail me,’ said Emerson.

But of course they did not; he went on, though he spoke in gasps. ‘An experienced foreman … knows better… shoving like a battering ram….’

‘I tried to tell him to go slowly,’ Lucas broke in. ‘Unfortunately my Arabic is nonexistent.’

He looked so guilty, and Abdullah so particularly enigmatic, that I realized who was probably responsible for the accident. There was no point in pressing the matter, however.

‘He was anxious to get us out,’ I said. ‘Let us eschew recriminations and act. Is your arm broken?’

‘Dislocated,’ said Emerson, between his teeth. ‘I must get back … Walter knows how….’

‘You cannot walk so far,’ I said.

This was patently true, and anyone but Emerson would have admitted the fact at once. His knees were buckling, and only the wall at his back kept him upright.

‘I can do … what I must,’ he replied.

‘No doubt; but there is no need. I saw our local surgeon perform this operation once, on a farmer whose shoulder had been put out of place. If you will direct me – ’

The idea seemed to revive Emerson. His eyes rolled toward me; I swear, I saw a flash of enjoyment.

‘You won’t like it,’ said Emerson.

‘Neither will you,’ I replied.

I think I prefer not to describe the procedure that followed. Emerson was not in any mood to make jokes when it was over, but I was the one who had to sit down on the ground and put my head between my knees. Fortunately Abdullah had brought water; we both had been thirsty from the heat and dust even before the accident. A long drink revived me and helped Emerson. I then tore up my petticoat in order to fasten his arm to his body so that it would not be jarred unnecessarily. He had his wicked temper back by then, and made a rude remark.

‘As you would say, my lord, it is just like one of Mr Haggard’s romances. The heroine always sacrifices a petticoat at some point in the proceedings. No doubt that is why females wear such ridiculous garments; they do come in useful in emergencies.’

The way to the royal tomb had seemed long; the road back was interminable. Lucas’s strength was of great assistance, and Emerson did not disdain the help of his arm. As we walked along, Lucas explained how he had happened to find us.

He had had a little adventure of his own. Riding not far from the village, he had been accosted by the owner of his donkey, who had abandoned animal and rider when they first approached the camp. Now the donkey owner demanded his animal back.

‘It occurred to me,’ Lucas explained, ‘that you had probably been deprived of donkeys as well as workers, so I determined to keep that one, if I could. If the villagers had realized I was acquainted with you, I never should have got it in the first place. I offered to buy the wretched little beast – thinking of Evelyn’s using it, of course. But it was no use; when I insisted, I was set upon by a howling horde of villagers and forcibly removed from my steed. They offered me no violence, but I was shaken up and very angry. I was on my way back to camp when I met Abdullah. He said you had gone to the royal tomb; and after my adventure, I was somewhat concerned about you. So we came here – fortunately!’

‘You did not see the rockfall, then?’ Emerson asked.

‘No.’

‘It couldn’t have been an accident,’ Emerson grunted. ‘Too fortuitous. Why that one spot, while we happened to be inside the tomb?’

‘We were fortunate that it was not a more extensive landslide,’ I said, stumbling into a thornbush.

‘Hmmph,’ said Emerson, trying not to groan.

A mile or two from camp we were met by Walter and Evelyn, who, alarmed at our prolonged absence, had set out to look for us. Walter went quite pale when he saw Emerson’s faltering steps and bandaged body, but he knew better than to commiserate.

‘It is most unfortunate,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Another accident, just now, will merely confirm the villagers’ superstitions.’

‘We need not tell them, surely,’ said Lucas.

‘They will know,’ I said. ‘I suspect one of them has good reason to know what has occurred.’

‘Aha!’ Lucas exclaimed. ‘You think it was no accident?’

He was altogether too pleased about the whole affair. I knew it was unfair of me to blame him for enjoying the adventure; his acquaintance with Emerson and Walter was of the slightest, so he could not be expected to feel for them as Evelyn and I did. And certainly the wild events of those days would have appealed to the adventurous spirit of any young gentleman. Nevertheless, his grin annoyed me.

‘It was no accident,’ I said curtly. ‘This was a foolish expedition. From now on we must stay in the camp and close to one another. Perhaps no real harm was intended –’

‘We cannot know that,’ Walter interrupted. ‘If the rock had struck my brother’s head instead of his shoulder – ’

‘But his injury was an unfortunate accident. It was incurred during our release, not during the rockfall, which could hardly have been designed to murder us. You knew our destination; you would have searched for us if we had not returned, so that even if Abdullah had not happened to go after us, we would not have been incarcerated long. No; the attempt could not have been at murder. I believe it was only another harassment.’

‘And if Peabody says so,’ remarked Emerson, ‘that is the Word of the Prophet.’

We finished the journey in cool silence.

However, we had much to be thankful for. Evelyn pointed this out as we prepared for dinner in our homey tomb. She was not looking well that evening; I noticed her pallor and sober looks all the more because it contrasted so strikingly with her appearance during the preceding week. She had been frightened, weary, and uncomfortable, as we all were; but under the strain there had been a quiet happiness, a kind of bloom. The bloom was now gone. And of course I knew the reason.

‘Has Lucas been annoying you?’ I enquired, with my usual tact.

Evelyn was doing her hair in front of the mirror. Her hands faltered; a bright lock of golden hair tumbled down her back.

‘He asked me again to marry him.’

‘And you said…?’

Evelyn turned. The disordered masses of her hair flowed out with the force of her movement and fell about her shoulders. She had never looked lovelier, for the nobility of her purpose and the strength of her emotion transformed her face.

‘Amelia, how can you ask? You know my feelings; I have never tried to conceal them from you, my cherished friend. I cannot marry the man I love; but I will never be the bride of another.’

‘You are wrong,’ I said forcefully. ‘Walter loves you. I know it; you must know it. You are being grossly unjust to him, not to give him the chance – ’

‘To know my shame – my folly? Never fear, Amelia; if he should ask me to marry him, I will tell him the truth.’

‘And why do you assume he will recoil? Oh, I agree; you must be candid, he would hear the story sooner or later, and he would have cause for resentment at hearing it from another than yourself. But he is a splendid lad, Evelyn; I like him more with every day that passes. He would not – ’

‘He is a man,’ said Evelyn, in a tone of weary wisdom that would have made me laugh, had I not been so distressed for her. ‘What man could forget or forgive such a thing in his wife?’

‘Bah,’ I said.

‘If I had anything to offer him,’ Evelyn went on passionately. ‘The fortune I once despised would be a godsend to him and his brother. If only – ’

‘You don’t suppose that splendid boy would refuse you for your misstep and forgive you for a fortune, do you?’ I demanded indignantly.

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed.

‘Amelia, why do you speak as if you were a hundred years old? Walter is only a few years younger than you, and you are still in your prime. In the last week you seem to have drunk from the fountain of youth; you are looking younger and more attractive every day.’

I stared at her in astonishment.

‘Come, now, Evelyn, don’t let your fondness for me destroy your aesthetic sense. I have been scoured by windblown sand, dried out and burned by the sun, and I have ruined every decent dress I own. Forget me, and let us settle your problem once and for all. If you would only listen to me – ’

‘I honour and love you,’ she interrupted, in a low voice. ‘But in this matter I cannot follow anything but my own conscience.’

‘But it is such a waste,’ I lamented. ‘You love this life. Your seeming fragility conceals a will of iron; you could be a helpmate as well as a wife to Walter.’

‘You are the one who loves this life,’ Evelyn said, watching me curiously. ‘What an archaeologist you would make, Amelia!’

‘Hmmm,’ I said. ‘That is true. It is most unfortunate that I was not born a man. Emerson would accept me then as a colleague; my money would support his work; what a splendid time we would have, working and quarrelling together. Oh, it is a pity that I am a woman. Emerson would agree.’

‘I am not so sure,’ said Evelyn. There was a faint smile on her lips.

‘You are distracting me again,’ I complained. ‘You cannot avoid the issue, Evelyn. Suppose I were to finance –’

‘No, Amelia,’ Evelyn said. I knew that gentle tone. It was as final as Emerson’s growl.

‘Then accept Lucas’s offer. No, no, I mean his offer of money. Half of your grandfather’s fortune is yours, morally. If you really believe Walter would accept – ’

‘Amelia, that is not worthy of you. Could I accept Lucas’s generosity and use it to buy the affection of Lucas’s rival?’

‘You put things in such a cold-blooded way,’ I muttered.

‘It is the honest way.’ Evelyn’s animation had faded; she was pale and sad. ‘No, Amelia. I cannot – will not – marry Lucas, nor will I accept a penny from him. Are you so anxious to rid yourself of me? I had dared to let myself envision a life together…. Growing old with you, winding wool and keeping cats and tending a garden somewhere in the country. We could be content, could we not? Oh, Amelia, don’t cry! I have never seen you weep; don’t do it on my account….’

She threw her arms around me and we clung together, both sobbing violently. I did not often cry, it is true; I don’t know why I was crying then, but I found it soothing to do so. So I let myself go, wallowing in the luxuriance of openly expressed emotion, and Evelyn made me cry even harder by the fond expressions she choked out.

‘I do love you, Amelia; you are dearer to me than any sister. Your kindness, your sense of humour, your saintly temper …’

The last phrase appealed too strongly to the sense of humour she had just mentioned; I stopped crying and began to laugh feebly.

‘Dearest Evelyn, I have a temper like a fiend’s, and the disposition of a balky mule. How beautiful is friendship, that it blinds one to the friend’s true nature! Well, child, don’t cry anymore; I know why you weep, and it is not because of my saintly nature. I suppose the Almighty will order our lives as He sees fit, and there is no reason for us to worry. I have not altogether decided to accept His decrees; but whatever happens, you and I will not part until I can give you up to a man who deserves you. Here, wipe your eyes, and then give me the handkerchief so I can wipe mine. I did not expect to need more than one handkerchief this evening.’

We mopped our wet faces and went on with our dressing. Evelyn had one more comment to make.

‘You speak as if I would be the one to leave you. Will you keep me on, Amelia, to wind wool and wash lapdogs, after you are married?’

‘That is the most ridiculous remark you have made as yet,’ I said. ‘And many of your remarks have been extremely silly.’

VIII

WHEN we came out of the tomb, wearing fresh garments and rather red eyes, we found the men assembled. Lucas had brought enough articles to stock a shop; there were flowers on the table, and a glittering array of silverware and crystal. The look on Emerson’s face as he contemplated the elegantly set table was almost enough to compensate for the absurdity of the business.

Lucas was attired in a fresh suit, spotless and expensively tailored. He sprang to his feet when we appeared and held a chair for Evelyn. Walter held one for me. Lucas offered us sherry. He behaved as if he were the host. Emerson, who was now staring at the toes of his deplorable boots, said nothing. His arm was still strapped to his side, and I concluded that he felt too ill to be as objectionable as he usually was.

‘Such elegance,’ I commented, as Lucas handed me a delicate goblet. ‘We are not accustomed to luxury here, your lordship.’

‘I see no reason for depriving oneself of the amenities,’ Lucas replied, smiling. ‘If asceticism is necessary, I venture to say that you will find me ready to accept the most stringent measures; but while Amontillado and crystal are available, I will make use of them.’

He lifted his own glass in a mock salute. It did not contain Amontillado, although the liquid was almost as dark a shade of amber. My father never drank spirits, but my brothers were not so abstemious. I looked critically at the glass, and remarked, ‘Do you think it wise to imbibe? We must be on the qui vive tonight. Or have you abandoned your intention of lying in wait for our visitor?’

‘Not at all! I have a strong head, Miss Amelia, and a little whiskey only makes my senses more acute.’

‘That is the common delusion of the drinker,’ said Walter. His tone was offensive. Lucas smiled at him.

‘We are appreciative of your luxuries, Lucas,’ Evelyn said. ‘But they really are not necessary. How heavily laden your dahabeeyah must be!’

‘It would have been more heavily laden if I had had my way,’ Lucas replied. ‘Your boxes have arrived in Cairo, Evelyn. I intended to bring them along; but that old curmudgeon, Baring, refused to hand them over.’

‘Indeed?’ I said. ‘He was an acquaintance of my father’s.’

‘I am well aware of that. You should be complimented, Miss Amelia, that the new master of Egypt has taken the trouble to look after your affairs personally. The boxes were sent to you, since it was your address the Roman consul had for Evelyn. Baring took charge of them in Cairo and guards them like the dictator he is. I explained my relationship to Evelyn, but he was adamant.’

‘Perhaps your reputation has preceded you,’ I said mildly.

It was impossible to offend Lucas. He laughed heartily.

‘Oh, it has. I went to university with a young relative of Baring’s. I am afraid certain – er – escapades reached the distinguished gentleman’s ears.’

‘It does not matter,’ Evelyn said. ‘I am grateful for your efforts, Lucas, but I need nothing more than I have.’

‘You need nothing except yourself,’ Lucas said warmly. ‘That is treasure enough. But your needs and your desserts are two different things. One day, Evelyn, you will be persuaded to accept what you deserve; although all the treasure houses of the pharaohs could not hold its real value.’

Evelyn flushed and was silent; she was too gentle to reproach him for his remarks, which were, to say the least, out of place at that time and in that company. I felt quite exasperated with the girl; could she not see that her response to Lucas’s florid compliments only inflamed poor Walter’s jealousy? With a lover’s excessive sensibility he misinterpreted every blush, every glance.

Emerson removed his gaze from the toes of his boots and glowered at me. ‘Are we to sit here all evening exchanging compliments? No doubt you have planned the evening’s entertainment, Peabody; enlighten us as to what we must do.’

‘I had not given the matter much thought.’

‘Really? And why not?’

I had found that the surest way of annoying Emerson was to ignore his provocative remarks and reply as if he had spoken in ordinary courteous exchange.

‘I was thinking of the royal tomb,’ I explained. ‘Of the relief of the little princess and her grieving parents. Evelyn should copy it. She would do it beautifully.’

‘I am surprised at the suggestion,’ Lucas exclaimed. ‘After what happened today – ’

‘Oh, I don’t mean she should do it now; but one day, when the situation has been cleared up. Since your connection with Evelyn has been so distant, Lucas, you may not know that she is a splendid artist. She has already done a painting of the pavement that was destroyed.’

Lucas insisted on seeing this painting and exclaimed over it quite excessively. The conversation having turned to matters archaeological, he was reminded of the papyrus scroll he had mentioned.

‘I had the bearers fetch it,’ he said, reaching into the box at his side. ‘Here you are, Mr Emerson. I said I would hand it over, and I keep my word.’

The papyrus was enclosed in a carved and coloured wooden case, except for a single section – the one Lucas had unrolled.

‘I put it between two squares of glass,’ he explained. ‘That seemed the best method of keeping it from crumbling any further.’

‘At least you had that much sense,’ Emerson grumbled. ‘Hand it to Walter, if you please, your lordship. I might drop it, having only one good hand.’

Walter took the framed section, as gently as if it had been a baby, on the palms of his two hands. The sun was setting, but there was still ample light. As Walter bent over the sheet of papyrus, a lock of hair tumbled down over his brow. His lips moved as if in silent prayer. He seemed to have forgotten our presence.

I leaned forward to see better. The papyrus seemed to me to be in fairly good condition, compared with others I had seen in antiquities shops. It was brown with age and the edges were crumbling, but the black, inky writing stood out clearly on the whole. An occasional word was written in red, which had not fared so well; it had faded to a rusty brown. Of course I had no notion whatsoever what the writing said. It resembled the hieroglyphic writing; one could distinguish the shape of an occasional bird or squatting figure, each of which represented a letter in the ancient picture alphabet of the Egyptians. But the majority of the letters were abbreviated forms and resembled a written script such as Arabic more than it resembled hieroglyphic writing.

‘It is splendid hieratic,’ said Emerson, who was leaning over his brother’s shoulder. ‘Much closer to the hieroglyphs than some I have seen. Can you make it out, Walter?’

‘You don’t mean that Master Walter can read that scribble?’ Lucas exclaimed.

‘Master Walter,’ said his brother drily, ‘is one of the world’s leading experts on the ancient language. I know a bit, but I am primarily an excavator. Walter has specialized in philology. Well, Walter?’

‘Your partiality makes you praise me too highly,’ Walter said, his eyes greedily devouring the crabbed script. ‘I must show this to Frank Griffith; he is with Petrie at Naucratis this season, and unless I miss my guess, he is going to be one of our leading scholars. However, I believe I can make out a few lines. You are right, Radcliffe; it is splendid hieratic. That,’ he explained to the rest of us, ‘was the cursive script used on documents and records. The hieroglyphic signs were too ornate and cumbersome for the scribes of a busy kingdom. The hieratic was developed from the hieroglyphic, and if you look closely, you will see how the signs resemble the original pictures.’

‘I see!’ Evelyn burst out. We were all bending over the papyrus now, except Lucas, who sipped his whiskey and watched us all with his patronizing smile. ‘Surely that is an owl – the letter “m.” And the following word much resembles the seated man, which is the pronoun “I”.’

‘Quite right, quite right.’ Walter was delighted. ‘Here is the word for “sister”. In ancient Egyptian that might mean….’ His voice faltered. Evelyn, sensitive to the slightest change in his feelings, quietly returned to her chair.

‘Sister and brother were terms of endearment,’ said Emerson, finishing the sentence his brother had begun. ‘A lover spoke of his sweetheart as his sister.’

‘And this,’ said Walter in a low voice, ‘is a love poem.’

‘Splendid,’ exclaimed Lucas. ‘Read it to us, Master Walter, if you please.’

Lucas had insisted that we be informal; but his address of Walter by the childish title was certainly meant to provoke. On this occasion it had no effect; Walter was too absorbed in his studies.

‘I can only make out a few lines,’ he said. ‘You ought not to have unrolled it, Lord Ellesmere; the break goes through part of the text. However, this section reads:

I go down with thee into the water
And come forth to thee again
With a red fish, which is – beautiful on my fingers.

‘There is a break here. The lovers are by the water; a pond, or the Nile. They – they disport themselves in the cool water.’

‘It doesn’t have the ring of a love poem to me,’ Lucas said sceptically. ‘If I offered a fish, red or white, to a lady of my acquaintance as a love offering, she would not receive it graciously. A diamond necklace would be more welcome.’

Evelyn moved slightly in her chair. Walter went on, ‘This is certainly a lover speaking. He is on one side of the river –

The love of the sister is upon yonder side;
A stretch of water is between
And a crocodile waiteth upon the sandbank.
But I go down into the water, I walk upon the flood;
My heart is brave upon the water
It is the love of her that makes me strong.’

There was a brief silence when he stopped speaking. I don’t know which impressed me more – the quaint charm of the lines or the expertness with which the modest young man had deciphered them.

‘Brilliant, Walter,’ I cried, forgetting propriety in my enthusiasm. ‘How inspiring it is to realize that noble human emotions are as ancient as man himself.’

‘It seems to me not so much noble as foolhardy,’ said Lucas lazily. ‘Any man who jumps into a river inhabited by crocodiles deserves to be eaten up.’

‘The crocodile is a symbol,’ I said scornfully. ‘A symbol of the dangers and difficulties any true lover would risk to win his sweetheart.’

‘That is very clever, Miss Amelia,’ Walter said, smiling at me.

‘Too clever,’ growled Emerson. ‘Attempting to read the minds of the ancient Egyptians is a chancy business, Peabody. It is more likely that the crocodile is a typical lover’s extravagance – a boast that sounds well, but that no man of sense would carry out.’

I was about to reply when Evelyn fell into a fit of coughing.

‘Well, well,’ Lucas said. ‘How happy I am that my little offering has proved to be so interesting! But don’t you think we ought to make plans for tonight? The sun is almost down.’

It was one of the most stunning sunsets I had ever beheld. The fine dust in the atmosphere produces amazing conditions of light, such as our hazy English air does not allow. There was something almost threatening about the sunset that evening; great bands of blood-red and royal purple, translucent blue like the glaze on ancient pottery, gold and amber and copper streaks.

I asked Lucas whether his crew might not help us guard the camp, but he shook his head.

‘Evidently they met some of the villagers today. Your crew has also been infected, Miss Amelia. I would not be surprised if all of them fled.’

‘They cannot do that,’ I exclaimed. ‘I am paying them! Nor do I believe that Reis Hassan would abandon his trust.’

‘He would have some excellent excuse,’ Lucas said cynically. ‘Adverse winds, threatening weather – any excuse for mooring elsewhere.’

I was aware, then, of someone beside me. Turning, I beheld Michael, whom I had not seen all day.

‘Sitt Hakim’ – for so he always addressed me – ‘I must speak to you alone.’

‘Certainly,’ I said, although I was surprised at his request and at his interruption of our conversation.

‘After dinner,’ Lucas said, giving the poor fellow a sharp look. Michael shrank back, and Lucas added, ‘Michael, or whatever your name is, you are not needed. My men will serve the meal. I promised them they might return before dark. Miss Peabody will speak with you later.’

Michael obeyed, with a last pleading glance at me. As soon as he was out of earshot I said, ‘Lucas, I really cannot have you reprimanding my servants!’

‘My first name!’ Lucas exclaimed, with a broad smile. ‘You have broken down at last, Miss Amelia; you have done me the honour of addressing me as a friend. We must drink to that.’ And he refilled his wine glass.

‘We – to use the word loosely – have drunk too much already,’ I retorted. ‘As for Michael – ’

‘Good heavens, such a fuss over a servant,’ Lucas said contemptuously. ‘I think I know what he wants to speak to you about, Miss Amelia, and if I were you I should not be in a hurry to hear it.’

He held up his glass as if admiring the sparkle of the liquid in the fading light.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

Lucas shrugged.

‘Why, the fellow means to be off. My men tell me that he is in a complete funk. It is to his babbling, in no small measure, that I attribute their cowardice. No doubt he will have some specious excuse for leaving you, but leave you he will.’

‘I cannot believe it,’ Evelyn said firmly. ‘Michael is a fine man. Loyal, devoted – ’

‘But a native,’ Lucas finished. ‘With a native’s weaknesses.’

‘And you are quite familiar with the weaknesses of the – er – natives,’ Emerson put in. He had not spoken much; for once his grating purr, like the throaty emanation of a very large, angry cat, did not offend my ears.

‘Human beings are much the same the world over,’ Lucas replied negligently. ‘The ignorant always have their superstitions and their fondness for money.’

‘I bow to your superior knowledge,’ Emerson said. ‘I had been under the impression that it was not only the ignorant who are corrupted by money.’

‘I cannot believe Michael will desert us,’ I said, putting an end to the bickering. ‘I will speak to him later.’

But later I was forced to admit, little as I liked it, that Lucas had been right. Michael was nowhere to be found. At first, when he did not seek me out, I assumed he had changed his mind about wanting to speak to me. It was not until we began thinking of our plans for the night that we realized he was missing. A search produced no trace of him. Lucas’s servants – a shabby-looking group if I had ever seen one – had long since departed, so we could not ask if they had seen him.

‘He had not even the courage to make his excuses to you,’ Lucas said, ‘Depend upon it, he has crept away.’

Michael’s defection left us in rather serious condition, I thought, but when I expressed the idea, Lucas pooh-poohed my concern.

‘We ought to get to our posts,’ he continued. ‘With all due respect to your measures, I do not believe you went about the business very sensibly.’

‘Let us hear your plans,’ said Emerson humbly.

I could not imagine what ailed the man. Except for brief outbursts of irony he adopted an attitude of subservient meekness toward Lucas, a man considerably his junior in age and certainly his inferior in experience. Nor could I believe that it was physical weakness that curbed his tongue. Emerson would criticize Old Nick himself when that individual came to bear him away as he lay dying.

‘Very well,’ said Lucas, expanding visibly. ‘I see no reason to watch the village. If your villain means to frighten you away he will come here, and it is here that we must concentrate our forces. But we must not show force. You frightened him away the other night – ’

‘Oh, do you think that is what happened?’ Emerson asked seriously.

‘Only look at the sequence. The first time he came he ventured as far as the entrance to the ladies’ residence and stood there for some time, if Miss Amelia’s evidence is to be believed – ’

‘It is,’ I said, snapping my teeth together.

‘Certainly, I did not mean…. Very well, then; on the next night, when Evelyn saw him, we do not know how far he progressed. He may have come no farther than the spot, down below, where she saw him. But on the third occasion he was definitely wary; he never came onto the ledge at all, and it was as if he knew you were awake and waiting for him.’

Even in the dark I could sense Walter’s increasing anger. The tone Lucas adopted was really quite insufferable. I was not surprised when the lad interrupted Lucas’s lecture in a voice that shook with his efforts at self-control.

‘You mean to imply, Lord Ellesmere, that the miscreant saw Abdullah and myself. I assure you – ’

‘No, no, my dear fellow,’ Lucas exclaimed. ‘I mean to imply that your friend Mohammed was warned in advance!’

There was a muffled exclamation from Emerson. It sounded to me as if he were strangling on an oath he did not dare speak aloud. Lucas took it for an expression of chagrin, and he nodded graciously at the older man.

‘Yes; Michael. I am convinced that he has been in league with the villagers. No doubt they promised him part of the loot.’

‘Loot!’ Evelyn exclaimed, with unusual heat. ‘What reward could they offer, when they are so poor they cannot clothe their own children?’

‘I see you have not reasoned it out,’ Lucas said complacently. ‘Perhaps I can see more clearly because I am removed from the terror that has haunted you in recent days.’

‘Enlighten us,’ said Emerson, through his teeth. I saw them gleaming in the dark, like the fangs of a wolf.

Lucas leaned back in his chair. He stretched out his long legs and gazed admiringly at his boots.

‘I asked myself,’ he began, ‘what motive these people could have for driving you away. Malice is not a sufficient explanation; they need the money you were paying them. Does not the answer seem obvious to you? For generations these fellahin have been robbing the tombs of their remote ancestors. Their discoveries fill the antika shops of Cairo and Luxor, and you archaeologists are always complaining that whenever you find a tomb, the natives have been there before you. I suggest that the villagers have recently discovered such a tomb – a rich one, or they would not be so anxious to drive you away before you can find it.’

The explanation had occurred to me, of course. I had discarded it, however, and now I voiced the objections aloud.

‘That would mean that all the villagers are in league with Mohammed. I do not believe that. If you had seen the trembling fear of the old mayor – ’

‘You ladies always trust people,’ Lucas said. ‘These villagers are congenital liars, Miss Amelia, and expert at dissimulation.’

‘If I really believed such a tomb existed, it would require an earthquake to make me leave,’ said Emerson.

‘Naturally,’ Lucas said cheerfully. ‘I feel the same. All the more reason for catching our mummy before he can do any serious damage.’

‘If your explanation is correct, my lord, catching the mummy will not solve the problem.’ It was Walter who spoke. ‘According to you, the entire village knows that the mummy is a fraud. Exposing him will not change their intention of forcing us to leave.’

‘But it will give us a hostage,’ Lucas explained tolerantly. ‘The mayor’s own son. We will force him to lead us to the tomb and then dispatch a message back to Cairo for reinforcements. Also, once we have exposed the supposed curse we may be able to enlist the crews of our boats to help guard the tomb. They consider the villagers savages; the only thing they have in common is their superstitious terror of the dead.’

‘Another objection,’ I said. ‘If Michael is a traitor – though I still find it hard to believe – he will have warned the village of our plans for tonight. The mummy again will be on his guard.’

‘What a splendidly logical mind you have,’ Lucas exclaimed. ‘That is quite true; and it prompts my next suggestion. We must appear to be off our guard, and we must offer the mummy a lure, in order to entice it into our clutches.’

‘What sort of lure?’ Walter asked suspiciously.

‘I had not thought,’ Lucas said negligently. ‘I have appeared to drink more than I really have, in order to give the impression that I will sleep heavily. I wish you two gentlemen had done the same, but evidently you failed to follow my reasoning. Have you any suggestions, along the lines I have indicated?’

Several suggestions were made. Walter offered to take up his post at some distance, and then pretend to fall asleep. Emerson proposed to stand out in the open and consume an entire bottle of wine, and then collapse upon the sand as if overcome by intoxication. This last idea was received with the silent contempt it deserved, and no one spoke for a time. Then Evelyn stirred.

‘I think there is only one object that may attract the creature to venture close enough to be seized,’ she said. ‘I shall steal out for a stroll after midnight. If I am far enough from the camp – ’

The remainder of her sentence was drowned out by our cries of protest. Lucas alone remained silent; when Walter’s voice had died, he said thoughtfully.

‘But why not? There can be no danger; the villain only wants to catch one of us alone in order to play some silly trick.’

‘Do you call this a silly trick?’ Emerson asked, indicating his bandaged shoulder. ‘You are mad, my lord, to consider such a thing. Walter,’ he added sternly, ‘be quiet. Do not speak if you cannot speak calmly.’

‘How can anyone speak calmly of such a thing?’ Walter bellowed, in a fair imitation of his brother’s best roar. ‘Under any circumstances it is an appalling idea; but remembering what that swine Mohammed said, when we were in the village …’

He broke off, with a glance at Evelyn.

‘Lucas does not know that, Walter,’ she said steadily. ‘But I do. I overheard Amelia and Mr Emerson speaking of it. Surely that makes my plan more practical.’

Walter sputtered speechlessly. Lucas of course demanded to know what we were talking about. Seeing that Evelyn already knew the worst, I saw no reason not to repeat the statement to Lucas, and I did so, adding, ‘After all, Evelyn, you are being vain in assuming that the mummy is only interested in you. Mohammed looked at me when he spoke; and I think if you are going to take a stroll, I will make myself available also. We will give him his choice of prey. Who knows, he may prefer a more mature type of lady.’

This time the outcry was dominated by Emerson’s bull-like voice.

‘Why, Emerson,’ I said. ‘Do you mean to suggest that the mummy will not be intrigued by me? You must not insult me.’

‘You are a fool, Peabody,’ said Emerson furiously. ‘And if you suppose I am going to allow any such idiotic, imbecilic, stupid – ’

The plot was arranged as I had suggested. As we discussed it, it became more complex. By ‘we’, I refer to Evelyn, Lucas, and myself. Emerson’s contribution took the form of a low rumble rather like the sound of a volcano about to erupt. Walter’s tense silence was almost as threatening. He took Evelyn’s behaviour as evidence of an understanding between her and Lucas, and reacted accordingly; it was not at all difficult to feign a quarrel, which was part of our plan, in case any spy should be watching. We parted acrimoniously. Walter tried to make a last protest, and Lucas responded by producing a pistol.

‘I shall be within ten feet of Evelyn the entire time,’ he said in a thrilling whisper, holding the gun so that no one outside our group could see it. ‘I think our bandaged friend will be deterred by the mere sight of this. If not, I have no scruples about using it.’

‘And what about me?’ I asked.

Emerson was unable to ignore the opportunity.

‘God help the poor mummy who encounters you, Peabody,’ he said bitterly. ‘We ought to supply it with a pistol, to even the odds.’

So saying, he stalked away. He was followed by Walter. Lucas chuckled and rubbed his hands together.

‘What an adventure! I can hardly wait!’

‘Nor I,’ said Evelyn. ‘Amelia, will you not reconsider?’

‘Certainly not,’ I said in a loud voice, and walked off with my head held stiffly. I did not like leaving them alone together, but I felt it wise to add to the impression of ill will. It would be helpful later, when Evelyn and I staged our quarrel.

It was a one-sided argument, for Evelyn could not even pretend to shout at me. I made up the deficiency, and ended the argument by storming out of our tomb with my pillow and counterpane under my arm. I carried them down the ledge and into the little tent Michael had been occupying. Any watcher might readily assume that Evelyn and I had had a falling out, and that I had refused to share our sleeping quarters.

I could not strike a light, since it would have been visible through the canvas walls of the tent. It was not an honest English tent, only a low shelter of canvas; I could not stand erect in it. Squatting on the sand which was the floor of the shelter, I thought seriously of the man who had been its occupant. I was not at all convinced that Michael had left of his own free will. Men are frail creatures, of course; one does not expect them to exhibit the steadfastness of women. All the same, I did not like having my judgement of Michael disproved, and I determined to search the tent in the hope of finding some clue.

There was just enough light from without to show me that Michael’s scanty possessions had been removed; but as I wriggled around, my fingers touched an object buried in the sand. I dug it out. I did not need to see the moonlight sparkling off its metallic surface to comprehend what it was. A crucifix. Part of the chain was still there, but only part. It had been snapped, not unfastened in the usual way.

My fingers closed tightly over the small object. Michael would never have left it; it was the only thing of value he owned, as well as an amulet against evil. The breaking of the chain confirmed my dread. It must have been snapped during a struggle.

Heedless of possible watchers, I crawled around the confined space searching for further clues, but found nothing. I was relieved; I had feared to find bloodstains.

So absorbed was I in the conjectures and suspicions which followed my discovery that time passed swiftly. A sound from without brought me back to myself. Stretching out flat, I lifted one edge of the canvas and peered out.

There was nothing to be seen – literally nothing. I had miscalculated, and I cursed my stupidity. The tent was behind a low ridge of tumbled stones that extended out from the cliff; I could not see the ledge, or the tomb entrances. This would never do. I must be in a position to assist Evelyn if the mummy pursued her; and, in spite of my boasts, I did not really think it was after me. Squirming out from under the tent, I began to crawl forward. Before long I had reached the end of the rocky ridge and, rising to my knees, peered cautiously around it.

I pride myself on my self-possession; but I confess I almost let out a cry when I saw what stood beyond the ridge, only a few feet away. I had never seen it so close before. We claim to be rational, but there is a layer of primitive savagery in all of us. My brain sturdily denied superstition, but some deeply hidden weakness inside whimpered and cowered at the sight of the thing.

It was a grisly sight in the cold moonlight. In that clear, dry air the moon gives a queer, deceptive light; small details are visible in it, but shadows distort and deceive the eyes; the pallid glow robs objects of their real colour and gives them a sickly greyish-green shade. The mummy stood out as if faintly luminescent. The bandaged hands resembled a leper’s stumps. The hands were raised as if in invocation; the creature stood not twenty feet away, with its back toward me. It faced the ledge, and the blind head was tilted back as if the eyeless sockets could see.

If Evelyn carried out our plan, she would shortly emerge from the tomb and start along the ledge. I expected her; I knew that there were four strong, alert men hidden nearby. But when the slight white form appeared in the dark mouth of the tomb, I started as violently as if I had seen an actual spirit.

Evelyn stood for a moment staring up at the stars. I knew she was trying to gather her courage to leave the security of the ledge, and my heart went out to her. She could not see the mummy. At the moment she emerged it had moved with horrid swiftness, sinking down behind a rock at the cliff’s foot.

I have written that there were four defenders close at hand; but I was not absolutely certain of that fact. Despite Emerson’s sneers, I am not a stupid woman. I had already considered an idea that must have occurred to my more intelligent readers, and as Evelyn turned and slowly began to descend, my brain rapidly reviewed this reasoning.

I had been impressed by Walter’s insistence that Mohammed had not left the village on one occasion when we were visited by the mummy. Moreover, much as I disliked agreeing with Emerson on any subject, I felt as he did, that the plot was un-Egyptian – if I may use that term. Not only was it too sophisticated for the crafty but uneducated mind of Mohammed, but it smacked quite strongly of European romanticism. It might have been invented by a reader of gothic novels, inspired by An Egyptian Princess and other fictional horrors.

If Mohammed was not the mummy, who was? It is no wonder that a certain name came immediately to mind; for he had the shallow but fertile intelligence, the bizarre sense of humour that suited the plot.

I was fully aware of the objections to my theory. The greatest was the question of motive. Why should Lucas, Lord Ellesmere, go to such absurd extremes in order to frighten his cousin? Or was it I he was trying to frighten? However, I was not worried about this; Lucas’s motives were beyond my comprehension, and I thought it possible that he had some insane notion of terrifying Evelyn into leaving Egypt and accepting his protection. He would never succeed, but he might not have sense enough to know that.

The other objections were more difficult. Lucas might possibly have caught us up in time to play his role; we had dawdled and stopped along the way. But he could not have anticipated our stay at Amarna. It had been purely fortuitous, not known to him in advance.

Despite the objections, I clung to the notion of Lucas’s villainy. The truth is, I wanted him to be a villain – a veritable crocodile, like the one in the ancient poem, that lay in wait for the lover seeking to win his sweetheart. A woman’s instinct, I always feel, supersedes logic. So you may believe that I waited with considerable interest to see whether Lucas would appear to rescue Evelyn.

My heart beat in sympathy with the girl as she advanced along the path that led away from safety. She put on a good act of indifference; only once, as she passed the quarters of Walter and his brother, did she falter and glance aside. But she squared her shoulders and went on. She reached the bottom of the ledge and started out across the sand.

If she continued on the route she had chosen, she would pass too close to the mummy for comfort. I wondered if I was the only one who knew the creature’s precise location. I was not sure where the men lay concealed; perhaps they had not seen the thing. If so, it was incumbent on me to interfere before Evelyn went much farther. I did not know the creature’s intentions. It would be shock enough if it merely jumped out and began moaning and waving its arms. But suppose it tried to touch her? The horror of that, to a girl of Evelyn’s sensitive temperament, would be dreadful. And yet if I moved too precipitately I might frighten the thing away before the men could seize it. I hesitated, in an agony of doubt.

Evelyn was walking straight toward the boulder behind which the mummy lay concealed. But – wait! It had been concealed there; it was there no longer. While my attention had been fixed on Evelyn it must have slid away. Where was it now? What was happening? And where were our stalwart defenders? Except for Evelyn’s slim white figure, not a living soul moved in the moonlight. The silence was so intense I could hear the pounding of my heart.

A flash of pale colour among the rocks at the foot of the path! How silently the creature had moved! It was between Evelyn and the ledge now; she could not retreat to that point of safety. I could endure the suspense no longer. I started to rise. At the same moment the mummy stepped out into the open, emitting a low, moaning growl that brought Evelyn spinning round to confront it.

Thirty paces – not more – separated the grisly monster from its intended prey. Evelyn’s hands went to her throat. She swayed. I tried to get to my feet – stepped on the folds of my dressing gown – tripped – fell prostrate, my limbs entangled – and saw, from that position, the next act of the drama.

With slow, measured steps the mummy advanced on Evelyn, who did not move. Either she was paralysed by terror or she was carrying out her part of the plot with what seemed to me excessive devotion. I would have been in flight by then, and I am not ashamed to admit it. The blank, featureless face of the thing was more frightening than any possible distortion or scarred countenance. Two dark hollows, under the ridges of the brows, were the only sign of eyes.

Scratching at the sand, kicking ineffectually, I shouted. Evelyn did not even turn her head. She stood as if mesmerized, her hands clasped on her breast, watching the thing advance. Then – just as I was about to explode with horror and frustration – rescue came! Walter was the first to appear. In a single great bound he burst out of the tomb and reached the edge of the cliff. He flung himself down, preparatory to sliding down the slope. At the same moment Lucas stepped out from behind the concealment of a heap of rocks. I was not even disappointed at the collapse of my theory, I was so relieved to see him – and to see the firearm he held. He shouted and pointed the pistol.

The mummy stopped. It stood still for a moment, its head turning from side to side, as if it were considering its next move. Its appearance of cool deliberation was maddening to me. I finally managed to struggle free of my encumbering skirts and stagger to my feet. Another shout from Lucas stopped me as I was about to run to Evelyn. His meaning was plain; he did not want me to get into the line of fire. The pistol was aimed straight at the mummy’s bandaged breast, but Lucas did not shoot; he meant only to threaten, and I could not help but admire his calm in that tense moment.

Lucas stepped slowly forward, his gun at the ready. The eyeless head turned toward him; from the creature came a horrible mewing cry. It was too much for Evelyn, whose nerves were already strained to the breaking point. She swayed and collapsed into a heap on the ground. With another ghastly moan, the mummy lumbered toward her.

I felt sure then that the mummy wrappings did not conceal the form of Mohammed. These people knew firearms and had a healthy respect for them. Even as the thought passed through my mind, Lucas fired.

The explosion thundered through the silent night. The mummy stopped and jerked back. One bandaged paw went to its breast. Holding my breath, I waited to see it fall. It did not! It came on, more slowly, emitting that low mewing growl. Lucas took careful aim and fired again. No more than a dozen yards separated the two; this time I could have sworn I saw the missile strike, full in the centre of the creature’s rotting body. Again it pawed at the place where the bullet had struck; again it came on.

Lucas stepped back a few paces. His face shone with sweaty pallor; his open mouth looked like a black wound. He fumbled in his jacket pocket. I deduced that his weapon held only two bullets and that he now had to refill it.

Walter had paused, poised on the edge of the drop, to see what would ensue. Needless to say, the actions which have taken so long to describe only occupied a few moments of real time. Now, with a shout of warning, Walter let himself drop. His booted feet struck the sloping heap of rocky detritus with a force that started a miniature landslide, but he did not lose his balance. Slipping, sliding, running, he reached the bottom and rushed on without a halt.

Lucas was shouting too, but I could not hear him because of the crash of falling rock. I would not have known he was speaking if I had not seen his lips move. He had finished loading the gun; he raised it. I cried out – but too late. Carried on by the impetus of his leap, Walter flung himself at the menace just as Lucas fired for the third time. And this time his bullet found a vulnerable target. Walter stood stock still. His head turned toward Lucas. His expression was one of utter astonishment. Then his head fell on his breast; his knees gave way; and he collapsed face down onto the sand.

For the space of a single heartbeat there was not a sound. Lucas stood frozen, the pistol dangling from his lax hand; his face was a mask of horror. Then, from the mummy, came a sound that froze the blood in my veins. The creature was laughing – howling, rather, with a hideous mirth that resembled the shrieks of a lost soul. Still laughing, it retreated, and none of the horrified watchers moved to prevent it. Even after the thing had vanished from sight around the curve of the cliff, I could hear its ghastly laughter reverberating from the rocky walls.

IX

WHEN I reached Walter’s side I found Emerson there before me. Where he had been, or how he had come, I did not know; brain and organs of sight were hazy with horror. Kneeling by his young brother, Emerson ripped the bloodstained shirt away from the body. Then he looked up at Lucas, who had joined us and was staring down at the fallen man.

‘Shot in the back,’ said Emerson, in a voice like none I had heard from him heretofore. ‘Your hunting colleagues in England would not approve, Lord Ellesmere.’

‘My God,’ stammered Lucas, finding his voice at last. ‘Oh, God – I did not mean…. I warned him to keep away, he rushed in, I could not help…. For the love of heaven, Mr Emerson, don’t say he is – he is – ’

‘He is not dead,’ said Emerson. ‘Do you think I would be sitting here, discussing the matter, if you had killed him?’

My knees gave way. I sat down hard on the warm sand.

‘Thank God,’ I whispered.

Emerson gave me a critical look.

‘Pull yourself together, Peabody, this is no time for a fit of the vapours. You had better see to the other victim; I think she has merely fainted. Walter is not badly hurt. The wound is high and clean. Fortunately his lordship’s weapon uses small-calibre bullets.’

Lucas let out his breath. Some of the colour had returned to his face.

‘I know you don’t like me, Mr Emerson,’ he said, with a new and becoming humility. ‘But will you believe me when I say that the news you have just given us is the best I have heard for a long, long time?’

‘Hmm,’ said Emerson, studying him. ‘Yes, your lordship; if it is any consolation to you, I do believe you. Now go and give Amelia a hand with Evelyn.’

Evelyn was stirring feebly when we reached her, and when she learned what had happened to Walter she was too concerned about him to think of herself. It is wonderful what strength love can lend; rising up from a faint of terror, she walked at Walter’s side as his brother carried him to his bed, and insisted on helping me clean and dress the wound.

I was relieved to find that Emerson’s assessment was correct. I had not had any experience with gunshot wounds, but a common-sense knowledge of anatomy assured me that the bullet had gone through the fleshy part of the right shoulder, without striking a bone.

I had not the heart to send Evelyn away, but really she was more of a handicap than a help; whenever I reached for a cloth or a bandage she was supposed to hand me, I would find her staring bemusedly at the unconscious lad, tears in her eyes and her feelings writ plain on her face for all the world to see. I could hardly blame her; Walter reminded me of the beautiful Greek youth Adonis, dying among the river reeds. He was slight, but his muscular development was admirable; the long lashes that shadowed his cheek, the tumbled curls on his brow, and the boyish droop of his mouth made a picture that must appeal to any woman who is sensitive to beauty and pathos.

Walter was conscious by the time I finished bandaging the wound. He did not speak at first, only watched me steadily, and when I had finished he thanked me with a pallid smile. His first look, however, had been for Evelyn; and having assured himself that she was safe, he did not look at her again. As she turned away with her bowl of water, I saw her lips tremble.

Emerson had produced a new atrocity – a dreadful pipe that smelled like a hot summer afternoon on a poultry farm – and was sitting in a corner puffing out clouds of foul smoke. When I had finished with Walter, Emerson rose to his feet and stretched.

‘The evening’s entertainment is over, it seems,’ he remarked. ‘We may as well get some sleep for what is left of the night.’

‘How can you talk of sleeping?’ I demanded. ‘I am so full of questions and comments – ’

‘More of the latter than the former, I fancy,’ said Emerson, puffing away at his pipe. ‘I don’t think Walter is up to your conversation, Peabody. It takes a well man, in his full strength, to – ’

‘Now, Radcliffe, that will do,’ Walter interrupted. His voice was weak, but the smile he gave me was his old sweet smile. ‘I am not feeling too bad; and I agree with Miss Amelia that we have much to discuss.’

‘I, too, agree,’ said Lucas, breaking a long – for him – silence. ‘But first – may I suggest a restorative, all around? A little brandy might ease Walter’s pain – ’

‘I do not approve of spirits for such injuries,’ I said firmly.

Emerson snorted through his pipe, producing a great puff of smoke.

‘I am not in much pain,’ Walter said. ‘But perhaps brandy might help – the ladies. They – they have undergone a considerable shock.’

So we had our brandy. Emerson seemed to enjoy his very much. Although I do not ordinarily approve of spirits, they are of use in some situations; I felt the need of stimulants myself, and the liquor lessened Evelyn’s pallor. She was still wearing her nightclothes and dressing gown, not having had time to dress. They were embroidered lawn, of a pale blue, and I could see that Lucas admired them.

‘Well, Peabody,’ said Emerson. ‘What is your first question?’

‘Now that is not easy to say. The entire episode has been so bewildering…. First, though, I should like to know what has happened to Abdullah.’

‘Good heavens,’ exclaimed Lucas. ‘I had quite forgotten him. Where is the fellow?’

‘Don’t waste your suspicions on Abdullah,’ said Emerson. ‘He is probably following the mummy. I told him to do so if we fail to apprehend it. But I fancy he will be returning soon…. Ah, yes, I believe I hear him now.’

He beamed as complacently as if he had arranged Abdullah’s opportune arrival. The tall, stately form of the foreman now appeared at the entrance to the tomb. His eyes widened as he beheld Walter, and some time was wasted on explanations before Abdullah told us his story. Again, I translate into ordinary English.

He had been stationed by Emerson some distance from the camp. He had heard the shots but of course had not known what they betokened. They had, however, alerted him, and thus he was able to catch sight of the mummy when it left us. Its speed amazed him; he kept repeating, ‘It ran like a swift young man.’ He had not tried to interfere with the creature. Indeed, I think he was afraid to do so. But he had summoned up enough courage to follow it, at a safe distance.

‘Where did it go?’ I demanded. ‘To the village?’

Abdullah shook his head.

‘Not village. Into the wadi, to the royal tomb. I did not follow; I thought you need me, I come here.’

Emerson laughed shortly.

‘So it is the ghost of Khuenaten we have with us? Come, now, Abdullah, that does not make sense. Our ghost is an avenging Amonist Priest, if you remember, not a follower of the heretic king.’

‘Oh, stop it,’ I said impatiently. ‘I cannot blame Abdullah for not following the thing. We agreed, did we not, that the villain, whoever he is, must conceal his grisly costume in some remote place. He was on his way there. Perhaps he went to the village later.’

Emerson was about to reply when Evelyn’s quiet voice broke in.

‘I think we should end the discussion. Walter ought to rest.’

Walter opened his eyes when she spoke, but I had seen the signs of fatigue too.

‘Evelyn is right,’ I said, rising. ‘She, too, has had a nasty experience.’

‘I am all right,’ Walter muttered.

‘Of course you are,’ I said, with a cheer I did not feel. Fever commonly follows such wounds, and infection is rampant in Egypt. But there was no point in anticipating trouble. ‘All you need is rest. Come along, Evelyn – Lucas – ’

‘I must say one thing first.’ Lucas bent over the pallet where the sick man lay. ‘Walter, please tell me you forgive my clumsiness. I had no intention – ’

‘It was very stupid, all the same,’ said Emerson, as Walter made a feeble gesture of conciliation.

‘You are right,’ Lucas muttered. ‘But if you had been in my place – you saw, I know, but you did not feel the recoil of the pistol, and then see that ghastly thing come on and on….’ With a sudden movement he pulled the gun from his pocket. ‘I shall never use this again. There is one bullet left….’

His arm straightened, pointing the gun out of the mouth of the tomb. His finger was actually tightening on the trigger when Emerson moved. The man was constantly surprising me; his leap had a tigerish swiftness I would not have expected. His fingers clasped round Lucas’s wrist with a force that made the younger man cry out.

‘You fool,’ Emerson mumbled round the stem of the pipe. Snatching the gun from Lucas’s palsied hand, he put it in his belt. ‘The echoes from a shot in this confined place would deafen us. Not to mention the danger of a ricochet… I will take charge of your weapon, Lord Ellesmere. Now go to bed.’

Lucas left without another word. I felt an unexpected stab of pity as I watched him go, his shoulders bowed and his steps dragging. Evelyn and I followed. As soon as she had dropped off to sleep I went back onto the ledge, and somehow I was not surprised to see Emerson sitting there. His feet dangling over empty space, he was smoking his pipe and staring out at the serene vista of star-strewn sky with apparent enjoyment.

‘Sit down, Peabody,’ he said, gesturing at the ledge beside him. ‘That discussion was getting nowhere, but I think you and I might profit from a quiet chat.’

I sat down.

‘You called me Amelia, earlier,’ I said, somewhat to my own surprise.

‘Did I?’ Emerson did not look at me. ‘A moment of aberration, no doubt.’

‘You were entitled to be distracted,’ I admitted. ‘Seeing your brother struck down…. It was not entirely Lucas’s fault, Emerson. Walter rushed into the path of the bullet.’

‘In view of the fact that his lordship had already fired twice without result, I would have supposed he would have sense enough to stop.’

I shivered.

‘Get a shawl, if you are cold,’ said Emerson, smoking.

‘I am not cold. I am frightened. Are none of us willing to admit the consequences of what we saw? Emerson, the bullets struck that thing. I saw them strike.’

‘Did you?’

‘Yes! Where were you, that you did not see?’

‘I saw its hands, or paws, clutch at its breast,’ Emerson admitted. ‘Peabody, I expected better of you. Are you becoming a spiritualist?’

‘I hope I am reasonable enough not to deny an idea simply because it is unorthodox,’ I retorted. ‘One by one our rational explanations are failing.’

‘I can think of at least two rational explanations for the failure of the bullets to harm the creature,’ Emerson said. ‘A weapon of that type is extremely inaccurate, even in the hands of an expert, which I believe his lordship is not. He may have fired two clean misses, and the mummy put on a performance of being hit in order to increase our mystification.’

‘That is possible,’ I admitted. ‘However, if I stood in the mummy’s shoes – or sandals, rather – I should hate to depend on Lucas’s bad marksmanship. What is your other explanation?’

‘Some form of armour,’ Emerson replied promptly. ‘I don’t suppose you read novels, Peabody? A gentleman named Rider Haggard is gaining popularity with his adventurous tales; his most recent book, King Solomon’s Mines, concerns the fantastic experiences of three English explorers who seek the lost diamond mines of that biblical monarch. At one point in the tale he mentions chain mail, and its usefulness in deflecting the swords and spears of primitive tribes. I believe it would also stop a small-calibre bullet. Have we not all heard of men being saved from bullet wounds by a book – it is usually a Bible – carried in their breast pocket? I have often thought it a pity that our troops in the Sudan are not equipped with armour. Even a padded leather jerkin, such as the old English foot soldiers wore, would save many a life.’

‘Yes,’ I admitted. ‘The wrappings could cover some such protective padding. And I have read of Crusaders’ armour being found in this mysterious continent, even in Cairo antique shops. But would such an ingenious idea occur to a man like Mohammed?’

‘Let us abandon that idea once and for all. Mohammed was not the mummy.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Its height,’ Emerson replied calmly. ‘For a moment Walter was close enough so that I could measure their comparative height. It was as tall as he, or taller. Mohammed and the other villagers are small people. Bad diet and poor living conditions….’

‘How can you be so cool? Discussing diet, at such at a time….’

‘Why,’ said Emerson, puffing away, ‘I am beginning to enjoy myself. Lord Ellesmere’s sporting instincts have infected me; he reminds me that an Englishman’s duty is to preserve icy detachment under any and all circumstances. Even if he were being boiled to provide a cannibal’s dinner it would be incumbent upon him to – ’

‘I would expect that you would be taking notes on the dietary habits of aborigines as the water bubbled around your neck,’ I admitted. ‘But I cannot believe you are really so calm about Walter’s injury.’

‘That is perceptive of you. In fact, I mean to catch the person who is responsible for injuring him.’

I believed that. Emerson’s voice was even, but it held a note that made me glad I was not the person he referred to.

‘You have left off your bandages,’ I said suddenly.

‘You are absolutely brilliant tonight, Peabody.’

‘I am sure you should not – ’

‘I cannot afford to pamper myself. Matters are approaching a climax.’

‘Then what shall we do?’

‘You, asking for advice? Let me feel your brow, Peabody, I am sure you must be fevered.’

‘Really, your manners are atrocious,’ I exclaimed angrily.

Emerson raised one hand in a command for silence

‘We had better take a stroll,’ he said. ‘Unless you want to waken Miss Evelyn. I don’t know why you can’t carry on reasonable discussion without raising your voice.’

He offered me a hand to help me rise; but the jerk with which he lifted me to my feet was not gentle; for a moment my weight dangled from his arm in an undignified manner. He set me on my feet and walked off. I followed, and caught him up at the bottom of the cliff. We strolled along in silence for a time. Even Emerson was moved by the beauty of the night.

Before us, the moonlight lay upon the tumbled desolation of sand that had once been the brilliant capital of a pharaoh. For a moment I had a vision; I seemed to see the ruined walls rise up again, the stately villas in their green groves and gardens, the white walls of the temples, adorned with brilliantly painted reliefs, the flash of gold-tipped flagstaffs, with crimson pennants flying in the breeze. The wide, tree-lined avenues were filled with a laughing throng of white-clad worshippers, going to the temple, and before them all raced the golden chariot of the king, drawn by matched pair of snow-white horses…. Gone. All gone, into the dust to which we must all descend when our hour comes.

‘Well?’ I said, shaking off my melancholy mood. ‘You promised me the benefit of your advice. I await it breathlessly.’

‘What would you say to striking camp tomorrow?’

‘Give up? Never!’

‘Just what I would have expected an Englishwoman to say. Are you willing to risk Miss Evelyn?’

‘You think the mummy has designs on her?’

‘I am unwilling to commit myself as to its original intentions,’ said Emerson pedantically. ‘But it seems clear that the mummy is now interested in her. I am afraid it is not attracted by your charms, Peabody. It must have known you were in the tent; I was watching, and I thought for a time, seeing the walls bulge and vibrate, that you would have the whole structure down about your ears. What were you doing – physical jerks?’

I decided to ignore his childish malice.

‘I was looking for evidence of what had happened to Michael,’ I explained. ‘I found this.’

I showed him the crucifix, pointing out the break in the chain. He looked grave.

‘Careless of the attacker, to leave such a clue.’

‘You believe Michael was forcibly abducted?’

‘I am inclined to think so.’

‘And you do nothing? A faithful follower – a helper we badly need – ’

‘What can I do?’ Emerson enquired, reasonably enough. ‘One result of these activities has been to keep us fully occupied; we have not had time, or personnel, for retaliation; we can barely enact defensive measures. I think Michael has not been harmed.’

‘I wish I could be so confident. Well, we can hardly march into the village and demand that he be delivered up to us. What a pity we could not apprehend the mummy. We might have effected an exchange of prisoners.’

‘We could do a great deal more than that if we had the mummy,’ Emerson replied. He tapped out his pipe and put it in his pocket. ‘It does seem as if the stars are against us. Twice now we ought to have had our hands on it. But let us not waste time in vain regrets. I am concerned for Miss Evelyn – ’

‘Do you suppose I am not? I think I must take her away. She might at least sleep on the dahabeeyah, with the crew to guard her.’

‘The boat is only a few miles from here. Our mummified friend seems to have excellent powers of locomotion.’

I felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dashed over me.

‘It surely would not venture there! If its primary aim is to convince you to quit the site – ’

‘I am not in a position to state, unequivocally, what the aim of an animated mummy might be. But if that is its purpose, a serious threat to Miss Evelyn might accomplish it. Do you suppose Walter would remain here if he believed she was in danger?’

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘So you have observed that.’

‘I am not blind, nor deaf, nor wholly insensible. I sense also that she is not indifferent to him.’

‘And, of course, you disapprove.’

‘Why, Peabody, you know my mercenary nature. I need money for my excavations. The aim is noble – to rescue knowledge from the vandalism of man and time. Walter might make an advantageous marriage; he is a handsome fellow, don’t you think? You could hardly suppose I would allow him to throw himself away on a penniless girl. Miss Evelyn is penniless, is she not?’

As he spoke, in an insufferably sarcastic tone, I thought I detected a faint smell of singeing cloth.

‘She is penniless,’ I replied shortly.

‘A pity,’ Emerson mused. ‘Well, but if she is not good enough for Walter, she is too nice a child to be handed over to the mummy. I propose that we test our theory. Let her sleep tomorrow night on the dahabeeyah, and – we will see what happens. You will have to use trickery, Peabody, to induce her to stay there; she does not lack courage, and will not willingly leave Walter. I suggest we propose an expedition to the boat tomorrow, to fetch various necessities. I will leave Abdullah to guard Walter – ’

‘Why not carry Walter with us? He would be better on the boat.’

‘I don’t think we should risk moving him.’

‘Perhaps not. But to leave him here alone, with only Abdullah…. He is not the most reliable of guards. I think he is increasingly fearful.’

‘Walter will only be alone for a few hours, in daylight. I will return as soon as I have escorted you to the dahabeeyah. You must counterfeit illness, or something, to keep Miss Evelyn there overnight.’

‘Yes, sir,’ I said. ‘And then?’

‘Then you must remain on guard. I may be wrong; the mummy may not come. But if it does, you and you alone will be responsible for Miss Evelyn’s safety. Can you take on such a task?’

The smell of singeing cloth grew stronger. I have a very keen sense of smell.

‘Certainly I can.’

‘You had better take this,’ he said, and to my consternation, produced the revolver he had taken from Lucas. I shrank back as he offered it.

‘No, don’t be absurd! I have never handled firearms; I might injure someone. I can manage without a gun, you may be sure.’

‘So you do admit to some weaknesses.’

There was definitely a small curl of smoke issuing from the pocket in which Emerson had placed his pipe. I had been about to point this out. Instead I remarked, ‘I have said that I can manage without a weapon. How many men can claim as much? Good night, Emerson. I accept your plan. You need have no fear of my failing in my role.’

Emerson did not reply. A most peculiar expression had come over his face. I watched him for a moment, relishing the situation with, I fear, a malice most unbecoming a Christian woman.

‘Your pocket is on fire,’ I added. ‘I thought when you put your pipe away that it was not quite out, but you dislike advice so much…. Good night.’

I went away, leaving Emerson dancing up and down in the moonlight, beating at his pocket with both hands.

II

To my infinite relief, Walter was better next morning. The dreaded fever of infection had not appeared, and I was optimistic about his prospects, so long as he did not aggravate the wound. I had only time for a quick exchange with Emerson that morning. We agreed that Walter should not attempt the trip to the dahabeeyah.

So the scheme we had arranged was carried out. We had great difficulty in persuading Evelyn to go, but finally she agreed, as she thought, to a quick journey to and from the river Glancing back, as our caravan set forth, I saw Abdullah squatting on the ledge, his knees up and his turbaned head bowed. He looked like the spirit of an ancient scribe brooding over the desolate site of his former home.

The walk, through sand and under a broiling sun, was not an easy one. It was with considerable relief that I made out the mast and furled sails of the Philae, bobbing gently at anchor. Beyond, I saw Lucas’s boat. It was called the Cleopatra. If that famous queen was as fatally lovely as history claims, her namesake did not live up to its model; the Cleopatra was smaller than the Philae and not nearly so neat. As we drew nearer I saw some members of the crew lounging about the deck; they were as dirty and unkempt as their boat, and the sullen indifference with which they watched us contrasted eloquently with the enthusiastic welcome of my men. You would have thought we had returned from the jaws of death instead of a place only four miles away. Reis Hassan seemed to recognize Emerson; his white teeth gleamed in a smile as their hands met, and the two fell into animated conversation.

I did not need to follow the rapid Arabic to know that Emerson’s first questions concerned our missing Michael; it had been my intention to investigate that matter immediately if he had not. The reis’s response was equally intelligible – a firm negative.

And yet, despite my ignorance of the language, I felt there was something hidden behind the captain’s steady look and quick reply – some reservation he did not care to state. I was ready, by that time, to believe that everyone around me was party to the plot, but I knew Hassan might be quite innocent and yet not quite candid. He might be concealing a shamed, fugitive Michael; he might have heard the tales of the villagers and be reluctant to confess his own fears.

Emerson’s flashing glance at me indicated that he had similar doubts. He turned back to the reis with a barrage of questions, but got little satisfaction. Michael had not been seen. No doubt he had become bored, or lonely for his family, as ‘these Christians’ were wont to do, and had deserted.

Emerson stamped impatiently as Hassan took his departure. He really did behave like a spoiled child at times; but now I could hardly blame him. He was on fire to return to Walter, and could not waste more time in interrogation; when an Egyptian decides not to speak, it requires a Grand Inquisitor to get a word out of him. Evelyn had gone below to pack the articles that were our ostensible reason for coming. Lucas had gone to his own dahabeeyah. Emerson and I stood alone on the upper deck.

‘I must get back,’ he muttered. ‘Peabody, all is not well. The crewmen have been talking with the villagers. One of them has already run away, and I think Hassan is doubtful of his ability to control the others. Not that he would admit it – ’

‘I felt something was wrong. But you ought not to wait; I too am apprehensive about Walter. Go.’

‘You will not forget what I have told you?’

‘No.’

‘And you will act as I have directed?’

‘Yes.’

The sun on the upper deck was burning hot, with the awning rolled back. Streaks of perspiration trickled down Emerson’s face.

‘The situation is intolerable,’ he exclaimed. ‘Amelia, swear to me that you will do precisely what I said; you will not take foolish chances, or expose yourself – ’

‘I have said I would. Don’t you understand English?’

‘Good God! You are the one who fails to understand; don’t you realize there is not another woman living whom I would – ’

He broke off. From the far end of the deck Lucas approached, his hands in his pockets, his lips pursed in a whistle. The strains of ‘Rule, Britannia’ floated to my ears.

Emerson gave me a long, piercing look – a look that burned itself into my brain. Without another word he turned and vanished down the ladder to the lower deck.

I could not face Lucas just then. I followed Emerson. He was out of sight by the time I reached the lower deck, so I went on down, into the area where the cabins were located. My cheeks were tingling; I felt a foolish desire to imitate Lucas’s whistling. It had been very hot on the upper deck; even those few moments had burned my face so that it felt warm and flushed.

In a narrow, dark corridor I ran full tilt into Evelyn.

‘Amelia,’ she cried, clutching my arm. ‘I have just seen Mr Emerson from my window. He is leaving – he is on his way back, without us. Stop him, pray do; I must go back –’

With a start of repugnance I remembered the role I must play.

Evelyn was trying to brush past me. I put my hands on her arms and leaned heavily against her.

‘I am feeling ill,’ I muttered. ‘I really think I must lie down …’

Evelyn responded as I had known she would. She assisted me to my cabin and helped me loosen my dress. I pretended to be faint; I am afraid I did not do a convincing job of it, what with shame at betraying her trust and the odd exhilaration that bubbled inside me; but poor Evelyn never suspected me of false dealing. She worked assiduously to restore me; indeed, she waved the smelling salts so ardently under my nose that I went into a fit of sneezing.

‘Leave off, do,’ I exclaimed between paroxysms. ‘My head will fly off in a moment!’

‘You are better,’ Evelyn said eagerly. ‘That was your old strong voice. Are you better, Amelia? Dare I leave you for a moment? I will run after Mr Emerson and tell him to wait – ’

I fell back on the pillow with a heartrending groan.

‘I cannot walk, Evelyn. I think – I think I must stay here tonight. Of course,’ I added craftily, ‘if you feel you must go – and leave me here alone – I will not try to keep you …’

I closed my eyes, but I watched Evelyn through my lashes. The struggle on the girl’s face made me feel like Judas. Almost I weakened. Then I remembered Emerson’s look, and his words. ‘There is not another woman alive whom I would – ’ What had he meant to say? ‘Whom I would trust, as I am trusting in your strength and courage?’ Would the sentence, interrupted by Lucas, have ended in some such wise? If so – and there could hardly be any other meaning – it was an accolade I could not fail to deserve. The triumph of converting that arrogant misogynist into an admission that Woman, as represented by my humble self, had admirable qualities…. No, I thought, if I must choose between Evelyn or Emerson – or rather, between Evelyn and my own principles – I must betray Evelyn. It was for her own good.

Still, I felt rather uncomfortable, as I watched her fight her silent battle. Her hands were pressed so tightly together that the knuckles showed white, but when she spoke her voice was resigned.

‘Of course I will stay with you, Amelia. How could you suppose I would do otherwise? Perhaps a quiet night’s sleep will restore you.’

‘I am sure it will,’ I mumbled, unable to deny the girl that much comfort. Little did she know what sort of night I half expected!

I ought to have stayed in my bed, refusing food, to carry out my performance; but as the day went on, I began to be perfectly ravenous. Darkness fell, and I felt I was safe; not even Evelyn would insist that we make the journey by night. So I admitted to feeling a little better, and agreed that nourishment would do me good. I had a frightful time trying to pick at the food and not bolt it down like a labourer. The cook had outdone himself, as if in celebration of our return, and Lucas had fetched several bottles of champagne from his dahabeeyah.

He was attired in evening dress; the austere black and white became his sturdy body and handsome face very well. He had become exceedingly tanned. I felt as if he ought to wearing the crimson sashes and orders of some exotic foreign emissary, or even the gold-embroidered robes of a Bedouin sheik.

We dined on the upper deck. The canopy had been rolled back, and the great vault of heaven, spangled with stars, formed a roof finer than any oriental palace could boast. As we sipped our soup, a feeling of unreality swept over me. It was as if the preceding week had never happened. This was a night like the first nights on the dahabeeyah, surrounded by the sights and sounds and olfactory sensations that had so quickly become dear and familiar. The soft lapping of the water against the prow and the gentle sway of the boat; the liquid voices of the crewmen down below, as mellow and wordless as music to our untrained ears; the balmy night breeze, carrying the homely scents of burning charcoal and pitch and unwashed Egyptian; and under them all the indefinable, austere perfume of the desert itself. I knew I would never be free of its enchantment, never cease to desire it after it was gone. And although the strange events of past days seemed remote and dreamlike, I knew that in some indefinable way they had heightened the enjoyment of the journey, given it a sharp tang of danger and adventure.

Lucas was drinking too much. I must admit he held his wine like a gentleman; his speech did not become slurred nor his movements unsteady. Only his eyes showed the effect, becoming larger and more brilliant as the evening wore on; and his conversation became, if possible, quicker and more fantastical. One moment he declared his intention of returning to the camp, for fear of missing another encounter with the mummy; the next moment he was ridiculing the whole affair – the Emerson brothers, their shabby way of life, the absurdity of spending the years of youth grubbing for broken pots – and declaring his intention to move on to the luxuries of Luxor and the glories of Thebes.

Evelyn sat like a pale statue, unresponsive to the jeers or to the increasingly soft glances her cousin directed at her. She had not dressed for dinner, but was wearing a simple morning frock, a faded pink lawn sprigged with tiny rosebuds.

Lucas kept looking at the gown; finally he burst out, ‘I don’t mean to criticize your choice of costume, Cousin, but I yearn to see you in something becoming your beauty and your station. Since that first night in Cairo I have not seen you wear a gown that suited you. What a pity I could not bring your boxes with me!’

‘You are too conscientious, Lucas,’ Evelyn replied. ‘It may relieve you to know that I am not looking forward to unpacking those boxes. I shall never wear the gowns again; their elegance would remind me too painfully of Grandfather’s generosity.’

‘When we return to Cairo we will burn them unopened,’ Lucas declared extravagantly. ‘A grand auto-da-fé of the past! I want to supply you with a wardrobe fitting your station, my dear Evelyn – with garments that will have no painful memories associated with them.’

Evelyn smiled, but her eyes were sad.

‘I have the wardrobe befitting my station,’ she replied, with a loving glance at me. ‘But we cannot destroy the past, Lucas, nor yield to weakness. No; fortified by my faith as a Christian, I will look over Grandfather’s gifts in solitude. There are trinkets, mementos I cannot part with; I will keep them to remind me of my errors. Not in any spirit of self-flagellation,’ she added, with another affectionate look at me. ‘I have too much to be thankful for to indulge in that error.’

‘Spoken like an Englishwoman and a Christian,’ I exclaimed. ‘But indeed, I have difficulty in hearing you speak, Evelyn; what is going on down below? The men are making a great deal of noise.’

I spoke in part to change a subject that was clearly painful to Evelyn, but I was right; for some time the soft murmur of voices from the deck below had been gradually increasing in volume. The sound was not angry or alarming; there was considerable laughter and some unorganized singing.

Lucas smiled. ‘They are celebrating your return. I ordered a ration of whiskey to be served out. A few of them refused on religious grounds; but the majority seem willing to forget the admonitions of the Prophet for one night. Moslems are very much like Christians in some ways.’

‘You ought not to have done that,’ I said severely. ‘We ought to strengthen the principles of these poor people, not corrupt them with our civilized vices.’

‘There is nothing vicious about a glass of wine,’ Lucas protested.

‘Well, you have had enough,’ I said, removing the bottle as he reached for it. ‘Kindly recall, my lord, that our friends at the camp are still in danger. If we should receive a distress signal in the night – ’

Evelyn let out a cry of alarm, and Lucas glared at me.

‘Your friend Emerson would not call for help if he were being burned at the stake,’ he said, with a sneer that robbed the statement of any complimentary effect. ‘Why do you frighten Evelyn unnecessarily?’

‘I am not frightened,’ Evelyn said. ‘And I agree with Amelia. Please, Lucas, don’t drink any more.’

‘Your slightest wish is my command,’ said Lucas softly.

But I feared the request had come too late. Lucas had already taken more than was good for him.

Soon after this Evelyn pleaded fatigue and suggested that I too retire, in order to build up my strength. The reminder came at an opportune time, for I had forgotten I was supposed to be ailing. I sent her to her cabin and then called the reis; the noise from below was now so great that I was afraid Evelyn would not be able to sleep. Hassan, at least, showed no signs of inebriation, but I had a hard time communicating with him, for, of course, he spoke very little English. How I missed our devoted Michael! Eventually I got the reis to understand that we were retiring, and we wished the noise kept down. He bowed and retired; shortly thereafter the voices did drop in tone.

Lucas had been sitting in sullen silence, staring at the wine bottle, which was at my elbow. I was of two minds as to whether to carry it with me when I retired. I decided against it. Lucas probably had plenty more.

As I rose, he jumped up and held my chair.

‘Excuse my bad manners, Miss Amelia,’ he said quietly. ‘But indeed, I am not at all drunk. I merely wanted to convey that impression.’

‘It seems to be a favourite plan of yours,’ I said drily, walking toward the stairs. Lucas followed me.

‘I am sleeping in one of the cabins below,’ he said, in the same soft voice. ‘I will be awake and ready in case I am needed.’

Now I had said nothing to Lucas of my conversation with Emerson the preceding night. Emerson had not needed to caution me against it; I had no particular confidence in Lucas myself. His comment meant that, independently, he had arrived at the same conclusion we had reached, and this fact both alarmed and interested me.

‘I trust I will not need you,’ I replied.

We descended the narrow stairs and went into the cabin area. Lucas took my arm and brought me to a halt.

‘This is the cabin I am occupying,’ he whispered. ‘Will you wait a moment, Miss Amelia? I want to show you something.’

I waited in the dark corridor while he stepped into the cabin. He was back in a moment, carrying a long object, like a stick. I peered through the gloom before I was able to identify it; and then I started to expostulate.

‘Never fear,’ said Lucas, holding up the rifle – for such it was. ‘It is not loaded. I would not make that mistake again.’

‘Then why carry it?’

‘Sssh!’ Lucas put a finger to his lips. ‘Only you and I know it is not loaded. Perhaps the mummy has reason not to fear a small calibre handgun, but he will not be so nonchalant about a shell from an express that can bring down a charging elephant. And if all else fails, it makes an admirable club!’

He raised the rifle above his head.

‘I think it is a foolish idea,’ I snapped. ‘But if you are determined on it … Good night, Lucas.’

I left him brandishing the weapon, an idiotic grin on his face

Ordinarily Evelyn and I occupied separate cabins, but I had no intention of leaving her alone that night. I feigned a return of weakness, in order to persuade her to share my room without alarming her, and she helped me into bed with sweet solicitude. She soon joined me. Darkness fell as she blew out the lamp, and before long her soft, regular breathing told me that fatigue had overcome the anxieties that still distressed her.

I did not sleep but I found it more difficult than I had expected to overcome Morpheus. I had taken only a single glass of wine, despite Lucas’s attempts to induce me to drink more. Ordinarily such a small amount does not affect me in the slightest, but as the minutes went on and the voices of the crewmen faded into silence, I fought sleep as if it had been a bitter enemy. Finally I arose – with care, so as not to waken Evelyn – and went into the adjoining cubicle, which served as our bathroom, where I splashed water on my face and even slapped it as vigorously as I dared. I was finally driven to pinching myself; and a foolish figure I would have made, if anyone had been there to see – standing bolt upright in the centre of the room, applying my nails to the flesh of my arm at regular intervals.

The night was very silent. The men were asleep, I assumed. The soft night sounds of the Nile were as soothing as a lullaby. My knees kept bending, and I kept jerking myself erect. I had no idea how much time had passed. It seemed like hours.

At last, feeling slightly more alert, I went back into the sleeping chamber and approached the window. It was not the porthole sort of window one finds on regular sailing ships, but a wide aperture, open to the air but covered by a curtain in order to keep out the light. It opened onto the lower deck, not quite level with the flooring, but easily reached from it. I knew that if danger should approach, it must come this way. Our door was locked and bolted securely, but there was no way of locking the window without shutting out the air and making the room too stifling for comfortable sleep.

My hand went to the window frame all the same. After some internal debate I decided to leave it open. The increasingly stuffy air might waken Evelyn, and the window creaked as I remembered from before. Instead I drew the curtain back just enough to see out, and remained standing, my elbows on the sill, my hands propping my drowsy head.

I could see a section of the deck from where I stood, and beyond it the silvered reaches of the river, with the night sky overhead. The moon’s rays were so bright I could make out details like the nails in the planking. Nothing moved, except the rippling silver of the water.

How long I stood there I cannot calculate. I fell into a kind of waking doze, erect, but not wholly conscious. Finally I became aware of something moving along the deck to my right.

Lucas’s cabin was in that direction, but I knew it was not Lucas. I knew what it was. Had I not expected it?

It kept to the shadows, but I made out the now familiar pale shape of it easily enough. I cannot explain why, but on this occasion I felt none of the superstitious terror that had paralysed me on its earlier visits. Perhaps it was the skulking surreptitious movement of the thing; perhaps it was the familiarity of the surroundings. In any case, I began to feel enormous exasperation. Really, the mummy was becoming ridiculous! Its repertoire was so limited; why didn’t it do something different, instead of creeping around waving its arms?

I was no longer sleepy, and I calculated, quite coolly, what I should do. How I would crow over Emerson if, single-handedly, I could capture our mysterious adversary! I quite forgot his admonitions. I would not be satisfied with driving the mummy away, as we had planned; no, I must catch it!

The only question was: Should I call for help, or should I attack the creature myself? I was reluctant to follow the former course. The crewmen were at the far end of the deck and were, no doubt, sleeping off their unaccustomed debauch so heavily that a cry would not waken them in time to prevent the creature’s escape. As for Lucas, I did not doubt that he was snoring heavily. No, I thought; I would wait, to see what the mummy did. If it tried to enter our room through the window – then I had it! My right hand already clasped the handle of the pitcher, which, filled with water, stood beside the bed. It was a heavy earthenware jug and would raise a good lump on the head of anything it struck.

As I debated with myself, the mummy stepped out into the moonlight. It had to do so, in order to reach our room; and as it did, my feelings underwent a sudden alteration. It was so large! It seemed bigger than a grown man, and although I told myself that the appearance of gigantism was the result of the bulky bandaging, my nerves were not quite convinced. Would the jug be sufficient to render the thing unconscious? I had forgotten that its head was padded. Suppose I struck and failed? I have considerable faith in my powers, but I was not mad enough to suppose that I could engage in hand-to-hand struggle with a creature of that size and come out victorious. Even if it were a mere man, and not a monster endowed with supernatural strength, it could overcome me; and then…. Evelyn lay sleeping and helpless in the bed. No – no, I could not risk that. I must wake her, better that she should be frightened than – the unspeakable alternative. I must call; better that the thing should escape than …

I drew a deep breath.

‘Lucas! Lucas!’ I shrieked. ‘A moi, Lucas! Help!’

I cannot imagine why I shouted in French. It was a dramatic moment.

To my taut nerves the results of my cry seemed long in coming. The mummy stopped its stealthy advance. I had the decided impression that it was surprised to hear my voice. Behind me, Evelyn stirred and began to mutter sleepily. And then, with a loud thump and crash, Lucas jumped through the window of the next cabin onto the deck.

Even in that moment of danger I was glad Evelyn could not see him as he rushed to her rescue. He was fully dressed, but his shirt collar was open and his sleeves were rolled up, displaying muscular, rather hairy arms. His face was set in an expression of grim resolve; his right hand clasped the rifle. He was a sight to thrill any romantic girl; I felt a mild thrill myself as he threw the rifle to his shoulder and aimed it at the gruesome form that confronted him.

‘Stop,’ he ordered, in a low but compelling voice. ‘Do not take another step, or I fire! D— it,’ he added vexedly, ‘does the monstrosity understand English? How absurd this is!’

‘It understands the gesture, at least,’ I called, thrusting head and shoulders through the window. ‘Lucas, for pity’s sake, seize it! Don’t stand there deriding its linguistic inadequacies!’

The mummy’s head swung around until the featureless face looked directly at me. Oh, yes, it could see; I swear I caught a flash of eyes amid the darkness under its brows. It raised its arms and began to emit the mewing, growling cry that seemed to characterize its angry moods.

Evelyn was awake and calling out. I heard the bedsprings creak as she tried to rise.

‘Stay where you are, Evelyn,’ I ordered. ‘Don’t move. Lucas’ – I disliked giving him the credit, but honesty demanded I should – ‘Lucas and I have the situation under control.’

‘What do I do now?’ Lucas asked, addressing me. ‘It does not seem to understand me; and you know, Miss Amelia – ’

‘Strike it on the head,’ I shouted. ‘Rush at it and strike! Good Gad, why are you standing there? I will do it myself!’

I started to climb through the window. Evelyn had disregarded my orders; she was standing behind me, and as I essayed to move she caught me around the waist, crying out in alarm. Lucas was grinning broadly; the man had no sense of the proprieties. His smile did not endure, however. As I struggled with Evelyn, the mummy moved. It lowered its arms; then one, the right arm, shot out with the force of a man throwing some object. Nothing left its hand. It did not step forward. But Lucas’s body jerked violently. The rifle fell, as if his arms had suddenly lost their strength; it struck the deck with a metallic clatter, and Lucas fell upon it, face downward.

I stopped struggling. Evelyn and I stood with our arms wrapped round one another, frozen with horror. The mummy’s hideous laughter resounded through the quiet night. It turned to face our window.

Then, at long last, from the deck to the left came the sound of voices. The crewmen were awake. The mummy heard. It raised one bandaged arm and shook a paw menacingly in the direction of the approaching men. I could not see them, but I knew they had seen the mummy; they had probably seen the entire incredible performance, which had been played out on the open deck.

With a series of acrobatic bounds, the bandaged figure left. Evelyn was limp in my grasp. I shook her, none too gently.

‘Lie down,’ I ordered. ‘You are safe, Evelyn; I must go to Lucas.’

She slumped down onto the floor, and I scrambled through the window – no easy task in my voluminous night garments. I am afraid I displayed some part of my limbs as I crawled out onto the deck, but I was past worrying about that, and the crewmen were in no condition to notice my lack of dignity. I saw them as I got to my feet; they were clustered in a dark mass at the end of the deck, huddling together like silly sheep afraid of a wolf.

Lucas was still motionless.

I turned him over, not without difficulty; he was a heavy man, and would one day be fat if he continued to indulge himself He did not appear to be injured; his pulse was strong, if a little too quick, and his colour was good. But his breath came and went in the oddest whistling gasps and from time to time his whole body quivered in a kind of muscular spasm.

At first the men would not approach, and when they finally crept forward they refused to touch Lucas, even to carry him to a cabin. Reis Hassan finally came; his whiplash voice roused the men. I fancied they were almost as afraid of him as they were of the supernatural – but not quite. As soon as they had placed Lucas on his bed, they fled.

Hassan remained, standing just within the doorway, with his arms folded across his broad chest.

Never had I so regretted that I had not learned Arabic instead of Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. Hassan was not anxious to explain himself, and my incoherent questions were probably as unintelligible to him as his answers were to me. I thought he was rather ashamed of himself, but the cause of his shame was not easy to ascertain. He had slept too soundly, that much I was able to understand. All the crew had slept. It was not a natural sleep. It was like a spell – like magic. Otherwise they would, of course, have rushed to answer my call for help.

That much I grasped, or thought I grasped. It did not reassure me. I dismissed Hassan, after ordering him, as well as I could, to keep a man on watch for the remainder of the night. Lucas demanded my attention; and I was uneasily aware of the fact that I could no longer rely on my crew, not even my captain. If they had not already been frightened by tales of the mummy, the night’s adventure would have done the job.

Lucas was still unconscious. I did not dare consider the nature of the force that had struck him down so mysteriously; after examining him for a wound, and finding none, I decided to treat his condition as I would an ordinary faint. But none of my measures succeeded. His eyes remained closed; his broad chest rose and fell in the strange, stentorious breathing.

I began to be frightened. If this was a faint, it was an unnatural one. I rubbed his hands, slapped cold cloths on face and breast, elevated his feet – to no avail. Finally I turned to Evelyn, who was standing in the open doorway watching me.

‘He is not …’ She could not finish the sentence.

‘No, nor in any danger of dying,’ I replied quickly. ‘I don’t understand what is wrong with him.’

‘I can’t bear it,’ Evelyn whispered; and then, as I started to speak, she added, ‘No, Amelia, it is not what you think; I admire, I like Lucas; after his courage tonight, I can hardly help but respect him. But my grief at his illness is that of a friend and cousin. Only – I am beginning to feel as if I brought disaster on all those who love me. Am I somehow accursed? Must I leave those I love, lest I infect them, as my coming brought harm to Walter – and now to poor Lucas? Must I leave you, Amelia?’

‘Don’t talk nonsense,’ I replied brusquely. Harshness was the only proper response to the rising hysteria in the child’s voice. ‘Go and fetch my smelling salts. If they are as strong as I remember, they ought to bring Lucas to his senses. They almost deprived me of mine.’

Evelyn nodded. I could always command her by appealing to her sense of duty. As she turned, I was electrified by the first sign of life I had seen in my patient. His lips parted. In a low, sighing voice, he enunciated a single word.

‘He calls your name,’ I said to Evelyn, who had paused. ‘Come quickly; answer him.’

Evelyn knelt down by the bed. ‘Lucas,’ she said. ‘Lucas, I am here. Speak to me.’

Lucas’s hand moved. It groped feebly. Evelyn put her hand on his; the fingers closed around hers and clung.

‘Evelyn,’ Lucas repeated. ‘My darling …’

‘I am here,’ Evelyn repeated. ‘Can you hear me, Lucas?’

The sick man’s head moved slightly. ‘So far away,’ he murmured, in a failing voice. ‘Where are you, Evelyn? Don’t leave me. I am all alone in the dark….’

Evelyn leaned over him. ‘I won’t leave you, Lucas. Wake up, I implore you. Speak to us.’

‘Take my hand. Don’t let me wander away. I am lost without you….’

This banal exchange continued for some time, with Lucas’s weak voice pleading and Evelyn reassuring him. I shifted impatiently from one foot to the other. I suspected that Lucas was now fully conscious. He was certainly not delirious in the ordinary sense of the word. Only congenital stupidity could have produced such inane dialogue. Finally Lucas got to the point. His eyes were still closed.

‘Don’t leave me,’ he moaned. ‘Never leave me, my love, my hope. Promise you will never leave me.’

Evelyn was bending so close that her unbound hair brushed his cheek. Her face was transformed by pity, and I rather hated to disillusion her, but I was not sure what she might promise in the heat of her innocent enthusiasm. If she made a promise, she would keep it. And I was determined that matters should proceed according to the plan I had conceived. So I said briskly, ‘He is coming round now, Evelyn. Are you going to promise to marry him, or shall we try the smelling salts first?’

Evelyn sat back on her heels. Her face was flushed. Lucas opened his eyes.

‘Evelyn,’ he said slowly – but in his normal, deep tones, not the moaning whisper he had been using. ‘It is really you? I dreamed. God preserve me from any more such dreams!’

‘Thank God,’ Evelyn said sincerely. ‘How do you feel, Lucas? We were so frightened for you.’

‘A little weak; otherwise, quite all right. It was your voice that brought me back, Evelyn; I seemed to be disembodied, lost and alone in the dark without a single spark of light. Then I heard your voice and followed it as I would follow a beacon.’

‘I am glad I could help you, Lucas.’

‘You saved my life. Henceforth it is yours.’

Evelyn shook her head shyly. She was trying to free her hand; and after a moment Lucas let it go.

‘Enough of this,’ I interposed. ‘I am not so much interested in your dreams, Lucas, as I am in what produced them. What happened? I saw you stumble and fall, but I could swear the creature did not throw any missile.’

‘Nothing struck me,’ Lucas answered. ‘Nothing physical…. You found no bruise, no mark, I suppose?’

He glanced down at his bared chest. Blushing still more deeply, Evelyn got to her feet and retreated from the bed.

‘There was no mark I could see,’ I replied. ‘What did you feel?’

‘Impossible to describe it! I can only imagine that a man struck by a bolt of lightning might have a similar sensation. First a shocking thrill, electrical in intensity; then utter weakness and unconsciousness. I felt myself falling, but did not feel my body strike the deck.’

‘Splendid,’ I said sarcastically. ‘We now have a creature with the power to hurl thunderbolts. Emerson will be delighted to hear it.’

‘Emerson’s opinions are of no interest to me,’ Lucas snapped.

III

I slept soundly for what remained of the night. I believe Evelyn did not sleep at all. When I awoke it was to see the exquisite pink flush of dawn staining the sky, and Evelyn silhouetted against it. She was standing at the window; she was fully dressed, in a businesslike serge skirt and blouse. The moment I moved, she spoke.

‘I am going to camp,’ she announced firmly. ‘You need not come, Amelia; I will be back soon, I will hurry. I hope to persuade Mr Emerson to bring his brother here, and to set sail at once for Luxor. But if they will not come, then – then I think we should go. I know you will not want to leave, Amelia; I have seen how interested you are in – in archaeology. But I think Lucas will go, if I ask him; and I shall leave, with him, if you want to remain here.’

The sight of her pale, resolute face checked the remonstrance that had risen to my lips. I saw that I must speak with careful consideration. The girl believed the awful idea that had come to her the previous night! It was both pitiful and amusing to note that she had no qualms about burdening Lucas with her deadly presence, as she thought it, when it came to a choice between endangering Lucas or Walter.

‘Well,’ I said, getting out of bed, ‘you will not go without breakfast, I hope. It would be silly to faint, from inanition, in the middle of the desert.’

Evelyn unwillingly consented to partake of breakfast. As she restlessly paced the upper deck, I sent a servant to summon Lucas. It was easy to see how the events of the night had affected the crew. Young Habib, our smiling waiter, was not smiling that morning; and the usual cheerful babble of voices from the lower deck was not to be heard.

Lucas joined us while we were drinking our tea. He looked perfectly fit, and said he felt the same. Evelyn immediately told him of her plan. Lucas was not fool enough to fail to understand her agitation. His eyebrows climbed alarmingly as she spoke. In case he should miss the point I kicked him under the table. And when he turned to me indignantly, I semaphored warning as well as I could. He took the hint.

‘My dearest,’ he said gently, ‘if you wish to leave this place, you shall leave. I told you that your slightest wish was my command. But I must make one small reservation. You can ask me for my life, but not for my honour as a gentleman and an Englishman! You cannot ask me to abandon our friends. No, do not speak, I will order the crew to be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice, and to carry you and Miss Amelia to Luxor, or wherever you wish to go. But I will remain. You would not respect me if I fled now.’

Evelyn sat in silence, her head bowed. I decided to intervene. I could hardly take exception to Lucas’s sentiments but he managed to create an atmosphere of sticky sentimentality that disgusted me.

‘I have no intention of leaving unless the Emersons join us,’ I said firmly. ‘And I will deal with my own crew, if you please, Lucas. You may give yours whatever orders you like.’

‘I will,’ Lucas replied huffily.

And he went off to do so, while I summoned Reis Hassan and made another effort to break through the language barrier. I had thought of asking Lucas for the loan of his dragoman as interpreter; but what I had seen of that shifty-eyed personage did not impress me, and if Emerson had not been able to induce Hassan to speak openly, I thought no one could.

Hassan managed to convey one concept unequivocally. He kept repeating the word ‘go,’ and pointing upstream.

‘Emerson?’ I asked, and gestured toward the camp.

Hassan nodded vigorously. We were all to go. Today.

That was one Arabic word I understood, although the word for ‘tomorrow’ is even more commonly used. I repeated it now.

Hassan’s face fell. Then he gave the queer Arab shrug.

‘Tomorrow,’ he said soberly. ‘In ’shallah.’

I knew that word too. It means, ‘God willing.’

X

SOON after breakfast we set out. The sun was well up; the sands shone palely gold, and the glare, even at that early hour, was hard on the eyes. There was little conversation during the walk. Evelyn had not spoken at all since she made her declaration; I was worried about her, and – which is not usual for me – uncertain as how I might best relieve her strange fears. Not that I blamed her for being distracted; most girls of her protected station in life would have been prostrate after the experiences she had undergone.

The first person to greet us was none other than Walter. He wore a sling, to support the injured arm, but otherwise he seemed well enough, and I was delighted to see him on his feet. He came to meet us, not quite running, and grasped my hand. But he looked at Evelyn.

‘You cannot conceive how relieved I am to see you,’ he exclaimed. ‘I was furious with Radcliffe when he told me you had gone.’

‘I don’t know why you should have been worried,’ I replied, returning his hearty handclasp. ‘It was you we worried about. How do you feel? And where is your brother?’

‘You won’t believe it,’ Walter said, smiling. ‘Guess.’

‘I don’t need to guess,’ I replied. ‘Emerson has taken advantage of my absence to continue his excavations. He is totally without conscience! I suppose he has made another discovery. What is it? Another fragment of painting?’

Walter’s eyes were wide with surprise.

‘Miss Amelia, you astound me! You seem to read minds. How did you know?’

‘I know your brother very well,’ I replied angrily. ‘He is capable of any stupidity where his precious antiquities are concerned. At such a time as this, to waste his time and energy…. Where is he? I want to speak to him.’

‘The pavement is not far from the other one that was destroyed,’ Walter replied. ‘But – ’

‘But me no buts,’ I said. ‘The rest of you return to camp. I will fetch Emerson.’

I set off without another word, not waiting to see whether they obeyed me. By the time I found Emerson I had worked myself up into quite a state of anger. He was squatting on the ground, his tan clothing and dusty helmet blending so well with the hue of the sand that I did not distinguish his form until I was almost upon him. He was so preoccupied that he failed to hear my approach. I struck him, not lightly, on the shoulder with my parasol.

‘Oh,’ he said, glancing at me. ‘So it’s you, Peabody. Of course. Who else would greet a man by beating him over the head?’

I squatted down beside him. This posture, so difficult at first, had become easier. My knees no longer cracked when I knelt.

He had cleared a patch of pavement some three feet square. I saw the blue undersurface which denoted water, and upon it three exquisitely shaped lotus flowers, with green leaves framing the pure-white petals.

‘So this is the explanation of your plot,’ I remarked. ‘Sending me off with Evelyn in order to distract the mummy, so that you could work in peace. Thank you, Emerson, for your concern! You are the most despicable, selfish…. That is a great waste of time, you know, scooping at the sand with your bare hands. You will never clear the pavement that way. The sand trickles down as fast as you pull it away.’

Emerson grinned unpleasantly at me over his shoulder.

‘Tsk, tsk, Peabody, you are losing track of what you were saying. I am despicable, selfish – ’

‘Aren’t you even curious?’ I demanded angrily. ‘Don’t you want to know what happened last night?’

‘I know what happened.’ Emerson sat back on his haunches. ‘I went to the boat just before dawn this morning and had a talk with Hassan.’

Now that I looked at him, I realized he appeared weary. There were dark circles under his eyes, and new lines around the firm mouth. I was momentarily deflated by this, and by his calm statement. But only momentarily.

‘You did, did you? And what do you make of it all?’

‘Why, matters transpired as I expected. The mummy appeared, and was duly routed by you – ’

‘By Lucas,’ I interrupted.

‘His lordship does not appear to have been particularly useful. His collapse threw the crew into a complete panic. Even Reis Hassan – who is far from being a coward, I assure you – is afraid. I trust his lordship is fully recovered this morning from what Hassan described as a personally delivered curse?’

‘I don’t know what was wrong with him,’ I admitted. ‘If he were not such an intrepid fellow, I would suspect he simply fainted.’

‘Ha,’ said Emerson.

‘Jeer as much as you like, you cannot deny the man’s courage. He is no coward.’

Emerson shrugged and began to scoop away more sand.

‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’ I asked. ‘You have had one painting destroyed; uncover this, and it will meet the same fate. Its only safety now lies in obscurity.’

‘Perhaps its survival is not my chief concern,’ Emerson replied, still scooping. ‘We must have some lure for our mysterious visitor; better to lose this than Miss Evelyn.’

I studied him in silence for several minutes.

‘I cannot believe you mean that,’ I said finally.

‘No, I am sure you have the lowest possible opinion of me and all my works. It is true, nevertheless.’

There was a new note in his voice, one I had not heard before. Anger he had displayed, contempt, disgust; but never such weary bitterness. I felt peculiarly affected.

‘I do not have a low opinion of you,’ I said – mumbled, rather.

Emerson turned.

‘What did you say?’

We presented a ridiculous picture. Half kneeling, half squatting, Emerson was leaning forward to peer into my face. His hands rested on the ground, and his posture rather suggested that of an inquisitive orangutan. My own position, squatting on my heels with my skirts bunched up around me, was no less ludicrous. I was not conscious of absurdity or incongruity, however, I was only conscious of his eyes, blue and glittering as sapphires, holding my gaze with a strange intensity. Their look was too much to endure; my eyes fell, and my face felt uncomfortably warm.

And then the sound of a voice shattered the spell. Looking up, I saw Walter coming toward us. Emerson sat back.

‘Radcliffe,’ Walter began, ‘what do you suppose has – ’

He stopped speaking and looked from one of us to the other. ‘Is something wrong? Have I interrupted – ’

‘Nothing,’ Emerson said coldly. ‘You have not interrupted. What is it, Walter? You appear agitated.’

‘Agitated? I am, indeed! And so will you be, when you hear what transpired last night.’

‘I know what transpired,’ Emerson said, in the same cool voice.

I looked at him from under my lashes. His face was as impassive as one of the stone pharaohs in the Boulaq Museum. I decided I must have imagined the fleeting look of passionate enquiry. I was tired, after a sleepless night, and subject to fancies.

‘Then Miss Amelia has told you,’ Walter said innocently. ‘Radcliffe, something must be done, this is frightful! You must persuade the ladies to leave – now – today! Come back to camp, I beg, and use your powers of persuasion. I cannot seem to prevail with either Miss Evelyn or his lordship.’

‘Oh, very well,’ Emerson grumbled, rising to his feet.

Walter extended his hand to me. His brother stalked away and we followed. When we caught him up, Walter continued to express his horror and alarm. Finally Emerson interrupted.

‘Walter, you are babbling, and I don’t believe you have thought the matter through. Suppose we do succeed in sending Miss Evelyn away; will that solve the difficulty? If the mummy is a supernatural agent, which all you fools seem to believe, it can follow her wherever she goes. It can equally well follow her if it is not supernatural! Since you seem to be more concerned with her safety than with the success of our work here, perhaps you would agree that we ought to bend all our efforts on ascertaining the creature’s motives, and apprehending it.’

Walter looked distressed. The reasoning made some impression on his intellect, but all his protective instincts were at war with his brain; he wanted to see Evelyn out of danger.

‘Indeed,’ I put in, ‘we really have no reason to suppose that the creature means Evelyn any harm. Both of you, and Lucas as well, have taken injury, but Evelyn has not been touched. She is the only one who has not been harmed – except for me.’

‘Ah,’ said Emerson, giving me a long, thoughtful look. ‘I assure you, Peabody, that point has not escaped me.’

We finished the trip in silence. Walter was too worried, and I was too furious, to speak. I understood Emerson’s implication. Could he really suspect me of being behind the diabolical plot? Surely not even Emerson was capable…. But, I told myself – he was! Such a cynic, who has never had an altruistic thought in his life, is always projecting his own failings onto other people.

Evelyn and Lucas were waiting for us, and we sat down for a discussion which at first proved fruitless. The fault was mine; ordinarily I have no difficulty in making up my mind, nor in convincing others of the correctness of my decision. On this occasion I could not come to a decision.

The safest course would have been for all of us to pack up and abandon the site. This I knew Emerson would never consider, and I had a certain sympathy for his point of view. Equally impossible to me was the idea of abandoning the Emersons and sailing away. Neither of them was in perfect health; they would be helpless if the villagers should turn from passive resistance to active hostility. They had no means of summoning help. Even in busy years the remote ruins of Amarna attract relatively few visitors, and the unsettled condition in the Sudan had frightened away many travellers.

An alternative was for me to remain with my dahabeeyah, in case of emergency, while Lucas and Evelyn returned to Cairo for assistance. It would be improper for them to travel unchaperoned; but by that time I was ready to consign the proprieties to perdition, where they belonged. However, the plan had a number of difficulties. Evelyn would refuse to leave me, and Emerson would howl like a jackal at the idea of my remaining to protect him. He had the lowest possible opinion of Maspero and the Antiquities Department; the notion of appealing to them for help would offend his masculine pride.

Nevertheless, I thought it my duty to propose the scheme. It was received with the unanimous, negative outcry I had expected. Did I say unanimous? I am incorrect. The only one who did not object was the one I had expected to be most vehement. Emerson sat with his lips pressed tightly together.

Lucas was the most outspoken.

‘Abandon our friends?’ he exclaimed. ‘And you, Miss Amelia? It is not to be thought of! Furthermore, I cannot possibly agree to allowing Evelyn to risk her reputation travelling alone with me. There is only one circumstance under which such a scheme would be feasible….’

And he looked significantly at Evelyn, who flushed and turned her head away.

His meaning was clear. If Evelyn travelled as his affianced bride, the ceremony to be performed immediately upon their arrival in Cairo…. In our conventional times the proprieties might be shaken by such an arrangement, but they would not be unalterably shattered.

Walter caught the meaning as soon as I did. His ingenuous young countenance fell. Emerson had produced his pipe and was puffing away with every appearance of enjoyment; his eyes gleamed maliciously as he looked from one of us to the other.

‘Oh, this is absurd,’ I said, jumping to my feet. ‘We must make some decision. The day is passing, and I am worn out.’

‘Of course you are,’ Evelyn exclaimed, immediately concerned. ‘You must have rest, that is more important than anything else. Go and lie down, Amelia.’

‘We have not yet made a decision,’ I began.

Emerson took his pipe from his mouth.

‘Really, Peabody, this strange indecisiveness is not like you. Indeed, I am surprised at all of you. You are acting like impulsive children, ready to run from a shadow.’

‘A shadow!’ I exclaimed indignantly. ‘It was a shadow, I suppose, that struck you down with a rock; a shadow that wounded Walter!’

‘To be precise, it was an avalanche that injured me,’ Emerson replied coolly. ‘An equally unfortunate accident’ – he stressed the word, glancing at Lucas as he did so – ‘an accident caused Walter’s wound. Come, come, Peabody, use your head. To date, there is nothing to suggest that any of these mishaps were the result of deliberate malice. As for his lordship’s strange collapse last night – the body is subject to inexplicable weaknesses. Fatigue, excitements – a trifle too much wine….’

He paused, cocking his head and peering at Lucas with quizzical blue eyes. Lucas flushed angrily.

‘I deny the allegation!’

‘The only alternative is to believe in the supernatural powers of the mummy,’ Emerson replied drily. ‘That I refuse to do. I will continue to seek a rational explanation until reason leaves me altogether; and unless one of you can suggest a motive, unknown to me, why any of us should be in danger….’

Again he paused, raking us in turn with his cool stare. No one spoke.

‘No vendettas, nor feuds?’ Emerson asked mockingly. ‘No desperate lovers, or enemies burning for revenge? Very well, then; we return to the only sensible explanation for all this; it was suggested, I believe, by his lordship. The villagers wish to drive us away from here because they have made a valuable discovery. I will not be driven away. It is as simple as that.’

I could not help but be impressed by the man’s irrefutable logic. And yet in my innermost thoughts a strange uneasiness lingered.

‘Then what do you propose that we do?’ I asked.

‘I propose that we take the aggressive,’ Emerson replied. ‘So far we have not done so; we have been preoccupied with defending ourselves against fancied dangers. And that, I believe, is precisely what our opponents wish us to do. If the villagers can find a tomb, we can find it. Tomorrow I will begin searching. We will enlist the assistance of your crews. It will not be easy to do that; the men have been told by the villagers that we are under a curse. Yet I fancy that a judicious blend of flattery, appeal, and bribery will win them over. We must have sufficient manpower to protect the ladies and to conduct a thorough search. Well? What do you say? Is the scheme a good one?’

I had nothing to say. The scheme was a good one, but I would rather have died than admit it aloud. The others were clearly impressed. Evelyn’s sombre face had brightened.

‘Then you really believe that the mummy is only trying to frighten us? That no one is in danger?’

‘My dear girl, I am convinced of it. If it will make you feel safer, we will damn the conventions and spend the night huddled together in a single room. But I feel sure no such discomfort is necessary. Are we all agreed? Excellent. Then Peabody had better retire to her bed; she is clearly in need of recuperative sleep; she has not made a sarcastic remark for fully ten minutes.’

II

I thought I would not sleep. My mind was in a state of confusion such as I seldom permit in that organ; but on this occasion the methods I normally apply to resolve it were not effective. Something kept me from ratiocination. Mental fatigue, as well as physical exhaustion, finally sent me into heavy slumber, filled with bewildering fragments of dreams. The common theme of them all seemed to be light – bright beams of illumination that flashed on and then went out, leaving me in deeper darkness than before. I groped in the dark, seeking I knew not what.

It was such a beam of light that finally woke me. When the curtain at the mouth of the tomb was lifted, the rays of the setting sun struck straight into the shadowy gloom. I lay motionless, struggling against the bonds of sleep that still clung to me; my uneasy slumber had twisted the bedclothes about my limbs and loosened my hair from its net. Damp with perspiration, the thick coils weighted my heavy head.

Then I heard the voice. I did not recognize it at first; it was a harsh whisper, tremulous with fear and warning.

‘Don’t move! For your life, remain motionless!’

The tones woke me like a dash of cold water. I opened my drowsy eyes. The first object to meet my gaze was a coil of what appeared to be thick brown rope, resting on the foot of my couch. As I stared, the coil moved. A flat head lifted from the mass; two narrow orbs, sparkling with life, fixed themselves on mine.

The whisper came again.

‘Be still. Not a breath, not a movement….’

I did not need that injunction. I could not have moved, even if waking intelligence had not warned me that the slightest movement might rouse the serpent to strike. The small obsidian eyes held me. I had read that snakes paralyse their intended prey thus; and I knew how the trembling rabbit must feel when its murderer glides toward it.

With a desperate effort I wrenched my eyes from the hypnotic glare of the snake. I rolled them toward the door. I dared move no farther.

Emerson’s face was streaked with rivulets of perspiration. He did not look at me. His eyes were fixed on the flat reptilian head, which was now weaving slowly back and forth. His hand, half lifted, shook with strain. It moved slowly, inch by inch. It touched his pocket and, with the same agonizing deliberation, reached inside.

Before and after that time I have made efforts that were not easy to make, but never have I done anything more difficult than remaining motionless. Lively terror had replaced my paralysis; every nerve in my body shook with the desire for action. I wanted to scream aloud, to fling myself from the deadly couch. Every ounce of my will was occupied in fighting this instinct. The strain was too much. A fog descended over my staring eyes. I knew that in another moment I must move.

When it finally came, the act was too quick for my failing eyes to see it. Emerson’s arm flashed in a blur of motion. Simultaneously, or so it seemed, the heavens fell. Blinding light, a crash of sound that rolled like thunder…. Merciful oblivion overcame me.

I was not unconscious for long. When I awoke I could not remember, at first, what had happened. My head rested against a hard, warm surface that vibrated erratically. My ears still rang with the echoes of that final thunderclap. I decided, drowsily, that the rapid beating sound was that of my own blood rushing through my veins with the rapidity of terror; for a normal heartbeat was never so fast. I felt surprisingly comfortable – limp and boneless as a baby in its mother’s arms. Then something began to touch my face – lips, closed eyes, cheeks – with a light pressure like the brush of fingers, only warmer and softer. That odd, fleeting touch had the strangest effect on me. I had been about to open my eyes. Instead, I closed them tighter. I decided I must be dreaming. Similar sensations had occurred, occasionally, in dreams; why should I dismiss such pleasurable experiences for a reality which would not be so enjoyable? I remembered everything now. The snake must have struck its fangs into me. I was poisoned – delirious – dreaming.

I genuinely resented the sounds that finally broke the spell. Voices crying out in alarm, running footsteps, streaks of light that irritated my closed eyes – yes, the dream was over. I felt myself being lowered to a flat surface, being shaken, and – crowning indignity – slapped smartly across the cheek. I opened my eyes, and then narrowed them in a frown as I recognized Emerson’s face hovering over me like a nightmarish mask. It was he who had slapped me, of course. Beyond, I saw Evelyn, her face as white as her dress. She pushed Emerson away, with a strength and rudeness quite foreign to her nature, and flung herself down on the cot beside me.

‘Amelia! Oh, my dear, dear Amelia – we heard the shot and came running – what has happened? Are you wounded? are you dying?’

‘Not wounded, not dying, merely enjoying a ladylike swoon,’ said Emerson’s familiar, detestable voice. ‘Allow me to congratulate you, Peabody; it is the first time I have seen you behave as a lady is supposed to do. I must make a note of it in my journal.’

I tried to think of something sufficiently cutting to say to reply, but was too unstrung to do so; I simply glared at him. He had stepped back and was standing beside the cot, his hands in his pockets. A low cry from Walter interrupted Evelyn’s agitated questions. He rose from the foot of the bed, holding the limp body of the serpent in his hand.

‘Good God,’ he exclaimed, his voice shaking. ‘It is a hooded cobra – one of the deadliest serpents in Egypt. Radcliffe – it was you who fired the shot? Are you certain it did not strike before you killed it?’

I thought for a moment Evelyn was going to faint. She roused herself and began to fumble around in the bedclothes, trying to examine my lower limbs. I pulled them away. I felt perfectly well now; Emerson’s rudeness had the effect of rousing me.

‘Don’t fuss, Evelyn,’ I said irritably. ‘The snake did not touch me, it is a slow-witted creature and took so long making up its mind whether to bite me that Emerson had ample time to shoot it. He took plenty of time, too, I must say; I could have dealt with ten snakes during the interval he required to take out his pistol.’

‘You know better, Miss Amelia,’ Walter exclaimed. ‘It was necessary to move with deliberation; a rapid movement might have startled the snake into striking. To think that it was just here, at the foot of your bed! It turns me quite cold to think of it. Thank God you had a weapon, Radcliffe.’

‘My weapon, I suppose,’ said Lucas from the doorway. He came slowly into the room. ‘What a fortunate chance that you were carrying it with you.’

‘There was one bullet left,’ Emerson said. His lips curled in a frightful grimace; abruptly he turned his back.

‘It was an extraordinary shot,’ Lucas said, his eyes on the other man’s rigid shoulders. ‘A lucky shot, I should say. You might have struck Miss Amelia.’

‘It had to be attempted, whatever the risk,’ Walter exclaimed. The implied criticism of his brother brought a flush of anger to his face.

‘Of course,’ cried Evelyn.

She was still pale with agitation, but she arose with her usual grace and, going to Emerson, paced her hand timidly on his arm.

‘God bless you, Mr Emerson. Your quick wits and keen eye saved Amelia’s life. How can I ever thank you?’

Emerson’s stiff, haughty pose relaxed. He turned and looked down at the girl. Some of the colour returned to her face under his steady regard. Then he smiled faintly.

‘I will let you know,’ he replied enigmatically.

‘In the meantime, perhaps Master Walter might consider getting rid of his souvenir,’ said Lucas. ‘It cannot be a pleasant sight for the ladies.’

Walter started. He was still holding the snake’s body at arms’ length. He crossed the room, brushing past Lucas, and went out the door.

‘And,’ Lucas continued, ‘let us all leave this room, which reeks of gunpowder and holds unpleasant associations. Come, Miss Amelia, let me offer you my arm.’

‘Thank you,’ I replied. ‘I need no assistance. Perhaps a cup of tea …’

Evelyn and I had tea. The gentlemen had something stronger. Lucas was the only one who seemed normal; he kept speculating as to how the serpent got into the tomb.

‘No doubt it crawled within during the night,’ he said.

‘I wonder why I didn’t see it earlier,’ I said. ‘I must have disturbed it when I flung myself down to sleep.’

‘Because it was not on the cot then,’ Lucas replied. ‘It was curled in a corner, and crept onto your bed later. It was fortunate that Emerson came in when he did; if you had awakened and moved about – ’

‘Enough of this,’ I interrupted. ‘The thing is over and done with. In the meantime, the sun is setting. We have yet to decide what we are going to do tonight.’

‘I have decided.’ It was Evelyn who spoke. We all turned to look at her as she rose slowly from her chair. Her face was as white and set as that of a marble statue; but unconquerable resolution shone in her eyes.

‘I accept Lord Ellesmere’s proposal of marriage,’ she went on. ‘He and I will leave here now – this moment. Tomorrow at dawn we will sail for Cairo.’

Utter silence followed. It was broken by Walter. He leaped to his feet with an unintelligible cry; dark, dusky colour stained his cheeks. Lucas also rose. His slow, deliberate movements and the smile that spread across his face had an insolent triumph that infuriated me.

‘I am, of course, the happiest man in the world,’ he said coolly. ‘Although I could have wished, my darling, that you had not chosen to accept me quite so publicly. However, if that is what you prefer…’

Before any of us suspected what he meant to do, he had caught Evelyn’s hands and pulled her roughly to him. I honestly believe the rascal would have embraced her, there before us all, if Walter had not intervened. With another wordless cry, he struck his rival’s hands away. For a moment the two young men stood facing one another in open enmity. Walter’s breast rose and fell with his agitated breathing; the sling supporting his wounded arm rose and fell with it.

Lucas’s eyes narrowed. I saw, as never before, the hot Latin blood of his sire.

‘So,’ he said softly. ‘You dare…. You will answer for this, Emerson, I promise you.’

Evelyn stepped between them.

‘Lucas – Walter – for shame! I have said what I must do. I will do it. Nothing can change my mind.’

‘Evelyn!’ Walter turned to her, ignoring the other man. ‘You cannot do this! You don’t love him – you are sacrificing yourself because of some absurd notion that you are the cause of our troubles – ’

‘She could not possibly be so stupid.’ Emerson’s calm voice broke in. He had not moved during the little scene; sitting at ease, his legs stretched out, he was smoking his pipe and watching like a spectator at a play.

‘Sit down, all of you,’ he went on, his voice taking on a sharp tone that forced obedience. ‘Now let us talk like reasonable human beings. If Miss Evelyn decides to become Lady Ellesmere, that is her right; but I cannot allow her to take that step under a misapprehension.’

He turned to Evelyn, who had dropped into a chair, where she sat with one trembling hand over her eyes.

‘Young woman, do you really believe that you are the jinx, the Jonah, who brings evil upon us? That is unbecoming a sensible woman.’

‘Amelia, today,’ said Evelyn in a faint voice. ‘It was the final warning. Danger to all those I love – ’

‘Nonsense!’ The word burst from Emerson’s lips. ‘Simple nonsense, my girl. Have you forgotten what we decided, at the beginning of this obscene charade? The only possible motive for it all is the desire of some unknown to force us away from this site. How will your departure accomplish this, if Walter and I remain? While you sail safely down the river toward Cairo, in the arms of your betrothed – ’

There was a wordless protest from Walter at this. Emerson gave him a sardonic look before proceeding, in a tone that seemed designed to provoke the young fellow even more.

‘As you sail along in soft dalliance under the moon, we may be beleaguered here. No; if your motive truly is to benefit us, your flight cannot accomplish that. If, on the other hand, you yearn to be alone with his lordship – ’

It was Lucas’s turn to protest.

‘Emerson, how dare you take that tone? You insult a lady –’

‘Quite the contrary,’ said Emerson, maddeningly cool. ‘I pay the lady the compliment of assuming that she has a brain and is capable of using it. Well, Evelyn?’

Evelyn sat motionless, her hand still shading her eyes.

I don’t know what had kept me silent so long. Emerson’s motive eluded me; that he had some ulterior purpose, however, I did not doubt. I decided it was time to add my opinion.

‘Emerson states the facts with his usual boorishness, yet he is basically correct. We are still in the dark as to the motive for this charade, as he rightly terms it. Precipitate action may be fatal. You may ignorantly do precisely what our unknown adversary wants you to do.’

Lucas turned to look at me, and I knew that if I had not been a woman he would have threatened me as he had Walter. I cared not at all for his opinion. Anxiously I watched Evelyn.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ she whispered. ‘I must be alone – let me think. Don’t follow me, please.’

Slowly, her face averted, she passed along the ledge and began to descend.

Lucas started to follow.

‘Your lordship!’ Emerson’s voice cracked like a whip.

‘Don’t interfere with me, Emerson,’ Lucas said tightly. ‘You are not my master.’

‘Interfere?’ Emerson’s eyes widened in honest indignation. ‘I never interfere. You are, of course, too much of a gentleman to lay hands on the young lady again; I need not caution you as to that. I was merely about to remind you not to wander out of sight.’

‘Very well,’ Lucas said shortly.

Evelyn had reached the bottom of the path and was walking slowly across the sand, away from camp. The poor child looked infinitely weary and sad as she proceeded with dragging steps and bowed head. The setting sun struck off her golden head like a flame.

Lucas’s pace was quicker, he soon caught her up and they walked on together. Naturally I could not hear what they said, but I felt sure he was pressing his suit. The weary shake of her head gave me some hope, but not enough.

I turned to Walter, who was sitting beside me. His eyes were fixed on the distant couple. He looked ten years older than his real age.

‘They make a pretty pair,’ said Emerson, who was outdoing himself in obnoxiousness that afternoon. ‘My lord and my lady, it will be an excellent match.’

‘Oh, do be still,’ I snapped.

‘Why, I thought ladies enjoyed matchmaking. You may be proud if you bring this off. He is rich, titled, handsome; she is poor. A brilliant match for a girl like that.’

My self-control, ordinarily excellent, suddenly snapped. I was utterly disgusted with the lot of them – with Evelyn and her morbid love of martyrdom, with Lucas and his arrogance, with Walter’s hang-dog suffering acceptance – and most of all with Emerson. He thought he had won, and I feared he had; by handing Evelyn over to Lucas he kept his brother bound to his selfish wishes and now he was twisting the knife in the wound, convincing Walter that the girl was marrying Lucas out of the desire for wealth and worldly position. His smile maddened me; I could no longer hold my tongue.

‘Bring it off!’ I cried. ‘I would rather see Evelyn in a – in a monastery than married to that wretch. She does not love him. She loves – someone else, and thinks she will save him by accepting Lucas. Perhaps she is right after all. The man she loves is a poor-spirited wretch, who will not even take the trouble to declare himself!’

Walter grasped my hands. His face was transfigured.

‘You can’t mean it,’ he whispered. ‘You can’t mean that I – ’

‘Yes, you young fool.’ I gave him a shove that sent him staggering. ‘She loves you; why, I cannot imagine, but she does. Now go and stop her!’

Walter gave me a look that made me tremble. He bounded off down the ledge; and I turned to face his brother, throwing my shoulders back defiantly. I had done a foolhardy thing; I did not know what would come of it. But at that moment I was prepared to face a whole horde of mummies, much less Emerson, to defend my act.

He was rocking back and forth in his chair, shaken by silent spasms of laughter.

‘My dear Peabody,’ he gasped. ‘You amaze me. Can it be that you are a secret romantic after all?’

He was impossible. I turned my back on him and watched the tableau down below.

Walter ran like a deer; he soon reached the others, and the three stood talking. It was only too easy to follow the conversation; Walter’s impassioned gestures, Evelyn’s startled response, and Lucas’s angry interruption.

‘I am going down,’ I said uneasily. ‘I may have acted a trifle precipitately….’

‘Intervention might be advisable,’ Emerson agreed calmly. ‘His noble lordship is not above striking a wounded man; and Walter is no match for him with only one arm. Damnation! I have waited too long!’

He had waited too long; and he had been correct in his assessment of Lucas’s character. He struck; Walter went staggering back. Emerson was already halfway down the path, leaping along like a mountain goat. I followed; I dared not go quickly, for I could not remove my eyes from the little drama below.

Evelyn tried to intervene; Lucas shook her off. Walter had been shaken but not felled; he returned to the fray. Ducking his head under the other man’s flailing blows, he returned them with interest; and I could scarcely repress a cheer when his clenched fist struck Lucas’s outthrust jaw with a solid smack. Lucas fell just as Emerson came running up. He seized his brother’s arm – unnecessarily, for Walter was not the man to take advantage of a fallen opponent. Running as fast as I could with the handicaps of full skirts and drifted sand, I came up to them as Lucas was rising to his feet.

He stood swaying unsteadily, his hand rubbing his chin. The fall had scarcely rumpled his elegant attire, but there was little of the English gentleman about him as he glared at Walter, his liquid black eyes hot with Latin rage.

‘Two against one?’ he inquired with a sneer. ‘Very sporting, gentlemen!’

‘You are a fine one to talk of sportsmanship,’ I exclaimed. ‘To strike an injured man – ’

‘He used terms I allow no man to use to me,’ Lucas interrupted.

‘I regret the terms,’ Walter said in a low voice. ‘But not the emotion that prompted them. Miss Amelia – Radcliffe – if you had heard the things he said of Evelyn – the implications he was vile enough to make – ’

‘They were true,’ Evelyn said.

All eyes turned toward Evelyn.

White as the lace at her throat, straight as a young birch tree, she faced the staring eyes without flinching. She stepped back – not in retreat, but in a deliberate movement that separated her from support. She waved me back with an irresistible gesture of command as I started toward her, expostulations rising to my lips.

‘No, Amelia,’ she said, in the same quiet voice. ‘I had, for a time, the cowardly hope of avoiding this. But in justice to Lucas – and to all of you – I cannot remain silent. In the heat of anger Lucas spoke the truth. Not only have I lost a woman’s most priceless jewel, I gave it up to a profligate, a wastrel, and a ruffian. I acted of my own free will. I abandoned an old man who loved me, and was only saved from the ultimate sin of taking my own life by Amelia’s charity. Now that you know the worst, you will no longer seek to detain me. And you will accept my thanks for saving me, in the nick of time, from the despicable act I was about to commit. I see now that I cannot injure Lucas by taking advantage of his noble offer of marriage. That would be a fine way to repay his kindness, would it not?’

‘Evelyn, my dearest,’ Lucas began.

She shook her head. It was a mild enough gesture, but even Lucas was convinced by the unalterable firmness of her expression. His outstretched hand fell to his side.

‘I shall never marry. By devoting my life to good works and charitable undertakings I may one day partially redeem my ruined character.’

She had intended to say more; she was proceeding in fine dramatic style, poor young thing, carried away by the tragedy of it all, as the young are. But her emotions were too genuine, too painful; her voice broke in a sob. She continued to stand pilloried under the astonished gaze of – Walter. She had spoken as if to all of us; but it was Walter she had really addressed.

He looked like a man who has received a mortal wound and does not yet realize that he ought to fall down. Emerson’s countenance was as blank as the rock cliff behind him. Only his eyes were alive. They moved from Evelyn’s ashen face to the equally corpselike countenance of his brother; but that was the only movement he made; he did not speak.

Suddenly the colour rushed back into Walter’s face, so hectically that he looked fevered. His dull, blank eyes came alive. Stepping forward, he dropped to his knees before Evelyn.

I thought that the long-expected collapse was about to occur. It was with an indescribable thrill of emotion that I realized he had grasped Evelyn’s limp hand in his and was pressing his lips against it. I did not need to hear his words to know he had risen to heights I never really expected a man to reach.

‘You are the noblest girl I have ever met,’ he cried, raising his eyes to Evelyn’s astonished face. ‘The truest, the most courageous, the loveliest…. I don’t know many men who would have the strength to do what you have just done! But my dearest, sweetest girl….’ he rose, still holding her hand and looking down at her with tender reproach. ‘Do you think so little of me that you suppose I would not understand your tragic story? Evelyn, you might have trusted me!’

For a moment she returned his gaze, her eyes wide, wondering, unbelieving. Then, with a tired little sigh, she closed her eyes and let her golden head fall upon his breast. His arm round her waist, Walter held her close.

I watched them with the most thorough satisfaction I had ever felt in my life. I did not even wipe away the tears that rained down my face – although I began to think it was just as well Evelyn was leaving me. A few more weeks with her, and I should have turned into a rampageous sentimentalist.

‘Thank goodness that is settled,’ said Emerson. ‘It took long enough, heaven knows, and became sickeningly maudlin towards the end. Come, Walter, kiss your fiancée, and let us all go back to camp. I am hungry; I want my dinner.’

I don’t think Walter heard a word of this speech. It struck just the right note for me; I needed some vent for my overflowing emotions.

‘No one would ever accuse you of being sentimental,’ I said angrily. ‘Are you trying to suggest, you dreadful man, that you expected this development? Will you allow your brother to throw himself away on a penniless girl?’

‘Not only penniless,’ said Emerson cheerfully, ‘but ruined. Although why “ruined”, I cannot make out; she seems to be quite undamaged in all meaningful respects. A capable artist will be a useful addition to the staff. And I shan’t have to pay her a salary – just think of the savings!’

‘This is a trick.’

The voice spoke just behind me. I started, and turned. Incredible as it seems, I had quite forgotten Lucas.

His passions were under control; only the intense glitter of his eyes betrayed his feelings as, ignoring me, he walked up to Emerson.

‘A trick,’ he repeated. ‘You cannot mean to encourage this, Emerson. You don’t mean it.’

‘Your lordship fails to understand my character,’ said Emerson smoothly. ‘Who am I to stand in the path of true love? I honestly believe,’ he added, looking intently at Lucas, ‘that this is the best of all possible arrangements for all of us. Don’t you agree, my lord?’

Lucas did not reply immediately. I felt a faint stir of pity for him as he struggled with his emotions. They were intense; I wondered if, after all, he did love Evelyn, as much as a man of his limited capacity was capable of love. And when he finally spoke, I had to admire his attitude.

‘Perhaps you are right. Perhaps this is how it was meant to be. “There is a fatality that shapes our ends,” as Shakespeare has put it….’

‘If not precisely in those words,’ Emerson agreed. ‘May I congratulate you, my lord, on behaving like a true British nobleman. Will you heap coals of fire on our heads by joining us in a toast to the engaged couple? Walter – come, Walter, wake up, Walter – ’

He joggled his brother’s elbow. Walter raised his face from where it had been resting on Evelyn’s bowed head; he looked like a man waking from an ecstatic dream to find that the dream is reality.

Lucas hesitated for a moment, looking at Evelyn. She didn’t see him; she was gazing up into Walter’s face like an acolyte adoring a saint. Lucas shrugged, or perhaps he shivered; the movement rippled through his body and was gone.

‘I am not so noble as that,’ he said, with a faint smile. ‘Excuse me. I think I want to be alone for a while.’

‘Off into the sunset,’ said Emerson, as Lucas’s retreating form was silhouetted against the west. ‘How theatrical these young persons are! Thank God for our sober, middle-aged common sense, eh, Peabody?’

I watched Evelyn and Walter walk away. His arm was about her waist; her head still rested on his shoulder, and if he felt pain, where it pressed against the bullet wound, he showed no signs of it.

‘Yes, indeed,’ I replied sourly. ‘Thank God for it.’

XI

I NEVER expected I would be concerned about Lucas, but as the hours passed and he did not return, I began to worry.

We had eaten one of the vilest dinners imaginable. It had been cooked by Abdullah; he explained that Lucas’s cook and the waiter who had accompanied us to camp that morning were not to be found. I found this alarming, but Emerson, who was in an inexplicably good mood, shrugged it away.

We were all sitting on the ledge together, watching the moon rise; but Emerson and I might as well have been alone, for all the conversation we got out of the other two. They didn’t hear a word anyone said to them. I was therefore forced to confide my worries about Lucas to Emerson, although I did not expect to find much concern in that quarter. In this assumption I was correct.

‘He has probably gone with his men,’ Emerson said calmly. ‘I think, Peabody, that we have seen the last of his lordship.’

‘You mean – he has deserted us? He would not be so cowardly!’

‘I fancy he might. But let me do him justice; he has not abandoned us to danger. Indeed, I think it possible that we have also seen the last of the mummy.’

‘Nonsense,’ I said irritably. ‘Lucas could not have been the mummy. We saw them together on more than one occasion.’

‘I may be wrong,’ said Emerson – in a tone that contradicted the false modesty of his words. ‘His suggestion – which had also occurred to me – may be the correct one: that there is an unrobbed tomb back in the hills which the villagers hope to exploit. In any case, it must be obvious even to you, Peabody, that the instigator of the plot is not an Egyptian; it contains too many features that could have been invented only by a European or an Englishman. Or perhaps an American; they have their share of unscrupulous collectors….’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Professional jealousy, Peabody. No doubt it seems incredible to you that any reasonable man would act so, but I assure you, there are colleagues in my field who would go to any extreme to exploit a sensational discovery such as a royal tomb. I have the concession at Amarna; I had a devil of a time wringing it out of Maspero, but not even he would dare take it away now. The man is quite capable of employing such tricks to make me abandon my excavation and leave the field open to him. Another feather in his cap! Not that Maspero is the only one – ’

‘Of all the absurd ideas!’

‘What is the alternative? If not the place, it is a person who is under attack. I have no enemies – ’

‘Ha,’ I said.

‘A few individuals may resent my justified criticism,’ Emerson said meditatively. ‘Yes; I daresay there are some individuals so degraded that they might respond to my well-intended suggestions with rancour – ’

‘If anyone murders you,’ I interrupted, ‘which seems quite likely, it will be in the heat of anger, with a club or some other convenient blunt instrument. I am only surprised it has not happened before this.’

‘My enemies are professional, not personal,’ Emerson insisted. ‘Walter has none, of either kind. His character is regrettably mild. Are you sure there are no discarded lovers pursuing you?’

The question did not deserve an answer.

After a moment, Emerson went on, ‘Then it must be Miss Evelyn who inspires such agitated activity on the part of our unknown enemy. If that is the case, the events of this evening must settle the question. His lordship, having received his congé, has departed – ’

The rattle of pebbles on the path below disproved his words as soon as they were spoken. I knew the step.

The moon was a spectacular silver orb, almost at the full, shedding a silvery radiance over the silent desert, the river, the cliffs. The light was not quite bright enough for me to distinguish Emerson’s expression. I much regretted that.

‘Lucas,’ I said, turning to welcome the newcomer with a warmth I had not heretofore displayed. ‘I am relieved you are back. I was worried about you.’

‘How kind of you.’ Lucas looked, betrayingly, into the shadows behind us, where Evelyn and Walter were sitting. Receiving no greeting from that quarter, his eyes returned to me. ‘I felt the need of a walk. I have walked; I have accomplished my purpose. You did not suppose I would desert you?’

‘I felt sure you would not,’ I said.

From Emerson, beside me, came no comment.

‘Of course not. Tomorrow I will endeavour to forget certain … personal griefs in hard work; it will be delightful to explore the cliffs for buried treasure. In the meantime, I remembered Emerson’s suggestion; I have brought a bottle of wine, in which to drink to my cousin.’

I could not help shooting a triumphant glance at Emerson. He sat in glum silence, his face in shadow; only his hand was visible, clenched whitely on the arm of his chair. I don’t know why I should have been so pleased to see Lucas behaving like a gentleman for a change. I never liked the man … But of course I do know why. I would have defended Satan himself if he had been in disfavour with Emerson.

Lucas was as good as his word; it was as if he had determined to humble himself as thoroughly as possible. He carried a tray with glasses and a bottle; putting this down, with a flourish that struck me as rather pathetic, he began to work at the cork.

‘Won’t you persuade Evelyn to join us?’ he asked in a low voice. ‘I dare not; to be candid, I am ashamed of myself for my behaviour this afternoon. I am of a passionate nature; I suppose dear old Grandfather would say it was my Latin blood.’

So I called Evelyn, and she came out of the deep shadow where she had been sitting, holding Walter by the hand and smiling shyly at her cousin. I found his excuses inadequate. Nothing could possibly excuse his reference to her misfortune in front of Walter. But, on the other hand, this very reference had brought about the present happy state of affairs, and I must say that Lucas made his apologies like a man and a Briton. Walter received them in the same spirit; to see the two young fellows clasp hands, there in the moonlight, was a touching sight.

Then Lucas handed us each a glass and raised his own.

‘To Evelyn’s future!’ he cried. ‘May it bring all that her closest kinsman could desire!’

We drank. Even Emerson took a sip. He made a face, like a nasty little boy taking medicine. He had moved his chair out near the table, and I could see him quite well; his expression of sour disapproval pleased me no end. Seeing that he was in no mood to do the proper thing, and realizing that it was a little too much to expect of Lucas, I proposed the next toast.

‘To Walter! May he make Evelyn as happy as she deserves – or I will deal with him!’

‘Spoken with characteristic tact,’ said Emerson under his breath.

Walter leaned forward and put his hand on mine.

‘You may deal with me as you see fit, Miss Amelia,’ he said warmly. ‘Don’t think I shall ever forget that it is to your encouragement, in large measure, that I owe my present happiness. I hope you will be often with us; you may keep your eye on me that way and make sure I measure up to your expectations.’

Emerson rolled his eyes heavenward.

‘I may take advantage of your invitation,’ I said cheerfully. ‘I have developed quite a taste for archaeology.’

I suppose it was the wine that made me feel so giddy. We all waxed cheerful under its benign influence – all but Emerson, who sat brooding like a hard stone statue. Finally, when the bottle was empty, Lucas concluded the fete.

‘If all goes well, we shall have a busy day tomorrow. Rest is advisable. I suggest, gentlemen, that we stand watch tonight. Tomorrow may bring an end to the mysteries that surround us; let us make sure no mishap occurs tonight.’

‘Just what I was about to suggest,’ muttered Emerson, shooting a piercing glance at Lucas. ‘Which watch would you prefer, my lord?’

Lucas replied with a shrug. It was arranged that he should remain on guard for the first three hours of the night, Emerson for the second watch, and Walter for the remainder. I carried Evelyn off to our sleeping chamber; she was in such a fog her feet seemed not to touch the ground, and after a few incoherent exclamations of gratitude and joy, she quickly fell asleep.

I was drowsy myself, unusually so, for the hour was still early; yet my drooping eyelids obstinately refused to remain shut. Some indefinable nagging discomfort kept forcing them open. The discomfort was purely mental; I had become inured by then to the hard mattress and the other rugged accompaniments to camping out. There is nothing more abominable than being in a state of bodily exhaustion and mental irritation; I was too lethargic to get up and seek some means of occupying my mind, but I was too uneasy to fall asleep. Try as I might, I could not pin down the cause of my uneasiness. We were, of course, in danger of a nocturnal visit from a singularly unpleasant apparition, but that was not what bothered me; I was becoming accustomed to that worry, it was like a familiar ache in a particular tooth. I thought if it continued much longer I should probably become quite accustomed to it. No, this was another sort of twinge; I could not locate it. I ought to have been in a state of peaceful triumph; I had won out over Emerson and attained what I most desired for the girl who was so dear to me….

Had I won out, though?

The more I recalled Emerson’s behaviour and speech that day, the more I wondered. It was almost as if he had been working to attain the same end; everything he had said was a spur, a prick, a goad, to urge his brother on to a declaration.

I ground my teeth together. If Emerson wanted Evelyn for his brother, he must have some ulterior motive that escaped me.

There came a sound, at the entrance to the tomb chamber. The curtain was lifted.

I rolled over. The rough mattress crackled.

‘Who is it?’ I whispered. ‘Lucas, is that you?’

‘Yes. What is wrong, Miss Amelia? Can’t you sleep?’

With a gigantic effort I dragged myself from bed and assumed my dressing gown. Evelyn was still sleeping sweetly. I tiptoed to the doorway.

‘I can’t sleep,’ I said softly. ‘Perhaps I am too tired. And you, Lucas? Did you have some reason for looking in just now?’

‘I don’t know…. I am strangely uneasy tonight. I heard you stirring, and was afraid….’

‘I am uneasy too.’

I joined him on the ledge. The night was perfect. The world dreamed peacefully under the moon. The air felt cool; I shivered, and drew my dressing gown close around my throat.

‘You ought to sleep,’ Lucas said. ‘Perhaps another glass of wine is what you need.’

‘Lucas, you are not drinking more wine? Surely that is unwise.’

‘I am not made of iron,’ Lucas said; his voice was so savage I recoiled. ‘I will do what must be done; but allow me something with which to fortify myself. Come; I insist that you join me.’

Fool that I was! I felt sorry for him. His genuine emotion seemed more pathetic to me than the theatrics he had shown earlier. He was pouring the wine when Emerson came out of his chamber and advanced upon us.

‘A party, and you did not invite me?’ he said. ‘Or am I interrupting a more personal meeting?’

‘Don’t be any more foolish than you can help,’ I said. My last words were muffled in a huge yawn. ‘Oh, dear, I am so tired. I don’t know why I can’t sleep.’

‘Evelyn seems to be the only one with a clear conscience,’ said Lucas, snapping his teeth together. ‘Or is the lucky man sleeping too?’

‘Yes,’ Emerson said. ‘Walter is asleep.’

‘And why not you? It is too early for you to relieve me.’

‘Still, you may as well retire now that I am here. There is no point in all of us being awake. Sometimes I never go to bed at all. This seems to be one of those nights. I don’t know why they happen,’ said Emerson musingly. ‘It is unaccountable. But I feel just now as if I should never want to sleep again.’

I knew then that something was badly wrong, and that Emerson was aware of it. His idiotic speech was an unconvincing lie; his lids were half closed, his shoulders drooped; and now that I looked at him more closely, I saw that his thick black hair was damp, as if he had been pouring water on it … to keep awake? I had employed a similar trick myself, the preceding night. All my senses prickled in alarm.

‘Oh, very well,’ Lucas said sulkily. ‘Since I am of no use, I may as well remove myself and finish my bottle in private – unless I can persuade you two to join me in a glass? No? Good night, then. I have no desire to go into that stifling hole of a tomb; I shall sleep in the tent down below, and you, my gallant Emerson, can waken me with a shout if we have unexpected visitors.’

Cradling the wine bottle in his arms, he staggered down the path. I had not realized he was so intoxicated. Was that what Emerson feared – that Lucas would fail as a guard because of his drinking?

The moment he was out of sight, Emerson turned on me and dragged me up out of the chair into which I had slumped. He shook me till my head rolled and my hair came loose from the net.

‘Wake up, Peabody! If you fall asleep, I shall slap you till you howl. Curse it, don’t you understand that we have been drugged?’

‘Drugged?’ I repeated stupidly.

‘I have been fighting sleep myself for an hour, and a hard fight it was. Have you nothing in that medicine box of yours to counteract the effects of laudanum?’

I tried to think. Something was certainly dulling my mind.

‘My smelling salts,’ I said, with an effort. ‘They are extremely strong….’

‘Oh, damnation,’ said Emerson. ‘A pretty picture that will be! Well, it’s better than nothing. Go fetch them. Hurry.’

To hurry was impossible. I could barely drag myself along. But I found the smelling salts, and then had a look at Evelyn. A single glance told me Emerson was right. She was sleeping too soundly. I shook her, without effect. Either she had received a larger dose of the drug, or her delicate constitution was more susceptible to it than mine. It would be difficult to awaken her.

I applied the bottle to my own nose. It was certainly effective. Feeling much more alert, I hastened back to Emerson, who was leaning up against the cliff with his arms and legs at strange angles and his eyes slightly crossed. I thrust the bottle at him. He started back, banging his head against the rock, and made several profane remarks.

‘Now tell me what is wrong,’ I said, recapping the bottle. ‘What is it you fear will happen? If your reasoning is correct –’

‘My reasoning was damnably, stupidly, fatally wrong,’ Emerson replied forcibly. ‘I am missing a vital clue – a piece of information that would make sense of the whole business. I suspect you hold that clue, Peabody. You must tell me – ’

He stopped speaking; I suppose the expression on my face struck him dumb. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rising. I was facing the lower end of the path; and there, barely visible, round the corner of the cliff, something moved. A low moan echoed through the air.

Emerson spun around. The moaning cry came again.

It was a frightening sound, but I knew, after the first moment, that it did not come from the throat of the mummy. This cry held human anguish and pain; I could not have resisted its appeal if a thousand gibbering, gesticulating mummies had stood in my way.

Quickly as I moved, Emerson was before me. He went more cautiously than I would have done, his arm holding me back, and when we reached the bottom of the path he thrust me away while he went on to investigate. The object I had seen, whatever it was, had disappeared from sight; Emerson followed it into invisibility, and for a moment I held my breath. Then I heard his low exclamation – not of fear, but of horror and distress. Rounding the rock corner, I saw him kneeling on the ground beside the prostrate body of a man. I knew the man, although, God forgive me, I had almost forgotten him. It was our vanished servant – the dragoman, Michael.

‘Oh, heavens,’ I cried, flinging myself down beside the recumbent form. ‘Is he dead?’

‘Not yet. But I fear…’

Emerson raised his hand, which had been resting on the back of Michael’s head. The stains on his fingers looked like ink in the moonlight.

Michael was wearing the same faded blue-and-white striped robe that he had worn the day of his disappearance. It was now torn and crumpled. I reached for his wrist, to feel his pulse, but a closer sight of his outflung arm made me exclaim aloud. The bared wrist was swollen and bloody.

‘He has been a prisoner,’ I said, forcing my fingers to touch the torn flesh. ‘These are the marks of ropes.’

‘They are. How is his pulse?’

‘Steady, but feeble. He must have medical attention at once. I will do what I can, but my skill is so small…. Can we carry him up to the tomb? Perhaps Lucas will help.’

‘I can manage.’

Emerson turned Michael over; with a single heave of his broad shoulders he lifted the dragoman’s slight form into his arms, and rose.

And then – dear Heaven, I can scarcely write of it now without a reminiscent shudder. Screams – the high, agonized shriek of a woman in the extremity of terror! They died in a long, wailing moan.

Emerson bounded forward, carrying the unconscious man as if he weighed no more than a feather. I followed; and as we came around the corner of the cliff, the whole hideous tableau burst upon our eyes, like a scene from the worst conceptions of Madame Tussaud.

On the ledge above us stood the mummy. The blind, bandaged head was turned toward us; one stubby leg was lifted, as if our sudden appearance had stopped it in midstep. To the crumbling, rotting bandages of its breast, the horror clasped the unconscious form of Evelyn.

Her tumbled golden curls hung down over its arm; her little white feet peeped pathetically out of the folds of her nightdress. After the first scream of terror she had fainted dead away, as any girl might, finding herself in the arms of such a suitor.

I began pounding on Emerson’s back. He was barring the entrance to the narrow path, and I was frantic to pass him and attack the thing. I remembered poor Evelyn’s exclamation on that far-off day, when a ghoulish peddler had tried to sell us a mummified hand. She would die, she said, if the withered flesh should touch her…. Well, we had it trapped now. If it had supernatural powers, it would need them all to escape me.

The passage of time seemed to halt; I felt like one trapped in quicksand, or the slow, floating motion of a dream, where enormous effort is required to make the slightest movement. Then all sorts of things happened at once.

Lucas came out of the tent, which was not far from us. I assumed he had been asleep, had been wakened by Evelyn’s screams, and, his senses dulled by wine, had been slow to respond. He took in the situation at a glance, and moved more quickly than I would have expected. In his haste, he collided with us. Emerson kept his feet with difficulty, falling back against the cliff face with the body of the dying man still in his arms; I was thrown to the ground. While we were tumbling about, the mummy took advantage of our confusion. Flexing its stiff knees, the creature jumped – actually leaped from the ledge. Such was my state of mind, I half expected to see it take wing and soar through the air like a giant bat. Alighting, still erect, amid the tumble of rocks at the base of the cliff, it scrambled down the slope and ran. Evelyn’s fair hair streamed out behind.

‘Pursue it!’ I shrieked. ‘Do not let it escape!’

At least that is what I believe I shrieked. Emerson informs me that my language was less coherent, and so inflammatory that he positively blushed, despite the urgency of the moment. He, of course, was in a dreadful predicament; encumbered by the injured man, he could hardly fling him to the ground. I was so entangled in the abominable garments forced on women by the decrees of fashion that I could not arise. It all depended on Lucas; and after the first confused moments, he rose to the occasion.

‘Never fear,’ he cried, leaping up. ‘It will not escape me! Remain here – we must not all abandon the camp – I will rescue Evelyn – ’

Running fleetly, he was already several yards away as his last words reached my ears.

An echoing cry came from above. Looking up, I saw Walter, who had just emerged from his sleeping chamber. If he had been drugged, the vision before his eyes woke him with a vengeance; with another shout of mingled rage and horror, he flung himself down the slope and followed Lucas.

As I started after them, Emerson kicked me in the shin. I must confess he could not have stopped me in any other way, since his arms were occupied.

‘This is madness,’ he groaned. ‘Keep your head, Peabody; someone must act sensibly – follow me, you must remain with Michael.’

The advice was excellent; the difficulty was in following it. The folly of pursuit was manifest; if the young men could not catch up with the mummified miscreant, it was futile for a woman, hampered by her skirts, to try and do so. I could still see the pale shape of the mummy, as it flitted in and out among the rocks. Walter stumbled along behind, waving his arms and shouting. All this happened, of course, in far less time than it takes to write it down.

I ran after Emerson, who was ascending the path in great leaps. If I was not wringing my hands, it was because I needed them to keep my balance. Emerson was correct; it was necessary for one of us to tend Michael’s wounds, but I really did not see how I could bear to remain there, in ignorance and forced inactivity.

Emerson laid his burden gently upon his couch. To do him justice, he had not wasted a moment, nor did he waste time now in unnecessary directions to me. Instantly he turned back to the entrance. I reached for the lamp, meaning to light it. As I did so, there came a crack and a whine from without. Emerson’s tall form, silhouetted in the doorway, staggered and fell.

XII

IT is vain to attempt to describe my sensations at that moment. I had recognized the sound as that of a bullet. I dropped the lamp; I forgot my injured servant; for an instant I even forgot Evelyn and her deadly peril. I started toward the spot where I had seen Emerson fall.

My heart had not missed more than a few beats, however, when a hand caught my ankle and brought me crashing to the ground. I fell on top of Emerson, and heard him grunt with pain. My hands, fumbling at his face, encountered a wet, sticky flow.

‘You are wounded,’ I exclaimed. ‘My God, Emerson – ’

Emerson sneezed.

‘I beg that you will leave off tickling me,’ he said irritably. ‘The region around the chin and jaw is particularly sensitive. For God’s sake, Peabody, stop snivelling; it is only a cut from a bit of flying rock.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘But the shot was aimed at you! In heaven’s name, what are you doing now? Don’t go out there – ’

He was crawling toward the entrance.

‘The shot was meant as a warning,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘We are safe enough – for the moment – unless we try to leave the tomb. Hand me that shirt of Walter’s, if you please – it is lying across his bed – and my walking stick. Thank you. Now let us see – ’

A second shot rewarded his demonstration when he draped the shirt over the stick and extended it out the doorway. Emerson withdrew it.

‘He is there, among the rocks,’ he said calmly.

‘He? Who?’

‘You sound like one of the villagers’ donkeys,’ said Emerson. ‘Who else could it be? You must have deduced his identity by now. I have known it for some time; but his motive still eludes me. What the devil ails the fellow, to seek to win a wife by such means? I would not have thought him capable of the insane passion that prompts such acts.’

Once – even a few hours earlier – his calm, drawling voice would have driven me wild. Now I was seized by the same icy calm. We had already delayed too long; even if we could escape from this ambush uninjured, Evelyn and her abductor would be out of sight. It was up to Walter now. At least he had only one enemy to face. The other was below, with a rifle in his hands.

‘There is motive,’ I said. ‘I am only now beginning to see…. No, no, it is impossible. From the first I too suspected Lucas. But he was not here. He did not arrive until long after we did, long after the mummy made its first appearance. He did not know we would stop here – ’

‘I think it is high time we compared notes,’ said Emerson, recumbent before the entrance. ‘You might give Michael a little water, Peabody; I fear that is all we can do for the poor fellow now, since we dare not strike a light, and your medical supplies are in your sleeping chamber. Then come here and join me.’

I did what I could for Michael. It was little enough. He was still breathing, but that was about all I could say. I then crawled to the entrance and lay down flat, next to Emerson, who was peering out across the moonlit plain, his chin propped on his folded arms.

‘You and I have been at cross purposes since we met, Peabody,’ he said. ‘It is a pity; for we might have prevented this unfortunate business if we had taken the trouble to be civil to one another. You see, I have known for some days that his lordship has been lying. Reis Hassan talked to the reis of the Cleopatra, and passed some of the gossip on to me. His lordship’s payments to his crew have been princely. By means of exorbitant bribes, he got underway the very day after you left. He was moored downriver, at Minieh, the day you landed here.

‘But that is not the important thing. His lordship has a confederate – not a hired native, but a man as dedicated to evil as he is. That confederate is the man who is playing the role of the mummy. This man’s whereabouts, prior to his public appearance here, are unknown. I believe he came here some time ago and set the scene for the drama – bribing Mohammed, introducing the mummy Walter found into an empty tomb. His costume, his role were planned well in advance – probably in Cairo, where, I imagine, young Lord Ellesmere arrived earlier than he led you to believe. Do you have an idea who this confederate might be?’

‘No. Lucas must have bribed him well. Of course it could be a friend of Lucas’s – one of his companions in vice. I do not know them. But, Emerson, there is one great flaw in your argument. How could they know where to set the scene? We did not plan to stop here – ’

‘Then Reis Hassan is a liar. He informs me that you laid out your itinerary while still in Cairo, and that he tried several times to dissuade you from it.’

‘Oh, that. I did mention the possibility of visiting Amarna – along with a number of other sites. But how could Lucas know?’

‘From Michael, I imagine. Did he have an opportunity to speak with him before you left Cairo?’

‘He did indeed,’ I said grimly. ‘And to think that we introduced them, so that Michael might assist Lucas in the selection of a dragoman…. Good God, what a fool I was!’

‘You had no reason to suspect any danger. Nor did Michael. His lordship was your friend, Evelyn’s relation. It was not until developments here became serious that Michael began to wonder about his harmless indiscretion. He is an intelligent man, and devoted to you body and soul; on the day of his disappearance he asked to speak to you alone – ’

‘And Lucas heard him! He struck him down and spirited him away.’

‘Not Lucas, but one of his men. He kept the poor fellow prisoner in one of the caves that are so common in these cliffs, and when we obstinately refused to succumb to the laudanum he had placed in our wine, he carried Michael here to distract us while his confederate reached Evelyn.

‘I must admit that the fellow has imagination; he acts brilliantly and unhesitatingly in emergencies, and makes good use of any fortuitous circumstances that can be turned to account. My illness was one such lucky accident – lucky for him – but I feel sure he and his confederate had planned some means of detaining you here – damage to the dahabeeyah, or to one of us. At that point in time, his lordship had not determined to commit murder. He hoped to attain his ends by less drastic means, although it seems clear he prepared for the worst, in case it should become necessary. And I was misled. Not until you were attacked this afternoon did I fully realize that Evelyn was the real object of the attentions we have been receiving, and even then I was fool enough to suppose that once she had accepted Walter, his lordship would give up his idiotic and dangerous games.’

Emerson extended his stick once again out the entrance. Another shot rang out, followed by the splintering of rock.

‘Still there,’ he said. ‘I wonder how long he means to keep us here. We are safe so long as we do not confront him. He will have some specious excuse to explain why he failed to rescue Evelyn; I think the fellow is actually vain enough to suppose he can get away with it. Shall we save our skins, Peabody, and sit still?’

‘While Evelyn is in the clutches of that monster?’ I demanded. ‘Don’t bait me, Emerson; you have no more intention of accepting this than I do. Do you think Walter – ’

‘I am extremely concerned about Walter,’ said Emerson; I knew him well enough now to hear the controlled agony under his calm tones. ‘But at the moment we can do nothing to help him or Evelyn until we understand what is behind this affair. There is some more desperate motive behind his lordship’s acts than frustrated love. Think, Peabody; if you have ever used your brain, now is the time.’

‘I have a faint inkling of the truth,’ I said, in a stifled voice. ‘I hate to contemplate it; for if I am right…. Emerson, you and I have behaved like fools. If I had known what you knew about Lucas’s movements; and if you had known what I am about to tell you – ’

‘Speak, then. That is the trouble with women, even the best of them,’ Emerson added. ‘They will indulge in vain cries of “if only” and “had I but known”.’

‘The criticism is justified,’ I said; my pride was thoroughly levelled by the magnitude of the disaster. ‘Listen, then, while I narrate Evelyn’s story.’

He listened. Only his eyes moved, so intent was he on what I had to say.

‘Yes,’ he said, when I finished. ‘The clue is there, somewhere. A vast amount of money may be an inducement to violence. But how? I cannot see it, even now. Is it possible that his lordship lied to you about the old man’s death? If he still lives, and contemplates restoring Evelyn as his heiress – ’

‘No, he is dead; one of my acquaintances in Cairo knew of it.’

Emerson struck his fist against the floor.

‘The conclusion is inescapable, Peabody; in some way we do not comprehend, Evelyn must have control of the fortune his lordship so ardently desires. He has done everything a man could do to induce her to become his wife. I believed his sole motive was passionate love of his cousin. But in this day and age an English girl cannot be forced into marriage, and a forced marriage is the only kind that could come out of this night’s work. Nothing the wretch could do now would induce Evelyn to marry him of her own free will. No; it is the lady’s money that is being sought, not the lady’s person. If we only knew how – ’

‘I believe I do know,’ I interrupted. ‘I told you that before the late Lord Ellesmere died he gathered all Evelyn’s belongings and sent them to her. Lucas told me – good heavens, he actually boasted of it – that he was in full control at Ellesmere Castle while the old gentleman lay ill. If Ellesmere had softened toward Evelyn and wished to restore her to favour, Lucas would make certain he did not reach his lawyers in order to make a new will. But he might write a new will – a holograph will, I believe it is called. Knowing Lucas as he did, the poor old man saw only one way to ensure that such a document would survive. He could send it to Evelyn – packed in with her other possessions. He hoped to escape arousing Lucas’s suspicions that way.’

‘By Gad, Peabody, I think you’ve got it!’ Emerson exclaimed.

‘I think so too. Lucas has tried every possible means of getting to those boxes of Evelyn’s, or of having them destroyed unopened. He must have missed them in Rome; and when they arrived in Egypt they went into the safekeeping of Baring, who is the most powerful man in the government. He was a friend of Father’s, and he knows of Lucas’s unsavoury reputation; from such a man Lucas had no chance of extracting the precious boxes. Alas; for if he had – ’

‘Evelyn would not now be in danger,’ Emerson’s quick wits supplied the conclusion. ‘He may not be certain that such a will exists, but he must have reason to suspect that it does. If he could destroy it he would be safe. Failing that, he pursued Evelyn. As her husband he would have control of her fortune in any case, and he would have a good excuse to take charge of her baggage. But the marriage plan failed as well; thanks to our strenuous efforts, his lordship has now only one means left of gaining his ends…. Peabody, you must not blame yourself. How could you possibly have suspected this?’

‘I don’t blame myself,’ I said, wiping away the tears that were stealing down my face. ‘As you say, I could not have suspected. It is the most farfetched scheme I have ever encountered; only a frivolous, amoral man, who had been reading too many wild romances, would think of such a thing. And vain regret is useless. I will not indulge in it. I will get out of here and go after Evelyn, and I will kill his lordship if he has harmed her.’

I rose to my knees. Emerson put his hand in the centre of my back and pushed me down again.

‘I am in complete agreement with your programme. But let us try to think of some safer way to do it.’

‘Can we expect no help from anyone? What of Abdullah? And the crewmen on the boat – surely they heard the shots.’

‘I have grave suspicions of Abdullah,’ Emerson said grimly. ‘You forget, Peabody, that these people are desperately poor.’

‘And Reis Hassan too? I thought he looked strange the other day when you were questioning him.’

‘Hassan is one of the few honest men I know. Unfortunately he is also superstitious. He was ashamed to admit to me that he had been terrorized by Mohammed’s tales of ghosts and curses. No; he will come, I believe, if he can overcome his fears and persuade his crew. But we cannot count on that. Then there is the crew of his lordship’s dahabeeyah to be considered. What if they have been paid to prevent a rescue attempt? No, Peabody, if we are to get out of here in time, it must be by ourselves. And I think we had better set about it.’

‘But how … ?’

‘There are pebbles and rocks on the threshold. When I give the signal, begin rolling them down. Meanwhile, I will creep along the path in the other direction and try to get behind him.’

‘It is a foolhardy scheme,’ I said. ‘He will surely see or hear you.’

‘From below he has a poor chance of hitting me if I keep low. You must cover any sounds I make by the exuberance of your performance and, if possible, induce him to empty the magazine of his repeater. Come, come, Peabody; if you have any more practical suggestion, I will be happy to hear it. I have never had the inclination to be a hero. But we must do something, and soon.’

I had nothing to say – nothing practical, that is. There were many things I wanted to say. I wanted to say them so badly that I had to bury my teeth in my lower lip to keep it from forming the words. I turned my head away.

Emerson took me by the shoulders and rolled me over. He had lifted himself upon his elbows; I lay between them, like an unfortunate mouse under a cat’s paws. His face was so close I could see the bristles of his whiskers.

‘It seems possible that we shall not live through the night,’ he remarked. ‘I would hate to die without having…. Damnation! I will do it, even at the risk of surviving to face the consequences!’

Whereupon he bent his head and kissed me full on the mouth.

At first I was too stupefied by surprise to do anything. Afterward, I was simply too stupefied to do anything. It was not the first time I had been kissed. Several of the suitors who appeared after I inherited Papa’s money had presumed…. Well, let us be honest. I had encouraged them to kiss me. I was immensely curious about the process. In all cases it proved to be a deadly bore. It occurred to me, very soon after Emerson began kissing me, that previous experience in this field is not always a dependable guide.

At some point I must have closed my eyes, although I was not aware of doing so. I kept them closed after he raised his head. Thus I did not see him go. He was, I think, somewhat stupefied himself, or he would have waited for me to begin the divertissement he had suggested. The first intimation of his departure I received was a shot that struck the entrance above my head and sprayed my upturned face with little stinging pellets of stone.

I rolled over, snatched up a handful of pebbles, and pitched them down the path. They made considerable racket, but to my straining ears, Emerson’s progress along the path made even more noise. I began throwing out everything I could lay my hands on. Boxes, books, bottles and Emerson’s boots went tumbling down, followed by tins of peas and peaches, the mirror, and someone’s shaving mug. What Lucas thought of this performance I cannot imagine; he must have concluded that we had lost our wits. Such a cacophony of different sounds was never heard. The mirror made a particularly effective crash.

The action accomplished what we had hoped. Lucas was nervous; he let off a perfect fusillade of shots. None of them came anywhere near the mouth of the tomb, so I concluded he was shooting at the mirror, the tins, and the boots. A period of silence ensued. I had meant to count the shots, and had forgotten to do so. It would not have been much use in any case, since I had not the slightest idea of how many bullets the gun held. I could only hope that the cessation of shooting meant that he had emptied the weapon and was now reloading, or refilling, or whatever the term is; and that Emerson had succeeded in descending the cliff unharmed.

He had! Shouts, thuds, the sounds of a furious struggle told me that so far our plan had miraculously succeeded. I leaped to my feet and ran to join the fray, hoping to get in a blow or two on my own account. I had an urge to pound something, preferably Lucas, with my clenched fists.

As I neared the scene of battle I found Emerson engaged, or so it appeared, with two adversaries. The agitation of long white skirts identified one of them as the missing Abdullah.

In the struggle Emerson was flung to the ground. Stepping back, Lucas lifted the rifle to his shoulder and aimed at Emerson’s defenceless breast.

I was several yards away, too far to do anything except shout, which of course I did. The sensation was nightmarish; I felt as if I were on a treadmill that ran backward as fast as I ran forward, so that I made no progress at all. I screamed again and ran faster, knowing I would be too late….

And then Abdullah sprang forward and wrenched the weapon from Lucas’s hands. The villain’s finger had been on the trigger; the bullet exploded harmlessly into the air.

I did not pause to speculate on Abdullah’s change of heart; I flew straight at Lucas. I shudder to think what damage I might have inflicted if Emerson had not anticipated me. Rising, he seized the wretch by the throat and shook him till he hung limp.

‘Calm yourself,’ he gasped, fending me off with his elbow. ‘We can’t murder the rascal until he has told us what we want to know.’ Then, turning to his erstwhile foreman, he said, ‘You will have to decide whose side you are on, Abdullah; vacillation is bad for the character. I am willing to forget your recent indiscretions in return for cooperation.’

‘But I did not know,’ Abdullah muttered, holding the rifle as if it were burning his fingers. ‘He say, he want only his woman; she is his. What is a woman, to make such trouble for us?’

‘A true Moslem philosophy,’ said Emerson drily. ‘As you see, Abdullah, he lied. He was ready to kill – and you, I think, would have been among the victims. He could not leave witnesses against him. Now…’

He was still holding Lucas, whose face had turned an unbecoming shade of lavender. He gave him an extra shake for good measure.

‘Now, your lordship, speak up. Where have they gone? I beg, don’t tell me you don’t know; for the expectation of that information is the only thing that keeps me from throttling you here and now.’

His tone was almost genial; his lips were curved in a slight smile. But Lucas was not deceived.

‘Very well,’ he muttered. ‘The royal tomb. I told him to take her there – ’

‘If you are lying …’ Emerson squeezed.

Lucas gurgled horribly. When he had got his breath back, he gasped,

‘No, no, it is the truth! And now you will let me go? I can do you no more harm….’

‘You insult my intelligence,’ Emerson said, and flung him down on the ground. With one foot planted in the middle of Lucas’s back, he turned to me. ‘You must sacrifice another petticoat, Peabody. Only be quick; we have lost too much time already.’

We left Lucas bound hand and foot where he had fallen – not with my petticoat, for of course I was not wearing one. Using Abdullah’s knife, which he politely offered me, I ripped up the full skirts of my dressing gown, slit them fore and aft, and bound them to my nether limbs. It was wonderful what a feeling of freedom this brought! I swore I would have trousers made as soon as possible.

Abdullah remained to guard Lucas. Emerson seemed to have regained all his former confidence in his foreman; he explained that Abdullah had not been fighting him, but had been trying to separate the two Englishmen. I suppose the Egyptian’s attitude was understandable, considering his sex and his nationality.

If it had not been for the gnawing anxiety that drove us, I would have found the moonlight hike a thrilling experience. With what ease did I glide across the sand in my makeshift trousers! How lovely the contrast of shadow and silver light among the tumbled rocks of the wadi! There was food for meditation, too, in the events of the evening; our brilliant triumph just when disaster seemed imminent was a subject for modest congratulation. Hope began to raise a cautious head. Surely, if the mummified villain had carried Evelyn so far, her immediate demise was not meditated. We might yet be in time to save her.

The pace Emerson set left me no breath for conversation; and I do not think I would have spoken if it had. Let my reader not suppose that I had forgotten the effrontery – the bold action – in short, the kiss. I could not decide whether to bury the subject forever in icy silence, or to annihilate Emerson – at a more appropriate time, naturally – with a well-chosen, scathing comment. I occupied myself, when I was not picturing Evelyn in a variety of unpleasant positions, by composing scathing comments.

With such thoughts to distract me, the journey was accomplished in less time than I had expected, but it was a tiring, uncomfortable walk – or run – and I was breathless by the time we reached that part of the narrow canyon in which the royal tomb was located.

Emerson spoke then for the first time. It was only a curt order for silence and caution. We crept up to the entrance on all fours. The precaution was not necessary. Expecting Lucas’s triumph, the foolish mummy had not kept guard at the entrance. When I peered into the opening I saw a tiny pinprick of light, far down in the black depths.

Now that we were almost at our goal, feverish impatience replaced the exhilaration that had carried me to the spot. I was on fire to rush in. I feared, not only for Evelyn, but for Walter; either he had lost himself in the desert, or he had met some disastrous fate, for if he had succeeded in wresting Evelyn from her necromantic admirer we would have met him returning. Emerson’s anxiety was as great as mine, but he held me back with an arm of iron when I would have rushed impetuously into the tomb. He did not speak; he merely shook his head and pantomimed a slow, exaggeratedly careful stride. So, like stage conspirators, we edged around the fallen rocks still remaining from the avalanche, and set off down the long, steep corridor.

It was impossible to move in utter silence, the path was too encumbered underfoot. Fortunately there were other things in the tomb that made noise. I say ‘fortunately,’ but I am a liar; I would rather have taken the chance of being overheard than walk through a curtain of bats. The tomb was full of them, and night had roused them to their nocturnal life.

The light grew stronger as we advanced, and before long I could hear a voice rambling on in a soliloquy or monologue, which was a great help in covering the small sounds we inadvertently made. The voice was a man’s, and the tones were oddly familiar; but it was not Walter’s voice. As we advanced I began to distinguish words; the words, and the smug, self-satisfied tones filled me with amazement. Who could it be who was chatting so unconcernedly in a tomb in the Egyptian desert?

Emerson was in the lead; he stopped me, at the entrance to the side chamber from which the light proceeded. We crouched there, listening; and gradually realization dawned. What a fool I had been. The plot now seemed so obvious I felt a child ought to have detected it.

‘… and so you see, my heart, that cousin Luigi and I are a pair of clever fellows, eh? You say “luck,” that I won your heart; but no, it was no luck, it was my charm, my handsome face – and that the fool old grandfather not let you see men, any men. When we run away, then Luigi comes to the old grandfather. If grandfather not be good fellow and make Luigi rich, then Luigi make new will himself! Luigi can write like anyone; he writes many fine cheques at the university before they catch him and tell him, go home. Luigi is smart fellow, almost as smart as me. When bad old grandfather make new will, hide it in box and send away, then Luigi come to me with new plan. I search your room in Cairo, dressed up like old Egyptian fellow; but the box is not there. We must make another plan. Was I not fine mummy? I am fine actor; I make you all much afraid. And it is I who tell Luigi of this young fool – I was Arab in museum that day, when you meet Master Walter; you look at him as you look once at me, and I know….’

An indignant exclamation from Evelyn interrupted this long-drawn-out piece of braggadocio. The relief of hearing her voice, weak as it was, almost made me collapse.

‘If he had not been wounded, and drugged as well, you would never have overcome him,’ she cried. ‘What have you done to him? He lies so still…. Please let me see how he is injured. Unless – oh, heaven! – he is not – he cannot be – ’

Emerson’s shoulder, pressed against mine, jerked convulsively, but he did not move.

‘No, no,’ Evelyn’s tormentor replied, in a horrid parody of sympathy. ‘The brave young hero is not dead. But why you sorry? Soon you both be dead. You die together, like Aida and Radames in the beautiful opera of Signor Verdi. I thank my genius compatriot for this idea – so romantic. Together, in the tomb, in the arms of each other.’ His voice changed; he sounded like a sulky boy as he added, ‘Luigi say, kill you. Me, to kill? Always the bad job for me; Luigi too much gentleman to make hands dirty. So, I leave you here. I am gentleman too; I do not kill woman. At least I not do it often. Not woman who once I held in my – ’

This was too much for Emerson, who was quivering like a boiler about to blow up. With a roar, he erupted into the lighted chamber. I need not say that I was close on his heels.

The first thing I saw was Evelyn’s pallid face, streaked with dust and tears, her eyes fairly bulging out of her head as she saw me. The first sound I heard was her cry of ‘Amelia!’ as she collapsed in a swoon of relief and joy.

The poor child was huddled on the littered floor, her hands bound behind her, her pretty hair all tangled and dusty. I lifted her up, and watched complacently as Emerson finished choking Alberto. Yes; the mummy, the confederate of Lucas-Luigi, the abductor of Evelyn, was none other than her erstwhile lover, whose relationship to her scheming cousin had been made plain by his own boasts. I think that of the two he was the worst; I didn’t feel the slightest inclination to interfere as his face turned purple and his flailing hands dropped limply.

Emerson dropped him with a thud and turned to his brother. Walter was lying in the opposite corner, bound hand and foot; he was unconscious, and a darkening bruise on his brow showed how the villain had struck him down. Evelyn came back to consciousness in time to hear Emerson proclaim, in ringing tones, ‘He is alive! He is not seriously injured!’ Whereupon she fainted again, and I had quite a time bringing her around.

The journey back was long and arduous, but it did not seem so to us; our hearts were overflowing with happiness increased by the knowledge that we had left Alberto bound and gagged in the tomb where he had intended to entomb Evelyn and Walter. The last thing I remember seeing as we left was the mummy costume lying limp and harmless on the floor. It seemed absurd when I looked at it closely that it could have frightened anyone. The head mask was made in a separate piece, the joint being covered by strips of bandaging. And the suit itself buttoned neatly up the front.

II

Two years have passed since the events of which I have written – two years full of thrilling events, both personal and historic. Emerson’s fears for the gallant Gordon were, alas, justified; he was horribly murdered in January, before the expeditionary force arrived. But the cause for which he died was not lost; the mad Mahdi himself died the same year, and our forces are beating back the insurgents. My friend Maspero has left the Antiquities Department, which is now under the charge of M. Grebaut, whom Emerson detests even more than he did Maspero. As for Emerson himself…

I sit, writing this, on the ledge above the familiar and beloved plain of Amarna; and when I lift my eyes from the page I see the busy groups of workmen scattered about like black ants on the pale sand, as they bring the ruins of Khuenaten’s city back to the light of day. My self-appointed Critic has left me in order to supervise the clearing of what appears to have been a sculptor’s workshop; several splendid busts have already been found. Emerson pushes himself unnecessarily, for Abdullah is an excellent foreman, reliable and skilled. As Emerson says, there is nothing like a spot of blackmail to make a man perform to the best of his ability. Abdullah never refers to the events of that winter two years ago.

They are surprisingly clear and present to my mind, as if they had happened only yesterday. I never had such a good time in all my life. Oh, certainly, at the time there were moments of extreme discomfort; but the adventure, the danger, the exhilaration of doubt and peril are in retrospect something I rather regret having lost.

We had to interrupt the excavations for a few weeks. To Emerson’s deep disgust, it was necessary to carry our captives to Cairo and explain to the authorities there what had happened. I had suggested leaving Alberto in the tomb; it seemed a fitting punishment. But I was dissuaded by Evelyn’s horrified protests.

So, at sunrise, we returned to the dahabeeyah, and Emerson made a fine speech to the assembled crew, who squatted on the deck staring at him with round black eyes while he explained that the mummy had been a hoax, the curse imaginary, and that an ordinary human being had been behind the whole thing. He produced his downcast, shivering captive at the appropriate moment, and I think the sight of an Englishman, one of the Master Race, in bonds and held up to scorn as a common criminal did as much as anything to win their wholehearted allegiance. Lucas’s crew gave us no difficulty; their loyalty had been won with money, and as soon as the source of funds dried up, their devotion withered. An expedition set out immediately for the camp and brought back a very thirsty Alberto, together with our luggage and equipment. I myself supervised the removal of poor Michael, on a litter. We set sail at once for Cairo.

It was an enjoyable trip. With the great sail furled and lowered onto blocks on the deck, we let the current bear us downstream. There were occasional misadventures grounding on sandbars, an encounter with another dahabeeyah that lost the latter its bowsprit and won us the collective curses of the exuberant American passengers; but these are only the normal accidents of Nile travel. In every other way matters could not have been more satisfactory. Michael began to make a good recovery, which relieved my worst fears. The crew outdid itself to please us. The cook produced magnificent meals, we were waited upon like princes, and Reis Hassan obeyed my slightest command. The full moon shone down upon us, the river rolled sweetly by…. And Emerson said not a word.

I had waited for him to make some reference, if not an apology, for his outrageous behaviour in – for his daring to – for, in short, the kiss. Not only did he remain silent, but he avoided me with a consistency that was little short of marvellous. In such close quarters we ought to have been much together; but whenever I entered the saloon it seemed that Emerson was just leaving, and when I strolled on the deck, admiring the silvery ripples of moonlight on the water, Emerson vanished below. Walter was of no use. He spent all his time with Evelyn. They did not talk, they just sat holding hands and staring stupidly into one another’s eyes. Walter was a sensible chap. Evelyn’s fortune would not keep him from happiness. Was it possible that Emerson … ?

After two days I decided I could wait no longer. I hope I number patience among my virtues, but shilly-shallying, when nothing is to be gained by delay, is not a virtue. So I cornered Emerson on deck one night, literally backing him into a corner. He stood pressed up against the rail that enclosed the upper deck as I advanced upon him, and from the look on his face you would have thought I were a crocodile intent on devouring him, boots, bones, and all.

We had dined formally; I was wearing my crimson gown and I had taken some pains with my hair. I thought, when I looked at myself in the mirror that evening, that I did look well; perhaps Evelyn’s flattery had not all been false. As I approached Emerson I was pleasantly aware of the rustle of my full skirts and the movement of the ruffles at my throat.

‘No,’ I said, as Emerson made a sideways movement, like a crab. ‘Don’t try to run away, Emerson, it won’t do you a particle of good, for I mean to have my say if I have to shout it after you as we run about the boat. Sit or stand, don’t mind me. I shall stand. I think better on my feet.’

Emerson squared his shoulders.

‘I shall stand. I feel safer on my feet. Proceed, then, Peabody; I know better than to interfere with you when you are in this mood.’

‘I mean to make you a business proposition,’ I said. ‘It is simply this. I have some means; I am not rich, like Evelyn, but I have more than I need, and no dependants. I had meant to leave my money to the British Museum. Now it seems to me that I may as well employ it for an equally useful purpose while I live, and enjoy myself in the bargain, thus killing two birds with one stone. Miss Amelia B. Edwards has formed a society for the exploration of Egyptian antiquities; I shall do the same. I wish to hire you as my archaeological expert. There is only one condition….’

I had to stop for breath. This was more difficult than I had anticipated.

‘Yes?’ said Emerson in a strange voice. ‘What condition?’

I drew a deep breath.

‘I insist upon being allowed to participate in the excavations. After all, why should men have all the fun?’

‘Fun?’ Emerson repeated. ‘To be burned by the sun, rubbed raw by sand, live on rations no self-respecting beggar would eat; to be bitten by snakes and mashed by falling rocks? Your definition of pleasure, Peabody, is extremely peculiar.’

‘Peculiar or not, it is my idea of pleasure. Why, why else do you lead this life if you don’t enjoy it? Don’t talk of duty to me; you men always have some high-sounding excuse for indulging yourselves. You go gallivanting over the earth, climbing mountains, looking for the sources of the Nile; and expect women to sit dully at home embroidering. I embroider very badly I think I would excavate rather well. If you like, I will list my qualifications – ’

‘No,’ said Emerson, in a strangled voice. ‘I am only too well aware of your qualifications.’

And he caught me in an embrace that bruised my ribs.

‘Stop it,’ I said, pushing at him. ‘That was not at all what I had in mind. Stop it, Emerson, you are confusing me. I don’t want – ’

‘Don’t you?’ said Emerson, taking my chin in his hand and turning my face toward his.

‘Yes!’ I cried, and flung my arms around his neck.

A good while later, Emerson remarked,

‘You realize, Peabody, that I accept your offer of marriage because it is the only practical way of getting at your money? You couldn’t join me in an excavation unless we were married; every European in Egypt, from Baring to Maspero, would be outraged, and Mme Maspero would force her husband to cancel my concession.’

‘I fully understand that,’ I said. ‘Now if you will stop squeezing me quite so hard…. I cannot breathe.’

‘Breathing is unnecessary,’ said Emerson.

After another interval, it was my turn to comment.

‘And you,’ I said, ‘understand that I accept your proposal of marriage because it is the only way in which I can gain my ends. It is so unfair – another example of how women are discriminated against. What a pity I was not born a hundred years from now! Then I would not have to marry a loud, arrogant, rude man in order to be allowed to excavate.’

Emerson squeezed my ribs again and I had to stop for lack of breath.

‘I have found the perfect way of silencing you,’ he said.

But then the laughter fled from his face and his eyes took on an expression that made me feel very odd – as if my interior organs had dissolved into a shapeless, sticky mass.

‘Peabody, you may as well hear the truth. I am mad about you! Since the day you walked into my tomb and started ordering us all about, I have known you were the only woman for me. Why do you suppose I have sulked and avoided you since we left Amarna? I was contemplating a life without you – a bleak, grey existence, without your voice scolding me and your big bright eyes scowling at me, and your magnificent figure – has no one told you about your figure, Peabody? – striding up and down prying into all sorts of places where you had no business to be…. I knew I couldn’t endure it! If you hadn’t spoken tonight, I should have borrowed Alberto’s mummy costume and carried you off into the desert! There, I have said it. You have stripped away my defences. Are you satisfied with your victory?’

I did not reply in words, but I think my answer was satisfactory. When Emerson had regained his breath he let out a great hearty laugh.

‘Archaeology is a fascinating pursuit, but, after all, one cannot work day and night…. Peabody, my darling Peabody – what a perfectly splendid time we are going to have!’

Emerson was right – as he usually is. We have had a splendid time. We mean to work at Gizeh next year. There is a good deal to be done here yet, but for certain practical reasons we prefer to be nearer Cairo. I understand that Petrie wants to work here, and he is one of the few excavators to whom Emerson would consider yielding. Not that the two of them get along; when we met Mr Petrie in London last year, he and Emerson started out mutually abusing the Antiquities Department and ended up abusing one another over pottery fragments. Petrie is a nice-looking young fellow, but he really has no idea of what to do with pottery.

The practical reasons that demand we work near Cairo are the same reasons that keep me here, in my chair, instead of being down below supervising the workers as I usually do. Emerson is being overly cautious; I feel perfectly well. They say that for a woman of my age to have her first child is not always easy, and Emerson is in a perfect jitter of apprehension about the whole thing, but I have no qualms whatever. I do not intend that anything shall go amiss. I planned it carefully, not wanting to interrupt the winter excavation season. I can fit the child in quite nicely between seasons, and be back in Cairo ready for work in November.

We are now awaiting news from Evelyn of the birth of her second child, which is due at any moment. She is already the mother of a fair-haired male child, quite a charming infant, with a propensity for rooting in mud puddles which I am sure he inherited from his archaeological relatives. I am his godmother, so perhaps I am biased about his beauty, intelligence, and charm. But I think I am not.

Walter is not with us this season; he is studying hieroglyphics in England, and promises to be one of the finest scholars of our time. His library at Ellesmere Castle is filled with books and manuscripts, and when we join the younger Emersons there for the summer and early fall each year, he and Emerson spend hours arguing over translations.

Lucas? His present whereabouts are unknown to us. Without the money to support his title he could not live respectably in England. I wanted to prosecute the rascal as he deserved; but Baring dissuaded me. He was very helpful to us when we reached Cairo with our boatload of criminals; and he was present on the momentous occasion when Evelyn opened her boxes and found, among the diaries and books, an envelope containing her grandfather’s last, holograph will. This was the final proof of Lucas’s villainy; but, as Baring pointed out, a trial would bring unwished-for notoriety on all of us, particularly Evelyn, and Lucas was no longer a danger. He lives precariously, I believe, somewhere on the Continent, and if he does not soon drink himself to death, some outraged husband or father will certainly shoot him.

I see Alberto whenever we pass through Cairo. I make a point of doing so. As I warned him once, Egyptian prisons are particularly uncomfortable, and the life does not seem to agree with him at all.

Michael has just rung the bell for lunch, and I see Emerson coming toward me. I have a bone to pick with him; I do not believe he is correct in his identification of one of the sculptured busts as the head of the heretic pharaoh. It seems to me to be a representation of young Tutankhamon, Khuenaten’s son-in-law.

I must add one more thing. Often I find myself remembering that blustery day in Rome, when I went to the rescue of a young English girl who had fainted in the Forum. Little did I realize how strangely our destinies would be intertwined; that that act of simple charity would reward me beyond my wildest dreams, winning for me a friend and sister, a life of busy, fascinating work, and….

Evelyn was right. With the right person, under the right circumstances – it is perfectly splendid!