Crocodile on the Sandbank - Elizabeth Peters [58]
I glanced at Michael, who shook his head, and went on, “No, I thought they would not. And I fear any workers you might import might be subject to the same harassment. I suggest, then, that today we all work at finishing up the pavement. Evelyn must complete her sketch; I will apply the rest of the tapioca. Tonight we will proceed to the obvious course of action. We must catch the Mummy, and unmask him!”
Walter sat upright and clapped his hands.
“Miss Amelia, you are a wonder. Of course! With four of us on guard—”
“Six of us,” I said. “I think that is sufficient; there is no need to bring the boat crew into this. I suggest that one of us watch the village. Mohammed must slip out in his disguise if he wants to haunt us, and since he is determined to get rid of us, he will probably pay us a visit tonight. The rest of us will lie in wait for him. Have you firearms?”
Evelyn let out a little cry of alarm.
Emerson’s face underwent a series of silent convulsions. He said in a muffled voice, “I do not have firearms. They are dangerous and unnecessary.”
“Then we will have to use clubs,” I said.
Emerson’s lips writhed. “I can’t stand this,” he muttered, and sprang to his feet. As he walked away, I saw that his shoulders were shaking uncontrollably, and I realized he must be weaker than I had thought.
“Have a good rest,” I called out after his retreating form. “We should all sleep this afternoon, in order to be alert tonight.”
Emerson’s only response was a sort of muted roar. He disappeared into his tomb, and I turned to Walter, who was staring after his brother.
“He is weak with exhaustion, Walter. You had better—”
“No,” said Walter. “I don’t think so.”
“What is wrong with him, then?”
Walter shook his head dazedly. “It is impossible… But if I did not know better, I would swear he was laughing.”
II
The rest of the day proceeded according to plan—my plan. Evelyn finished her sketch of the pavement. It was a lovely thing; she had caught perfectly the muted pastel shades of the original. I then sent her back to rest while I finished applying the protective coating. It was early evening before I was done, and when I returned to camp I found dinner underway. Thanks to my efforts, there was a new spirit about the place. We were a small, reduced force, but we were united. Even Michael and Abdullah seemed cheerful and alert. Over dinner we made the rest of our plans.
Walter and Abdullah were to watch the village, with special attention to the mayor’s house. Like all primitive groups, the village retired as soon as the sun went down. We did not expect any activity much before midnight, but the watchers were to take their places as soon as it was completely dark. Should Mohammed emerge, they were to follow him. He probably did not keep his mummy disguise in the house; Emerson felt sure that his father was not one of the plotters. The old man’s fear had seemed genuine. Mohammed, then, would go to the spot—of which there were many in the crumbling cliffs—where he had concealed his costume, and assume it there. The watchers were not to interfere with him until they saw him actually in his disguise. They would then apprehend him; one would hold him captive while the other ran to give us the news. In a body bag we would haul the miscreant back to the village and expose his trickery.
On the remote chance that Mohammed was able to elude our gallant watchers, the rest of us prepared a second line of defense. Evelyn, with Michael to guard her, would retire to her chamber, though not to her bed, of course. From the doorway Michael would keep watch. Meanwhile, Emerson and I would take up our positions in his tomb chamber, which was some distance down the ledge from the one we ladies occupied. Any visitor would have to pass this door in order to reach Evelyn, who would thus be doubly protected. I must confess I felt a trifle uneasy on Evelyn’s behalf. Mohammed’s vile remark fit only too neatly with the mute evidence of the crumbled wrappings outside