Crocodile on the Sandbank - Elizabeth Peters [76]
“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 behavior 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