Crocodile on the Sandbank - Elizabeth Peters [81]
“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 suspicious 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 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