The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [106]
Ned smiled and brushed the damp hair away from his perspiring face. “I am glad to hear you say so, sir. You see, I rather jumped the gun day before yesterday—sent Mr. Davis a message saying I’d found him a tomb, and then had to take it back. I didn’t want to make the same mistake a second time.”
“The place could have been robbed ten times over before the entrance was concealed under the debris,” Emerson said. “Almost certainly was. Hmph. It shouldn’t take more than a few hours to . . .”
Then, dear Reader, the true mettle of the man I had married was displayed. At that moment there was nothing on earth Emerson desired more than a glimpse of what lay at the bottom of those stone-cut steps. If the discovery had been his—as it ought to have been—he would have uncovered the entrance that day, with his bare hands if need be, and camped on the spot all night to protect his find. The struggle was intense, but professional honor won out over envy.
Emerson squared his mighty shoulders. “Stop,” he said.
“Sir?” Ned stared in wonderment.
Like myself, Ramses knew his father had gone as far as he was capable of going. He put a friendly hand on the young man’s shoulder. “You don’t want to expose the entrance and leave it open overnight.”
“Good Lord, no, I couldn’t do that. Mr. Davis will want to be here when we open it.”
“Unless you think he will want to come round this evening, you had better stop, then.” Ramses ran an expert eye over the rough opening. “It’s likely there are not more than a dozen steps, and the fill is loose here.”
“Yes, of course.” Ned smiled apologetically. “You must think me a blundering fool. I suppose I was a bit excited. It is always rather exciting, isn’t it—a new tomb? Not knowing what might be there?”
“Yes,” said Emerson morosely. “It is. Rather.”
Ned went with us as far as the donkey park and then struck off on foot, heading for the house Davis had had built for him near the entrance to the Valley. No wonder he was pleased. Even if the tomb turned out to be unfinished or completely plundered in ancient times, it was a good sign to find one at all.
We had been invited to attend one of Cyrus’s Sunday-evening soirees that night. He was a sociable individual, and took even greater pleasure in entertaining now that he had Katherine as his hostess.
I was of two minds about going. Ordinarily I take pleasure in respectable social events, and Cyrus’s entertainments were always elegant and refined. Many of our friends would be present, including two of the best—Katherine and Cyrus themselves.
Yet I found myself disinclined that evening for pleasure. My thoughts were otherwise engaged, following in imagination the activities of those who were far away. Selim and Daoud were still on the train. They would not arrive in Cairo until later that evening, with the briefer journey to Alexandria still ahead. If it was not delayed, the steamer would soon arrive in the harbor, where it would drop anchor; the passengers would disembark the following morning. We could not expect news until later that same day, for explanations and decisions would take time, and it was possible Walter would decide to go on to Cairo, where we had booked rooms for them at Shepheard’s. To take Lia home without a glimpse of even the pyramids and the Sphinx would be too cruel, after her high expectations; a father as fond as Walter would surely be unable to resist her pleas. If they remained in Cairo for a time, perhaps I could just run up to see them, and have a little look round . . .
Too many ifs! I would have to wait another twenty-four hours, at least, before I knew what they intended.
I came to the logical conclusion that brooding would not be good for us. There was nothing we could do that evening anyhow.
I discovered that the others had expected we would go and that even Emerson was resigned, if not enthusiastic. He gave me the usual argument about wearing formal dress, which, as usual, I won. Cyrus had