The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [115]
“There is no question of that,” Ned said. “I’m not entirely certain how we are going to proceed. Perhaps, Mrs. Emerson, you will give us the benefit of your advice.”
Naturally I was happy to give it. Mr. Weigall had been quite right in suggesting that the police be notified and guards set over the tomb. The mere mention of the word “gold” was enough to arouse the interest of every thief in Luxor, and before nightfall every thief in Luxor would know of it. I was not surprised to discover that Mr. Davis was determined to get into the tomb next day, by one means or another. Weigall’s attempts to persuade him to wait until the panel could be stabilized, or at least copied, were halfhearted and soon overcome.
“Ayrton, get the thing out of there before tomorrow morning,” Davis ordered. “Carefully, of course. Don’t want it to be damaged. Come back to dinner, Weigall?”
“Er—no, thank you, sir, I believe I will camp in the Valley tonight. I would be shirking my responsibility if I left the tomb unguarded.”
“Quite right,” Davis agreed. “Tomorrow, then. Have everything ready. I want to see what’s down there.”
He walked away without waiting for an answer, since in his estimation only one was possible. I was reminded of one of my favorite Gilbert and Sullivan operas: “If your Majesty says do a thing, that thing is as good as done. And if it is done, why not say so?”
(I paraphrase, but that is the general idea.)
Ayrton and Weigall exchanged glances. They did not get on well, but for the time being, mutual consternation made them allies. Weigall muttered, “It can’t be done. Not without ruining it.”
Ned squared his shoulders. “I will tell him. Unless you prefer to do so.”
“My position with regard to Mr. Davis is a delicate one,” Weigall replied stiffly.
In my opinon Ned’s position was even more delicate. This was not the time for argument or recrimination, however. The situation was critical. If Emerson had been in charge, not a stone would have been touched and not a person would have entered until the panel had been examined, photographed (if possible), and copied (by David), and every possible effort made to stabilize the fragile gold. This was obviously not going to be done. My duty, as I saw it, was to suggest ways of minimizing the damage.
“Perhaps it would be possible to arrange a kind of bridge over the panel,” I suggested. “Our reis, Abdullah, has had considerable experience with that sort of thing.”
Weigall’s face brightened. “I was just about to propose that,” he said. “I think I know where I can lay my hands on a plank of the right length.”
“I will tell Abdullah,” I said. Weigall did not object, though he must have known I would also tell Emerson.
Emerson behaved better than I had expected—though I ought to have known that he could be depended upon to act sensibly in a crisis. This was a crisis, in archaeological terms; only one of many, alas, and possibly less disastrous than other horrendous errors in methodology the Valley of the Kings had seen. But on this occasion we were there, on the spot. It would have been impossible to remain aloof.
“Face it, Father,” said Ramses, after Emerson had run out of expletives. “You cannot keep Mr. Davis out of the place. Mr. Weigall is the only one who has the authority to prevent him, and it seems he won’t exercise it.”
Even Sir Edward, ordinarily so cool, had been infected by the general consternation. “Have they arranged for a photographer? I will offer my services, if you think they would be accepted.”
“Mr. Davis is sending to Cairo for someone,” Nefret replied. “A Mr. Paul, I believe he said. He can’t be here for another day or two, though.”
By the time we left the Valley the job had been done, thanks primarily to Abdullah. The plank was only ten inches wide, but it was long enough to extend from the tomb entrance to the far wall of the corridor, and Abdullah managed to wedge it in such a way that it did not touch the panel. Mr. Weigall had strung his wire so we had electric light, and the glimmer of it on the incised gold was