The Curse of the Pharaohs - Elizabeth Peters [86]
Seeing me, he raised his hat with his usual courtesy. “I am glad to report that all is well,” he said.
“You mean that Lady Baskerville has not yet murdered Madame Berengeria?”
The American looked at me quizzically and then smiled. “That British sense of humor! To tell you the truth, Mrs. Amelia, when I got there the two ladies were squaring off like prizefighters. I had to play peacemaker, and I flatter myself I did it neatly. I suggested that Madame intercede with the gods of Egypt and beg them to spare young Arthur’s life. She jumped on that like a duck on a June bug. When I left she was squatting in the middle of the parlor crooning to herself and making mystical gestures. It was sure a horrible sight.”
“There is no change in Arthur’s condition?” I asked.
“No. But he is holding his own. Say, Mrs. Amelia, I have to ask you—did you really tell that young rapscallion O’Connell he could move in? He was buttering up to Lady Baskerville for all he was worth, and when I asked him why he was there, he told me you had given him permission.”
“That will not please Lady Baskerville. I assure you, Mr. Vandergelt, I had no intention of impinging on her prerogatives. Emerson and I felt that under the circumstances—”
“I get you. And I’ve got to admit I felt easier leaving the ladies there with him. He’s a scoundrel, but I think he would be a good man in a fight.”
“Let us hope it does not come to that,” I said.
“Sure…. All right, ma’am, let’s get to work before the Professor comes out and accuses me of making eyes at you. I have to confess that I’m torn between my duty to Lady Baskerville and my interest in the tomb. I’d sure hate to miss the opening of the burial chamber.”
In this latter hope he was doomed to disappointment, for that day at least. By late afternoon the men had carried out the last of the limestone fill and the corridor lay clear before us. They then withdrew, to enable the dust to settle, and the four of us gathered at the edge of the well.
Emerson held a lantern whose dust-fogged light cast eerie shadows across the faces of the men—Vandergelt, considering more disheveled but no less excited than he had been four hours earlier; Karl, showing the signs of sleeplessness in his sunken eyes and weary face; Emerson, alert and energetic as ever. I was conscious of not looking my best.
“It’s not so wide,” Vandergelt remarked, appraising the width of the shaft. “I reckon I could jump it.”
“I reckon you won’t,” said Emerson, with a scornful look at the speaker. “You might clear the gap, but where would you land? The space is less than a foot wide and it is backed by a sheer wall.”
Advancing to the rim of the pit he lay flat, with his head and shoulders protruding over emptiness, and lowered the lantern as far as his arm would reach. The dim flame burned bluer. The air in those deep recesses was still bad, for there was no circulation, and in the depths of the shaft it was even worse. Though I had immediately followed Emerson’s example, I could make out very few details. Far below, at the utmost extremity of the light, was a pale amorphous glimmer—more of the omnipresent limestone chips, so many tons of which he had already removed from the tomb.
“Yes,” Emerson said, when I had voiced this observation. “The shaft is partially filled. The upper part was left open in the hope that a thief would tumble into it and break his bones.” Rising, he directed the light toward the far wall. There, in ominous dignity, the jackal-headed guide of the dead raised his hands in greeting.
“You see, Amelia, and gentlemen, the options open to us,” Emerson said. “The continuance of the passageway is concealed. Either it lies behind that figure of Anubis, on the far wall, or it is on a lower level, opening out from the depths of the shaft. Obviously we must investigate both possibilities. We can do neither tonight. I must have a