The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [162]
“I have finished with the cemeteries for the time being,” he announced. “Today we begin clearing the shaft. From the top.”
This abrupt and arbitrary decision was accepted without comment by those who knew him well. Observing that Geoffrey’s eyes had widened and that he was on the verge of speech, I intervened, to spare the lad the reprimand a question would undoubtedly have provoked.
“Far be it from me to question the dictatorial nature of your decrees, Emerson,” I said, “but perhaps if you condescended to explain why you are taking this course and what you hope to accomplish—?”
Emerson drew a deep sigh, like a patient schoolmaster facing a particularly dull child. “I should think that would be obvious. However, if you insist. Where is that plan of Barsanti’s?” He began throwing papers around. “Ah, here it is.”
We all gathered round the table and Emerson began lecturing, using the stem of his pipe as a pointer. “The entrance to the substructure is this long descending stair and passageway. What then was the purpose of the shaft, which goes straight up to the surface from the end of the first passageway?”
“Perhaps it was made by tomb robbers?” Selim suggested.
Emerson snorted. “You know what tomb robbers’ tunnels look like, Selim. This shaft was built by professional masons, not by robbers in haste and in secrecy. It may be a later construction. I want to see what, if anything, is in it. Does that answer your question, Peabody?”
“Only part of it. You mean to concentrate on the substructure then?”
“I intend to clear the place out.” Emerson’s handsome face took on a look of demonic pleasure. “I got Reisner to admit he didn’t do a damn thing down there last year. Barsanti’s excavations were inadequate. I am going to go about this slowly and methodically, taking all possible precautions. That is why I want the shaft completely clear before we enter the substructure.”
Had I not been distracted by other considerations, I would have rejoiced at Emerson’s new scheme. It was what I had wanted all along. He was absolutely correct in clearing the shaft before proceeding with his investigation of the substructure. If the filling gave way, several hundred tons of rock and sand would drop straight down into the corridors below.
The top of the shaft was marked by a shallow depression, no different in appearance from others that covered the uneven terrain, but of course we had plotted its precise location when we made our plan of the site. Emerson got the men to work, indicating an area we had already excavated as the location of the dump. Before long the sand was flying and the basketmen were trotting busily back and forth, accompanying their tedious labor with a crooning chant. Apparently they had got over the superstitious fear of the place that had followed the discovery of Maude’s body.
However, when I expressed this optimistic sentiment to Emerson, he shook his head. “They are in the open air, some distance from the spot where her body was found. We may not be able to persuade them so easily to enter the place.”
“Let us hope nothing else occurs.”
Emerson’s jaw tightened. “I will make certain it doesn’t.”
Hands on his hips, he stood looking on, his keen eyes intent on the men who were in the depression filling their baskets. He was watching, I knew, for the slightest sign of movement under their bare feet and busy hands, ready to leap to their rescue should a subsidence occur. Naturally I remained at his side, ready to leap to his rescue.
He and Selim saw the object at the same moment; their shouts caused the diggers to halt their activities. Before I could stop him, Emerson hastened to the spot. Naturally I followed him.
The object was a bone, too large to be human; others, half-buried by a layer of fine sand, lay around it, covering an area approximately a meter square. Emerson required no more than a glance to identify the