The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [177]
“It’s going to take all day at this rate,” I said, peering down into the cavity.
“A week, if need be,” said Emerson, wiping his wet forehead with his sleeve.
“Of course. Shall we stop for a bite of lunch, since there is no hurry?”
Emerson grudgingly agreed, so we retired to the shelter and the men went off for a smoke and a rest. Before long I saw a horseman approaching from the north and called the attention of the others to him. No one reacted; aside from the fact that an assassin would not approach so openly, it would have been impossible to mistake the slim, graceful form of the rider for that of the burly American. It was Geoffrey, whom Emerson had sent off to Giza to ascertain whether Jack had reported for work.
“He’s not there!” were the young man’s first words, as he hurried toward us. “He never turned up this morning, and he hasn’t been back to the house. I went there too.”
Emerson said, “Hmph,” and went on eating. I said, “Sit down, Geoffrey, and have a glass of tea. You look very warm.”
Smiling and shaking his head, Geoffrey kissed his wife and sank down at her feet. “Your coolness amazes me, Mrs.—Aunt Amelia—though I ought to be accustomed to it by now.”
“We are only demonstrating the qualities for which our superior caste is famous,” Ramses drawled. “British phlegm, noblesse oblige, coolness under fire … What have I left out?”
“Don’t be hateful,” Nefret snapped.
“That’s the part I left out,” said Ramses. “Hatefulness. May I have another sandwich?”
“What did Mr. Reisner say?” I inquired.
“He wasn’t very happy,” Geoffrey admitted. “I told him there was trouble—”
“What?” Emerson exclaimed, in awful tones.
“Oh, I didn’t go into detail, sir, I assure you. There was no need. He said trouble was your normal condition and that as soon as you’d settled the business he would appreciate having at least part of his staff returned to him.”
Emerson chuckled, and Geoffrey said anxiously, “There’s been no sign of Jack here, I suppose. Honestly, I don’t mean to be an alarmist, but how can you go on working when you know he is out there somewhere, waiting and watching?”
“And lurking,” Ramses suggested.
“I have never yet allowed a criminal to interfere with my excavations,” Emerson declared. “We are on the verge of a great discovery here. This will come as a considerable surprise to … Oh, damnation! It won’t, will it? Ramses!”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” his son protested.
“I saw the way you and David looked at one another. So you’ve reasoned it out, have you?”
“The Third Dynasty royal burial? Yes, sir. It was a logical deduction, given the information we have collected. But,” Ramses said hastily, “neither of us could come up with an idea as to where it might be. Do you think the shaft, sir?”
“No,” said Emerson, somewhat appeased by this disingenuous admission of fallibility. “The place must be relatively easy of access or our friend couldn’t have got at it without others knowing. The deposits in the shaft haven’t been disturbed for millennia. There are only two possibilities. Either there is a hidden entrance to the real burial chamber down below, or the whole pyramid is a blind and the king was buried in a pit tomb in one of the cemeteries. I favor the former because—”
I felt obliged to interrupt. “Geoffrey, are you all right? That cough is quite nasty; sip a little tea if you can.”
The young man straightened. “I am better now,” he gasped, smiling at Nefret, whose arm was round his shoulders. “It was only … only surprise.”
“Go on, Father,” Ramses said. “Why do you think the hidden burial chamber is in the pyramid?”
“What? Oh. Well, for one thing, a burial in one of the cemeteries would be rather too accessible, to potential thieves as well as to us. The treasure must be inside the pyramid—under the floor of a corridor or storage chamber, or that of the false burial chamber itself—but I will not send our men down below until the shaft has been cleared.