The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [203]
“There!” I exclaimed in wonderment. “Emerson, do you see?”
Emerson removed his pith helmet and flung it onto the ground. I gave him a warning frown and a little poke. It was sufficient; his better nature triumphed over envy. “Well, well,” he said hoarsely. “Hmph. That is—congratulations, Vandergelt.”
Cyrus slapped him on the back. “It belongs to both of us, old pal. All of us, I should say.”
“No, no.” Emerson drew himself up. “We made an agreement, Vandergelt. The tombs of Deir el Medina are yours, and it was Bertie who found this one. Congratulations, I say.”
Never had I admired my dear Emerson more. He looked so noble, his shoulders thrown back and his tanned face wearing a strained smile, it was all I could do not to embrace him. Cyrus was equally moved. He took out his handkerchief and blew his nose.
“That’s darned decent of you, Emerson. But no more than I expected.”
“And no less than you deserve,” Emerson said gruffly. “So where is the damned tomb?”
“In that crack between the first and second fingers,” Bertie said. “It took us several days—nights, I should say—to find it. Fortunately the moon has been full. We haven’t been inside. We thought Cyrus ought to have the privilege,” he added, wincing as Cyrus seized his hand and wrung it vigorously.
“Are you sure the passage is open?” I asked. “I know Jamil has been in and out of the place, but he is—was—slightly built and agile and foolhardy.”
Naturally the men ignored this sensible comment. Emerson’s eyes glittered like sapphires. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”
We restrained Emerson while we discussed the best way to proceed. Bertie explained how he and Jumana had managed it, scaling the cliff and lowering themselves from above by means of a rope. Emerson was pleased to approve this plan, though if I had not kept hold of him he would have started straight up the sheerest part of the cliff.
We all went, of course, including Selim and Daoud. Their assistance was invaluable, for it was a tricky climb. When we stood atop the rounded “finger” looking down, I addressed Jumana, who had stuck to me like a burr.
“You did this at night? Really, my dear, was that wise? You ought to have told the Professor, or Cyrus, of your theory.”
Bertie overheard. “It was my fault, Mrs. Emerson. I wanted to be sure before I told anyone. I didn’t mean to tell Jumana either, but I asked too many questions—about the terrain here, and whether Jamil had explored this area—and she wrung it out of me.”
He turned to respond to Emerson, and Jumana said in a low voice, “He would have searched alone. It was too dangerous.”
“It certainly would have been,” I agreed. “I am surprised he allowed you to accompany him.”
“He said I could not. So,” said Jumana coolly, “I told him that you and Nefret do not let Ramses and the Professor stop you from doing what you want, and I was trying to be like you. But you see why I could not speak before. He trusted me, and I had—I had been unkind and unfair to him.”
“Ah,” I said somewhat uneasily. “So you think well of him, do you?”
She met my eyes directly and with no sign of self-consciousness. “He is a good man. We are friends, I hope.”
I hoped so too.
Watching Daoud knot the rope round Cyrus’s waist, I issued a final order. “Cyrus, stop at once and come back if the passage becomes too narrow or the ceiling looks unstable or—”
“Sure, Amelia. Lower away, Daoud.”
“You shouldn’t have allowed him to go first, Emerson,” I scolded, as Cyrus’s body disappeared into the crevice.
“My dear Peabody, how could I deprive him of a moment he has waited for his whole life? If he died in the attempt, he would die happy. That,” Emerson added quickly, “was only a figure of speech. Nothing is going to happen. But—er—well, perhaps I ought to follow him.”
“Not with one arm, Emerson!”
“They will have to lower me, that’s all,” said Emerson, his chin protruding in a manner that made remonstrance