The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [142]
When I reached the Castle I learned that Cyrus had already left for the Valley of the Kings. Cyrus’ steward – or major-domo, as he preferred to be called – was a Belgian who had lived for many years in Egypt. I knew him well, as he knew me; at my request he showed me at once to the library.
The typewriting machine stood on the table, with a pile of manuscript next to it. Not much had been done; only a few pages of typewritten material were there. Well, I thought charitably, perhaps it takes a while to become accustomed to a new apparatus – and Emerson’s handwriting was admittedly difficult to decipher. But why was Gertrude not presently at work?
The major-domo informed me the lady was in her room. He led me there, and I knocked on the door.
Not until I announced my identity did Gertrude open it. She was wearing a loose robe and appeared a trifle dazed.
‘What is it?’ she exclaimed. ‘What has happened?’
‘Why, nothing. Why should you suppose that?’
She took hold of my sleeve. ‘I had a dream last night,’ she whispered. ‘I was in my room on the dahabeeyah, and I heard a cry –’
‘Now, Gertrude, I have not time to listen to your dream. I came looking for Mr Vandergelt. Yes, I know he has gone on, and I must go after him, but I thought I would drop in and make sure you are comfortable.’
‘Why do you want him?’ She maintained her grip on my sleeve. ‘Are you telling me the truth? Nothing has happened to her?’
I began to feel a bit uneasy – not for my own safety, since that was absurd, but for her sanity. She looked absolutely wild-eyed. The room behind her was dim with shadow, for the shutters had been closed, and there was a scent of that strange incense.
‘Nothing has happened to anyone, Gertrude. I wanted Mr Vandergelt to tell him what I am going to tell you – that we have entered the burial chamber and found great things.’
Her hand went to her breast. ‘The burial chamber? Oh, heavens, is it true? But the Professor said –’
‘He changed his mind. What is wrong with you? Are you ill?’
‘No! No, thank you. I am well, I am strong. Only tell me – is she there?’
‘Your references are more than a little ambiguous, Gertrude,’ I said – for a firm, even censorious, tone is necessary when speaking to incipient hysterics. ‘If you mean Nefret, she is there, working with the Professor and the others. If you mean Queen Tetisheri, we don’t know. The sarcophagus is closed and it will remain so until the Professor decides to open it.’
‘Today?’
‘No, not today nor within the next few days. I must go, Gertrude. You had better lie down.’
However, I did not go at once to the Valley. I took up a position in the mouth of one of the innumerable little ravines that cut into the cliffs, and waited. I could see the front of the house, but I did not think I could be seen, immobile in the shadows.
It was less than half an hour before Cyrus’ carriage drew up at the front door. Gertrude, hat askew and hair dishevelled, hurried out and got into the carriage. It moved away in a cloud of dust, and I watched until it was out of sight. It had not taken the southern road, to Drah Abu’l Naga and Deir el Bahri, but had gone directly towards the ferry.
What I would have given just then for the ability to be in two places at once! However, it would have been difficult for me to follow Gertrude unobserved, and if she observed me she would not go where she planned to go. I regretted now the impulse that had led me to speak to her. Not until after I had seen her strange reaction did it occur to me that she might hurry to report to her unknown leader.
Ah well, I thought philosophically, hindsight is of little practical use. Urging my steed into a trot, I proceeded to carry out my original plan.
I beheld Cyrus looking on while his workmen carried off basket after basket of sand without – as was evident from my friend’s gloomy expression – any sign of a tomb. I guided my steed rapidly through the inconvenient tourists and came to a sudden stop in front of Cyrus.
My appearance had, perhaps,