The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [101]
“I don’t want to know what he said, Ramses.”
The wind subsided as suddenly as it had begun. In the silence I could hear our guide’s teeth chattering. “Sitt,” he moaned, “oh, Sitt, we must go at once. The djinns are awake and looking for us. We will die here in the darkness and our souls will be eaten.”
“We could continue de search for de unknown opening, Mama,” said Ramses.
To say that I was tempted is like saying a starving man is a trifle peckish. Common sense prevailed, however. The search Ramses proposed would be the work of days, possibly weeks, and it could not be carried out without advance preparation. I had lost all track of time, as I am inclined to do when I am enjoying myself, but I suspected we had been gone longer than we ought to have been. I was therefore forced to refuse Ramses’ request; and after I had relit the torch (a supply of matches, in a waterproof tin box, is part of my supplies), we retraced our steps.
Ramses must have sensed the pain that filled my heart, for as I was crawling up the last long passageway he said, “It is too bad Papa was not able to obtain de firman for Dahshoor, Mama.”
“No one is perfect, Ramses, not even your papa. Had he allowed me to deal with M. de Morgan…But that is over and done with.”
“Yes, Mama. But you would like to have dis site, would you not?”
“It would be futile for me to deny it, Ramses. But never forget that your papa is the greatest living Egyptologist, even if he is somewhat lacking in tact.”
Emerson kept a discreet distance from us as we rode back to Mazghunah. As Ramses had noted, the smell of bat droppings is extremely pervasive and unpleasant. I knew it was Emerson’s sense of smell, not his affections, that dictated the removal. After a while he called out, “Did you have a pleasant time, Peabody?”
“Yes, thank you, my dear Emerson. Very pleasant.”
Emerson touched his donkey and the animal sidled nearer. “You know I would have got you Dahshoor if I could, Peabody.”
“I know that, Emerson.”
There was a stiff breeze blowing from the south. Emerson’s nose wrinkled and he let his donkey fall behind. “Don’t you want to know what I learned from the sinister Russian while you were gadding about inside the pyramid?” he called.
“I would like to know, Papa,” cried Ramses, turning his donkey. Emerson hastily covered his face with his sleeve. “Later, Ramses, later. Why don’t you ride with your mama?”
vii
Emerson’s hints of Russian revelations were only intended to pique my curiosity, as he finally admitted. But after we had dined and Ramses had gone to his room, Emerson seated himself at the table, folded his hands, and regarded me seriously.
“We must talk, Peabody. The time has come for us to face a painful truth. I have reason to believe that we are involved with a sinister criminal conspiracy.”
“Emerson,” I exclaimed. “You astonish me!”
My husband shot me a sour glance. “Sarcasm does not become you any more than it does me, Peabody. Until recently your wild theories were no more than that. The repeated invasions of our premises, however, indicate that for some reason as yet unknown we are the objects of active malice. Even more significant is the fact that someone has been digging near the Black Pyramid. And,” he added, frowning, “if you use the words ‘Master Criminal’…”
“We may as well call him that in lieu of a less distinctive pseudonym, Emerson.”
“Humph,” said Emerson.
“Then you agree that our burglaries were committed by the gang of antiquities thieves?”
“Wait.” Emerson raised a magisterial hand. “For once, Peabody, let us work out this problem step by step, in strictly logical fashion, instead of leaping across an abyss of speculation onto an unstable stepping-stone of theory.”
I took up my mending. Emerson’s shirts always need to have buttons sewn on. “Proceed, my dear Emerson.”
“Point number one: illicit digging at Dahshoor. You may recall my mentioning that one of the objects to come on the market recently was a Twelfth Dynasty pectoral, with a royal