The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [120]
My dear Emerson was trying to cheer me with that teasing comment; I gave him an affectionate squeeze to show I understood. “Be that as it may,” I said, “we had better not depend on outside help. What we need is something to stand on. A mere three inches shall not defeat us, Emerson.”
“We can’t move the sarcophagus. It must weigh half a ton.”
“More, I fancy. And the cover is probably several hundred pounds in weight. But there may be other objects in the chamber, hidden under the mud. An alabaster canopic chest or cosmetic box—anything made of stone. Wooden objects would be rotted by time and immersion.”
“We will have a look,” Emerson agreed. “But first let us ascertain whether there are any other possibilities.”
“Another entrance, for instance? That is certainly something we must investigate. A pity the ceiling is so high. It will be hard to see a crack or crevice, with only a candle for light.”
“At any rate, we know there is no opening at floor level. Had that been the case, the water would have drained out.”
Silence followed, as we bent our mind to the problem. Then Emerson chuckled. “This will do Petrie one in the eye,” he said vulgarly. “He ran into something of the same sort at Hawara, if you remember. You know how he brags endlessly of how he cleared the chamber of the pyramid by sloshing around underwater and shoving things onto a hoe with his bare toes.”
“He found a number of fine objects,” I said. “That alabaster altar of Princess Ptahneferu—”
“Something of that nature would make an admirable box on which to stand.”
“Alabaster dishes and bowls…. Only think, Emerson, what we might find here.”
“Don’t let archaeological fever get the better of you, Peabody. Even if…Even when we get out of here, we will not have the right to excavate. It is de Morgan’s pyramid, not ours.”
“He can’t object if we make a few discoveries while seeking a means of escape. That is our main purpose, is it not—escape!”
“Oh, certainly,” Emerson agreed.
“I fear the writing implements attached to my belt have been rendered useless by the water. My pocket rule is functional, however; we will have to make mental notes of the location of anything we might find. That should not be difficult.”
“You are a remarkable woman, Peabody. Few individuals, male or female, could think about antiquities while engaged in a struggle for survival.”
“Your approbation pleases me more than I can say, Emerson. May I return the compliment?”
“Thank you, my dear Peabody. We will return to that subject later in—let us hope—more salubrious surroundings. Now, before you light the candle, let us be sure we have our strategy clearly in mind.”
I was about to reply when I saw something that made me wonder if my brain was not beginning to weaken. It was only the faintest suggestion of light; but in that dank darkness, so thick it seemed to press against one’s staring eyeballs, even a natural phenomenon carries sinister suggestions. The pale glow strengthened. It came from high in the wall—from the opening of the corridor. I pinched Emerson.
“Look,” I hissed.
“I see it,” he replied in equally subdued tones. “Quick, Peabody, down into the water.”
He slid off the sarcophagus. With his assistance I followed suit. “Is it the villains returning, do you think?” I breathed.
“It can be no one else. Get behind the sarcophagus, Peabody. Keep out of sight and don’t make a sound.”
I heard the soft susurration of the water as he waded slowly away from me. There was no need for him to explain; my dear Emerson and I understand one another without words. The criminals had returned to make sure we were deceased, or to taunt us in our agony; if they saw no trace of us, they might be moved to descend, in order to search for our bodies. There was a slight hope of escape in that, if they lowered a rope or a rope ladder, and