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By Root 950 0

of the bricks beyond. Around one of the protruding edges Ramses had looped the rope—faute de mieux, as he might have said, for there was nothing else that would serve. I had depended on the rope as little as possible, but Emerson would have to use it for most of his ascent, and his weight was considerably greater than mine. There was a distinct possibility that the loosened block might be pulled completely out by the strain, which would not only precipitate Emerson back into the water but would bring the wall toppling down. I seriously considered asking him to remain below until we could fetch help. The only reason I did not do so was because I knew he would become bored with waiting and try to climb the rope anyway. He is not and has never been a patient man.

“I am coming up, Peabody,” he shouted.

“Just a moment, Emerson.” I sat down on the floor with my back against the loosened block and my feet braced against the opposite wall. “Ramses,” I said. “Proceed along the passage, around the next corner.”

I fully expected another of those eternal “But, Mama”s. Instead Ramses said quietly, “Very well,” and went trotting off. I waited until he was out of sight and then called to Emerson to proceed.

The ensuing moments were not among the most comfortable I have undergone. As I had feared, Emerson’s tugging and jerking of the rope had a deleterious effect on the block that held it, and though I pressed against the stone with every ounce of strength I possessed, it outweighed me by some six hundred pounds. The cursed thing gave a centimeter or so every time Emerson’s hands took a fresh hold on the rope, and it made an obscene groaning sound as it rubbed against the adjoining surface. The softest, gentlest touch on my hand, which was pressed against the floor, almost brought a cry to my lips—but, I hope I need not add, that cry was suppressed before it found utterance. The touch was that of sand—the crumbled substance of ancient mud brick—trickling slowly and horribly from the widening crack.

It seemed hours before I finally saw his shaggy, slime-smeared head appear at the opening. By that time the pressure of the stone against my back had raised my knees to an acute angle from the floor. I was afraid to speak aloud; it seemed as if the slightest vibration would push the block past the delicate point on which it hung balanced.

“Emerson,” I whispered. “Don’t delay an instant, but follow me. On hands and knees, if you please, and with the most felicitous combination of speed and delicacy of movement.”

Once again I had reason to bless the unity of spirit that binds my husband and me. Without question he at once obeyed. I abandoned my strained position and with aching back and pounding heart crawled ahead of him down the passage. When we turned the corner and reached the place where Ramses was waiting, I felt it was safe to stop for a brief rest.

If this were a sensational novel instead of an autobiography, I would report that the wall collapsed just as we scrambled to safety. However, it did not. I remain convinced that the peril was imminent, despite the assurances of those who examined the spot later and insisted that the stone would have moved no farther.

But to resume. Like the preceding section, this part of the passageway was lined with blocks of limestone. It was barely four feet high. Even Ramses had to duck his head. I wiped my bleeding hands on my trousers, tucked my shirtwaist in, and tidied my hair, which had been sadly disarranged. “Lead on, Ramses,” I said. “That is—are you fully recovered, Emerson?”

“I may never fully recover,” said Emerson, still prone. “But I am ready to go on. First let me retrieve the rope. We may need it.”

“No! We must do without the rope, Emerson. It is a miracle the wall has not collapsed. I won’t let you go back there.”

“A rope will not be required,” said Ramses. “At least…I hope it will not.”

With that doubtful assurance we had to be content.

There were several places in which we might have made good use of a rope, for the ancient architects had used every trick they could think