The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [75]
“Where is Ramses?” Emerson asked.
“He is late,” I replied. “As to precisely where he may be, I cannot answer, thanks to your refusal to let me supervise his activities. You spoil the boy, Emerson. How many children of his age have their own archaeological excavations?”
“He wants to surprise us, Peabody. It would be cruel to thwart his innocent pleasures…. Ah, here he is. How very tidy you are this evening, Ramses.”
Not only was he tidy, he was clean. His hair curled into tight ringlets when damp. Drops of water still sparkled in the sable coils. I was so pleased at this demonstration of conformity—for bathing was not something Ramses often engaged in of his own free will—that I did not scold him for being late or even object to the presence of the lion. Ramses secured its lead to a stone stub and began devouring bread and butter.
It was a pleasant domestic interlude; and I confess I shared Emerson’s sentiments when he let out an exclamation of annoyance. “Curse it, we are going to be interrupted again. Doesn’t that Frenchman do anything except pay social calls?”
The approaching figure was indeed that of de Morgan, mounted on his beautiful steed. “Ramses,” I began.
“Yes, Mama. I t’ink dat de lion has had sufficient fresh air for de present.” There was only time for him to thrust it into the house and close the door before de Morgan was with us.
After greetings had been exchanged and de Morgan had accepted a cup of tea, he asked how our work was going.
“Splendidly,” I replied. “We have completed a survey of the area and are proceeding with trial excavations. Cemeteries of the Roman and Christian periods have been discovered.”
“My commiseration, dear friends,” de Morgan exclaimed. “But perhaps you will come upon something more interesting in time.”
“Commiseration is not needed, monsieur,” I replied. “We dote on Roman cemeteries.”
“Then you will no doubt be pleased to receive another Roman mummy,” said de Morgan, twirling his mustache.
“What the devil do you mean?” Emerson demanded.
“That is the reason for my visit,” de Morgan replied, a Machiavellian smile curving his lips. “The stolen mummy case has been discovered. The thieves abandoned it a few kilometers from my camp, where it was found this afternoon.”
“How very strange,” I said.
“No, it is easy to understand,” said de Morgan patronizingly. “These thieves are ignorant people. They committed an error, taking the mummy case; having discovered its worthlessness and tiring of its weight, they simply abandoned it.”
Emerson shot the Frenchman a look of blistering contempt. I said, “No doubt the baroness is glad to have her relic back.”
“She will have nothing to do with it.” De Morgan shook his head. “Les femmes, they are always illogical…. That is, madame, I do not refer to you, you understand—”
“I should hope not, monsieur.”
“‘Take it away,’ she cries, waving her arms. ‘Give it to Herr Professor Emerson, who has scolded me. I want nothing more to do with it, it has brought me terror and distress.’ So,” de Morgan concluded, “my men will fetch it to you later.”
“Thank you very much,” said Emerson between clenched teeth.
“Not at all.” De Morgan patted the damp curls of Ramses, who was crouched at his feet like a puppy. “And how is your study of mummies progressing, mon petit?”
“I have given it up for de present,” said Ramses. “I find I lack de proper instruments for such research. Accurate measurements of cranial capacity and bone development are necessary if one is to reach meaningful conclusions regarding de racial and physical—”
De Morgan interrupted with a hearty laugh. “Never mind, petit chou; if you are bored with your papa’s excavations you may visit me. Tomorrow I begin a new tunnel which will surely lead me to the burial chamber.”
Emerson’s countenance writhed. Catching my eye, he said in a muffled voice, “Excuse me, Amelia. I must—I must—”
And, leaping from his chair, he vanished around the corner of the house.
“I take my leave of you, madame,” said de Morgan, rising. “I came only to tell you that