The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [96]
“Look there,” he said, pointing.
Far to the northeast a bright pillar of flame soared heavenward. There was something so uncanny about the scene—the utter stillness of the night, unbroken even by the lament of jackals—the vast empty waste, cold under the moon—that I stood motionless for a moment. The distant flame might have been the sacrificial fire of some diabolic cult.
I reminded myself that this was the nineteenth century A.D., not ancient Egypt, and my usual good sense reasserted itself. At least the mission was not under attack; the fire was somewhere in the desert. “Quickly,” I exclaimed. “We must locate the spot before the flames die down.”
“Should we not waken the Father of Curses?” Abdullah asked nervously.
“It will take too long. Hurry, Abdullah.”
The site of the blaze was not as distant as it had appeared, but the flames had died to a sullen glow before we reached it. As we stood gazing at the molten remains Abdullah hunched his shoulders and shot a quick glance behind him. I sympathized with his feelings. The ambience was eerie in the extreme, and the smoldering embers were gruesomely suggestive of the contours of a human form.
The sound of heavy breathing and running footsteps made us both start. Abdullah knew Emerson’s habits as well as I; he prudently got behind me, and I was able to prevent Emerson from hurling himself at the throat of—as he believed—my abductor. When the situation was explained, Emerson shook himself like a large dog. “I wish you wouldn’t do this to me, Peabody,” he complained. “When I reached out for you and found you gone I feared the worst.”
He had paused only long enough to assume his trousers. His broad chest heaved with the speed of his running and his tumbled locks curled about his brow. With an effort I conquered my emotions and recounted the cause of my departure.
“Hmmm,” said Emerson, studying the dying coals. “They have an ominous shape, do they not?”
“Less so now than before. But it cannot have been a human body, Emerson. Flesh and bone would not be so completely consumed.”
“Quite right, Peabody.” Emerson knelt and reached out a hand. “Ouch,” he exclaimed, putting his fingers to his mouth.
“Be careful, my dear Emerson.”
“Immediate action is imperative, Peabody. The object is almost entirely reduced to ash. A few more moments…” He succeeded in snatching up a small fragment, scarcely two inches across. It crumbled even more as he tossed it from hand to hand, but he had seen enough.
“I fancy we have found the missing mummy case, Peabody.”
“Are you certain?”
“There are traces of brown varnish here. I suppose it could be one of ours—”
“No one has approached our house tonight,” Abdullah assured him.
“Then it must be the one belonging to the baroness,” I said.
“Not necessarily,” Emerson said morosely. “There must be four or five thousand of the cursed things that have not yet passed through our hands.”
“Pray do not yield to despair, Emerson,” I advised. “Or to levity—if that was your intention. I have no doubt this is the mummy case we have been seeking. What a pity there is so little left of it.”
“It is not surprising it should burn so readily, since it was composed of varnish and papier-mâché, both highly flammable.”
“But, Emerson, why would a thief go to so much trouble to obtain this article, only to destroy it?”
He had no answer. We gazed at one another in silent surmise, while the sun rose slowly in the east.
I was pleased with the appearance of our little party when we set out for the funeral service. John’s scrubbed cheeks shone like polished apples, and Ramses had an air of deceptive innocence in his little Eton jacket and short trousers. Emerson snorted when I suggested he put on a cravat, but Emerson can never appear less than magnificent; and I fancy I looked my usual respectable self, though the