The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [98]
Without waiting for a reply, he strode away. I had to run to catch him up. “Where are you going, Emerson? We left the donkeys at the chapel.”
“To see the priest. Word of the affair has already reached him, I fear, but we will do what we can to mitigate its effect.”
The priest refused to see us. According to the hard-faced disciple who responded to our call, he was absorbed in prayer and could not be disturbed. We turned reluctantly away. “I don’t like this, Peabody,” Emerson said gravely.
“You don’t believe we are in danger, Emerson?”
“We? Danger?” Emerson laughed. “He would hardly venture to threaten us, my dear Peabody. But the lunatics at the mission are another story, and Ezekiel seems bent on starting trouble.”
“The priest was courteous enough to me the other day. At least,” I added, thinking ruefully of my ruined chapeau, “he meant to be courteous.”
“Ah, but that was before we began entertaining his rival to tea and encouraging our servant to patronize the other establishment. Never mind, Peabody, there is no cause for alarm at present; I will call on the priest another day.”
John returned to the house and Ramses, Emerson and I set out for Dahshoor. As we rode along the edge of the fields, the first of the Dahshoor monuments we encountered was the Black Pyramid. Ramses, who had been silent up to that time, began to chatter about Egyptian verb forms, and Emerson, whose strength lay in excavation rather than in philology, was at something of an embarrassment. We drew near the base of the pyramid and he stopped, with an exclamation of surprise. “What the devil, Peabody—someone has been digging here.”
“Well, of course, Emerson.”
“I am not referring to de Morgan’s incompetent probing, Peabody. These are fresh excavations.”
I saw nothing unusual, but Emerson’s expert eye cannot be gainsaid. I acknowledged as much, adding casually, “Perhaps some of the villagers from Menyat Dahshoor are doing a little illicit digging.”
“Practically under de Morgan’s eye? Well, but he would not notice if they carried the pyramid itself away.”
“He is a very forceful individual,” said Ramses in his piping voice. “All de Arabs are afraid of him.”
Emerson, who had been studying the tumbled terrain with a thoughtful frown, replied to his son, “They are afraid of the mudir and his bullwhip, Ramses. English gentlemen do not employ such threats—nor are they necessary. You must win the respect of your subordinates by treating them with absolute fairness. Of course it helps to have an inherently dominant personality and a character both strong and just, commanding and yet tolerant….”
We found the workers sprawled in the shade taking their midday rest. De Morgan was not there. We were informed that he was at the southern stone pyramid, with his guest, who had expressed an interest in seeing that structure. So we turned our steeds in that direction, and found de Morgan at luncheon. At the sight of the table, which was covered with a linen cloth and furnished with china and crystal wineglasses, Emerson let out a sound of disgust. I paid no heed; the near proximity of the noble monument in all its glory induced a rapture that overcame all else.
Emerson immediately began berating de Morgan for taking so much time from his work. “You leave the men unsupervised,” he declared. “They have every opportunity to make off with their finds.”
“But, mon vieux,” said de Morgan, twirling his mustache, “you are also away from the scene of your labors, non?”
“We were attending a funeral,” Emerson said. “I presume you heard of the mysterious death of one of our men?”
“I confess,” de Morgan said superciliously, “that I take little interest in the affairs of the natives.”
“He was not one of the local people,” I said. “We have reason to believe he was a criminal of the deepest dye—a member of the gang of antiquities thieves.”
“Criminals? Thieves?” De Morgan smiled. “You insist upon your interesting fictions, madame.”
“Hardly fictions, monsieur. We have learned that the murdered man was in reality the