The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [132]
It was a slow, painful search. Painful in every sense of the word, for anxiety increased the discomfort of heat and rough terrain. We looked into every crevice and down into every gully and hole, fearing to find a crumpled body. “She may have given up and returned to the Castle,” I said.
Emerson grunted.
There had been four possibilities, not three; and the fourth possibility was, after all, the correct one. A shout from Bertie stopped us in our tracks and sent us hastening back. Though they were not far distant we did not see them until we were almost upon them, owing to the unevenness of the cliff face. They had reached the unfinished tomb we had briefly investigated—number 25. Cyrus had both arms round his stepson, trying to hold him back. In the mouth of the tomb were two forms. Lidman’s pale, unshaven face showed the effects of two days of privation, but he had strength enough to hold Jumana tightly against him. Her hands and feet were tied; over the folds of the gag her eyes blazed with frustrated fury. The point of the knife in Lidman’s right hand rested against her breast.
“Stop!” he shrieked. “Don’t come any closer.”
“You heard him, Bertie,” said Emerson. “Stand still and be quiet.”
That deep, powerful voice never failed in its effect. Bertie stopped struggling and Cyrus relaxed his grip. “I’m sorry,” the boy gasped. “I lost my head.”
“Perfectly understandable,” said Emerson, in the same calm voice. “But not sensible. Let me do the talking. I presume, Mr. Lidman, that you are prepared to negotiate.”
Lidman nodded. He was breathing hard and the hand holding the knife trembled.
“Just take your time, Mr. Lidman,” I said soothingly. “You don’t look at all well.”
My sympathetic tone calmed him. “I ran out of food and water,” he muttered. “Tired…thirsty…”
“Oh dear,” I said. “Would you care for a drink?” I held up my canteen invitingly. The gurgle of water drew Lidman’s eyes. He swallowed, and said hoarsely, “No, Mrs. Emerson, you won’t catch me so easily.”
“All right so far, Peabody,” said Emerson out of the corner of his mouth. “May I get a word in now?”
“By all means, my dear. I only meant to assure Mr. Lidman that we mean him no harm.”
Bertie’s murderous expression contradicted that statement, but he remained motionless.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone either,” Lidman faltered.
“Excellent,” Emerson said. “We see eye to eye on that. What is it you want?”
Lidman drew a deep breath and burst into speech. “The statue. It is mine by rights. I have hidden it where you will never find it. Let me take it away with me, give me free passage out of Luxor, and I will release the girl unharmed.”
“Agreed,” said Emerson. “Now let her go.”
Lidman’s sunken, shadowed eyes hardened. “I am not so far gone as that, Professor. You are a man of your word, but you would lie to save a life. We need to work out the details of our agreement, is it not so? One of you must accompany me to the railroad station and go with me to Cairo.”
“Hmmm.” Emerson rubbed his chin. “I see several difficulties in that scheme, Lidman. I could get you past the police at the railroad station and onto the train, but you aren’t fool enough to suppose you can keep me under control during the entire journey, even with a knife in my ribs. I’d have you flat on your back before we reached Qena.”
“Good Lord, Professor,” Bertie cried. “Why are you arguing on his side? Look here, I’ll go with him.”
Emerson shot him a look that silenced him. I knew, of course, what Emerson was doing. Lidman’s offer had not been serious. We were in the first stage of negotiations. But they could not go on long, not with two impulsive young persons involved. Jumana’s eyes were closed and she leaned against her captor. She was going to do something foolish, I knew it, and if she didn’t, Bertie would.
“Mrs. Emerson will accompany me,” Lidman said.
“No, she won’t,” said Emerson. “Not,” he added, with a nod at me,