The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog - Elizabeth Peters [113]
Emerson stood over me, arms folded, eyebrows elevated. He was clad in one of the loose Egyptian robes.
“Where have you been?” I cried, surprise overcoming my awareness of the fact that this question would only elicit a sarcastic and uninformative reply.
“Out,” said Emerson. “Now I propose to go in, if I may impose on you to get out of my way.”
“Certainly,” I said, stepping back.
“Good night,” said Emerson, opening the door.
He had entered—preceded by the cat—and slammed the door before I could reply, but not before I had observed that the bandage, which had covered half his face, had been reduced to a patch only three inches square. It had been very neatly done, so I knew he had not done it. The person responsible must have had slim, deft fingers.
Our messenger left before dawn to catch the train to Cairo. Cyrus had suggested we send one of his men instead of Selim, and I was glad to accept the offer. I would need every loyal man from now on if Emerson carried out his scheme of working in the wadi.
When we assembled for breakfast I studied my companions with the interest of a general taking stock of her forces. The countenances of Charles and René aroused some concern; the combination of sunken eyes and faint smiles was highly suspicious. However, the recuperative powers of the young are great, and I did not doubt they would respond to my orders with vigor and alacrity.
I had not yet accustomed myself to seeing Cyrus without his beard, but I approved the change; I have always thought a goatee a particularly ridiculous form of facial adornment. As always, he looked fresh and alert.
Need I remark that my eyes lingered longest on the face of Emerson? I was pleased to observe that he had shaved that morning; I had expected he would let his beard grow again in order to annoy me. The exposed, shallowest part of the knife wound seemed to be healing nicely. One long strip of sticking plaster adorned the noble curve of his nose, but the cleft in his chin was visible to my admiring eyes. His mouth was visible as well; as he met my gaze the corners compressed in an expression that aroused the direst of forebodings, but he did not speak.
I had no proof that he had been with Bertha. I had not inquired. I preferred not to inquire.
When she joined us on the deck I observed that she had made a slight alteration in her attire. Her robe was the same discreet black, but the veil now covered only the lower part of her face, and it was of filmy, almost transparent fabric, through which the rounded contours of her cheeks and the delicate shape of her nose could be seen. The swelling seemed to have disappeared, and though she kept them modestly lowered, her long-lashed dark eyes were clear.
Some authorities claim that charms half-hidden are the most seductive. Bertha’s veiled charms certainly seemed to have a powerful effect on René. (French gentlemen are particularly susceptible, according to those same authorities.) His chivalrous instincts had already been touched by her sad story; on several occasions he had approached her to offer the support of his arm or the consolation of a friendly greeting. As we climbed the path up from the riverbank I saw that he had relieved her of the bundle she carried, and was walking beside her.
I began to feel a certain sympathy for Emerson’s views about females on archaeological expeditions. Something would have to be done about Bertha. Even if she was victim instead of spy, she was quite capable of turning the heads of both young men, setting them one against the other, and decreasing their efficiency.
As we left the cultivated fields and set off along the desert track I saw the smoke that betokened the approach of a steamer. Not all of them stopped at Amarna, but apparently this one was about to do so.
“Confound it,” I said to Cyrus, who was at