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“Hire the honest ones, then,” said Emerson impatiently. “Why the devil can’t you use a little initiative instead of depending on my advice for everything?”

Naturally I paid no attention to Emerson’s attempt to divide our forces. “If you want to concentrate on the royal tomb, then let us concentrate,” I said firmly. “In addition to the tasks you mentioned this morning, we ought to make a more accurate plan of the entire tomb and copy the remaining reliefs. Bouriant’s copies are invaluable because they show sections that have now disappeared, but they are not entirely accurate, and—”

“Damn it, woman, don’t lecture me!” Emerson bellowed. He fumbled at his chin. Finding no beard on which to tug, he rubbed the member in question until it turned pink. “I intended, of course, to do all the things you gratuitously suggested. Since you anticipated me, you may have the pleasure of copying the reliefs.”

I felt certain I knew what had motivated this suggestion. He was getting even with me for the beard. The inner chambers of the tomb were as hot as the pits of the infernal regions.

“Certainly,” I said calmly. “What method had you in mind? Dry squeezes or tracings?”

“Both,” said Emerson, his lips curving in an expression that hardly deserved to be called a smile. “I want every scratch on those walls recorded. One technique may show details the other missed. After you have compared the two and made a master drawing, you will take it back into the tomb and check it against the wall itself. You may have René to assist you. Begin in room E and make sure you cover every inch of every wall.”

Room E was the burial chamber—the deepest, most remote, hottest part of the tomb.

“Certainly,” I said again. Emerson went off, smirking. While he was haranguing the men on how he wanted them to proceed, I took Abdullah aside.

“I don’t know what he is up to, Abdullah, but he has just ordered me into the deepest and most distant part of the tomb, where I can’t keep an eye on him. He has not said what he means to do, but I fear the worst. I rely on you, my friend. Watch him! Don’t let him wander off alone.”

“Have no fear, Sitt. Since the last time he eluded us I have made sure someone watches over him even when he sleeps, or seems to sleep. He will not escape us again.”

“Excellent. I trust you as I would myself.”

I was turning away when the old man said hesitatingly, “Sitt Hakim…”

“Yes, Abdullah?”

“I would not have you think your safety is a lesser matter to us.”

“You need not tell me that, old friend,” I said warmly. “You and I understand one another’s hearts, I think. We both know that the Father of Curses is in greater need of protection than I; he is the bravest of men, but he does take foolish chances.” Adjusting my belt, I added, “I can take care of myself.”

Abdullah’s bearded lips quivered. “Yes, Sitt. But I hope I do not offend if I say that as you trust in me, I trust in the rich American who is also your friend. He will not let harm come to you if he can prevent it.”

“Mr. Vandergelt is a true friend,” I said. “We are fortunate to have such loyal friends—and you chief among them, Abdullah.”

The courtesies and the dictates of affection having been satisfied, Abdullah set off in pursuit of Emerson and I found René and instructed him to gather our equipment.

Cyrus of course offered to assist me, but I could see he was not interested in such painstaking, plodding work—nor had he the training for it. When I assured him I would get on very well without him he did not insist. He already had his eye on a pile of debris across the wadi, near the place where other explorers, including Emerson, had found evidence of a possible tomb opening, and I could see he was itching to start digging.

René and I carried our rolls of paper and pencils down the long shafts and stairs, over the half-filled shaft (which had been bridged by planks) and down a short ramp into the burial chamber.

It was about thirty feet on either side (10.36