Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [50]
“No signs of digging,” Emerson muttered after a time.
“Even the experienced tomb robbers of Gurneh wouldn’t tackle that,” said Sethos, hands in his pockets and eyes intent. “If any of them have illegal intentions they’ll wait until the stairs are clear and the passageway—if it is a passageway—is open.”
“Is that what you would do?” Ramses inquired, his voice carefully neutral.
“It is what any sensible individual would do. Why go through all that hard manual labor, with very little chance of doing it unobserved, when you aren’t certain that it would be worth the effort?”
The tomb robbers of Gurneh were not always sensible. But Sethos was.
Carnarvon and Lady Evelyn arrived in Luxor on the twenty-third. We were in the West Valley, completing the clearance of Ay’s burial chamber—all of us except Sethos and Daoud. Sethos had shown signs of fatigue so I had insisted he rest. Daoud ought to have been with us; the fact that Emerson did not ask about him ought to have given me a hint about his activities. When he turned up we heard him coming long before he appeared, his large sandals rhythmically slapping the ground.
“They have gone to the tomb,” he panted. “Straight from the train.”
“Well, of course,” said Emerson. “Who could blame them?”
“Is it Lord Carnarvon and his daughter of whom you speak?” I asked. “See here, Emerson, I won’t have you haring off to the East Valley today.”
“Would I do that?” Emerson gave me a look of injured innocence. After a moment he added, “Tomorrow will be soon enough. It will take several days to clear the steps again.”
There was no restraining him. And I will admit, to the Reader, that my interest was almost as keen as his. After two weeks of uncertainty we were within a few days of learning the truth. I could only imagine the state Howard must be in. Really, we owed it to him to express our support and friendship, particularly if, as was likely, the tomb proved to be empty.
I did manage to convince Emerson he should wait until a reasonable hour next morning, pointing out that it would not be proper to anticipate the arrival of Lord Carnarvon, who would probably not be early. However, I had underestimated Carnarvon’s zeal. When we arrived—Ramses and Nefret, Sethos, Emerson and I—he and Lady Evelyn were on the scene, watching the workmen remove the debris under Howard’s direction.
George Edward Stanhope Molyneux Herbert, Fifth Earl of Carnarvon, was of medium height and slight build, with features which one could only call unmemorable. His eyes were pale and his complexion, marred by the scars of smallpox, unhealthy. He had not been a well man since a serious motor accident some years earlier, though wintering in Egypt had improved his health (and aroused his interest in Egyptology).
I had met the young lady once before and found her somewhat silly and frivolous—a typical example of the young female aristocrat—but I had to admit she knew how to dress. Her skirt was mid-calf length and her laced shoes had low heels. However, they had been died saffron to match her sport suit and she wore a jaunty bow at her throat, of the same brown as her stylish toque.
“We dropped by to welcome you back to Luxor,” said Emerson, wringing Carnarvon’s hand. “And congratulate you.”
“You think it looks promising, then?” Carnarvon asked eagerly.
“Too soon to tell,” Emerson said. “You haven’t uncovered the lower part of the door yet.”
“Don’t be such a killjoy, Professor Emerson,” the young lady exclaimed. “It’s all so frightfully thrilling! Pups is frightfully bucked up.” She squeezed her father’s arm. Emerson winced. He detests coy nicknames.
“That is right,” I said. “Always look on the bright side. Is there anything we can do to assist? Our son, as you know, is expert in the Egyptian language.”
Howard came forward and Lady Evelyn turned a bright, admiring smile on him. Howard swelled up like a pouter pigeon. “I believe I can claim to have the ability to carry