Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [56]
“What is it now?” I demanded. “Your preoccupation arouses the direst of suspicions, Emerson. I do hope you are not planning something underhanded. If you have some idea of breaking into that tomb—”
Slowly, like a hunched vulture spreading folded wings, Emerson straightened his shoulders and got to his feet. The look he fixed on me was so dreadful, my tongue froze.
My unpredictable brother-in-law burst out laughing. “It took you long enough, I must say. I was afraid I would have to mention the possibility myself.”
“You did,” I cried, as realization dawned. “They will wait until the passage is cleared, you said. Good heavens!”
“Not a possibility,” Emerson muttered. “A probability. They will. Of course they will. And they may not be the only ones.”
“She did go straight to bed,” said Ramses, in the doorway. “So I decided to come back for…Is something wrong?”
Emerson whirled on him. “Come with me. At once.”
Accustomed though he was to his father’s eccentricities, this order caused Ramses’s dark eyes to widen and his heavy brows to rise. “Where?”
“The Valley, of course.” Emerson pushed past him. “Hurry.”
“Wait for me,” I cried, dropping my embroidery. Grinning, Sethos rose to his feet.
“Wait for me,” I repeated, this time to Ramses. Emerson had left.
I dashed down the corridor to my room. My belongings were in perfect order as always, so I was able to lay my hands on the objects I wanted without delay. My parasol, of course, and two electric torches; there was not time for a change of clothing, nor even for the assumption of my useful belt of tools. (It took a certain amount of adjustment because of the tendency of the objects hanging from it to become entangled.) Hoping I would not need it, I hastened back to the sitting room. Sethos and Ramses had obeyed my order to wait.
“Does this mean what I think it does?” Ramses demanded.
“Yes. Perhaps. Cursed if I know,” I said, rendered incoherent by confusion. Sethos had spoken of robbers attacking the tomb. Had Emerson been referring to another group of intruders?
A distant bellow from Emerson propelled us into rapid motion. “He isn’t planning to break into the tomb,” I panted, trotting to keep up with Ramses’s long strides. “At least I don’t think so. I more or less accused him of it, and he said…He said something like, ‘Of course they will, and so may others.’”
“Damnation,” said Ramses. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
Sethos cleared his throat in a pointed manner.
We were soon mounted and on our way. I must have made a pretty picture riding astride with the skirts of my frock hitched up to my knees and my hair coming loose from its pins. I did not allow these minor inconveniences to distract me, for I was preoccupied with what might lie ahead of us.
I hadn’t thought of it either, and I ought to have done. Of course Carter and his patron would return to the tomb under the cloak of darkness and break into the enticing chamber. Whether they had the right to do so was questionable. By Emerson’s rigid standards, no one would have set foot in that room until every angle of it had been photographed and every precaution taken to avoid damage to the artifacts. However, I could understand why Carter and Carnarvon might violate the spirit, if not the letter, of their concession. Few archaeologists could have resisted.
And they might not be the only ones. By now every man in Gurneh would have heard that magical word “gold”; indeed, Cyrus had said as much earlier that day. Tonight might be their best chance. There was nothing to prevent a break-in except the wooden grille and a single layer of stone blocks. An experienced tomb robber, of which there were many on the West Bank,