Seeing a Large Cat (18 page)

I believe Emerson was the only one of us who anticipated what we were about to see. He was the only one who had handled the body-who had been, one might say, face-to-face with it. Now he selected a pair of sharp scissors from the implements he had laid ready and with a steady hand inserted one of the blades under the edge of the gauzy fabric that covered the face.

"Observe," he said in the dispassionate tones of a lecturer on anatomy, "that the mask is held in place by strips of cloth passed round the head and knotted behind it. We will preserve the knots; they may be significant. Now then-"

He had cut round the entire oval of the face. Putting the scissors down, he took hold of the fabric with his fingertips, one hand on either side of the face, and with the utmost care, he lifted it up.

It was a mask, stiffened and shaped. The delicate features were fabric, not flesh.

If I had seen a face like that one in a painted coffin or stone sarcophagus, I would have thought it quite well preserved- much more sightly than many a mummy I have beheld. The nose had not been flattened by tight bandages, the cheeks were sunken but undistorted, the color of the skin was yellow, not brown. The withered eyelids were closed. But the dried skin had drawn up into thousands of tiny wrinkles, and the lips had shrunk and pulled back over the front teeth. That dry, dead face in its nest of fair hair was one of the most horrible sights I have ever beheld.

"I wonder what Mr. Fraser would say if he saw this."

Ramses's cool, clinical voice broke the spell. Drawing a deep breath, I concealed my unprofessional feelings with an equally cool response. "Are you suggesting we invite him for a viewing?"

"Good Gad, no!" Emerson exclaimed. "How can you think of Fraser at such a time? We have a much more serious problem to contend with. What do you say, Vandergelt? Do you recognize her?"

Cyrus, who had been staring at the dreadful face, raised horrified eyes. "Holy Jehosaphat, Emerson, how could anybody recognize that? I only met the lady a couple of times. Good gracious to goodness, her own husband wouldn't know her!"

"Let us hope it won't come to that," Howard said earnestly. He was standing next to Nefret, and he must have put a steadying arm round her waist-as any gentleman might do- for she glanced at him with a faint smile.

"Thank you, Mr. Carter, but I am not in the least danger of swooning."

Howard flushed, and Ramses, arms folded and brows raised, said, "There are other, more accurate methods of identification. What do you think of the teeth, Nefret?"

"I am trying not to think of them." But professional interest overcame girlish qualms; she moved closer to the table and bent forward. "The incisors appear to be unworn, with no signs of decay, but as you know perfectly well, Ramses, only a full dental examination could give any indication of her age."

"There are no scars or visible wounds, and no broken bones," I said. "Not in the face. Unless the skull-"

"I regret having to inform you," said Emerson, "that the skull is intact. I made certain of that when I lifted her-it."

"That appears to be all we can learn from the head, then," I said briskly. "Proceed, Emerson."

Emerson picked up the scissors. Cyrus said uneasily, "It don't seem right for us men to look at the poor creature."

"Turn your back, then," said Emerson, cutting delicately. "But I think the outer wrapping is only one of several. In deference to your sensibilities, Vandergelt, and in accordance with proper methodology, I will try to remove them layer by layer. Ah, yes. As I suspected.. . ."

Emerson's big brown hands can, when the situation requires it, exhibit a delicacy of touch equal to or exceeding mine. Not a crack or a tear marred the pale blue silk when he folded it back. Under it was not the layer of bandages one finds on an ancient mummy, but a shroudlike wrapping, yellowed and spotted with ugly brown stains.

"Rust," I said.

"Not blood?" my son inquired.

"No. Such stains result when damp fabric is in prolonged contact with metal-hooks and eyes and other fasteners, for example. This wrapping, gentlemen, was a lady's petticoat."

"But it covers all of her, from neck to heels," Cyrus objected.

"There may be as many as eight yards of cloth in a petticoat," I explained. "Gathered to a waistband which has, in this case, been cut off. You can still see the gathering threads"- I pointed-"here and again here. It has been opened up and wrapped round her like a shroud. The material is the finest cambric-cotton to you, gentlemen-and it shows no signs of wear."

"He used her own clothing," Howard muttered. He passed his handkerchief over his wet forehead. "I don't know why that should be so horrible, but..."

"Come, come, Carter, get a grip on yourself," Emerson said with a scornful look at the young man. "Peabody, is it not customary for ladies to sew a nametag or inscribe their initials on a garment before it is sent to the laundry?"

"I don't know how you would know that, since it is I who take the responsibility for doing the same for your shirts and underclothing," I replied. "You are correct, however. In this case the name would probably have been on the waistband. Could it have been removed in order to conceal her identity?"

"We will see," said Emerson.

Layer after layer of cloth was cut through and folded back. There were ten of them in all, each finer than the last, trimmed with filmy lace and broderie anglaise. The final wrapping was of muslin almost as thin as silk; that it was the last was evident to all of us, for it veiled but did not hide the angular shapes beneath it. Emerson reached again for the scissors. His long, large, but sensitive fingers rested for a moment on the bony shoulder.

"If you believe you ought to cover your eyes, Vandergelt, now is the time," he said, and began to cut.

It was not a naked corpse that lay exposed when he drew the last wrapping aside. It was worse-a caricature of coquetry and beauty, a vicious commentary on woman's vanity. These garments had been designed not to conceal, but to suggest and invite. Of the sheerest shell-pink silk, they showed every ugly outline of bone and rope-thin muscle. Frills of transparent lace framed the shoulders, once white and sweetly rounded, now hard as old leather. The arms had been arranged in a position familiar to me from ancient examples, drawn down and across the abdomen, with the hands modestly covering the juncture of thighs and body.

Cyrus turned away with a muffled oath, and Nefret's eyes were wide with pity and horror. Even Emerson hesitated, the scissors in his hand motionless over the body.

It was the hand of Ramses that drew the flimsy fabric carefully aside. Between the withered breasts the skin was marked by a deep, dark scar.

"This is how she died," he said. "A sharp blade made this incision; it must have penetrated her heart. The wound has been sewn together with ordinary thread. Could it have come from her own sewing kit?"

His dispassionate voice challenged me to match it. I leaned over the body for a closer examination. "A wealthy lady does not mend her own clothing. This appears to be white cotton thread, too coarse for delicate fabrics like silk and muslin."

"Enough," Emerson broke in. He drew a sheet over the body. "We have learned all we need to know. You were right, Peabody, confound you. No accident could have produced such a wound. It was made by a large, heavy knife in the hand of a man familiar with such weapons. Now what the devil do we do?"

We restored Cyrus with several stiff whiskeys, which he took neat, American style. We had retreated to the verandah, as far from the poor remains as we could get; the more air the better, was how I felt. The brilliant stars of Egypt, serene and remote, were salutary reminders of the brevity of human life and the promise of immortality.

Sipping my own whiskey, I remarked, "It is in your hands now, Howard. As inspector for Upper Egypt-"

"No, ma'am, Mrs. Emerson," Howard protested. "This is out of my jurisdiction, and that of the local police. It is a matter for the British authorities. Whoever that poor woman may have been, she was not Egyptian."

"Oh, it is Mrs. Bellingham," I said, "There can be no doubt of it. I don't know her first name, but the initials embroidered on the hem of her-er-lower garment were LB."

David cleared his throat. "Those garments-were they the usual. . . Are they the sort of thing ladies . . . But perhaps I should not ask."

"That is quite all right, David," I said, gratified to discover that he was ignorant of such matters. "Without going into improper and irrelevant detail, I should explain that well-bred ladies ordinarily prefer to wear undergarments that-er-offer more protection against the elements, and require less effort in laundering."

"Oh," said David in a voice that indicated bewilderment rather than comprehension.

"She means," said Ramses, a dark silhouette against the moonlit sand, "that those particular articles of clothing are thinner and less practical than cotton or woollen undergarments, as well as much more expensive. They belonged to a young, wealthy woman who followed the latest fashions. Older ladies are more conservative." "And how do you know that?" I demanded. "It is an accurate analysis, is it not, Mother?" "Yes, but how-"

Ramses continued without pausing. "The point, David, is that he-whoever he was-must have removed her clothing and then dressed her again after the process of desiccation was complete. The liquids that drain from the body during the process of mummification would have left stains-"

Nefret interrupted him with a sound that can only be reproduced, and that inadequately, as "Ugh." "We are all familiar with the process, my boy," Emerson said. "Yes, but how was it done?" Howard asked. "We know how the Egyptians mummified their dead, but I did not observe an incision."

"Neither did I," said Emerson. "The ancient procedures were not followed in this case. The body was wrapped, not bandaged, and apparently the internal organs and the brain were not removed. A closer examination would certainly tell us more, but even if I were inclined to make such an examination, I cannot in conscience do so. I will telegraph Cairo in the morning. Good night, Vandergelt. Good night, Carter."

166

Our friends were accustomed to Emerson's little ways. Cyrus drained his glass and rose. "I'll go with you to Luxor. What time?"

They settled on an hour and our friends took their departure, Howard apologizing for bis inability to take any further part in the proceedings. There had been an outbreak of tomb robbing at Kom Ombo, which was part of his jurisdiction, and he was obliged to leave at dawn.

"You are not going to the dahabeeyah tonight, I hope," I said to Ramses. "It is very late, and you should go to bed."

"I am not going to the dahabeeyah tonight," Ramses said. "But I am not going to bed just yet."

"What are you-" I began.

Emerson took me by the arm. "Come along, Peabody."

So the rest of us retired, leaving Ramses perched on the ledge like a brooding vulture.

Emerson tried to creep out of the house without me next morning, but since I had anticipated he would, I was ready for him. He stumbles over things quite a lot in the process of coming fully awake.

"It is Friday," I reminded him, when he informed me I could not go to Luxor with him. "The men won't be working today, so what is the point of going to the Valley?"

"There is plenty to do here," Emerson grunted, lacing his boots.

"What?"

"Er-cleaning. You are always wanting to clean things." My expression warned him this argument was not going to carry any weight. "Photographs," he said wildly. "The plates we took yesterday-"

"Developing the photographic plates is Nefret's job, as you know perfectly well. She can't do it today, though, not with that body in the darkroom."

"Oh, curse it," said Emerson. "I suppose no one can do anything, can they? How do I get into these situations? I have always considered myself a reasonable sort of fellow-harmless, on the whole-inoffensive-kindly, even. What have I done to deserve this? Why in heaven's name am I not allowed one season, one single season of uninterrupted ..."

I left him muttering and went to see about breakfast. Anubis was in the kitchen, threatening the cook. Anubis did not scratch or bite. He did not have to. He had a stare that could be felt across the width of a room, and he was known to have commerce with evil spirits. I picked him up from the table where he was perched with his green eyes fixed on Mahmud and persuaded the latter to come out from behind the cupboard. As I carried Anubis into the parlor I heard the encouraging clatter of pots and pans and the mumbled curses of Mahmud.

"I have seen very little of you lately," I remarked, putting Anubis on the sofa and taking a seat next to him. He did not as a rule care to sit on people's laps. Ramses, who was already there, looked up from the notebook in which he was writing. "I was speaking to Anubis," I explained.

"He is avoiding Sekhmet," said Ramses. "He finds her as annoying as I do."

"How do you know?"

Ramses shrugged and returned to his scribbling.

I tried another question. "What are you writing?"

"My observations on the condition of Mrs. Bellingham's mummy. It is as close as I will ever come, I suppose, to learning what a recently preserved body looks like. We know the precise date she died, and once an autopsy has been performed-"

"Ramses, you are absolutely disgusting."

The sentiments were mine, but the voice was that of Nefret, who came in with Sekhmet draped over her shoulder like a furry scarf, and David at her heels.

"Some might consider the subject disgusting," Ramses admitted. "But if you plan to take up the study of cadavers, you ought to be more dispassionate."

"That is entirely different," Nefret said. She put the cat down on the floor. Sekhmet wandered toward Anubis, who spat at her and left the room via the open window.

"I will be back in a minute, Aunt Amelia," Nefret went on. "I want to have a look at Tetisheri."

"I suppose you are referring to the goat," I said with an involuntary glance at Ramses. "If you will forgive me for saying so, the name does not seem particularly appropriate."