Seeing a Large Cat (35 page)

"I have a fairly good idea," said Emerson.

It was his tone of voice rather than the words themselves that brought understanding. "Emerson! Are you suggesting that Cyrus ... that Mrs. Jones... You cannot be serious!"

"He made no attempt to conceal his interest in the lady," Emerson said calmly. "And she is in a difficult position. She needs his goodwill."

"Cyrus would never take advantage of a woman in that fashion," I insisted.

"There's that lurid imagination of yours again, Peabody. Are you picturing Vandergelt twirling his mustache-stroking his goatee, rather-and hissing threats like a stage villain, while Mrs. Jones pleads with him to respect her honor?" Emerson chuckled. "You are quite right, he would not stoop to threats or blackmail; but they are two mature individuals, and I fancy she is not entirely indifferent to him."

"Nonsense, Emerson. His message said ... Hmmm. It said nothing except that he looks forward to seeing us this evening. Hmmmm."

"Save your breath, Peabody, this stretch is a bit steep." He helped me up it and then continued, "I have a few loose ends to tie up myself. You don't suppose, do you, that I will allow Bellingham to use my son as a target without registering a complaint?"

We had reached the top of the gebel. The children were some distance ahead; they stopped and looked back, to see if we were coming, and I observed that Ramses was fingering his mustache.

"The main thing," Emerson continued, "is to find Scudder, curse him. That will put an end to this nonsense. Besides, the damned fellow is interfering with my work."

"How are you planning to go about it?" I inquired.

"I have given it some thought. Using Miss Dolly as a decoy does not appear to have been very effective, and although she is a singularly silly young woman one would not want to see her injured."

"One would not want to see anyone injured," I said with considerable emphasis. "Including you, my dear."

"If I could think how to transfer his attentions to me, without putting you and the children at risk, I would do it," Emerson admitted. "At the moment I cannot."

"Thank heaven for that." We began the descent into the valley and Emerson fell silent. I knew what he was thinking. My mind was bent on the same thing, but I was equally at a loss for a solution. Inviting Dolly to stay with us might lure Scudder into our hands, but there was risk to all of us in that scheme, and there was an equal risk that sheer exasperation would inspire someone, possibly me, to murder Dolly before Scudder got to her.

As in the past, I began to pin my hopes on Abdullah. I had asked him to make inquiries about strangers in Luxor, and about tomb Twenty-A, but I had not had the opportunity to talk with him since. A council of war was what we needed. It was too late to keep the children out of it. They were already in, deeper than I would have liked.

But when we reached the tomb we found Abdullah lying unconscious on the ground and two of the other men being tended by their companions. The ceiling of the passage had collapsed.

Chapter Twelve

These hired thugs are never reliable.

Is anyone else down there?" was Emerson's first question.

"No, Father of Curses." Selim, Abdullah's youngest and most beloved son, knelt by his father. He had removed his gal-abeeyah and folded it under the old man's head.

"How long has he been unconscious?" Nefret asked, taking Abdullah's hand.

"It happened just before you came." Selim gave me a look of appeal. He adored Nefret, as did all the men-but I was the Sitt Hakim, and I had tended their hurts for many years. Though I knew she was as capable as I, I felt I must respond to that appeal.

She understood. "His pulse is steady," she reported, moving aside to let me take her place.

"He was only knocked unconscious," I said confidently. Abdullah was beginning to stir, and I know that the patient's own belief can do more for him than any physician. "Turbans are very useful articles of attire; his has saved him from more serious injury."

Emerson had gone to have a look at Ali and Yussuf. He came trotting back. "How is he?" he asked anxiously.

"Just a knock on the head," I said even more firmly.

Abdullah's eyes had opened. He let out a sigh when he saw me, and then he looked up at Emerson.

"My head," he said faintly. "It is only my head, Father of Curses."

Emerson's worried face smoothed out and then creased again into a hideous scowl. "It is the hardest part of you. I told you the ceiling needed to be braced. What the devil happened?"

"It was my fault," said Abdullah.

"No," said Emerson. "It was mine. I ought to have been here." His voice deepened into a growl. "Lie still, you stubborn old fool, or I will have Selim hold you down. Peabody?"

In fact, the damage was not much worse than I had stated. He would have a number of painful bruises on his back and shoulders, but the turban had probably saved him from a severe concussion. He had a large bump on his cranium, however, so I said, "I would rather he did not move for a while. David, can you and Selim lift him, very gently, and carry him into the shade?"

We got him settled comfortably on a blanket, and I left David and Nefret to keep him company-and, as I instructed David, to sit on his head if he did not obey orders. Emerson and Ramses had already gone down into the tomb with Selim; I inspected our other wounded with my ears pricked for the dread sound of another rockfall. Ali and Yussuf were not much hurt. Abdullah must have been the first into the dangerous section, and the last to leave. It was what I would have expected of him.

Before long the three returned. I was waiting for them at the entrance.

"Well?" I said. "How bad is it?"

"Could be worse," Emerson grunted. "How is Abdullah?"

We went to join the others. Nefret was holding a wet cloth to Abdullah's head. Hands folded on his chest, face set in the too familiar expression of a man enduring female foolishness only because he must, Abdullah said irritably, "I will go back to work now, Father of Curses. Tell Nur Misur to let me up."

"No one is going back to work for a while," Emerson said, sitting down and crossing his legs. "I have sent Selim to bring beams to brace the ceiling."

"But after a few more feet the tafl ends," Abdullah protested. "I was careless, yes, but it was because I could see good stone and open space ahead. The passage is only half-filled with rubble, there is room to get through."

"Oh?" Emerson caught himself. "Well. We will see it tomorrow, after we have built supports for the rotten section. Stop squirming, Abdullah, there is no use fighting the ladies."

"Quite right," I said. "I don't think you have concussion, Abdullah, but I want to be certain-and I am sure you must have the devil of a headache. I have been wanting to talk with you anyhow. It is time we had a council of war!"

"Ah," said Abdullah. He rolled his eyes toward Ramses, who had seated himself on the ground next to David. "What happened to you, my son?"

It was Ramses who replied, accepting the affectionate form of address and responding in kind. "It is part of the story I promised to tell you, my father."

"When did you do that?" I demanded in surprise.

Ramses glanced at me. He had spoken Arabic to Abdullah, and he continued in the same language. "Though he was too courteous to say so, Abdullah had wondered why he had seen so little of David. I told him we were on the trail of the man who had killed the dead lady, and that I needed David to- er-protect me."

"That is as it should be," Abdullah said.

"Hmph," I said. "Well, Abdullah, now we need you. We have discovered that the murderer was for a time disguised as a tourist, but he cannot play that part any longer. He must have been here in Luxor for some years-"

"Yes, Sitt Hakim, we talked of that before," Abdullah said.

"You also discussed it with the Father of Curses, I believe."

"I have discussed it with many people," said Abdullah. If a wrinkled, dignified old man could look demure, that was how he looked.

"Ramses and David too?" I exclaimed.

"And Nur Misur." Abdullah's lips parted in a broad smile. "All of you came to me. All of you said, 'Do not tell the others.'"

"Oh, dear," I said, unable to keep my face straight. "How absurdly we have behaved! Well, Abdullah, the need for your well-known discretion is at an end. Cards on the table, as Mr. Vandergelt would say! What have you found out?"

Abdullah was enjoying himself so much, I believe he had forgot about his headache. His narrative was somewhat long and literary, but I had not the heart to interrupt him. He had every right to be pleased with himself.

He had narrowed the suspects down to four. All had come to Luxor approximately five years earlier; all had worked as guides or gaffirs or diggers in the Valley; all lived in Gurneh or one of the nearby villages; and all, said Abdullah with a significant glance at me, lived alone.

I had not thought of that as a criterion. It was true, though; if Dutton had taken an Egyptian wife and raised a brood of Egyptian children, it would have made concealment of his identity virtually impossible.

"Good work, Abdullah," I declared. "Now we must interview these men."

"That is not so easy, Sitt," Abdullah replied. "They are not settled persons. They do not stay in the same place or work at the same job for long. They have no friends, no wives, no- er-"

"Of course," Emerson said thoughtfully. "That is precisely why they are suspects-because they are men of a certain type. Too lazy or too undependable to keep a position, solitary by nature, unable or unwilling to make friends."

"And," Ramses added, stroking his mustache, "though Abdullah's criteria were logical, they do not exclude all other possibilities. Scudder may have moved away from the Gurneh area after he finished interring the lady. We don't know how well he speaks Arabic; if he has gained native fluency, he might risk making friends or acquiring-er-"

"Hmph," I said. "That is true, Ramses, but it is deuced discouraging."

"There was another thing you asked me to find out," said Abdullah. "None of those I questioned admitted to knowing of this tomb. I do not think they were lying."

"No reason why they should," Emerson said. "What about the men who worked for Loret hi ninety-eight?"

"Ah." Abdullah nodded. "I wondered if you had thought of that, Emerson."

"The former director of the Antiquities Service?" Nefret asked. "Why did you think of him?"

Ramses got in ahead of his father. "His methods were careless in the extreme. He had his people digging random pits looking for tomb entrances, and often he was absent from the excavations. Even at the tune there were rumors that the men had found a number of tombs they never reported to him."

"The stories were true," Abdullah said. "Those tombs were looted of what little they contained, and filled in again while Loret Effendi was away from the Valley. But there is no secret about those tombs among the men of Gurneh; they would have told me of this one if they had known of it."

"Still, one of Loret's workmen might have found it," I said. "And not told the others."

"Only if that workman was Dutton Scudder," Ramses said.

"Why not?" Nefret demanded. "We agreed he must-oh, very well, Professor, might-have lived as an Egyptian during those years; why not as one of M. Loret's workers?"

Emerson shook his head. "That line of inquiry is not likely to be very productive. Over the years in question Loret employed dozens of men, and if he kept pay records, which I doubt, they will have long since vanished. Ah well, the questions had to be asked. Abdullah, you have done well. Go home and rest now. I will find a carriage-"

Abdullah set up such an outcry at this that we were forced to let him have his way. He was persuaded to return to Gurneh when Emerson pointed out he could continue his detectival inquiries there, but he insisted indignantly that he could walk and would walk. None of the symptoms I feared were apparent, so we let him go, with Mustafa and Daoud to accompany him. Daoud, Abdullah's nephew, was the largest and strongest of the men. He was also in considerable awe of me and my magical powers; after I had taken him aside and told him he must send someone for me at once if there was any change in Abdullah's condition, I knew I could depend on him to watch the old man closely.

"Now then," said Emerson after the little party had gone, "back to work, eh?"

"For pity's sake, Emerson!" I exclaimed. "You said no one was going back in there until you-"

"Made certain it was safe," Emerson interrupted. "That is what I intend to do now." He looked at Ibrahim, our most experienced carpenter, who grinned cheerfully back at him. "I wanted Abdullah away from here before we began," Emerson continued. "Someone would have to sit on his head to keep him from going back inside, and he was not fit Leave off grumbling at me, Peabody, I will take care."

"At least put on your pith helmet," I said, handing it to him.

"Oh. Yes, certainly." Emerson clapped it on his head. I took it off, adjusted the chin strap, and fixed the hat firmly in place.

Naturally I felt obliged to assess the situation for myself, and Emerson overruled my objections when Nefret demanded to go along.

"I would rather neither of you came," he said. "But what is sauce for the goose is sauce for-er-another goose."

The descent confirmed my initial impression that this was not going to be one of my favorite tombs. We had already been forced to brace the ceiling in one place, and by the time we reached the place where the passage levelled off, I was soaked with perspiration. The candles burned low; we were within a few feet of the rockfall before I saw it, a sharp slope of rotten gray shale, splintered and tumbled. One of the pickaxes lay on the floor where Ali or Yussuf had dropped it as they fled.

"What a horrid place!" said Nefret. She sounded quite cheerful, though, and the candle she carried illumined a face bright with satisfaction under the dust that smeared it. Ramses, shoulders hunched and head drawn in like a turtle's, moved up to stand beside her. I had not seen him follow Nefret, but I ought to have expected he would be unable to stay out of the place.

Emerson was conferring with Ibrahim. With a murmured apology Ramses slipped past me, and Emerson turned to include him in the discussion. Finally Emerson said, "Yes, that should do it. Go back up, Ibrahim, and get started."

Then, to my horror and alarm, he picked up the ax and began prying at a slab of rock atop the slope.

"Emerson!" I cried-softly, however, since I did not like the echo in that gloomy place.

Slowly and cautiously Emerson slid the piece of rock out. Its removal dislodged a number of smaller bits that rolled onto the floor and the boots of my husband and son, but nothing fell from the ceiling. As yet.

"Keep quiet, Peabody," said Emerson irritably. He began pulling away more rubble. "There is often a faint scraping sound when the rock is about to give, and I cannot hear when you moan that way."

Nefret was standing beside me now. She put a hot, sticky, filthy hand on my shoulder. In the dusty mask of her face her eyes shone bright as stars. "He knows what he is doing," she whispered.

Emerson usually does know what he is doing-with regard to excavation, at least-and my fears for him lessened a trifle as I observed the delicacy of his touch and the caution he exhibited. He was doing what the men would have to do; it was noblesse oblige that moved him to take on that dangerous task. It was also curiosity. When he had opened a sufficient space between the sagging ceiling and the top of the rubble, he thrust the candle, and his head, through.

"Hmph," he said.

I bit my lip till I tasted blood. I wanted to scream at him, but I knew that would not be wise. When he drew back and handed Ramses the candle, inviting him with a gesture to have a look for himself, I did not want to scream at him. I wanted to murder him.

Luckily I did not scream or moan. I do not know what Emerson heard; the sound was too faint for my ears to catch. With a shout of "Watch out, Peabody!" he caught hold of Ramses and with a heave of his mighty arms sent him staggering backward.

With an answering shout that was drowned out by the crash of falling rock, I dashed forward. Ramses's candle had gone out. I had dropped mine. I could see nothing but darkness. I collided with Ramses, who tried to hold on to me; pulling away, I plummeted into a hard, warm, familiar surface.

"Ah," said Emerson. "I thought I might run into you just about here. Light another candle, will you, Nefret? Ramses-all right, are you?"

"Damn you, Emerson," I gasped, running frantic hands over the parts of him I could reach.

"Tsk, tsk, such language! We may as well get out of here. I have learned what I wanted to know."

I had to save my breath for climbing. The speech I composed along the way was never delivered, however, for the first person I saw when I emerged into the soi-disant "burial chamber" was Colonel Bellingham.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs, his stick in one hand and his hat in the other, and even his well-bred countenance showed evidence of astonishment when he saw us.