The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog (29 page)

had taken off my boots and jacket and my belt of accounterments before retiring. The boots, at least, I must reassume before proceeding to investigate. Not only was the ground uneven and painful to stockinged feet, but there were scorpions and other stinging creatures to be avoided.
I was still fumbling for my boots— for I did not deem it expedient to strike a light— when I heard a soft rattle of pebbles from without, and realized that a similar sound must have alerted my sleepless sentinel. An animal might have caused it, or a man abroad on some harmless errand. But I thought not. Leaping
to my feet, I promptly fell flat onto the floor— or, to be more accurate, onto Bertha's cot. The sudden impact was too much for the frail structure, it collapsed, with Bertha still on it.
Though I had not planned it that way, the incident had the desired effect, i.e., to alarm the camp.
My startled shout was answered by a louder cry. Rocks crunched and rolled under running feet. A shot rang out.
I managed to extract myself from the mass of tumbled blankets and bits of broken cot Bertha had not stirred. If I had had any doubts about being drugged, her immobility would have removed them, normal sleep would surely have been interrupted by the collapse of the bed and the impact of my body. First I located my parasol, then, finding my knees were still too unsteady to permit a more erect posture, I crawled toward the entrance of the tent. When I raised the flap the first thing my hazed eyes beheld
was a gigantic firefly, wavering back and forth in drunken flight. With some effort I focused my vision. The light was that of a lantern. Emerson was holding it.  Seeing me he said, "Hell and damnation!" but
he said no more, for his knees buckled and he sat down suddenly on the ground— on a sharp rock, to judge by the equally profane outcry that followed.

*  *  *

"It is most interesting," I remarked somewhat later, "to observe the varying effects of a particular drug
on different people."
"Urgh," said Emerson. He had irritably refused the offer of my smelling salts, and was drinking cup
after cup of strong coffee.
"You," I continued, "may have acquired a certain immunity as a result of— er— your recent experiences. Cyrus was less affected than Rene and Charles— "
"Argh," said Cyrus.
"While Bertha was the most susceptible of all."
"Will she be all right?" Heavy-eyed and pale, Rene looked anxiously at me.
"Yes, certainly. She will have a good night's sleep, which is more than can be said of the rest of us. The guard," I continued, "appears to have been relatively unaffected. Of course we don't know how the laudanum was administered, so we cannot be certain of how much each person consumed."
"It was in the food," Emerson muttered.
"Or drink. But which dish? Everyone got some of it, not only ourselves, but the Egyptians. Even the guard admits he was dozing when he heard me cry out. The question is one of some importance, you must agree, since we must determine who had the opportunity to add the opium to our food. We have
a traitor in our midst, gentlemen!"
Emerson gave me a critical look over the rim of his coffee cup. "Allowing for the excessive melodrama
of your speech patterns, Peabody, it appears you are correct. The chef is the most obvious suspect."
"Too obvious," I said. "You know how he cooks— pots simmering for hours on a fire, out in the open, with people constantly coming and going— and staying to gossip. We must interrogate the servants— "
"Rot," Emerson growled. "There is no way we can determine who is responsible for this. The filthy
stuff may have been added to one of the water jars before we ever left the village. Anyone could have done it." His eyes raked the watching faces with sapphirine intensity, and he repeated with slow
emphasis, "Anyone."
Charles immediately looked so guilty, my old friend Inspector Cuff would have arrested him on the
spot. It led to a strong presumption of his innocence.
But after we had finally dispersed I asked myself what I really knew about the two young archaeologists. Rene had been with Cyrus for several years, but even old acquaintance could not clear a man of
suspicion in this case. The lure of treasure and of discovery is strong enough to seduce those of weak character. Aside from our men from Aziyeh, there were only three who could be considered above suspicion: Emerson, Cyrus and myself. As for Bertha . . Her drug-induced sleep was genuine. I had applied a number of tests, the results of which left no doubt in my mind. But only the stupidest of conspirators would fail to include himself— or herself— among the victims in such a case. I did not
think Bertha was that stupid.

*  *  *

In the clear light of morning we were able to determine that only the area near my tent showed signs of uninvited guests. The partial prints of bare feet were visible in two places where none of our men had
trod.
When we started out for the royal wadi, Cyrus was carrying a rifle. Emerson's eyebrows climbed when
he saw it, but he made no objection, even when Cyrus said coolly, "Don't get het up if you see someone above, on the plateau. I sent a couple of my boys up there to keep a lookout."
Like Cyrus, I had determined to take a few precautions of my own. Over Emerson's violent objections (which I of course ignored) to the depletion of his work force, I had stationed Selim, Abdullah's youngest son, at the far end of the main wadi. Selim was Ramses's particular friend, a handsome boy barely sixteen years of age. Knowing the foolhardy courage of youth, I had been reluctant to assign him to this particular task, I only did so after Abdullah assured me that both he and Selim would feel dishonored if his offer were refused. I cautioned the boy as emphatically as I was able that his role was that of an observer only, and that he would fail in that role if he went on the attack. "Stay in hiding," I instructed him. "Fire a warning shot to alert us if you see anything that arouses your suspicions, but do not shoot at anyone.
If you will not swear by the Prophet to obey my order, Selim, I will send someone else."
His big brown long-lashed eyes wide and candid, Selim swore. I did not like the loving way he handled the rifle, but with Abdullah beaming with paternal pride, I felt I had little choice I only hoped that if he
did shoot someone, it would be Mohammed and not the reporter from the
London Times.
Or even Kevin O'Connell. It was he whom I expected, of course. I was only surprised he had not succeeded in tracking us down before this.
When we returned to camp that evening, after grueling hours in the heat and dry air of the burial chamber, I found Selim waiting. I had ordered him to come back and report to me at sunset. Not even
to protect Emerson would I have allowed such an excitable lad to stay in his dangerous post after dark, when, as all Egyptians knew, demons and afreets came out of hiding. Selim's face was rapt with awe.
He could hardly wait to tell me his news.
"He came, Sitt, as you foretold he would— the man himself, the very one you described to me. Truly you are the greatest of magicians! He said he had not told you of his coming. He said you would be glad to see him, though. He said he was a friend He said— "
"He tried to persuade— or bribe?— you to let him pass," I said, thereby increasing my reputation for supernatural powers in the eyes of the innocent youth. "Did he send a message, as I— as my magic— foretold he would?"
"The Sitt knows all and sees all," Selim said reverently
"Thank you, Selim," I said, taking the folded paper he handed me. "Now rest. You have done a man's work today."
Bertha had waked in the morning without ill effect, though she had been drowsy and sluggish all day.
She had gone straight to our tent when we returned, but when I entered she rose and glided out. I did
not attempt to detain her. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I unfolded the note, which appeared to have been composed on the spot, for the writing was so uneven the paper must have been resting upon
a rocky surface. That difficulty had not restrained Kevin's tendency toward verbosity or dimmed his ebullient Irish spirits.
After the usual florid compliments he went on:

I look forward with a delight I cannot express in mere words to renewing my acquaintance with such admired friends as you and the Professor, and to expressing my felicitations on another miraculous escape. In fact I look forward to it so much I won't take no for an answer. I have
taken up my abode in the pleasant little house someone (dare I hope it was you, in the expectation of my coming?) kindly constructed not far from the entrance to this canyon. One of the villagers
has agreed to bring food and water for me daily, so I expect to be quite comfortable. I am an impatient fellow, though, as you know, so don't keep me waiting too long... or I may be tempted
to risk my neck crossing the plateau and climbing down to join you.

Further compliments followed. It was the closing words—an impertinent "A bientot,"—that forced from my lips an expression of the outrage I had thus far suppressed.
"Curse it!" I cried.
Bertha's face appeared in the tent opening. Over her veil her eyes were wide with alarm. "Is something wrong? Is it from— from him?"
"No, no," I said. "Nothing is wrong— nothing that need concern you. You needn't stand outside, Bertha, though your courtesy is noted and appreciated" Folding the letter, I put it in my box and went out to splash water on my dusty and now even more heated face.
I did not join in the conversation around the fire as energetically as was my wont that evening,. I was preoccupied with considering how I could meet Kevin and head him off. I did not doubt that if I failed
to confront him he would do precisely what he had threatened to do, and if he did not break his neck climbing down the cliff face, one of Cyrus's guards would probably shoot him. A less honorable woman might have regarded that as an ideal solution, but I could not entertain such a reprehensible idea. Besides, there was always the chance that Kevin might elude the guard and accomplish the descent without damaging himself.
I must see him and speak with him, and hope that an appeal to the friendship he claimed to feel for me would persuade him to leave us alone. A little bribe, in the form of a promise of future interviews, might assist in achieving the desired end. But how was I to reach him alone and unescorted? Cyrus would insist on accompanying me if he knew what I planned, and Cyrus's critical presence would destroy the friendly, confidential atmosphere that was essential to any hope of success.
I would have to go during the midday rest period, I decided. It would have been folly to attempt the long, difficult walk in darkness, and I could not disappear for any length of time during working hours. The rest period usually lasted for two or three hours. There was no hope of being able to return before my absence was discovered, since the distance was almost three miles each way, but if I could deal with Kevin before they caught me up, I would have accomplished my purpose. It was feasible, I concluded. Certainly it was worth a try. And there could be no danger, for Selim would be on guard at the entrance to the wadi. Having decided this, I applied myself to my dinner with good appetite. The others, I observed, were inclined to study each bite suspiciously before putting it into their mouths, but I had reasoned that the same trick would not be tried again so soon after the failure of the first attempt.
Such proved to be the case I woke several times during the night, feeling only normal drowsiness before
I allowed myself to sleep again. Bertha seemed restless too, which further reassured me.
Rene and I put in a good morning's work in the Pillared Hall (i.e., the burial chamber), for I never allow mental distraction to interfere with my archaeological duties We had almost finished the back wall, the lowest sections could not be accurately copied until the floor was cleared to bedrock. I pointed this out
to Emerson when we stopped for luncheon.
"I don't suppose you want the men stirring up dust while you are copying?" he inquired. "Leave that till later. You still have three walls and four sides of two pillars to go, I believe?"
Rene's face fell. He had hoped for a day or two off while the men worked.
I had considered slipping a little laudanum into the tea at lunch to ensure everyone would sleep soundly while I stole away. That did not seem quite cricket, so I only put it in Bertha's cup.
She dropped off almost at once. Though I was on fire to be up and away, for time was of the essence, I forced myself to remain recumbent a little longer in order to ensure that the others had followed her into the land of Morpheus. As I lay watching her I could not help but wonder what the future held for such a woman. What thoughts, what fears, what hopes lay concealed behind that smooth white brow and those enigmatic dark eyes? She had never confided in me, nor responded to my attempts to win her confidence Yet I had seen her engaged in animated conversation with Rene, and less often with Charles, even Emerson had managed to induce, upon occasion, one of her rare silvery laughs. Some women do not get on with other women, but that could not be the cause of her reticence with me, because she was equally wary of Cyrus— who, I must admit, did not conceal his dislike of her. Was she still a willing slave of the man who had been so brutal to her? Had it been she who drugged our food?
She lay with her back to me. Rising slowly, impelled by an impulse I could not have explained, I bent over her. As if my intent regard had penetrated her slumber, she stirred and murmured. Quickly I drew back. Silence reigned without. It was time to go.
I had taken off my belt before I reclined. Much as I would have liked to take it with me, I dared not risk the noise. Thanking heaven and my own foresight for my useful pockets, I distributed several important tools among them. One of the most important, my handy little knife, provided me with a convenient exit from the tent. After cutting a long slit I returned the knife to my pocket, picked up my parasol, and exited.
Cyrus had placed my tent some distance from the others in a thoughtful attempt to give me as much privacy as the terrain allowed. It was not much, for at its greatest extent the wadi was only a few hundred feet wide. My tent backed up onto the slope of scree that bordered the cliffs. Carrying my boots, I crept along the base of it. Even our Egyptian friends wore sandals here, for the thick integument that years of going barefoot had developed on the soles of their feet was insufficient protection against the sharp-edged stones littering the floor of the canyon. My thick stockings served me no better, but I did not dare assume my boots until after I had gone some distance and was concealed from sight of the camp by a series of outcroppings.
It was extremely hot and very still. The only shade was high up on the steep, loose scree of the slope at the base of the cliff Since haste was imperative, I had to follow the path winding among the boulders on the bottom, now in full sunlight. If I had not been in such a hurry I would have enjoyed the walk. It was the first time in many days I had been alone.
Naturally I kept a firm grip on my parasol and a sharp eye on the surroundings, but I was more inclined to trust that sixth sense that warns of lurking danger. Persons like myself, who are sensitive to atmosphere and who have been often subject to violent attack, develop this sense to an acute degree. It had seldom failed me
I cannot explain why it failed on this occasion. No doubt I was preoccupied with composing the speech I meant to make to Kevin. The men must have been lying concealed and motionless for some time, for I certainly would have heard sounds of someone descending the slope.
They did not come out of hiding until after I had passed the first of them, so that when they emerged, simultaneously, I found retreat cut off. A second man popped out of a hole opposite me, two others appeared ahead. They looked very much alike in their turbans and grubby robes, but I recognized one of them. Mohammed had not run away after all. I had to admire his persistence, but I did not like the way he was grinning at me.
The cliff face was split by innumerable crevices and cracks. Some of the fallen boulders were big enough to conceal not one but several men. How many opponents must I defeat? Taking a firm grip on my parasol, I considered alternatives with a rapidity of thought my measured prose cannot attempt to convey.
Flight, in any direction, would have been folly. I could not scramble up the scree fast enough to escape those who would follow. A rapid advance would have sent me straight into the waiting arms of two adversaries, who were now advancing slowly toward me. Retreat— not flight, but a considered,
deliberate withdrawal— eastward, in the direction from which I had come, appeared to offer the best hope. If I could dispose of the single man who barred my way .
But even as I shifted my parasol to my left hand and reached for my pistol, that hope was reduced by
the rattle and crunch of rock. Another man was coming from the east to reinforce his confederate, and
at considerable speed. There was not much chance, I feared, that I could incapacitate or elude two men
A hand weapon is inaccurate except at very close range, and I would be running as I fired. I would have to try, of course.
The second man came into view, and my fingers froze on the barrel of the pistol (which had shifted around in my pocket in a way I had not anticipated). Astonishment paralyzed every muscle. The man
was Emerson, bareheaded, red-faced, and in extremely rapid motion. With a shout of, "Run, damn you!" he hurled himself at the surprised Egyptian, who collapsed onto the ground in a flurry of dirty fabric.
I took it that the order was addressed to me, and I was certainly in no position to object to the way it
had been phrased. Emerson's sudden appearance and abrupt action had sent our opponents into momentary confusion, I had no difficulty in outstripping the man who was nearest to me. They were all close behind, though, and when Emerson caught my hand and fled, dragging me with him, I was in full agreement with his decision I did wish he would get over his prejudice against firearms, however. A rifle would have been particularly useful just then
We were over a mile from the camp and I did not see how we could reach it without being overtaken. Had he come alone? Was help on the way? Questions flooded my mind but I was too short of breath to articulate them, which is probably just as well, because Emerson was obviously in no mood to permit debate. After rounding an outcrop of rock he turned abruptly to the right, caught me round the waist,
and threw me up onto the rocky slope. "Go on," he gasped, emphasizing the suggestion by a sharp slap
on a convenient part of my anatomy. "Through that opening. Hurry!"
Looking up, I saw the opening he referred to— a black irregular hole in the cliff face. It was roughly triangular in shape, narrowing to a crack that turned at a sharp angle to meet the top of the slope. Only
at its widest part was there room for the passage of a body. Mine passed, with little conscious volition
on my part but with considerable assistance from Emerson, shoving from behind. I did not resist, though the prospect of dropping down into blackness, with no idea of what lay below and beyond, was not especially appealing. It was more appealing than the alternative, however.
I landed somewhat forcibly on an uneven surface about six feet below the opening. The floor was littered with stones and other objects which pressed painfully into my bare hands. As I struggled to my feet I heard a nasty crunching sound and a scream, followed by a rumble of falling rock. I deduced that Emerson had kicked one of our pursuers in the face The ensuing confusion gave him time to make a more dignified entrance into the hole than I had managed,- feet first, he dropped down beside me, and
for a few moments he was too out of breath to do more than pant heavily.
The space in which we stood was quite small. Immediately behind us the floor sloped sharply up toward the ceiling. The width was no more than five or six feet, but from the relative regularity of the side walls
I deduced it must be the entrance to one of the tombs Emerson had mentioned.
Emerson got his breath back. "Where is that ridiculous pistol of yours?" was his first question.
I produced it and handed it to him. Extending his arm out the opening, he pulled the trigger three times.
"Why are you wasting bullets?" I demanded. "There are only six in the pistol, and you didn't even— "
"I am summoning assistance," was the brusque reply.
Summoning assistance is not something Emerson often does. In this case it seemed the only sensible course. The entrance to the tomb-cave was so narrow and inconveniently located our adversaries could only pass through it one at a time— at the considerable risk of being knocked on the head, one at a time, by Emerson, as they did so—but neither could we get out while they were waiting for us. Emerson
had— for once— accepted the inevitable, but he obviously did not like it.
"Oh," I said. "Then you came alone?"
"Yes," said Emerson, very softly. Then his voice rose to a roar that deafened my ears. "You damned
fool woman! What the devil possessed you to do such an idiotic thing?"
I started back, but I did not go very far, Emerson's hands shot out and gripped my shoulders. He shook me like a terrier with a rat, shouting all the while. Distorted by echoes, the words were relatively unintelligible, but I got the idea.
I do not think I would have hit him if— quite unintentionally, I feel sure— his violent shaking had not brought my head into painful contact with the wall behind me. I had lost my hat during our flight and my hair had come down, so there was nothing to cushion the blow. It hurt enough to remove any inhibitions
I might have had about hurting him back. All the same, if I had not been in a state of considerable emotional excitability (for various reasons) I would not have done it. Except for playful gestures of quite another nature (which are irrelevant to this narrative) I had never struck Emerson. It would not have
been playing the game to strike an opponent who is unable to hit back.
I certainly did not intend to hit him on the face. My wild blow landed square on his bandaged cheek
The effect was remarkable. With a long gasping intake of pain (and, I presume, fury) he shifted his grip. One arm encircled my shoulders, the other my ribs. Pulling me to him, he pressed his lips to mine. He
had NEVER kissed me like that before. Between the steely strength of his arm and the pressure of his mouth, my head was bent back at an angle so acute that I felt my neck must snap. Between the unyielding barrier of the wall at my back and the hard muscles of his body, mine was crushed as if in a vise. What with constant practice and assiduous study, Emerson's natural talents at osculation had been honed to a fine pitch, but he had never kissed me like THAT before (And I certainly hoped he had never kissed anyone ELSE like that before.) My senses were not gently wooed, they were assaulted, mastered, overcome.
When at last he let me go I would have fallen had it not been for the wall against which I leaned. As the roaring of blood in my ears subsided, I heard other voices, crying out in question and alarm. Rising
above them all was a voice I took to be that of Cyrus, for it called my name, though I would scarcely have recognized it otherwise.