The Snake, The Crocodile, And The Dog Part 4

"Indeed?"

"You missed one, Peabody. What did you do with the rest, toss them overboard?"

The corners of his lips quivered, not with fury but with amus.e.m.e.nt. I was somewhat disappointed- for Emerson's outbursts of rage are always inspiring- but I could not help responding in kind.

"Certainly not. That would have const.i.tuted a wanton destruction of the property of others. They are under our mattress."

"Ah. I might have noticed the crackle of paper had I not been distracted by other things."

"I did my best to distract you."

Emerson burst out laughing. "You succeeded, my dear. You always do. I don't know why you were so determined to prevent me from seeing the story, I cannot accuse you this time of babbling to that fiend of a journalist. He only returned to England ten days before we left, and as soon as I learned of his imminent arrival I made certain you had no opportunity to see him."

"Oh, you did, did you?"

"Kevin O'Connell"- Emerson's tone, as he p.r.o.nounced the name, turned it into an expletive- "Kevin O'Connell is an unscrupulous wretch, for whom you have an unaccountable affection. He worms information out of you, Amelia. You know he does. How often in the past has he caused us trouble?"

As often as he has come n.o.bly to our a.s.sistance," I replied. "He would never do anything deliberately to harm us, Emerson."

"Well ... I admit the story was not as damaging as I might have expected."

It would have been a good deal more damaging if I had not warned Kevin off. Emerson does not believe in telephones. He refuses to have them installed at Amarna House. However, we were in London for two days before we left, and I managed to put through a trunk call from the hotel. I too had seen the notice of Kevin's impending return, and my premonitions are as well-founded as Emerson's.

"I suppose he picked up his information while he was in the Sudan," Emerson mused. "He was the only one to use it, there was nothing in the Times Times or the or the Mirror. Mirror."

"Their correspondents were concerned only with the military situation, I suppose. Kevin, however- "

"Takes a proprietary interest in our affairs," Emerson finished. "Curse it! I suppose it was unreasonable to hope O'Connell would not question the officers at Sanam Abu Dom about us, but one would have thought military persons would not spread gossip and idle rumors."

"They knew we had gone out into the desert after Reggie Forthright, whose expedition was ostensibly designed to locate his missing uncle and aunt," I reminded him. "We could hardly conceal that fact, even if Reginald himself had not expressed his intentions to every officer at the camp. And when we returned, Nefret was bound to inspire curiosity and speculation. But the story we concocted was far more believable than the truth. Everyone who knew of poor Mr. Perth's quest for the Lost Oasis considered him a madman or a dreamer."

"O'Connell didn't mention it," Emerson admitted grudgingly. He had not mentioned it because I had threatened him with a number of unpleasant things if he did.

"Nefret's was not the only name to appear in Kevin's story," I said. "As I suggested . . as I expected of a journalist of his ability, Kevin took for his theme the miracle of survival. Nefret's story was only one of many, no one reading the article could possibly suspect that she was reared, not by kindly American missionaries, but by the pagan survivors of a lost civilization. Even if the Lost Oasis was not mentioned, the suggestion that she had been reared among naked savages-for that is how our enlightened fellow countrymen regard the members of all cultures except their own-would subject her to ridicule and rude speculation by society."

"That's what concerns you, is it? Nefret's acceptance into society?"

"She has had trouble enough with narrow-minded fools as it is." The clouds on Emerson's n.o.ble brow cleared. "Your kindly concern for the child does you credit, my dear. I think it is all a lot of nonsense, but no doubt the impertinent opinions of the vulgar affect a young girl more than they would ME. In any case we can't explain her origins without giving away the secret we have sworn to keep. All in all, I find I am glad the children are safe at home in England."

"So am I," I said truthfully.

The first person I saw as the steamer nosed into the dock at Port Sa'id was our faithful foreman Abdullah, his snowy-white turban rising a good six inches over the heads of the crowd that surrounded him.

"Curse it," I exclaimed involuntarily. I had hoped for a few more hours of Emerson's undivided attention. Fortunately he did not hear me, raising his hands to his mouth, he let out a ululating call that made the nearby pa.s.sengers jump, and brought a broad grin to Abdullah's face. He had been our reis for years and was far too old and dignified to express his excitement in violent physical demonstrations, but his younger relatives were not, their turbans bobbed as they jumped up and down and shouted their welcome.

"How splendid of Abdullah to come all this way," Emerson said, beaming.

"And Selim," I said, spotting other familiar faces. "And Ali, and Daoud, and Feisal and- "

"They will be of great help getting our gear to the train," Emerson said. "I can't think why I didn't suggest they meet us here. But it is like Abdullah to antic.i.p.ate our slightest desire."

The train from Port Sa'id to Cairo takes less than six hours. There was plenty of room in our compartment for Abdullah and his eldest son Feisal, since the other European pa.s.sengers refused to share it with a "bunch of dirty natives," as one pompous idiot put it. I heard him expostulating with the conductor. He got nowhere. The conductor knew Emerson.

So we settled down and had a refres.h.i.+ng gossip. Abdullah was distressed to learn that Ramses was not with us. At least he put on a good show of distress, but I thought I detected a certain gleam in his black eyes. His feelings were clear to me- did I not share them? His devotion to Emerson combined the reverence of an acolyte with the strong friends.h.i.+p of a man and a brother. He had not been with us the year before, now he could look forward to an entire season of his idol's undivided attention. He would have disposed of ME as well had that been possible, I thought, without resentment. I felt the same about him. Not to mention Ali, Daoud, and Feisal.

We parted in Cairo, but only temporarily, before long we would visit the men at their village of Aziyeh, to recruit our crew for the winter's excavations. Emerson was in such a good humor that he submitted gracefully to being embraced by all the men in turn, for some time he was virtually invisible in a cloud of waving sleeves and flapping robes. The other European travelers stared impertinently.

We had booked rooms at Shepheard's, of course. Our old friend Mr. Baehler was now the owner, so we had no difficulty on that score, though Shepheard's is becoming so popular that rooms are hard to obtain. That year everyone was celebrating the victory in the Sudan. On September 2, Kitchener's troops had occupied Omdurman and Khartoum, ending the rebellion and cleansing the British flag of the stain of dishonor that had blemished it since the gallant Gordon fell to the hordes of the mad Mahdi. (If my reader is not familiar with this event, I refer him or her to any standard history.)

Emerson's amiable mood disintegrated as soon as we entered the hotel. Shepheard's is always crowded during the winter season and this year the crush was greater than usual. Sun-bronzed young officers, newly arrived from the battle zone, flaunted their bandages and gold braid before the admiring eyes of the ladies who fluttered around them. One face, adorned with a particularly impressive set of military mustaches, looked familiar, but before I could approach the officer- who was surrounded by a crowd of civilians, questioning him about Khartoum- Emerson took me by the arm and dragged me away. Not until we had reached our rooms- the ones we always had, overlooking Ezbekieh Gardens- did he speak.

"The place is more confoundedly overcrowded and fas.h.i.+onable every year," he grumbled, tossing his hat onto the floor and sending his coat to follow it. "This is the last time, Amelia. I mean it. Next year we will accept the invitation of Sheikh Mohammed to stay with him."

"Certainly, my dear," I replied, as I did every year. "Shall we go down for tea, or shall I tell the safragi to bring it to us here?"

"I don't want any confounded tea," said Emerson. We had our tea on the little balcony overlooking the gardens. Greatly as I yearned to join the crowd below, which, I did not doubt, contained many friends and acquaintances, and catch up on the news, I did not deem it wise to persuade Emerson back into his coat and hat. I had had a hard enough time getting the latter object of apparel onto his head long enough to enter the hotel.

The white-robed servant glided in and out, noiseless on bare feet, and we took our places at the table. Below us the gardens were bright with roses and hibiscus, carriages and foot pa.s.sengers pa.s.sed to and fro along the broad avenue in the never-ending panorama of Egyptian life, as I once termed it. A handsome carriage drew up before the steps of the hotel, from it descended a stately figure in full dress uniform.

Emerson leaned over the edge of the balcony. "Hi, there," he shouted. "Essalamu 'aleik.u.m, babibi" "Essalamu 'aleik.u.m, babibi"

"Emerson," I exclaimed. "That is General Kitchener!"

"Is it? I was not addressing him." He gestured vigorously, to my chagrin his wave was answered by a picturesque but extremely ragged individual carrying a tray of cheap souvenirs. Several other equally picturesque persons in the crowd of would be sellers of flowers, fruit, trinkets and souvenirs, attracted by the gesture, looked up and joined in the general shout of welcome. "He has returned, the Father of Curses! Allah yimessik.u.m bilkheir, effendi! Marbaba, O Sitt Hakim!" Allah yimessik.u.m bilkheir, effendi! Marbaba, O Sitt Hakim!"

"Hmph," I said, somewhat flattered at being included in this accolade-for Sitt Hakim, "Lady Doctor,"

is my own affectionate nickname among Egyptians. "Do sit down, Emerson, and stop shouting. People are staring."

"It was my intention that they should," Emerson declared. "I want to talk with old Ahmet later, he always knows what is going on."

He was persuaded to resume his seat. As the sun sank lower, the horizon was suffused by the exquisite glow of the dying day, and Emerson's countenance became pensive. "Do you remember, Peabody, the first time Ramses stood on this very balcony with us? We watched the sunset over Cairo together . ."

"As we shall no doubt do again," I said rather sharply. "Now, Emerson, don't think of Ramses. Tell me the news I have been dying to hear. I know your engaging habit of keeping our future plans a secret from me until the last possible moment, you enjoy your little surprises. But the time has come, I think. Where shall we excavate this winter?"

"The decision is not so easy to make," Emerson replied, holding out his cup to be refilled. "I was tempted by Sakkara, so little has been done there, and I am of the opinion that there is a great Eighteenth Dynasty cemetery somewhere in the vicinity of Memphis."

"That is a logical deduction," I agreed. "Especially in view of the fact that Lepsius mentions seeing such tombs in 1843."

"Peabody, if you don't refrain from antic.i.p.ating my brilliarant deductions I shall divorce you," Emerson said amiably. "Those tombs of Lepsius's are now lost, it would be quite a coup to find them again, and perhaps others. However, Thebes also has its attraction. Most of the royal mummies of the Empire have now been found, but... By the by, did I tell you I knew of that second cache of mummies, in the tomb of Amenhotep the Second, fifteen years ago?"

"Yes, my dear, you have mentioned it approximately ten times since we heard of Loret's discovery of the tomb last March. Why you didn't open the tomb yourself and get the credit-"

"Credit be d.a.m.ned. You know my views, Peabody, once a tomb or a site is uncovered, the scavengers descend. Like most archsiaeologists, that incompetent idiot Loret doesn't supervise his men aodequately. They made off with valuable objects from that tomb undeler his very nose; some have already appeared on the market. Until the Antiquities Department is properly organized- "

"Yes, my dear, I know your views," I said soothingly, for Emerson was capable of lecturing on that subject for hours. "So you are considering the Valley of the Kings? If the royal mummies have all been found-"

"But the original tombs have not. We are still missinjng those of Hatshepsut, Ahmose, Amenhotep the First and Thutmose the Third, to mention only a few. And I have never been certain that the tomb we found was really that of Tutankhamen."

"It could have belonged to no one else," I said. "However, I agree with you that there are royal tombs yet to be found. Our old friend Cyrus Vandergelt will be there again this season, will he not? He has often asked you to work with him."