Crocodile On The Sandbank Part 31

Evelyn was bending so close that her unbound hair brushed his cheek. Her face was transformed by pity, and I rather hated to disillusion her, but I was not sure what she might promise in the heat of her innocent enthusiasm. If she made a promise, she would keep it. And I was determined that matters should proceed according to the plan I had conceived. So I said briskly, "He is coming around now, Evelyn. Are you going to promise to marry him, or shall we try the smelling salts first?"

Evelyn sat back on her heels. Her face was flushed. Lucas opened his eyes.

"Evelyn," he said slowly- but in his normal, deep tones, not the moaning whisper he had been using.

"It is really you? I dreamed. G.o.d preserve me from any more such dreams!"

"Thank G.o.d," Evelyn said sincerely. "How do you feel, Lucas? We were so frightened for you."

"A little weak; otherwise, quite all right. It was your voice that brought me back, Evelyn; I seemed to be disembodied, lost and alone in a dark without a single spark of light. Then I heard you arrive and followed it as I would follow a beacon."

"I am glad I could help you, Lucas."

"You saved my life. Henceforth it is yours."

Evelyn shook her head shyly. She was trying to free her hand; and after a moment Lucas let it go.

"Enough of this," I interposed. "I am not so much interested in your dreams, Lucas, as I am in what produced them. What happened? I saw you stumble and fall, but I could swear the creature did not throw any missile."

"Nothing struck me," Lucas answered. "Nothing physical- You found no bruise, no mark, I suppose?"

He glanced down at his bared chest. Blus.h.i.+ng still more deeply, Evelyn got to her feet and retreated from the bed.

"There was no mark I could see," I replied. "What did you feel?"

"Impossible to describe it! I can only imagine that a man struck by a bolt of lightning might have a similar sensation. First a shocking thrill, electrical in intensity; then utter weakness and unconsciousness. I felt myself falling, but did not feel my body strike the deck."

"Splendid," I said sarcastically. "We now have a creature with the power to hurl thunderbolts. Emerson will be delighted to hear it"

"Emerson's opinions are of no interest to me," Lucas said.

I slept soundly for what remained of the night. I believe Evelyn did not sleep at all. When I awoke it was to see the exquisite pink flush of dawn staining the sky, and Evelyn silhouetted against it. She was standing at the window; she was fully dressed, in a businesslike serge skirt and blouse. The moment I moved, she spoke.

"I am going to camp," she announced firmly. "You need not come, Amelia; I will be back soon, I will hurry. I hope to persuade Mr. Emerson to bring his brother here, and to set sail at once for Luxor. But if they will not come, then- then I think we should go. I know you will not want to leave, Amelia; I have seen how interested you are in- in archaeology. But I think Lucas will go, if I ask him; and I shall leave, with him, if you want to remain here."

The sight of her pale, resolute face checked the remonstrance that had risen to my lips. I saw that I must speak with careful consideration. The girl believed the awful idea that had come to her the previous night! It was both pitiful and amusing to note that she had no qualms about burdening Lucas with her deadly presence, as she thought it, when it came to a choice between endangering Lucas or Walter.

"Well," I said, getting out of bed, "you will not go without breakfast, I hope. It would be silly to faint, from inanition, in the middle of the desert."

Evelyn unwillingly consented to partake of breakfast. As she restlessly paced the upper deck, I sent a servant to summon Lucas. It was easy to see how the events of the night had affected the crew. Young Habib, our smiling waiter, was not smiling that morning; and the usual cheerful babble of voices from the lower deck was not to be heard.

Lucas joined us while we were drinking our tea. He looked perfectly fit, and said he felt the same. Evelyn immediately told him of her plan. Lucas was not fool enough to fail to understand her agitation. His eyebrows climbed alarmingly as she spoke. In case he should miss the point I kicked him under the table. And when he turned to me indignantly, I semaph.o.r.ed warning as well as I could. He took the hint.

"My dearest," he said gently, "if you wish to leave this place, you shall leave. I told you that your slightest wish was my command. But I must make one small reservation. You can ask me for my life, but not for my honor as a gentleman and an Englishman! You cannot ask me to abandon our friends. No, do not speak; I will order the crew to be prepared to leave at a moment's notice, and to carry you and Miss Amelia to Luxor, or wherever you wish to go. But I will remain. You would not respect me if I fled now."

Evelyn sat in silence, her head bowed. I decided to intervene. I could hardly take exception to Lucas's sentiments but he managed to create an atmosphere of sticky sentimentality that disgusted me.

"I have no intention of leaving unless the Emersons join us," I said firmly. "And I will deal with my own crew, if you please, Lucas. You may give yours whatever orders you like."

"I will," Lucas replied huffily.

And he went off to do so, while I summoned Reis Ha.s.san and made another effort to break through the language barrier. I had thought of asking Lucas for the loan of his dragoman as interpreter; but what I had seen of that s.h.i.+fty-eyed personage did not impress me, and if Emerson had not been able to induce Ha.s.san to speak openly, I thought no one could.

Ha.s.san managed to convey one concept unequivocally. He kept repeating the word "go," and pointing upstream.

"Emerson?" I asked, and gestured toward the camp.

Ha.s.san nodded vigorously. We were all to go. Today.

That was one Arabic word I understood, although the word for "tomorrow" is even more commonly used. I repeated it now.

Ha.s.san's face fell. Then he gave the queer Arab shrug.

"Tomorrow," he said soberly. "In "shallah."

I knew that word too. It means, "G.o.d willing."

10.

AFTER BREAKFAST we set out. The sun was well up; the sands shone palely gold, and the glare, even at that early hour, was hard on the eyes. There was little conversation during the walk. Evelyn had not spoken at all since she made her declaration; I was worried about her, and- which is not usual for me- uncertain as how I might best relieve her strange fears. Not that I blamed her for being distracted; most girls of her protected station in life would have been prostrate after the experiences she had undergone.

The first person to greet us was none other than Walter. He wore a sling, to support the injured arm, but otherwise he seemed well enough, and I was delighted to see him on his feet. He came to meet us, not quite running, and grasped my hand. But he looked at Evelyn.

"You cannot conceive how relieved I am to see you," he exclaimed. "I was furious with Radcliffe when he told me you had gone."

"I don't know why you should have been worried," I replied, returning his hearty handclasp. "It was you we worried about. How do you feel? And where is your brother?"

"You won't believe it," Walter said, smiling. "Guess."

"I don't need to guess," I replied. "Emerson has taken advantage of my absence to continue his excavations. He is totally without conscience! I suppose he has made another discovery. What is it? Another fragment of painting?"

Walter's eyes were wide with surprise.

"Miss Amelia, you astound me! You seem to read minds. How did you know?"

"I know your brother very well," I replied angrily. "He is capable of any stupidity where his precious antiquities are concerned. At such a time as this, to waste his time and energy.... Where is he? I want to speak to him."

"The pavement is not far from the other one that was destroyed," Walter replied. "But- "

"But me no buts," I said. "The rest of you return to camp. I will fetch Emerson."

I set off without another word, not waiting to see whether they obeyed me. By the time I found Emerson I had worked myself up into quite a state of anger. He was squatting on the ground, his tan clothing and dusty helmet blending so well with the hue of the sand that I did not distinguish his form until I was almost upon him. He was so preoccupied that he failed to hear my approach. I struck him, not lightly, on the shoulder with my parasol.

"Oh," he said, glancing at me. "So it's you, Peabody. Of course. Who else would greet a man by beating him over the head?"

I squatted down beside him. This posture, so difficult at first, had become easier. My knees no longer cracked when I knelt.