The Hippopotamus Pool (28 page)

"Sir Edward and Miss Marmaduke are joining us, and we dare not speak freely while they are present anyhow. It is time we decided how to deal with the press, Emerson. You must have known that your public references to a royal tomb would attract considerable interest."

Stripped to the waist and dripping, Emerson reached for a towel. "I have already dealt with members of the press. I mean to go on in the same way."

"You cannot intimidate the English and European newspapers as you did that poor young man from Cairo."

"I never laid a finger on the fellow, Peabody."

"You
roared
at him, Emerson."

"I have never heard that there is any law against—er—talking in a loud voice." Emerson dropped the towel onto the floor and gave me a critical examination. "Are you proposing to appear in public in a negligee, Peabody? That garment—"

"Is my new tea gown, Emerson. Aren't you going to dress for dinner? Sir Edward will be in evening kit."

"No, he won't. I told him I never wanted to see him in that suit again." Emerson reached for a clean shirt. "I must warn him and Miss Marmaduke not to volunteer any information about our work. That applies to you as well, Amelia. I will do the talking. Now get to the saloon and watch O'Connell. He is probably searching my desk."

Emerson was clearly in one of his masterful moods. I always allow him to enjoy them unless I feel it is necessary to set him straight, which, on this occasion, it was not. So I said submissively, "Yes, my dear," and was rewarded by a pleased smile.

Kevin did not even have the decency to pretend he had not been snooping. Rising from my desk as I entered the saloon, he said garrulously, "What a fetching frock, Mrs. E. As always, you are a vision of loveliness. Is this your latest exercise in translating Egyptian? If you will permit me to say so, it lacks the charm of some of your earlier efforts. What is the point of the hippopotamus pool?"

"You will have to wait for the story to be published," I said.

Kevin cocked his head and gave me his leprechaun grin and an even more exaggerated brogue. "Och, must I? As one who has known and admired you for many years, I have not failed to note that several of your earlier translations had a peculiar relevance to the activities you were pursuing at the time. Your highly developed instincts for crime seem well-nigh supernatural. What are you up to this time, Mrs. E.? And what do hippos have to do with it?"

"Really, Kevin, you cannot suppose I am going to succumb to your flagrant flattery and unsubtle questions. I am not up to anything, and there are no longer any hippopotami in Egypt."

Expert at dissimulation that I am, my response gave no hint of the disquiet his seemingly casual question had aroused. What he had said was true. On at least two earlier occasions, the fairy tale I had been translating at the time had proved uncannily relevant to the events that transpired. Was this another such case? And, if so, what the devil
was
the point of the hippopotami?

I led him to the upper deck. The others soon joined us, except for Emerson, who was lurking below with the intention of intercepting Sir Edward and Miss Marmaduke. Darkness had fallen by the time they appeared. As he had been ordered, Sir Edward wore well-cut tweeds and a regimental tie. Gertrude's hair was coming down—obviously she had neglected to cover it with a scarf while on the river, as I had suggested— and she kept poking at it. She looked even more apprehensive than usual. I wondered what Emerson had said to her.

The sight of a female brought O'Connell to his feet, Hibernian flattery bubbling from his lips. Watching him escort Gertrude to a chair, I hoped he was not going to fancy himself attracted to her. She lacked the personal charms that fascinate a man, but Kevin always likes to be in love with someone. I suppose it is because he is Irish.

Conscious of Emerson's warning, we tried to avoid the subject of the tomb. However, there was no keeping away from it, since it was the major interest of all present. Sir Edward was the first to refer to it—or perhaps the culprit was Nefret. She had not had much opportunity to practice her wiles on him, since he had taken pains to avoid her; that evening, with O'Connell cooing compliments at Miss Marmaduke, and Emerson arguing with Walter about the Berlin Dictionary, and Evelyn occupied with Ramses, he had apparently felt it was safe to join her on the settee. In a lull in the general conversation I heard her say, "Then you believe your new camera can do the job?"

Kevin's head turned like that of a dog snapping at a bone. Sir Edward raised an inquiring eyebrow and looked at Emerson. A shrug and a nod gave him permission to reply, and, returning his attention to Nefret, he said, "It will require a long exposure, but I have had good results from the new film Kodak developed last year."

"Then you'll be photographing the interior of the tomb tomorrow?" Kevin inquired guilelessly.

Emerson glowered at him. "Yes. I'll give you that much, O'Connell, since you will probably find out anyhow, but don't ask to have a look for yourself. No amateur is entering that tomb until it has been cleared."

"So long as you don't let the
Mirror
in ahead of me," Kevin murmured. "Would you care to speculate, Professor, as to what you will find? Is the royal lady resting quiet in her coffin, bedecked with jewels and magical amulets?"

Mahmud's arrival, to announce that dinner was ready in the saloon, saved Emerson for the moment, but Kevin was not to be so easily distracted. Throughout the meal he peppered Emerson with questions. I believe it had not occurred to Emerson until then that his impulsive reference to an "undisturbed royal tomb" would arouse such intense interest. The London newspapers reporting the discovery had not yet reached us, and Emerson's eyebrows wriggled alarmingly as Kevin summarized the stories that had appeared in print.

"Headlines in the
Times?"
Emerson repeated in a faltering voice.

"You ought to have expected it," I remarked. "And you owe it to yourself to correct the—er—misapprehensions of the press. In justice to yourself, my dear."

"Hmph," said Emerson, giving me a very thoughtful look. There wasno need for me to elaborate; Emerson is sometimes hasty, but he is not stupid. Exaggerated claims that proved to be unfounded would damage his scholarly reputation, and we now had reason to suspect the tomb had been disturbed. What an anticlimax it would be if the mummy were found stripped of its jewels!

So Kevin got more information than he had expected, though less than he had hoped. Emerson firmly refused to speculate and refused to go into detail. Still, it was enough to give Kevin a "scoop," as I believe it is called, and he made no objection when Emerson announced that it was time for our guests to leave. (I have often pointed out the rudeness of this, without the slightest effect.)

"May I beg a ride back to Luxor with me new friends?" Kevin inquired, beaming at Miss Marmaduke, who simpered, and at Sir Edward, who responded with a stony stare.

So it was arranged, and as Kevin tenderly escorted Gertrude down the gangplank, Emerson caught Sir Edward by the arm. "I need not remind you," he said, "that the photographs you take while in my employ are not to be sold or shown to anyone without my permission."

The moonlight glimmered in the young man's fair hair and made it possible for me to observe the stiffening of his frame. "No, sir, you need not," he snapped. "Good night, Professor, Mrs. Emerson."

"You have offended him, Emerson," I remarked, watching Sir Edward stalk angrily away.

"Better safe than sorry, Peabody. O'Connell will have made him an offer before they push off."

"I expect you are right, my dear. It was clever of you to think of it."

Pleased by this little compliment, of the sort husbands much appreciate and which I am careful to apply as often as I can, Emerson drew my arm through his and led me to our room. Conversation of a general nature was not resumed until a later hour, at which time I returned to an idea O'Connell's questions had recalled to my mind.

"I know your methods, Emerson, and I am in complete agreement with them, of course; but would it really constitute a violation of those methods to have a look—just a private little peek—into the burial chamber? I am dying of curiosity."

I had chosen my moment well. Emerson was in an extremely affable mood. "I sympathize, my dear, and I am as curious as you are; but it won't be as easy as you think. The debris beyond that door is not fill, like the rock chips in the antechamber; it resulted from a partial collapse of the roof of what appears to be a flight of stairs—leading down, as is commonly the case in such tombs. The modern thieves dug part of it out and shored up their tunnel with sticks and planks—"

"And how do you know that? Oh, Emerson, how could you? You have already investigated that tunnel. And you didn't confide in me!"

Emerson looked a little uncomfortable. "I only had a look, Peabody. Only a few feet, as far as I could reach, holding a candle. I couldn't get into the damned place, it is too narrow for me."

"But not for me. Let me have a go at it."

Embracing me, Emerson expressed his disinclination to permit this, adding, "Your dimensions and those of the tunnel, both familiar to me, are not compatible. You would stick, Peabody, I assure you you would."

"You could pull me out by my feet."

"And risk damage to your—er—your person? Not under any circumstances, my dear Peabody. Ramses might manage it."

"David is thinner than Ramses."

When Emerson failed to respond, I said, "You still harbor reservations about him. That is unjust, Emerson."

"Perhaps. But what has he done to prove his loyalty to us? Twice now Ramses has risked himself to save the boy, from death and from suspicion of a vile crime. Yet David continues to insist he can tell us nothing that would assist us or explain why he is allegedly in danger."

Owing to the press of work, I had not seen much of David for the past few days. He always went with us to the tomb, since I felt he was safer there than alone on the boat, but he kept to himself, avoiding all society except that of Nefret and Ramses. Emerson's remarks had made me more uncomfortable than I liked to admit and I determined to speak with the boy at the earliest opportunity.

I was able to do so on the morning following Mr. O'Connell's arrival. Mohammed had finished building the staircase the previous afternoon, and under Emerson's direction the men set to work putting the structure in place. There was nothing for me to do until they finished, and O'Connell— who had turned up bright and early, notebook poised—was absorbed in watching the procedure, so I sought David out.

There are many unfinished and unexcavated private tomb shafts along the base of the hill. Like an early Christian anchorite, David had chosen one of these as his retreat. He—or Ramses and Nefret—had made it as comfortable as possible, with a piece of matting on the ground, a water jar, and several baskets. David was squatting on the mat, busy at work with hammer and chisel at something he held between his knees. When he saw me approaching he made a sudden movement as if to conceal the object. There was no way of concealing it on his person, however, for it was as large as my joined fists—a sculptured head, in ancient Egyptian style. I could see only the back of it, which appeared to be wearing a headdress of some sort.

"Good morning," I said pleasantly. "I am glad to see you keeping busy, David. Practicing your craft, are you?"

"Good morning, Sitt Hakim," was the unsmiling response. "I hope you are well today? I trust you slept soundly."

The words were pronounced with meticulous care, and the formality of them would have made me smile if I had not feared that would offend the boy. "Thank you, I slept very soundly and I am very well. I hope you are the same. May I see what you are doing?"

He put his tools carefully into a basket and without comment handed the sculpture to me.

The piece was unfinished; the headdress was only roughed in. He had concentrated on the face. It was obviously a portrait of Nefret, for the likeness was unmistakable, but it was also, just as unmistakably, a portrait of someone else. An almost indefinable alteration of certain features strengthened the resemblance I had observed on one other occasion, and the headdress was a crown—the vulture crown worn by Egyptian queens.

David's eye was that of an artist. Was this only an innocent form of flattery, giving his new friend the attributes of the young queen—or had he seen even more clearly than I the coincidental and fleeting resemblance between Nefret and Tetisheri? Harmless, in either case, but it made me uneasy. Shelmadine had rambled on about reincarnation, and it seemed probable that Gertrude was also a believer in that abstruse doctrine. I certainly did not want notions like that entering Nefret's head.

The resemblance and the disquieting thoughts it aroused made my response slow in coming. "It is wonderful, David. Remarkable."

The boy's thin shoulders relaxed. "You are not angry that I do this?"

"On the contrary." I sat down on the ground next to him. "The exercise of a talent such as yours is a duty and a God-given right; only a vandal would attempt to restrain ..." I broke off, seeing his puzzled expression. "I am not angry. I am very pleased. Only—why did you give her the vulture crown?"