The Hippopotamus Pool (36 page)

"Be candid, Sir Edward," I urged. "If you do not fully comprehend, ask questions and I will elaborate."

"Well, then, ma'am, since you allow me, I will be candid. What is the Professor worried about? I know the local thieves will steal anything they can lay their hands on, but he is not afraid of a motley lot of barefoot Arabs, is he?"

A stir of shared indignation ran through the others. Eyes flashing, Walter rose impetuously to his feet, and Ramses began, "The word 'afraid,' sir, in connection with my father—"

"Now, now," I said, waving Walter back into his chair. "I believe the question was not meant as an insult but as an expression of incredulity. My husband, Sir Edward, is utterly fearless—for himself. We are dealing here, not with a motley lot of barefoot Arabs, but with at least two gangs of ruthless, well-organized criminals."

Sir Edward was staring again. I went on to explain (for as the Reader may have realized, I had determined on a new strategy, whose details will become evident as I proceed). The young man's stupefied expression betrayed some evidence of intelligence when I mentioned Riccetti.

"I have heard of the fellow," he admitted. "And some unpleasant stories about him. If he is one of the people involved—"

"He is. No more of this now," I added, as I saw Emerson returning.

Sir Edward nodded. There was only time for him to say, "Count on me, Mrs. Emerson. In all ways and at any time."

Emerson was his old self again—cheerful, enthusiastic and autocratic. He began rattling off instructions. "I want a hundred photographs of that room before we touch a single scrap. No, I have not removed my ban on artificial lighting, we will use reflectors. I have managed it before under circumstances almost as difficult. We'll have to get you and your gear up on top of the sarcophagus, Sir Edward. Go back to Luxor immediately and bring more plates, you haven't nearly enough. And more reflectors."

"Let him finish his luncheon, Emerson," I said. "There is no need for haste now."

"Thank you, Mrs. Emerson, but I have finished." Sir Edward rose. "Excuse me, sir, but if I may ask ... I thought you didn't want anyone moving about in the room. I don't see how I can get to the sarcophagus without wading through the debris."

Emerson studied him thoughtfully. "How are you at trapeze work?"

"He is just making one of his little jokes," I explained to the astonished young man.

"I had considered the possibility," Emerson said calmly. "However, I believe we can run a ramp from the doorway to the top of the sarcophagus. You will have to be careful, Sir Edward: if you slip and fall off onto my antiquities, I will murder you."

"Yes, sir. I will return as quickly as possible, Professor."

Emerson, devouring cucumber sandwiches, waved him away. Evelyn, who had been looking at the solitary figure sitting cross-legged in the shade, said, "I will take David his lunch and sit with him awhile."

"Bring him here," Emerson said.

"But you said," Ramses began.

"There is no hope of keeping this secret now," Emerson said. "If we had proceeded according to the original plan, we might have been able to keep it under wraps for a day or so, but our forthcoming activities will unquestionably be noticed. I will tell the boy myself—as much as I must."

Ramses jumped up. "I will fetch him, Aunt Evelyn."

I must give Emerson credit for more craftiness than I had expected from him. He put the case to David in such a way as to imply that he was one of a chosen few to be honored with our confidence. His peroration, though somewhat florid, was a masterpiece of persuasive rhetoric.

"There is danger still, to you and to us. Have no fear; I will protect you as I would my son. And you will watch over him—your brother and your friend. Is it not so?"

David moved his hand in a curious gesture; I could not make out whether he was crossing himself in the Christian fashion or performing the classic Arabic salutation. He spoke in English. "It is so, Father of Curses."

"Good," said Emerson, in the same language. Rising to his feet, hands on his hips, he looked us over one by one and smiled. "Let's get at it, then."

     CHAPTER TWELVE

It Is Better to Have a Demon As a Friend Than an Enemy

"Obviously," I said to Evelyn, "we must take steps at once to render our enemies impotent."

The shadows of evening stretched across the ground as we rode side by side toward the
Amelia.
Behind us lay the hills and the desert plain; ahead and on either side, fields of barley and sugarcane shone green as emeralds in the golden light.

"I don't know what you have in mind, Amelia," Evelyn said, giving me an apprehensive look. "But surely attack is not only dangerous but unnecessary. If our defenses are strong enough . . ."

"Impossible, my dear. An armed regiment at the tomb and another guarding the boat would not suffice."

"I wish we had them, though."

"So do I," I confessed. "An abundance of dependable defenders would certainly mitigate the danger. Our stout fellows are completely trustworthy and would defend us to the death, but there are barely enough of them to guard the tomb. The guards employed by the Antiquities Service are worse than useless; most of them are local fellows who would just as soon rob the tomb themselves. But you know as well as I that if the local talent, as Emerson calls them, were our only concern, I would sleep sound as a baby.

I know most of the rascals personally; they are dishonest and greedy and untrustworthy, but I do not believe any of them is capable of cold-blooded murder. Riccetti
has
committed murder—and worse." Evelyn shivered. "It is the children who must be protected." "My dear girl, I have been trying for almost thirteen years to keep Ramses out of trouble; it isn't a question of protecting him, it is a question of preventing him from locating a lion so he can put his head in its mouth. Nefret is almost as bad," I added bitterly. "I anticipated difficulty with her but I never expected it would take this form; they are in constant competition, each trying to outdo the other. No, Evelyn, defense is all very well, but it won't work where those two are concerned. We must find our foes and render them harmless!"

I was somewhat taken aback to learn that Walter had come to the same conclusion. It was not like him to advise direct action—at least it was not like the gentle scholar he had become—and I had intended to keep him out of harm's way. I thought I understood why he had become so bellicose, and I directed a silent curse at Emerson for refusing to allow Walter to share his vigil at the tomb. Had Walter been allowed to participate in that dangerous duty, he would not have felt obliged to prove his manliness. (Most men seem to think this can best be demonstrated by hitting someone.)

Yet I could not think harshly of Emerson; there was no room in my heart for any emotion except tender concern for my absent spouse. He had refused even to return to the dahabeeyah with us. "Tonight is the time of greatest danger, Peabody."

"You have said that before, Emerson! And what of tomorrow night and all the nights that will follow?"

"I'll think of something," Emerson said vaguely. Then his lips curved in a smile and his blue eyes shone with a look I knew well. "You don't suppose I will do without your—er—company indefinitely, do you? I would ask you to stay with me tonight if your presence on board were not absolutely vital."

Staying with him—and Abdullah and Daoud and six other curious, sociably inclined individuals—was not a prospect that held much attraction, except for the chance that I could be of help in protecting Emerson. But that would mean abandoning others more in need of my care. He was right; duty drew me, with what reluctance I cannot express, from his side.

The responsibility was daunting. It may have been that realization that made my dear ones appear particularly vulnerable that evening: Ramses and Nefret, vibrant with the reckless courage of youth; Evelyn, dainty and fragile as a girl in her beruffled tea gown; Walter, slight of frame and softened by years of study, nervously adjusting his eyeglasses. And, of course, the cat Bastet, who had selected Ramses's lap this time. In fact I was less concerned about the cat than about the others. She had better sense than either of the children. So did Anubis, who had gone with Emerson.

David was part of our company, though not, I thought, by choice. He had withdrawn to a corner, where he sat cross-legged chipping away at a bit of stone. It was not the head of Nefret, but a smaller, flatter piece, which seemed to be taking on the outlines of an ushebti figure. I supposed he was doing it to keep his hands busy, as a woman might embroider or sew.

We had talked only of archaeological matters during the evening meal. Not until after the dinner things had been cleared away did Walter abruptly introduce another subject. "Why didn't you and Radcliffe tell me you had seen and spoken with Riccetti?" he demanded.

"You speak of him as if you knew him," I countered, hoping I would not have to invent an excuse.

"I met him once. It was a good many years ago, but the tales that were told about him made him a character one would not soon forget. Confound it, Amelia, you had no right to keep this from me. If I had known he was back in business—"

"You would have tried to send me home," Evelyn interrupted.

"I would not have allowed you to come in the first place."

"Allowed?" Her tone of voice should have warned him to desist. Since he was a man, he began to lose his temper.

"You don't know what a cad like Riccetti is capable of. You are unaccustomed to violence."

Her voice rose. "You seem to have forgotten the circumstances under which we first met."

The reproof was just. Naturally this infuriated Walter even more. "I suppose you think you can defend yourself—and me?—with that absurd umbrella you have kept hidden all these years. I knew you had it, you know. I saw no reason to object if it pleased you to play at being a heroine—"

"Oh, dear," I said. "Please, Walter—Evelyn—not in front of the children."

They were both too angry to heed me. Evelyn had risen. The ruffles at her breast trembled with the rapidity of her breathing. "You did notobject? How kind and generous of you. To allow me my toys, as if I were a child—"

"You are behaving like a child!" Walter shouted. "Denying your responsibilities—"

"And what of your responsibilities?"

I decided the quarrel had gone far enough. It was probably an excellent exercise for people who were too accustomed to keeping their feelings closely controlled, but Nefret and Ramses needed no lessons in bad manners, and David had crept closer, his chisel-like knife in his hand. I did not like the way he was looking at Walter.

"Enough!" I said loudly. "That will do. Apologize to one another at once. And," I added, "you had better apologize to me as well, Walter, for your derogatory remark about umbrellas."

As I had planned, my little touch of humor broke the tension. The apologies I had demanded were rendered (though not, I must say, with a great deal of conviction). Evelyn resumed her chair and Walter turned to me with a rueful smile.

"I beg your pardon, Amelia dear."

"Granted. We are all suffering from excitement and nervous strain. Instead of indulging in recriminations and asking idle questions, would we not be better employed at discussing how to deal with our various opponents?"

Walter said hesitantly, "I would never question your detectival abilities, Amelia, but what makes you so certain Riccetti is not our only enemy? I cannot see any evidence of a second party of villains."

I gave Evelyn a little sidelong smile. Walter's statement was a perfect example of that male illogic we had discussed the previous night. I said slowly and patiently, "Mr. Shelmadine was murdered, Walter. I assure you I did not do it and I really don't suspect Emerson either."

"How do you know he was murdered?" Walter demanded. "Was an autopsy performed?"

Nefret proved herself an admirable pupil by remarking interestedly, "I don't suppose they could do an autopsy, Uncle Walter. After being in the water so long, the body was probably falling apart and gnawed by fishes and lobsters."

"There are no lobsters in the Nile," said Ramses, in a peculiar voice. He covered his mouth with his hand.

"Never mind that," I said, before Nefret could take exception to his laughter. "For heaven's sake, Walter, Mr. Shelmadine fell down in a fit, Emerson was struck unconscious, Shelmadine disappeared, and two weeks later his body turned up in the Nile. Unless you believe that Shelmadine feigned his fit in order to strike down a man with whom he had beenamiably conversing half a minute earlier and then dashed out of the hotel, unseen by the suffragi, and jumped into the Nile, I do not see how you can avoid the inevitable conclusion that some second party was responsible for his collapse and disappearance. As for Shelmadine himself, I hope you are not so naive as to suppose he approached us out of sheer altruism, in order to share a golden secret with us. No! He had an ulterior motive— everyone does—and it was not altruistic."

Walter's lips parted. "And furthermore," I went on, "there were two groups of men in the tomb that first night. Emerson himself said one group evicted the other at gunpoint. Now pay attention, Walter, I admit this next part is a bit complicated. The only member of the second group—the one not run by Riccetti—whom we can certainly identify is Abd el Hamed."

"Certainly?" Walter repeated. He sounded rather dazed.

"Surely I need not recapitulate the steps of deductive logic that led me to that conclusion?"

"No, I think I would prefer that you did not, Amelia. Er—you won't object if I ask David a few questions?"

I looked round for the boy. He had not returned to his former place, but sat cross-legged beside Evelyn's chair. Either he had known more English than he had admitted, or he had picked it up quickly, for he understood what Walter had said. He looked up at Evelyn. Her hand rested for a moment on his curly black head, and she said, "It is all right, David. Answer him, if you will, please."

"Hmph," said Walter. "Well, then, David. Who was the man who hurt your master's hands?"

David had not expected that question—to be honest, it was one I had not thought of asking—but he replied readily, "It was before I came to him, sir. But they say he steal—stealed—from the Mudir."

"Mudir?" Walter repeated. "The Governor of the Province?"

"No, sir. The Governor of Antikas."

"Do you know his name?"

"No, sir. He was a great man, the antika sellers of Luxor were in fear of him."

"Riccetti," I said firmly.

"So it would seem." Walter adjusted his eyeglasses. "Has this man, this Mudir, come back, David?"

"They say yes."

"Who is 'they'?"

"Don't confuse him, Walter," I interrupted. "He is learning proper grammar. Who
are
they, David?"

Rephrasing the question did not lessen the boy's confusion. He gestured.

"Men. All men in the village. And Abd el Hamed says ..." He looked up at Evelyn. "I do not say those words. It is not polite."

"Abd el Hamed cursed him?" Walter was unable to repress a smile.

"Cursed." David nodded vigorously.

"Good," said Walter. "You are a great help, David. Did you ever see this Mudir? Did he come to the village or to the house of Abd el Hamed?"

"No, sir."

"Did any strange man come to the house to talk in private with Abd el Hamed, or to buy antiquities? A foreign man?"

David hesitated. "Foreign men, yes. The reverend sir from Luxor, the fat Inglizi from the museum, the man from Cairo who took the royal mummies away."

Despite his limited English vocabulary, he had labeled the individuals in question accurately enough for identification. "Chauncey Murch, Budge and Emile Brugsch," I said. "They all deal—more or less openly—in antiquities. Hmmmm. You don't suppose Mr. Budge—"

"No," Walter said. His voice was a trifle uneven—with anger, I supposed. "Amelia, you and Radcliffe really must get over suspecting Mr. Budge of every crime in the calendar. He is entirely unscrupulous in his methods of acquiring antiquities, but even you cannot suppose an official of the British Museum would resort to murder and assault."

"I suppose not," I said regretfully. "He
is
English, after all."

"Quite," said Walter. "David, I do not ask about men who are known and who came openly to buy from your master. Was there a man who came in secret, his face hidden?"

After a moment, the boy shook his head.

"If he came in secret he would make certain no one saw him," I said impatiently. "Negative evidence is not conclusive, Walter."

"Certainly. I don't deny the—er—logic of your reasoning, Amelia dear, but since we have not the faintest idea who this individual is, I think we should concentrate our efforts on Riccetti."

"Fair enough, Walter. What do you suggest?"

"There is only one way of dealing with a hound like Riccetti," Walter said, with a snap of his teeth.

"Well, I would not be averse to employing—er—morally dubious methods. The trouble is, Walter, I don't know how to find him."

"You met with him at the Luxor."

"He is not a guest."