Lion in the Valley (28 page)

"No,
for I would have resisted the attempt with all the strength at my
disposal," I replied cheerfully. "No woman wants to be carried off
against her will; she only wants a man to want to do it! Of course, for old
married folk like us, such extravagance would be out of place."

"No
doubt," Emerson said morosely.

"I
admit that a proper compromise between tender devotion and manly strength is
difficult to achieve. But Donald has gone too far in one direction, and I
intend to tell him so at the earliest possible opportunity. He adores her; and
I rather think she reciprocates, or would, if he went about wooing her in the
proper manner. She would not say such cruel cutting things to him if she did
not—"

We
had reached the tent. Emerson swept me up into his arms and carried me inside.

Nine

N
either
of us slept well that night. My lecture had obviously made a deep impression on
Emerson, in a sense I had not at all anticipated but to which I had no
objection.

Even
after the time for slumber had arrived, Emerson was unusually restless. He kept
starting up at the slightest sound; several times his abrupt departure from the
nuptial couch woke me, and I would see him crouched at the entrance to the tent
with a heavy stick in his hands.

All
the sounds were false alarms—the far-off cries of jackals prowling the desert
waste, or the surreptitious movements of small nocturnal animals emerging from
their lairs in the relative safety of darkness to seek refreshment and
exercise. I myself was not troubled by such noises, which I had long since
learned to know and recognize. But I dreamed a great deal, which is not
usual
with me. The details of the dreams fled as soon as I woke, leaving only a vague
sense of something troubling my mind.

Despite
his disturbed night Emerson was in an excellent mood the following morning. As
he stretched and yawned outside the tent, his stalwart frame stood out in
magnificent outline against the first rays of dawn. We had brought a spiritlamp
and supplies of food and water, so we were able to make a scanty morning meal.
As we waited for the workmen to arrive, Emerson said, "You were restless
last night, Peabody."

"So
would you have been had you been wakened hourly, as I was, by someone prowling
round the tent."

"You
talked in your sleep."

"Nonsense,
Emerson. I never talk in my sleep. It is a sign of mental instability. What did
I say?"

"I
could not quite make out the words, Peabody."

The
arrival of the crew put an end to the discussion and I thought no more about
it. Ramses was in the van, of course, with Donald close beside him. The young
man assured me there had been no trouble during the night. "Except,"
he added, scowling at Ramses—who returned the scowl, with interest—"I
caught this young man halfway up the stairs to the roof shortly after midnight.
He refused to tell me where he was going."

"I
could not go out the door because Hassan was on guard there," Ramses
said—as if this were an acceptable excuse for his attempt to creep out of the
house.

"Never
mind," I said, sighing. "Ramses, in case I neglected to mention it, I
forbid you to leave the house at night."

"Is
that a wholesale prohibition, Mama? For instance, should the house catch fire,
or be invaded by burglars, or should the roof of my room appear in imminent
danger of falling—"

"Obviously
you must use your own discretion in such cases," said Emerson.

I
abandoned the lecture. Ramses could always find a way to do what he wanted, if
he had to burn the house down in order to justify it.

"Where
is Enid?" I asked.

Then
I saw her standing some distance away, her back turned. "She wanted to
stay at the house," Donald said. "But I insisted she come with
us."

"Quite
right She must not be left alone for an instant."

"Besides,
I need every pair of hands," Emerson announced. "Listen to me, all of
you. I intend to work without interruption this day. If all the powers of hell
were to choose this spot on which to wage the final battle of Armageddon, I
would not be distracted. If one of you feels a mortal illness come over him,
pray go off and die at a distance. Come along, Ramses. You too, Fraser."

And
he marched off, shouting for Abdullah.

"Well!"
I said to Enid, who had approached me. "He is in a temper today! We had
better humor him, my dear. I have a great treat for you—we are going to explore
the interior of the pyramid!"

Instead
of mirroring the enthusiasm I expected, the girl's face lengthened. "But
Ramses said—"

"My
dear girl, I hope you are not suggesting that a mere infant has my expertise in
archaeology? There may be many important signs Ramses has missed."

I
set the men to work clearing away the debris and enlarging the entrance. A
closer examination of the ceiling of the descending passageway convinced me
there was no danger of further collapse except in the section immediately
adjoining the one that had already fallen. A few stout timbers were arranged to
brace this; the
fallen stones were removed; and I allowed
myself the pleasure of being the first to penetrate the interior. We disturbed
the usual number of bats, and the advent of these harmless creatures, squeaking
and flapping, had a deleterious effect on Enid's nerves. She absolutely refused
to accompany me any farther, so I went on alone.

At
the end of a series of passages and corridors was a small chamber some seven
and a half feet square, with a fine corbeled roof. It was entirely empty. A
brief search through the debris on the floor disclosed nothing of interest,
and, leaving Selim to sift through the dust to make sure nothing had been
overlooked, I returned to the open air, heroically concealing my
disappointment.

I
found Enid outside, perched on one of the blocks on the side of the pyramid.
Chin on her hands, the breeze ruffling her hair, she watched the others gather
for the midmorning break. I indicated I was ready to join them, and as we
scrambled down the steplike stones I remarked, "It won't do, you know. You
cannot go on forever treating him like a leper."

"I
can and will," Enid said hotly. "Unless he comes to his senses and
confesses the truth."

"He
has already confessed to such a staggering variety of sins, I can't imagine
what he could be concealing," I remarked. "Unless you believe he is
the killer."

"You
misunderstand me." We reached the ground and she turned to face me.
"It was Ronald," she blurted. "Not Donald at all. He took the
blame for Ronald's fault, as he has always done."

'
'Losing his commission, his honor, and his fortune? Come, Enid, I can't believe
any man (even a man) would be so foolish. Nobility and self-sacrifice are the
highest qualities of which humanity is capable, but
when
carried to excess, they are not so much admirable as idiotic."

"I
quite agree," Enid said, with a bitter laugh. "But you don't know
Donald. Quixotic is too mild a word for him. Ronald was always his mother's
darling—the younger and smaller and weaker of the two."

"The
runt of the litter," I said musingly.

"I
beg your pardon?"

"It
is a slang expression, and a very pithy one. How often have I seen a mother
cherish some pitiful crippled infant, to the neglect of the other children in
the family. Weakness brings out the best in us, Enid, and I must say—"

"Yes,
I have no doubt that in the abstract it is a noble quality. But in this case it
resulted in terrible harm to both brothers. Ronald was never at fault, he was
never punished. Instead of resenting this unfair treatment, Donald tried to win
his mother's approval by appointing himself Ronald's defender and whipping boy.
When Ronald did something wrong, he blamed Donald, and Donald took the beating.
When Ronald taunted a hulking bully, Donald did the fighting. Their mother's
last words to Donald were, 'Always love and protect your brother.' And he has
done exactly that."

"In
childhood, perhaps. But how can you be certain Donald took the blame for his
brother this time? A beating is one thing; to admit responsibility for a debt
one has not incurred—"

"It
would not be the first time," Enid said. "Donald has paid a number of
Ronald's debts in the past. This time the situation was more serious. Ronald
would have been publicly disgraced and perhaps sent to prison if the gentleman
whose signature had been forged had decided to press the matter. He was willing
to let Donald off more lightly because of the respect and affection felt
for
Donald by all who know him—a consideration that would assuredly not have been
extended to Ronald. For that reason Donald agreed to take the blame on himself.
I am as certain of that fact as I am that we are standing here, but I cannot
prove it. The only ones who know the truth are the brothers themselves. Ronald
won't betray himself, and if Donald is determined to play the martyr ... That
was why I had to come to Egypt. Ronald had already set out, ostensibly to find
Donald and bring him home. I knew he would not press the search, and of course
I was right. When I reached Cairo I learned that Ronald had gone off on some
pleasure trip. It was up to me to locate Donald and beg him—threaten him—"

"Bribe
him?" I inquired delicately.

A
deep flush stained the girl's rounded cheeks. "He has never given the
slightest indication that an offer of the sort to which you refer would
influence him."

"I
see. Well, men are strange creatures, Enid; it requires experience like mine,
which extends over many nations and two separate continents, to understand
their foibles. Did it ever occur to you that Ronald might have taken steps to
prevent you from finding Donald?"

"Such
a suspicion did enter my mind," Enid murmured. "I even wondered
whether Kalenischeff might not have been sent to lead me astray. But I cannot
believe that, even of Ronald...."

"Believe
it," I said firmly. "Kalenischeff was up to something; he told me he
intended to leave Egypt, and he would never abandon a lucrative scheme until he
had collected every possible penny first. He meant to betray someone, I am
certain of that. The only question is— who? Well, my dear, you have raised
several interesting and suggestive issues, which I must mull over. Now we
had
better join the others. I believe I hear Emerson calling me."

There
was no doubt about it, in fact. Emerson's voice, as I have had occasion to
remark, is notable for its carrying quality.

Ramses
was the first to greet us. He asked whether I had found anything interesting
inside the pyramid.

I
changed the subject.

We
had almost finished our repast when the sound of voices from afar warned us
that another party of tourists was approaching. The absurd little caravan came
trotting toward us, and after one look at the formidable figure leading the
procession, Emerson dived headlong into the trench that had been dug. After the
episode with the empress, he was wary of old ladies.

I
sent the others back to work and advanced to meet the intruders, hoping I could
head them off and spare my poor Emerson. The rider on the lead donkey looked
familiar, and I realized that it was indeed the elderly American lady I had
seen at Shepheard's. Her voluminous black skirts practically swallowed up the
little donkey. Nevertheless, he proceeded at a brisk trot, which caused the old
lady to roll perilously from side to side. Two donkey boys took turns shoving
her back into the saddle.

Seeing
me, she changed course. "I know you," she said, in a piercing nasal
voice. "Saw you at the hotel. Friend of Baehler's? Most improper, a lady
dining alone."

"I
was not dining, I was lunching," I reminded her, and then introduced
myself.

"Huh,"
said the old lady. "And who's that, then?"

She
pointed with her parasol. I turned. ' 'Allow me to present my son," I
said. "Ramses, go back—"

"Ramses?"
The old lady trumpeted. "What kind of
name is that? Sickly-looking
child. Not long for this world."

"Thank
you for your concern, madam," I said with frigid courtesy. "I assure
you it is unwarranted. Ramses, will you please—"

The
old lady distracted me by dismounting. Indeed, the process would have seriously
alarmed someone of a nervous temperament, accompanied as it was by infuriated
screams and wild waving of her parasol. I thought she was going to topple over
onto one of the small donkey boys and mash him flat. However, the action was
eventually completed and the old lady, straightening her skirts and her black
veil, addressed me again.

"Show
me the pyramid, ma'am. I came a long way to see it, and see it I will. Mrs.
Axhammer of Des Moines, Iowa, don't do things by halves. I've got a
list...." She plucked it from her pocket and waved it like a flag.
"And I'm not going home till I've seen everything that's writ down
here."

"What
about your companions?" I asked. Both had dismounted. The pale young man
leaned weakly against his donkey, mopping his brow. The woman had collapsed
onto the ground, her face as green as the palms in the background.