The Ape Who Guards the Balance (18 page)

“So can I, Father. I saw no point in pursuing that line of inquiry, however. The guilty person would not admit anything, and questioning the others would only arouse speculation of the sort we want to avoid.”

“I suppose so.” The admission came grudgingly. Emerson would have preferred to call on all his suspects and bully one of them into a confession.

His eyes returned to the papyrus, which lay on the table in David’s ingeniously designed case. One of the charming little painted vignettes had been exposed; it showed the mummy case of the princess being drawn to the tomb by a pair of oxen. Emerson fingered the cleft in his chin, as was his habit when perplexed or in deep thought. Half to himself, he said, “It’s odd, though. The papyrus is very fine, no question of that; but I would not have believed any of the persons I had in mind would go to such lengths to get it back. Attacking a scruffy fellow swindler like Ali the Rat is one thing. Attempting to robME requires more audacity than I would have supposed them to possess.”

“Have you any ideas about who such an audacious person might be, sir?” Nefret inquired politely.

Emerson shot her a wary look. “No. How should I? The question of the origin of this object is equally mysterious. It came from Thebes, obviously, but where in Thebes?”

“It occurred to David,” Ramses said, “that this papyrus might have come from the Royal Cache. The Abd er Rassul brothers had been looting the tomb of small objects for years before they were—er—persuaded to lead Herr Brugsch to the site. Some things were sold to collectors—”

“And other things they concealed in their house in Gurneh,” said Abdullah. “There were papyri among those things.”

Emerson was smoking furiously. “There is another possibility. Brugsch could easily have overlooked something, he bundled everything out of the place in such a cursed hurry.”

“Surely it is unlikely that he and the Abd er Rassuls would both overlook something as valuable as this,” I mused. “However, a proper excavation might yield interesting results.”

Emerson gave me a critical look. “Bored with our tombs, are you, Peabody? Don’t suppose you can distract me from my duty with your tempting suggestions. What we are endeavoring to determine is how the papyrus got to Cairo and where it originated. I see four possibilities. The first, that it came from the undiscovered tomb of the princess, is cursed unlikely. Other objects from that tomb would have surfaced. The second, third, and fourth theories assume it was part of the Deir el Bahri cache. It was sold by the thieves either shortly after they discovered the tomb, or later, after having been concealed in their house for an undetermined number of years; or it was found and marketed only recently.”

I opened my mouth to speak. Emerson said in a loud voice, “Don’t begin theorizing, Peabody, I am having difficulty enough controlling my temper. We have not sufficient evidence to construct a theory as yet. Unless our dear dutiful children are concealing evidence from us?”

“
We
aren’t concealing anything,” Nefret said. “Ramses held nothing back. If I had been telling the story I would have been strongly tempted to omit a few of the more—um—interesting details.”

“I suppose I must give him that,” Emerson said. “Confound it, Ramses, for how long have you and David been prowling the streets of Cairo in those disgusting disguises? ‘Curse the unbeliever’ indeed!”

“We established those identities three years ago, Father.”

“Well, you had better dis-establish them. It has occurred to you, I trust, that someone more acute than your father must have penetrated your disguises? I confess,” Emerson added with grudging admiration, “that you took me in completely.”

“The events of last night confirm that assumption, sir. Though I cannot explain how. We were very careful.”

“Hmph. Well, if we can find Yussuf Mahmud he can answer all our questions. Our first move should be to learn whether he has shown himself in Luxor. I will just have some little chats with the antiquities dealers. Abdullah, you will question your friends and relatives in Gurneh?”

Abdullah nodded. He looked so grim I felt sorry for the friends and relatives. “It must be made known that the object the thief sought is no longer in Nur Misur’s room.”

“It is a good thought, my father.” Ramses switched from English to Arabic. “But after today it will be my room, and she will occupy mine. Do not speak of this, or of the papyrus. I would be very glad if the man would come back.”

Clipping from
Al Ahram,
December 29, 1906:

The body of a man was drawn from the Nile yesterday at Luxor, under strange circumstances. The hands and feet had been bound, and the remains were horribly mutilated, apparently by the jaws of a large animal such as a crocodile. There are no longer any crocodiles in the Luxor area.

•

Six

•

T
he news was all over Luxor next morning. We heard of it from Abdullah, who had heard of it from his cousin Mohammed, who had been told of it by his son Raschid, who had spoken with one of the unfortunate boatmen who had found the remains. I did not doubt that the discovery had been unpleasant enough, but by the time it reached us it had been magnified and exaggerated to an astonishing degree.

“A crocodile,” Abdullah insisted. “Raschid said Sayed said it could have been nothing else.”

“Nonsense, Abdullah. You know there have been no crocodiles in Egypt since . . . well, not in our lifetimes.”

Abdullah rolled his eyes. “Let us hope it was a crocodile, Sitt. For if it was not, it was something worse.”

“What could be worse?” I demanded.

Abdullah leaned forward and planted his hands on his knees. “There are men who believe the old gods are not dead, but only sleeping. Those who violate the tombs of the dead—”

“Some believe that,” I agreed. “Surely you are not one of them, Abdullah?”

“Not believing is not the same as not knowing, Sitt.”

“Hmm,” I said, after I had worked my way through the string of negatives. “Well, Abdullah, if it is true that the old gods resent those who enter the tombs we are all in trouble—you and I and Emerson. So let us hope it is not true.”

“Yes, Sitt. But there is no harm in protecting oneself against that which is not true.” He gestured at the amulets on the chain round my neck, and then reached into the breast of his robe. “I have brought you another one.”

Like most of the amulets found in Egypt, it was of blue-green faience, and it had been molded with a loop on the back so that it could be hung on a cord. I didn’t doubt it was genuine. Abdullah had his connections. Smiling, I took the trinket from his hand.

“Thank you,” I said. “But what of Emerson? Have you brought amulets for him too?”

“He would not wear them, Sitt.”

“No. Abdullah, are you sure that is the reason why you gave this to me and not to Emerson? It couldn’t be, could it, that you consider me more in need of protection than he?”

Abdullah’s face remained grave, but there was a glint in his black eyes that I had learned to recognize. Had he been teasing me the whole time? He was certainly laughing at me now. “You are not careful, Sitt. You do foolish things.”

“If I do, you and Emerson will watch over me,” I said cheerfully. “And now I will have Sobek to protect me too.”

I unfastened the chain and added the little figure of the crocodile god to the others.

Ramses went to view the body. The rest of us declined the treat, even Emerson, who remarked—ostentatiously not looking at Ramses—that he did not need to prove
his
manhood by inspecting mangled corpses.

Emerson was out of temper with Ramses. I knew why, of course. He blamed the boy for allowing Nefret to accompany him and David on their midnight foray into the Old City. To be sure, Emerson had taken me into areas of Cairo almost as dirty and dangerous, but he still thought of his adopted daughter as a sweet-faced, golden-haired child. She was no longer a child, as a number of young gentlemen could testify, but fathers are absurdly sentimental about their daughters. (I have been informed that some mothers are just as silly about their sons. This has never been a failing of mine.)

I did not hold Ramses accountable for Nefret’s behavior on that occasion. However, when I found that he had let her go with him to examine the corpse, I discovered I was not so broad-minded as I had believed.

The rest of us were on the verandah taking tea when she and Ramses rode up, and one look at her face told me she had been doing something other than paying calls in Luxor, as she had said she intended. Ramses’s face was set like stone, a certain indication of some strong emotion rigidly controlled. Ignoring his attempt to help her dismount, she slipped out of the saddle, tossed the reins to the stableman, and joined us round the tea table.

“Will you have a slice of cake?” I inquired, offering the plate. The cake was especially rich, stuffed with nuts and dates and thickly iced.

Nefret swallowed and turned her head away. “No, thank you.”

“Ah,” I said. “So you did go with Ramses. Nefret, I strictly forbade you—”

“No, Aunt Amelia, you didn’t. No doubt you would have done if you had thought of it, but you didn’t.” She gave me a rather strained smile and reached out a hand to pat Emerson’s rigid arm. “Professor darling, stop sputtering. Recall, if you please, that I am the only one of us who has had medical training.”

“She was sick,” said Ramses. Arms folded, he leaned against the wall and fixed a critical look on his sister.

“Not until afterwards! You were a bit green around the mouth yourself.” She snatched up a bit of cake and thrust it at him. “Here, have a bite.”

“No, thank you,” said Ramses, averting his eyes.

“That bad, was it?” I inquired.

“Yes.” Nefret replaced the sticky morsel on the plate and wiped her fingers on a serviette.

“Yes.” Ramses had gone to the side table. He came back with two glasses of whiskey and soda and handed one to Nefret. “I trust you do not object, Mother. As you have often said, the medicinal effects of good whiskey—”

“Quite,” I agreed.

Ramses raised his glass in a salute to Nefret before drinking quite a quantity himself. He settled himself in his favorite place on the ledge and remarked, “She made a closer examination of the wounds than I would have cared to do. They appeared to be consistent with the assumption that has been made.”

“What, a crocodile?” I exclaimed. “Ramses, you know perfectly well—”

“Peabody.” Emerson had recovered himself. His tone was calm, his face composed—except for a certain glitter in his blue eyes. “Does this strike you as suitable conversation for the tea table?”

“Many of our conversations would not be considered suitable for polite society,” I replied. “If the young people can put themselves through the discomfort of actually viewing the remains, we can do no less than listen to their description. Er—you might just get me a whiskey and soda too, if you will be so good.”

“Bah,” said Emerson. But he complied with my request and filled a glass for himself. David declined the offer. Except for an occasional glass of wine he did not imbibe. At least not in my presence.

Stroking Horus, who had settled himself solidly across her lap, Nefret said, “I won’t go into lurid detail, Professor dear. The wounds were consistent with those that might have been made by the large jaws of an animal with long sharp teeth. Since we know that no such animal is to be found in this area, we must conclude that they were made by some man-made tool. I was reminded of the Iron Maiden we saw in the museum in Nuremberg.”

“Good Gad,” I cried. “Are you suggesting that someone has imported an instrument of medieval torture?”

“Stop that, Peabody,” said Emerson, who had forgot his qualms and was listening with intense interest. “The Iron Maiden, so called because it was the size and shape of a human body, had spikes protruding from the interior of the back and the lid. When the lid was closed the spikes penetrated the victim’s body. The same effect could be produced by a less complex mechanism—long nails driven into a heavy wooden plank, for instance.”

“Exactly,” said Nefret, finishing her whiskey. “The wounds were confined to the head and torso, and I distinctly saw the gleam of metal in one of them. It was, as I suspected, the broken-off point of a spike or nail.”

“You—you extracted it?” David asked, swallowing.

“Yes. It is evidence, you know.” She touched her shirt pocket. “I brought it back with me, since no one at the zabtiyeh seemed to want it. There was only one other extraneous object on the body—a piece of cord deeply imbedded in his neck.”

“A strangling cord,” I breathed. “The devotees of the goddess Kali—”

An odd sound from Ramses interrupted me. His lips were so tightly compressed they formed a single narrow line.

“The poor fellow wasn’t strangled, Aunt Amelia,” Nefret said. “The fragment was at the back of his neck, not his throat. It seems more likely that he was wearing a crucifix do amulet round his neck, and that someone or something pulled at the cord until it snapped.”

“I suppose you—er—extracted that, too,” Emerson said resignedly.

“Yes. The question is, why would anyone go to such elaborate lengths to kill someone?”

“A new murder cult,” I exclaimed. “Like the cult of Kali in India. A revival, by insane fanatics, of the worship of the crocodile god, Sobek—”

“Kindly control your rampageous imagination, Peabody,” Emerson snarled. “The metal jaws of some machine, such as—er—some machine or other could cause similar wounds. If he was drunk and stumbled into something of the sort—”

“Headfirst?” I inquired with, I believe, pardonable sarcasm. “And the operator of the machine, not noticing a pair of protruding legs, started it up?”

David, gentle soul that he was, turned a shade paler.

Since the hypothesis was obviously absurd, Emerson did not try to defend it. “A more important question is: Who was the dead man?”

“The face was unrecognizable,” said Ramses. “However, Ali Yussuf was missing the first two joints of the third finger of his left hand. The extremities had been nibbled at by smaller predators, but only the ends of the fingers and toes were gone, and that particular finger—”