The Eye of the Serpent (11 page)

This was the world Alec wanted to belong to. He realized it wasn't something that would appeal to everyone. It was a world of painstaking research, where the wheels turned slowly and a week's hard work was deemed as nothing when compared to the long passage of centuries. And yet he felt that it was what he had been born to do.

Ethan was looking around impatiently. He spotted a young woman standing alone in a corner, studying an elaborate mural, and he made a beeline for her.

‘Say, honey, you must be with Dr Duval. Any idea where he is?'

The woman turned to look at Ethan. She was probably in her mid twenties, Alec thought, strikingly pretty with bobbed black hair and dark brown eyes. She was dressed in a khaki shirt, jodhpurs and brown leather boots and she was looking at Ethan as though she was having trouble understanding him.

Ethan tried speaking louder and slower. ‘You go fetch Dr Duval,' he said. ‘Tell him Ethan Wade is here.'

‘Dr Duval
knows
you are 'ere,' said the woman, in a pronounced French accent.

Ethan did a slow 180-degree turn to look around the tomb, but clearly saw nobody he didn't recognize. The obvious answer began to dawn on Alec and he stepped forward to try and intervene, but he was too late.

‘Sorry, sister, you're not making much sense,' said Ethan flatly.

The woman stared at him. ‘
I
am Dr Duval,' she said.

There was a long moment of silence while the awful truth registered, and Ethan's face went through a silent pantomime of open-mouthed shock.

‘You . . . oh . . . my . . . God,' he said. ‘I am so
sorry,
madame
, I had no idea. You see, I was expecting . . .'

‘A man,' said Dr Duval tonelessly. ‘Obviously.'

‘Well, yeah, tell you the truth. See, I had no idea that . . .'

‘. . . a woman could be a doctor? Perhaps this is against the law in America?'

‘Yeah . . . NO! No, not against the law. Just . . . you know,
unusual
. I was expecting some crusty old guy in tweeds, not a woman. Especially such a pretty one.'

Alec winced. Now the look on Dr Duval's face was a picture of pure outrage. ‘Oh, so the way I look precludes me from 'aving any brains!' she observed. ‘'Ow charming.'

‘I didn't say that!' protested Ethan. He glanced at Alec as though seeking support. ‘Did I say that? I don't think I did.'

‘No,
madame
,' said Alec, trying to smooth troubled waters. ‘I think what Mr Wade was saying, is—'

‘It is
mademoiselle
, not
madame
,' added Dr Duval.

‘Er . . . oh, right,' said Ethan. ‘That means you're . . . not married, yeah? Well, I can't say I'm surprised.'

Dr Duval stared at him and Alec winced a second time.

‘I beg your pardon?' she said.

Alec tried once again to calm things down. ‘I think what Mr Wade means is . . . he's sure you'd make somebody a perfectly
good
wife,' he said; and then realized that didn't sound quite right either. ‘Er . . . it's . . . it's just that what with you being an archaeologist, it probably doesn't leave an awful lot of time to . . . er . . . you know . . . do wifely things.'

There was a terrible silence while she mulled that one over and Ethan made a desperate attempt to change the subject.

‘Dr Duval, please let me introduce Alec Devlin, just arrived from Cairo. Alec is the nephew of Sir William Devlin, who I think I mentioned in my telegram?'

‘
Enchanté
.' She stepped forward and shook Alec's hand. ‘Your uncle is a genius, Alec. I 'ave read, I think, everything 'e 'as ever published. I was so sorry to 'ear of 'is illness.'

‘Thank you,
Mademoiselle
Duval,' said Alec.

‘Oh,
non
, you must call me Madeleine, please.'

‘Madeleine,' said Ethan. ‘Pretty name. Maddie for short?'

Madeleine directed a withering look at him. ‘Madeleine,' she said, ‘as that is my name.'

‘Oh, right.' Ethan laughed. Then, realizing that the remark hadn't been intended as a joke, stopped himself. ‘You, er . . . sure didn't waste any time getting here. May I ask how you—?'

‘I flew,' explained Madeleine, her voice as cold as a fall of December snow.

‘Yeah? You were pretty lucky to find an airline that could bring you so soon. It usually takes—'

‘I flew
myself
,' she said. ‘In my own plane. I managed to put down on the road a few kilometres from 'ere.'

Now Ethan really was taken aback. He stared at Madeleine in astonishment.

‘Whatever is the matter, Mr Wade?' she asked him. ‘Are women not permitted to fly aeroplanes in America?'

‘Of course not! I mean, of course they are!'

Alec snapped his fingers. ‘Oh, so that must have been your biplane back along the road,' he said. ‘We stopped to take a look at it, didn't we, Ethan? You even said you'd take me up for a spin in it!'

Madeleine glared at Ethan. ‘You told 'im what?'

‘I was just kidding, obviously. I used to do a
little flying myself, in the war. Spotter planes mostly – my job was to—'

‘'Ow long before you open the door to the burial chamber?' interrupted Madeleine, who seemed unimpressed by Ethan's past exploits.

‘Hmm? Oh, hard to say. We're making good progress, but it all takes time. A couple of days, maybe three?'

‘
Voilà
. For now, we must leave these people to their work. Per'aps you can show me where I am going to be staying?'

‘Sure.' Ethan turned to go but then swung back with a worried expression. ‘No, wait . . . I . . . I can't show you just yet.'

‘Why not?' asked Madeleine impatiently. ‘I am tired. I would like to take a little rest.'

‘Er . . . sure, I understand. It's just that . . . with me expecting you to be a man and all, I kind of arranged for you to share a tent with someone called Mickey Randall. He's a swell guy, but I expect you'd prefer to have a tent of your own.'

‘But of course!' Madeleine looked exasperated. ‘A woman sharing with a male stranger? This would not be a suitable arrangement at all.'

‘It's not a problem. I'll go and make some changes. Just a case of shuffling people around.
Alec, maybe you'd like to keep Maddie . . . er, Madeleine entertained for a while until everything is fixed up.'

Alec shrugged. ‘Whatever you say, Ethan.'

‘Thanks, kid. This shouldn't take long.' Ethan shot Alec a harassed look as he hurried out of the antechamber.

Madeleine stared after him. ‘What kind of a man is this Ethan Wade?' she asked Alec. ‘'E doesn't seem to know what 'e's doing.'

Alec smiled. ‘Oh, I think he's a nice enough chap when you get to know him. He was a little thrown by you, that's all.'

She gave him a puzzled look. ‘Thrown?' she said. ‘Like a stone?'

‘Er . . . no! I mean . . . I think the two of you got off on the wrong foot.'

Now Madeleine was studying her boots with a puzzled look.

‘He . . . he's more of a man's man, I think.'

‘Ah, yes, I understand this expression. Why does 'e wear a big cowboy 'at?'

Alec thought about it for a moment, remembering how he had been surprised by it but had quickly got used to it. ‘I suppose it's just an American thing,' he said.

‘'E looks like somebody out of a Western film. Beely the Kid or . . . Tom Mix.' Now Madeline was looking around the packed interior of the antechamber. ‘You know, this is truly amazing,' she said. ‘A find like this is going to make 'istory. This is your first dig,
oui
?'

‘Oh no, my third. I've worked with my uncle twice before, but they weren't having very much luck then – we only found a few trinkets. All this' – Alec gestured around him – ‘it is rather exciting. When news gets out, it's going to put Tutankhamun in the shade.'

Madeleine smiled. ‘I wanted very much to work on Tut's tomb. I 'ad just graduated – it would 'ave been a good opportunity for me . . . but they did not need another expert, so I 'ad to be patient. When this opportunity came up, I said to myself,
Madeleine, you must not waste any time!
I set off just as soon as possible.'

‘In your own plane.' Alec couldn't disguise the tone of envy that seeped from his voice. ‘That must be marvellous. Did you come all the way without stopping?'

Madeleine laughed. ‘Oh no, that is not possible, Alec! I 'ave to make many stops. I go Paris to Lyon, then to Miramas, Pisa, Rome, Otranto,
Potasi, Crete and then to Cairo. This takes me three days to complete.'

‘Ethan didn't know what kind of plane it was.'

‘It is a Caudron C fifty-nine biplane. Built for the
Aviation Militaire
. Top speed one 'undred and seventy kilometres. Very fast, very smooth. If you like, I take you up for a flight some time.'

‘Really? Gosh, I'd love that! I've never actually been in an aeroplane before.'

‘
Non?
' Madeleine closed her eyes for a moment. ‘But you must try it, Alec. There is nothing else in this world so good! It is like . . . it is like being a bird, you know? You look down on this tiny planet and you feel you can do whatever you want.' She laughed. ‘My parents are not so keen on my flying. My mother is quite sure I will come to a . . .' ow you say? A bad end. I tell her,
Maman, one day, everyone will 'ave a plane of their own – people will fly around the world and think nothing of it
. She is not so convinced.' Madeleine glanced up suddenly as though something had interrupted her thoughts. She took a long look around the smoky interior of the antechamber. ‘There is a strange feeling 'ere,' she said.

‘How do you mean?' Alec asked her.

‘I don't know exactly. It feels like . . . the
people that built this place, they 'ave only been gone a little time and now we 'ave returned to disturb their sleep.'

Something seemed to catch her attention and she pointed. ‘And there,' she said. ‘Something is missing, I think.'

Alec followed the direction of her finger and saw again the smooth oval opening in the door that led to the next chamber. ‘Oh yes, I noticed that when I came in,' he said. ‘It looks as though somebody has prised an object off the door. A jewel, perhaps?'

‘A priceless jewel if it was that big,' observed Madeleine. She gestured around. ‘But nothing else 'as gone. In 'is telegram, Mr Wade says that the seals on the doors were unbroken. I 'ave never 'eard of such a thing.' She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Ah well, it is a mystery to solve. I like mysteries.' She licked her lips and indicated the canteen that was still hanging from Alec's shoulder. ‘I wonder if I could ask you for a drink of water.'

Alec frowned. ‘I'm sure we can do better than that,' he said. ‘Do you like tea?'

‘Tea is OK,' she told him, ‘but I prefer
café
.'

‘Coffee? In that case I'm sure my valet, Coates,
will be more than happy to prepare some. He does very good Turkish coffee. He's famous for it.'

Madeleine looked at Alec in surprise. ‘You 'ave brought your valet?' she said incredulously.

‘Oh, Coates is like my shadow,' said Alec. ‘He follows me everywhere. But he does make a cracking cup of coffee. If we ask nicely, he might even offer us a buttered crumpet.' He laughed at the look of confusion on her face. ‘Don't ask,' he advised her, and laughing he led her towards the exit.

WILFRED LLEWELLYN SAT
in the back of Mohammed Hansa's ancient Ford as it rattled along the dusty road to Luxor. He was sweating profusely and thinking how much he hated this godforsaken country: he wished he had never been offered this thankless assignment.

He had spent the day up at the dig, asking questions to anyone who would give him the time, and he had come up with precisely nothing. Nobody knew anything. Nobody had
seen
anything. It was as if Tom Hinton had simply vanished into thin air. But in Llewellyn's experience, people didn't just vanish: there was
always a reason for their disappearance and when you dug deeper, when you peeled back the layers of lies and misdirection, it always turned out that there was somebody else involved.

Tom Hinton had been kidnapped or murdered, of that he was sure; and getting to the truth was simply a matter of persistence.

But Llewellyn had asked enough questions for one day. Now he was heading for the comforts of the Winter Palace, where he could take a cold shower, change his sodden clothing and relax over a good meal and a bottle of fine wine. Tomorrow, of course, he'd have to return to the dig and talk to those people he hadn't interrogated today, but somehow he knew already that the exercise would be every bit as pointless as today's.