The Eye of the Serpent (16 page)

‘What the hell are you staring at, man?'

‘I'm sorry, sir, I was merely concerned. Did you manage to catch up with Mr Hinton?'

‘It wasn't him,' Llewellyn assured him. ‘They had a similar build but when I got a good look at his face, I could see it was somebody completely different. Felt rather foolish pursuing him down the street like that.'

‘That's odd,' murmured Mohammed. ‘I could have sworn—'

‘It wasn't him, I told you! Now, for goodness' sake, are you going to sit around yakking all night
or are you going to take me to my hotel?'

‘Er . . . of course, sir. Right away, sir.'

Mohammed started up the car and drove slowly off through the throngs of people, sounding his horn whenever somebody got in his way.

‘You will collect me from the hotel at sundown tomorrow and take me back to the bazaar,' said Llewellyn. It was not a request but an order.

‘Oh, I don't know, Mr Llewellyn,' reasoned Mohammed. ‘All this driving – it takes up so much of my time. I have other businesses to run. Perhaps I can send one of my cousins instead.'

‘You will come yourself,' snarled Llewellyn. ‘How much do you earn in one year?'

‘I . . . I beg your pardon, sir?'

‘I want to know how much money you earn in a year. I will pay you that amount to be my personal driver for one week. How does that sound?'

‘Er . . . very generous, I'm sure but . . . I would need to sit down and work out how much this would be.'

Llewellyn made a gesture of dismissal. ‘It's immaterial. You name a price and that's what I shall give you when my business is concluded.'

‘But . . . with respect, Mr Llewellyn, you do not know how long that will take.'

‘It will not be long,' said Llewellyn; and he turned to gaze dreamily out of the window as they drove away from the bazaar.

Mohammed kept glancing at his passenger in the rear-view mirror. He was convinced now that something was terribly wrong. How could a man change in so many ways in such a short space of time? And why was he lying about finding Tom Hinton?

Mohammed wasn't sure what Wilfred Llewellyn was up to, but he resolved to keep a close eye on him until the truth revealed itself.

THE SUN WAS
just peeping over the horizon when Alec took his place at the communal table with the rest of the team. He was used to these early starts from the previous digs, knowing that it was a good idea to get as much as possible done before the heat of the day set in. He'd passed a fitful night, his sleep interrupted by howls echoing around the hills; howls that seemed to descend into maniacal laughter, demonstrating only too well why the creatures making the noise were sometimes referred to as ‘laughing' hyenas.

Consequently, this morning he was heavy-eyed
and not all that alert. As he took his seat at the table, Archie dutifully placed a bowl in front of him and he stared at the lumpy grey sludge that filled it. He looked hopefully at Coates, who was sitting beside him.

‘I'm not sure what it is either,' said the valet. ‘Mr McCloud claims it's porridge but it's not like any I've ever seen.'

‘As long as there's no bat in it, I'll eat it,' said Alec.

‘The very idea!' growled Archie. ‘That's just good wholesome porridge oats with a dash of milk and, of course, my own special ingredient.'

‘Demerara sugar?' suggested Doc Hopper hopefully.

‘Honey?' suggested Mickey.

‘Golden syrup,' offered Alec. He raised a spoonful to his mouth and his expression turned to one of total disgust. ‘Salt,' he croaked. ‘Lots and lots of salt.'

‘That is correct,' said Archie brightly. ‘An absolute necessity in this climate. It'll replace all that good honest sweat you're losin'.'

‘Mr McCloud,' said Coates. ‘About that bat curry you threatened to make for tonight's dinner . . .'

Archie shook his head. ‘It's off the menu,' he said with genuine regret. ‘The ones in the sack smelled rotten from the word go and it got worse during the night. It was so bad, I had to get up and bury them.'

Everybody at the table let out loud sighs of relief.

‘A real pity,' said Archie wistfully. ‘Ah could have done something spectacular wi' 'em. Well, eat hearty! There's plenty more porridge in the pot if ye want it.' He wandered back to the cook tent, whistling cheerfully.

Coates pushed his bowl away and looked at Ethan, who was doing his level best to swallow down spoonfuls of the stuff.

‘It's not so bad if you get it down quick,' he said.

‘Mr Wade,' said Coates, and Alec could see that there was a look of grim determination on his valet's face. ‘We are going to have to talk about this.'

Ethan glanced warily over his shoulder. ‘What's the problem, Mr Goats . . . er . . . Coates?'

‘I'll tell you the problem. That man cannot cook to save his life. It's bad enough that we're
out here in this heat and sleeping in tents, but to endure it with nothing edible is going too far.'

‘I agree,' said Doc Hopper. He pointed to the ring of Arabs seated around their communal campfire, cooking up something spicy in their pan. ‘I wonder what they're having?' he said hopefully. ‘It smells a lot more appetizing than this muck!'

Ethan frowned and looked around the circle of faces. ‘I can't help feeling you're all being a little hard on Archie,' he said.

‘
Hard
on him?' said Coates. ‘Why not? He's being
merciless
with us.'

‘I feel sorry for him,' said Ethan. ‘You know, when I interviewed him, he told me that a lot of his closest friends were killed during the war . . .'

‘Probably from food poisoning,' said Madeleine, and Alec had to stifle a laugh.

‘Yes,' said Doc Hopper. ‘He probably took cookery lessons from Dr Crippen.' When nobody laughed, he added, ‘You know, the famous poisoner?'

Coates looked around the table. ‘Is
anybody
here happy with the standard of cuisine?' he asked.

Mickey started to put up his hand, but then
changed his mind. ‘I was gonna say 'is rice puddin' is just like Mother used to make,' he said, ‘but to tell you the truth, she was a terrible cook too.'

That
did
get a laugh.

‘And who would like to see an improvement?' asked Coates.

After a brief pause everyone except Ethan raised a hand.

‘There you are then,' said Coates. ‘He'll have to be told.'

‘Uh . . . yeah, OK,' said Ethan quietly. Alec studied him in amazement. The man who had so fearlessly faced up to a pack of deadly hyenas was afraid of hurting Archie's feelings.

‘If you feel awkward speaking to him, Mr Wade, I'm more than happy to oblige,' offered Coates.

Ethan shook his head. ‘Oh no. I'm director of this project, it's down to me. I'll get him on his own later.' He leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘But listen, I sure wouldn't feel too good about sacking him. I mean, where else would he go?'

‘You don't have to sack him,' said Coates. ‘Simply tell him that from now on I'll be helping him on cooking duties. Which basically
means I'll be cooking and he'll be my assistant.' He glanced at Alec guiltily. ‘Of course, that means I shan't be able to spend as much time with you, Master Alec.'

‘Oh, what a pity,' said Alec dutifully, but deep down he was delighted at the news. The last thing he wanted was Coates following him everywhere he went.

‘Don't worry about Alec, Monsieur Coates,' said Madeleine. ‘I shall make sure that 'e comes to no 'arm.' She reached over and tousled Alec's hair affectionately and he felt his face reddening.

‘Well,' announced Ethan, trying to sound more positive, ‘today we should get the last items out of the antechamber. Which means tomorrow we'll be breaking through to the—' He stopped at the sound of approaching hooves.

Glancing up the valley, Alec saw an Arab guide leading a couple of donkeys down the hill towards the camp. Seated on the donkeys were two people that he had met outside King Tut's tomb: the reporter, Biff Corcoran, and his photographer, Charlie Connors. They looked quite ridiculous perched on their little mounts. Biff's boots skimmed the rocky ground by mere
inches. Charlie was carrying her huge camera and looked as bored as she had last time Alec had met her.

‘Great,' muttered Ethan. ‘Who would have figured they'd be up at this time of the morning? OK, folks, don't forget, we've found nothing.' He went to greet the visitors. ‘Biff! Charlie! So you made it up here after all!'

‘Yeah.' Biff swung himself down off his donkey and rubbed his backside ruefully. ‘Damned uncomfortable way to do it, too,' he growled. He watched as Charlie dismounted. ‘Couldn't find anybody to drive us up here. It seems Mohammed Hansa is on permanent call chauffeuring that professor friend of yours around.'

‘Huh? Oh, you mean Professor Llewellyn? Yeah, well, there wasn't much for him to do just yet, so he's been getting in a little sightseeing.' Ethan beckoned them over to the table. ‘Come and take the weight off,' he suggested. ‘Have a cup of java with us.'

‘Don't mind if I do,' said Biff. He and Charlie slipped into a couple of empty seats. ‘I wouldn't normally be seen dead at this time of the morning but something came to me in the middle of the night.'

‘Oh yes?' said Doc Hopper. ‘Mosquitoes, was it?'

‘Something better than that,' said Biff. ‘An idea. A great idea.'

‘Hmm. I 'ad one of those once,' said Mickey. ‘I wonder whatever 'appened to it.' He winked at Alec, then filled a couple of enamel mugs with coffee, something that even Archie couldn't manage to mess up. Biff took a silver hip flask from his pocket and added a generous measure of the contents to his mug.

‘Still got that head cold, I see,' said Ethan.

Biff nodded. ‘It's a doozy,' he said. ‘Just keeps hanging on in there. You gotta take relief where you can find it.' He took a mouthful of coffee, smacked his lips and looked around at the assembled crew. ‘Hope I'm not keeping you people from anything important,' he said.

‘Oh no,' said Doc Hopper. ‘We were just discussing where we might try looking next.'

Biff nodded. ‘Ethan,' he said, ‘it's come to my attention that you've been hiding something from me.'

‘Huh?' Ethan nearly choked on his coffee. ‘What are you talking about?'

Biff was now smiling at Madeleine. ‘I'm talking
about this lovely lady here. It's about time you got a looker on your team. The rest of 'em could scare crows for a living.'

‘Blimey, you say what you think, don't ya?' observed Mickey.

‘It's my job,' said Biff. He looked at Ethan expectantly. ‘Well?' he said.

‘Oh, er . . . sure. Biff, this is Madeleine . . . Dr Madeleine Duval. She's come over from Paris to help us on the dig.'

‘A doctor, no less!' Biff studied Madeleine with evident interest. ‘Boy, you Frenchies sure know how to make a subject more interesting, don't ya? What's your speciality,
mademoiselle
?' He pronounced the word as it was spelled – mad-emoiselle.

Madeleine stared back at him with evident distaste. ‘I am an expert in 'ieroglyphics,' she said coldly; then flinched as Charlie snapped a picture of her. ‘Please don't do that,' she said. ‘I don't like 'aving my picture taken.'

‘I can't imagine why,' said Biff. ‘Honey, you could give Mary Pickford a run for her money.'

‘Mary 'oo?'

‘You know. The movie star. She's about the most famous woman in Hollywood right now
and she ain't a patch on you, honey.' He turned to look at Ethan. ‘So, you sure kept her quiet,' he said.

Ethan fixed him with a look. ‘Biff, I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk about Miss Duval like that.' He said it quietly but the menace in his voice was evident.

Biff assumed a look of complete innocence. ‘Aw, shucks, Wade, I don't think she minds.'

‘Well, I do. Madeleine is a member of my team and I'd ask you to watch your mouth around her, otherwise I'm liable to forget that we're friends.'

Biff stared back at him for a moment. ‘Touchy,' he said. ‘Very touchy.' He took a sip of his coffee and studied Ethan thoughtfully. ‘So you needed a hieroglyphics expert, huh?'

Ethan shrugged. ‘Well, not yet exactly, but we live in hope,' he said calmly.

‘Hmm. So let me get this straight. Madeleine here came all the way from Gay Paree, just on the off-chance there might be a need for her expertise.'

‘In her own airplane,' added Charlie, through a mouthful of gum.

‘Oh yeah, nearly forgot about that. Somebody over at the hotel mentioned it. See, call me
suspicious, but I figure there has to be a little more to it than you're letting on. You know what? I think you've found something, Ethan. Why don't ya level with me?'