The Mummy Case (19 page)

Ramses gave it a disparaging glance. "An undistinguished example of a twentiet'-dynasty mortuary text. De lady has no demotic papyri, Mama."

We found the rest of the party still on deck. The ladies crouched before the cage in which the lion cub prowled restlessly, growling and snapping. I kept firm hold of Ramses' arm while we made our excuses and thanked our hostess. At least I thanked her; Emerson only snorted.

Brother David announced his intention of riding back with us. "I must arise at dawn," he intoned. "This has been a delightful interlude, but my Master calls."

The baroness extended her hand and the young man bent over it with graceful respect. "Humph," said Emerson, as we left him to complete his farewells. "I presume the interval has been lucrative as well as delightful. He wouldn't be ready to leave if he had not accomplished what he came for."

"What was dat?" Ramses asked interestedly.

"Money, of course. Donations to the church. That is Brother David's role, I fancy—seducing susceptible ladies."

"Emerson, please," I exclaimed.

"Not literally," Emerson admitted. "At least I don't suppose so."

"What is de literal meaning of dat word?" Ramses inquired. "De dictionary is particularly obscure on dat point."

Emerson changed the subject.

After we had mounted, Emerson set off at a great pace in an effort to avoid David's company, but the young man was not to be got rid of so easily. Before the pair trotted beyond earshot I heard him say, "Pray explain to me, Professor, how a man of your superior intelligence can be so indifferent to that one great question which must supersede all other intellectual inquiries...."

Ramses and I followed at a gentler pace. He seemed deep in thought, and after a time I asked, "Where did the lion cub bite you?"

"He did not bite me. His toot' scratched my hand when I pulled him from de cage."

"That was not a sensible thing to do, Ramses."

"Dat," said Ramses, "was not de issue, Mama."

"I am not referring to your ill-advised attempt to free the animal from captivity. It appears to be a very young lion. Its chances of survival in a region where there are no others of its kind would be slim."

Ramses was silent for a moment. Then he said thoughtfully, "I confess dat objection had not occurred to me. T'ank you for bringing it to my attention."

"You are welcome," I replied, congratulating myself on having headed Ramses off in the neatest possible manner. He scarcely ever disobeyed a direct command, but on those few occasions when he had done so, he had appealed to moral considerations as an excuse for failing to comply. I suspected the well-being of an animal would seem to him a sufficient excuse. By pointing out that he would only be worsening the unfortunate lion's
condition I had, as I believed, forestalled a second attempt at liberation.

How true it is that there are none so blind as those who will not see!

The night was utterly silent; the contentious missionary and his would-be prey had drawn far ahead. Sand muffled the hoofbeats of our steeds. We might have been a pair of ancient Egyptian dead seeking the paradise of Amenti, for I was absorbed in self-congratulation and Ramses was abnormally silent. Glancing at him, I was struck by an odd little chill, for the profile outlined against the paler background of the sandy waste was alarmingly like that of his namesake—beaky nose, prominent chin, lowering brow. At least it resembled the mummy of his namesake; one presumes that centuries of desiccation have not improved the looks of the pharaoh.

When we reached the house David bade us good night and rode off toward the village. It did not improve Emerson's spirits to find the house dark and apparently deserted. John was there, however. We found him in his own room reading the Bible, and Emerson's language, when he beheld that sacred Book, was absolutely disgraceful.

Next morning John was most apologetic about his lapse. "I know I ought to 'ave 'ad your beds made up and the kettle on the boil," he said. "It won't 'appen again, madam. Duty to one's superior is wot a man must do in this world, so long as it don't conflict with one's duty to—"

"Yes, yes, John, that is quite all right," I said, seeing Emerson's countenance redden. "I shall want you to help me with photography this morning, so hurry and clear away the breakfast things. Ramses, you must—what on earth is the matter with you? I believe your chin is in your porridge. Take it out at once."

Ramses wiped his chin. I looked at him suspiciously, but before I could pursue my inquiries Emerson threw down his napkin and rose, kicking his chair out of the way as is his impetuous habit.

"We are late," he announced. "That is what happens when one allows social stupidities to interfere with work. Come along, Peabody."

So the day began. Emerson had moved the men to a site farther north and west, where the irregular terrain suggested the presence of another cemetery. So it proved to be. The graves were quite unlike those of the Roman cemetery. These were simple interments; the bodies were enclosed only in coarse linen shrouds bound in crisscross fashion with red-and-white striped cords. The grave goods included a few crude stelae with incised crosses and other Christian insignia, proving what we had suspected from the nature of the burials themselves—that they were those of Copts. They were very old Copts, and I hoped this consideration would prevent the priest from protesting. He had left us strictly alone, but I feared he might object to our excavating a Christian cemetery. Emerson of course pooh-poohed this possibility; we would handle the bodies with the reverence we accorded all human remains and even rebury them if the priest desired. First, however, he wanted to study them, and if any superstitious ignoramus objected, he could take himself and his superstitions to Perdition or Gehenna.

Emerson wanted photographs of the graves before we removed the contents. That was my task that morning, and with John's help I carried the camera, tripod, plates and other impedimenta to the site. We had to wait until the sun was high enough to illumine the sunken pits, and as we stood in enforced idleness I asked, "Did you enjoy yourself on your day out, John?"

"Oh yes, madam. There was another service in the evening. Sister Charity sang divinely that touching 'ymn, 'Washed in the blood of the Lamb.'"

"And was it a good dinner?"

"Oh yes, madam. Sister Charity is a good cook."

I recognized one of the symptoms of extreme infatuation— the need to repeat the name of the beloved at frequent intervals.

"I hope you are not thinking of being converted, John. You know Professor Emerson won't stand for it."

The old John would have burst into protestations of undying loyalty. The new, corrupted John looked grave. "I would give me life's blood for the professor, madam. The day he caught me trying to steal 'is watch in front of the British Museum he saved me from a life of sin and vice. I will never forget his kindness in punching me in the jaw and ordering me to accompany him to Kent, when any other gentleman would 'ave 'ad me taken in charge."

His lips quivered as he spoke. I gave him a friendly pat on the arm. "You certainly could not have continued your career as a pickpocket much longer, John. Considering your conspicuous size and your—if you will forgive me for mentioning it— your growing clumsiness, you were bound to be caught."

"Growing is the word, madam. You wouldn't believe what a small, agile nipper I was when I took up the trade. But that is all in the past, thank 'eaven."

"And Professor Emerson."

"And the professor. Yet, madam, though I revere him and would, as I mentioned, shed the last drop of blood in me body for him, or you, or Master Ramses, I cannot endanger me soul for any mortal creature. A man's conscience is—"

"Rubbish," I said. "If you must quote, John, quote Scripture. It has a literary quality, at least, that Brother Ezekiel's pronouncements lack."

John removed his hat and scratched his head. "It does 'ave that, madam. Sometimes I wish as 'ow it didn't 'ave so much. But I'm determined to fight me way through the Good Book, madam, no matter 'ow long it takes."

"How far have you got?"

"Leviticus," said John with a deep sigh. "Genesis and Exodus wasn't so bad, they tore right along most of the time. But Leviticus will be my downfall, madam."

"Skip over it," I suggested sympathetically.

"Oh no, madam, I can't do that."

A wordless shout from my husband, some little distance away, recalled me to my duties, and I indicated to John that we would begin photographing. Scarcely had I inserted the plate in the camera, however, when I realized Emerson's hail had been designed to draw my attention to an approaching rider. His blue-and-white striped robe ballooning out in the wind, he rode directly to me and fell off the donkey. Gasping theatrically, he handed me a note and then collapsed face down in the sand.

Since the donkey had been doing all the work, I ignored this demonstration. While John bent over the fallen man with expressions of concern I opened the note.

The writer was obviously another frustrated thespian. There was no salutation or signature, but the passionate and scarcely legible scrawl could only have been penned by one person of my acquaintance. "Come to me at once," it read. "Disaster, ruin, destruction!"

With my toe I nudged the fallen messenger, who seemed to have fallen into a refreshing sleep. "Have you come from the German lady?" I asked.

The man rolled over and sat up, none the worse for wear. He nodded vigorously. "She sends for you, Sitt Hakim, and for Emerson Effendi."

"What has happened? Is the lady injured?"

The messenger was scarcely more coherent than the message. I was still endeavoring to get some sense out of him when Emerson came up. I handed him the note and explained the situation. "We had better go, Emerson."

"Not I," said Emerson.                          

"It isn't necessary for both of us to respond," I agreed. "Do you take charge of the photography while I—"

"Curse it, Peabody," Emerson cried. "Will you let this absurd woman interrupt our work again?"

It ended in both of us going. Emerson claimed he dared not let me out of his sight, but in fact he was as bored with our pitiful excavation as I was.

And of course one owes a duty to one's fellow man—and woman.

As we rode across the desert, my spirits rose—not, as evil-minded persons have suggested, at the prospect of interfering in matters which were not my concern, but at the imminence of the exquisite Dahshoor pyramids. My spirits were bound to them by an almost physical thread; the nearer I came the gladder I felt, the farther I went the more that tenuous thread was stretched, almost to the point of pain.

The baroness's dahabeeyah was the only one at the dock. We were led at once to the lady, who was reclining on a couch on deck, under an awning. She was wearing a most peculiar garment, part negligee, part tea gown, shell-pink in color and covered with frills. Sitting beside her was M. de Morgan, holding her hand—or rather, having his hand held by her.

"Ah, mon cher collegue," he said with obvious relief. "At last you have come."

"We only received the message a short time ago," I said. "What has happened?"

"Murder, slaughter, invasion!" shrieked the baroness, throwing herself about on the couch.

"Robbery," said de Morgan succinctly. "Someone broke into the salon last night and stole several of the baroness's antiquities."

I glanced at Emerson. Hands on hips, he studied the baroness and her protector with impartial disgust. "Is that all?" he said. "Come, Peabody, let us get back to work."

"No, no, you must help me," the baroness exclaimed. "I call for you—the great solvers of mysteries, the great archaeologists. You must protect me. Someone wishes to murder me—assault me—"

"Come, come, Baroness, control yourself," I said. "Why was not the robbery discovered earlier? It is almost midday."

"But that is when I rise," the baroness explained guilelessly. "My servants woke me when they found out what had happened. They are lazy swine-dogs, those servants; they should
have been cleaning the salon at sunrise."

"When the mistress is slack, the servants will be lazy," I said. "It is most unfortunate. Several of the possible suspects have already left the scene."

De Morgan let out a French expletive. "Mais, chere madame, you cannot be referring to the people of quality whose dahabeeyahs were moored here? Such people are not thieves."

I could not help smiling at this credulous statement, but I said only, "One never knows, does one? First let us have a look at the scene of the crime."

"It has not been disturbed," said the baroness, scrambling eagerly up from the couch. "I ordered that it be left just as it was until the great solvers of mysteries came."

It was easy to see how the thieves had entered. The wide windows in the bow stood open and the cushions of the couch had been crushed by several pairs of feet. Unfortunately the marks were amorphous in the extreme, and as I examined them with my pocket lens I found myself wishing, for once, that Egypt enjoyed our damp English climate. Dry sand does not leave footprints.

I turned to my husband. "You can say what is missing, Emerson. I fancy you studied the antiquities even more closely than I."

"It should be obvious," said Emerson morosely. "What was last night the most conspicuous article in the room?"

The grand piano was the answer, but that was not what Emerson meant. "The mummy case," I replied. "Yes, I saw at once it was no longer present. What else, Emerson?"

"A lapis scarab and a statuette of Isis nursing the infant Horus."

"That is all?"

"That is all. They were," Emerson added feelingly, "the finest objects in the collection."

Further examination of the room provided nothing of interest, so we proceeded to question the servants. The baroness
began shrieking accusations and, as might have been expected, every face looked guilty as Cain.

I silenced the woman with a few well-chosen words and directed Emerson to question the men, which he did with his usual efficiency. One and all denied complicity. One and all had slept through the night; and when the dragoman suggested that djinns must have been responsible, the others quickly agreed.