The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog (30 page)

"We are here," Emerson shouted through the opening. "Safe and unharmed. Stand by, I will hand her out."
Then he turned to me. "I beg your pardon," he said quietly. "That was an unforgivable action for a gentleman— which, despite some eccentricities of behavior, I like to consider myself. You have my
word of honor it will never happen again."
I was too shaken to reply, which is probably just as well, for if I had I would have blurted out what
I was thinking: "Oh, yes, it will—if have anything to say about it!"

CHAPTER 12
"Once a man has taken refreshment in your home and a chair in your sitting room,
 you are less likely to pitch him into a pond."

There was nothing for it but to take Cyrus into my confidence.
"It was Kevin O'Connell I had to see," I explained. "I told you he couid turn up, and so he has Selim delivered a message from him yesterday."
I sat on a camp stool drinking tea, for I felt myself entitled to a mild restorative. Emerson, of course,
had immediately returned to work, Cyrus had not followed him, he now lay sprawled on the rug at my feet like a fallen warrior, his face hidden in his arms, I nudged him gently with my toe "What you need,"
I said, "is a nice hot cup of tea."
Cyrus rolled over and sat up. His face was still flushed, though the livid color it had originally exhibited had faded somewhat. "I have never been a drinking man," he said, endeavoring to control his voice.
"But I am beginning to understand how a man can be driven to drink. Never mind the darned tea.
Where is that bottle of brandy?"
He was only joking, of course. I handed him a cup of tea. "Give me the benefit of your advice, Cyrus. What am I to do about Kevin?"
"Amelia, you are the most . . . You have an absolutely unparalleled You— you— "
"We have already had that conversation, Cyrus. I said I was sorry to have worried you, but as you see, it has all turned out for the best. We have captured Mohammed! One enemy the less! And as soon as his broken nose heals we can question him and find out who hired him"
"One down," said Cyrus gloomily. "How many to go? If you are going to take risks like that to collect
the rest of them, my heart is going to give way under the strain. Your lip is bleeding again, my dear, I can't stand the sight of it."
"The hot liquid must have opened the cut," I murmured, pressing my napkin to my mouth. "It is no
injury incurred in the line of battle, you know, only a— a bitten lip."
For a moment we were both silent, thinking— I am sure— quite different thoughts. Then I gave myself
a little shake and said briskly, "Now if we may return to the subject of Kevin
"I'd like to murder the young rascal," Cyrus muttered. "If it had not been for him ... All right, Amelia,
all right. Where is he, and what do you want me to do?"
I explained the situation. "So," I concluded, "we had better be off at once."
"Now?" Cyrus exclaimed.
"Certainly. If we hurry we can be back before dark. I do not anticipate another attack so soon, the
men who got away can scarcely have had time to report the failure of this one. However, it is difficult walking in the dark."
With a wry smile Cyrus put down his cup and got to his feet. "Are you going to tell Emerson?"
"No, why should I? I am sure he has already cautioned you not to let me out of your sight."
"He didn't have to," Cyrus said, no longer smiling. There was no need for him to say more, his steady regard and firmly set lips proclaimed his resolution. The removal of the goatee had definitely been an improvement. He reminded me of those strong, silent sheriffs of whom one reads in American fiction.
He left me after promising he would be ready to go in five minutes.
I did not require so much time. I put away the tea things and strapped on my belt,- then I took from my pocket the small object my groping hands had encountered on the rock-strewn floor of the tomb. My touch has been trained by years of experience, I had known by the shape of it that it was not a stone
but an object shaped by man, and the same trained instinct had prompted me to slip it into my pocket.
It was a ring bezel of cheap faience, like those I had found in the workmen's village and elsewhere.
Some bore the name of the ruling pharaoh, others were adorned with the images of different gods. This was of the second variety. The image was that of Sobek—the crocodile god.

*  *  *

Not only Cyrus but two of his men accompanied me this time. All were armed. It was a needless precaution, I felt sure, but men always enjoy marching around with weapons and flexing their figurative muscles, and I saw no reason to deny them this harmless exercise As I had expected, the journey was without incident, and after hailing Selim, who had come out of hiding when he saw us, we emerged from the mouth of the wadi and walked the short distance to the little mud-brick house.
Kevin had certainly made himself comfortable. We found him sitting on a camel bag in the shade at the front of the house reading a yellowback novel, a glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He pretended to go on reading until we were almost upon him, then he leapt to his feet with a theatrical and unconvincing start of surprise.
"Sure an' it's one of those mirages I'm seeing— a vision of loveliness like the houris in the Moslem paradise! Top o' the afternoon to ye, Mrs. Emerson, me dear."
As he came to meet me the sun set his hair ablaze and reddened his sunburned cheeks. Freckles, snub nose, ingratiating grin, wide blue eyes made up an irresistible picture of a young Irish gentleman— and roused an irresistible urge in my breast. I did not try to resist it. I brought my parasol down on his outstretched arm.
"I am not your dear, and that brogue is as false as your professions of friendship!"
Kevin fell back, rubbing his arm, and Cyrus, unable to hide his smile, said, "I thought you were going
to use gentle persuasion. If you wanted the guy beaten up, I could have done that for you."
"Oh, dear," I said, lowering the parasol. "I fear that in the stress of emotion I lost sight of my object.
Stop cringing, Kevin, I won't hit you again. Unless you annoy me."
"I certainly would like to avoid doing so," said Kevin earnestly. "Would it annoy you if I offered you
a chair— or a camel bag, rather? I'm afraid I have not enough seats for your escort."
Cyrus had already gestured his men to take up positions on either side of the little structure, where
they could see in all directions. "I'll stand," he said curtly.
"You remember Mr. Vandergelt, of course," I said to Kevin, taking the seat he had offered
"Ah, I thought he looked familiar. It has been a good many years, and I didn't know him at first without his goatee. How do you do, sir?" He started to offer his hand, Cyrus's frosty stare made him think better of it. "And how's the professor?" Kevin went on, squatting at my feet. "Fully recovered, I hope, from his— er— accident?"
"I give you credit, Kevin," I said. "You don't beat around the bush. It was no accident, as you well
know. The curse of the ancient gods of Egypt' was how you put it, I believe. Surely your readers must
be tiring of curses."
"Och— I mean, oh, no, ma'am. Readers never tire of mystery and sensationalism. You and I know better, to be sure, and I'd be glad to set them straight if I had the facts."
He continued to nurse his arm. I knew full well that Kevin would have considered a broken arm, much less one that was slightly bruised, as a fair exchange for the story he wanted, so I was unmoved by his look of hurt reproach.
"You will be the first to have the facts, I promise, as soon as they can be made public."
The reprehensible young man gave a crow of delight. "Aha! So there are facts as yet unknown. Never mind denying it, Mrs. Emerson, and don't be chewing on that pretty lip of yours, one particular fact, which cannot fail to capture the imagination of the reading public, is already known to me, for I spent several enlightening days in Cairo conversing with mutual friends."
It is an old trick of journalists and other villains to pretend to knowledge in order to trick the victim into
an admission of it I laughed lightly. "You are referring, I suppose, to the incident at the ball. That was a silly joke— "
"Let's not fence, Mrs. E. I am referring to the professor's loss of memory."
"Curse it," I exclaimed. "The few who knew were sworn to secrecy. Which— "
"Now you know I can't be giving away my sources." He had me now, and he knew it. His wide smile
had the impertinent good humor of a wretched little Irish brownie.
In fact I had a good idea as to who had "spilled the beans," to use an American colloquialism. The only mutual friend of mine and Kevin's who knew the truth was Karl von Bork. Kevin's acquaintance with other archaeologists was superficial and for the most part antagonistic. Kevin had known Karl since the old days at Baskerville House, when Karl had won the girl they both wanted, and no doubt it had given Kevin a great deal of satisfaction to trick the intelligent but unworldly German into giving away more
than he meant to.
Cyrus, who had listened in silence, now spoke. "It's getting late, Amelia. Send him away or let me
knock him over the head. My fellows can hold him prisoner here till you decide— "
"Now let's not be losing our tempers," Kevin exclaimed, his eyes widening. "Mrs. Emerson, ma'am,
you'd never allow— "
"When the stakes are so high, I might not only allow but encourage such a solution. I would hate to have Cyrus risk a lawsuit and a good deal of unpleasant publicity for my— for the sake of friendship, but I would commit acts even more contemptible to prevent this news from being made public. I wish I could appeal to your honor, but I fear you have none, I wish I could trust your word, but I cannot."
With an air of finality, I rose to my feet. Cyrus raised the rifle to his shoulder.
"He isn't going to shoot you," I explained, as Kevin gave a bleat of alarm. "At least I don't think he is Cyrus, tell your men to treat him as gently as possible. I will come by now and then, Kevin, to see how you are getting on."
Kevin then proved himself the man I had always— despite some evidence to the contrary— believed
him to be. He laughed. Considering the circumstances, it was a fairly convincing imitation of insouciant mirth.
"You win, Mrs. E. I don't think you mean it, but I would rather not take the chance. What must I do?"
There was really only one solution. If Kevin gave me his word to remain silent he would be entirely sincere— at the time. Like Ramses, and, I fear, a good many other people, he could always find a specious excuse for doing what he had promised not to do if he wanted badly enough to do it. He had
to be kept in confinement, and the most secure prison available was the royal wadi itself.
I had to slow my steps to match Kevin's, he was not in such good training as he ought to have been.
If I had not been so out of temper with him I would have given him a friendly little lecture on the advantages of physical fitness. At that time I confined my lecture to more important matters, and it
was not at all friendly. I concluded by informing him that if he volunteered any information whatever
to Emerson (for a flat interdiction seemed the simplest course) I would never speak to him or communicate with him again.
A look of sadness, a blush of shame spread over the young man's face. "You may believe it or not,
Mrs. Emerson," he said, in a well-bred voice without the slightest trace of an accent, "but there are
some acts too despicable even for me to commit. In our battles of wits we have been worthy opponents— and I include the professor, who has made a fool of me as often as I have embarrassed him. I have enjoyed matching wits with both of you, and although you may not admit it, I think you have enjoyed
it too. But if I thought any act of mine would cause you grievous harm of mind or body, no promise of reward, however great, could induce me to commit it."
"I do believe you," I said. And at that moment, I did.
"Thank you. So, then," said Kevin, in quite his old manner, "how are you going to explain my presence?"
"That is a difficulty Emerson may not remember you, but his opinion of journalists is of long standing. You cannot pass as an archaeologist, you know nothing of excavation."
"I could say my arm was broken," Kevin suggested, giving me a meaningful look.
"You could have two broken arms and the like number of broken legs. Emerson would quiz you and
you would betray your ignorance. Ah! I have it! The perfect answer!"

*  *  *

"A detective?" Emerson's voice rose on every syllable. "What the devil do we want a detective for?"
When he put it that way, I was hard-pressed to come up with a sensible answer. I therefore responded
in a manner I felt certain would distract him.
"You certainly don't seem to be making much progress in solving our little mystery. All these
interruptions are getting to be a nuisance."
It was delightful to watch Emerson trying to decide which provocation to counter first. I did not think he would be able to resist a play on the word "nuisance," applying it of course to me, but perhaps he was unable to compose a sufficiently stinging retort on the spur of the moment. Instead he went on the defensive, which, as I could have told him, is always a mistake.
"I caught one of the swine, didn't I?"
" 'Caught' is hardly an appropriate word. You shouldn't have kicked him so hard. He cannot speak intelligibly with his nose and jaw immobilized, and furthermore— "
Emerson rolled his eyes, threw up his hands and stormed off Kevin, who had prudently retired to a distance during the discussion, returned and sat down on the rug at my feet. "He seems quite his old
self. Are you certain he— "
"I could hardly be mistaken. Remember what I told you. One slip of the tongue and I will let Cyrus
deal with you as he proposed. And don't forget to call me Miss Peabody."
It might have been the sunset glow that softened the young journalist's features, but his voice was
equally subdued as he said, "That must be the unkindest cut of all, ma'am. How he could forget a
woman like yourself— "
"I do not want your sympathy, Kevin. I want— I insist upon— your cooperation."
"You have it, Mrs. . . . Miss Peabody. I suppose you have no objection to my chatting with the others— Abdullah, for instance? After all," he added winsomely, "if I am supposed to be a detective I ought to question people."
The point was well taken. Now that it was too late, I wished I had thought of a different persona for Kevin— that of an illiterate deaf-mute, for instance. "Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive!" Taking my baffled silence for consent, Kevin wandered off, hands in his pockets,
a cheerful whistle issuing from his lips, and I considered this latest tangle and whither it might lead.
Kevin already knew the one fact I had been most anxious to keep from him. He seemed still to be in ignorance of other equally important facts, and these I was determined to keep from him at all costs. Kevin would fall on the story of the Lost Oasis like a dog on a ripe, smelly bone, for it was just the sort
of fantastic tale in which he specialized. The slightest hint would be enough to set him off, he would not bother to substantiate it, for fiction was as good as truth by the standards of his profession. Rapidly I ran through the list of persons present to reassure myself there was no danger of exposure from any of them
Emerson knew only what I had told him of the matter and he was not inclined to believe that. In any case, Kevin was the last person with whom he would have discussed the subject. Cyrus's discretion I did not doubt. Rene and Charles were unwitting, as was Abdullah. Bertha maintained her "master" had told her nothing. If she lied . . . well, then she had every reason to remain reticent on the subject. An admission of knowledge she claimed not to have would prove her false, and would betray the secret
her master was no more anxious than we to have spread abroad.
My reasoning was irrefutable. Relieved of that anxiety (and would the others were so easily disposed
of!) I went to have a look at my latest patient.
One of Cyrus's men stood on guard outside the shelter that had been set up for Mohammed. There was no need, the wretch was so full of laudanum he would not have roused if someone had set fire to his bed. I hated to waste my medical supplies on such a vile specimen, but he had been in acute pain and even if mercy had not tempered my wrath I could not have set his broken nose while he was writhing
and screaming. His jaw, I thought, was only bruised, but since I could not be absolutely certain I had wound it round with bandages too.
He was a dreadful sight as he lay there on the pile of rugs. Not even Christian charity and the ethics of the profession of which I count myself a formally unqualified but able practitioner could have forced me to touch the ragged, flea-infested robe or bathe the filthy body. The cast I had applied to his nose jutted out like the grotesque beak of some mythical monster, coarse black hairs bristled at odd angles from above and below the bandages covering most of the lower half of his face. A slit of white glistened under each eyelid. His mouth gaped open, displaying brown, rotting teeth. The light from my lantern cast shadows that intensified every ugly feature and made the open cavern of his mouth look like a black hole.
I took his pulse and listened to his breathing. There was nothing more I could do, only time, and a good deal of luck, would complete the cure. I prayed most sincerely for his recovery, but I am sorry to say
that Christian charity had very little to do with that prayer.
When I emerged, dusk was far advanced, but the light of the lantern I carried showed a retreating form. The flutter of draperies betrayed her identity, none of the men walked as she did. I had not heard her address the guard, so she must have turned away as soon as she realized I was within.
I hurried after her. "Bertha! Wait, I wish to speak with you. What were you doing there?"
Her posture was submissive— hands clasped, head bowed. In a low voice she said, "I would help you nurse the man, Sitt. There is not much I can do to show my gratitude, but I am skilled at women's work."
It was as if she had deliberately cast off her European heritage. Voice, manner, speech were more and more Egyptian with every passing day. Naturally I found this extremely irritating.
"There is no work a woman cannot do," I said. "We must have a little chat about that one day, Bertha. Just now you can help me best by continuing to search your memory. Anything you recall may be of importance, even if it seems meaningless to you."
"I am trying, Sitt," she murmured.
"And don't call me Sitt! Miss Peabody will do, if you cannot twist your tongue around my given name. Come away now. The injured man is in no need of services you can provide."
A little gasp of what sounded like amusement issued from her lips. It must have been a stifled cough,
I concluded, for nothing I had said could have provoked laughter
By the time we assembled for the evening meal, Kevin had already ingratiated himself with Rene and Charlie. I did not know how he had managed it with Rene, but he had won Charlie's heart by professing
a passion for motor cars.
"They are the wave of the future," Kevin exclaimed enthusiastically. "Daimler's internal-combustion engine— "
"But have you seen the Panhard?" Charlie interrupted. "The sliding-gear transmission—"
They went on talking unintelligibly about things like clutches and gears, while Bertha hovered at Rene's shoulder and Emerson glowered impartially on all of us and I ... I looked at Emerson. It seemed to make him rather nervous, but I saw no reason why that should deter me.
He had hardly spoken to me since that thrilling encounter in the tomb, except when the loss of his
temper over the advent of Kevin overcame his reticence. At first I had been a trifle discouraged by his
apology and ensuing silence, I am something of a romantic myself, and I had hoped that that passionate embrace would burst the bonds that held his memory in thrall. Schadenfreude had said it would not in fact, he had warned me, most vehemently, against applying any such procedure. Apparently the doctor had been correct.
However, as I thought back over the incident, I felt it offered some encouragement. It might be interpreted as marking a step forward in the relationship I was, according to the doctor's instructions, endeavoring to re-create. Annoyance had replaced Emerson's initial indifference, he was now sufficiently interested to follow after me and risk himself to save me. That he would have done the same for
Abdullah or any of the other men I was prepared to admit, but no combination of relief and anger would have prompted him to behave to Abdullah as he had behaved to me.
However. The kiss might have meant less than I hoped. As I had good cause to know, Emerson is a hot-blooded individual. The mere proximity of a female who, if not irresistibly beautiful, has been regarded by some as worthy of admiration, might have been sufficient to inspire such a response in
a man who was under considerable emotional stress.
Dare I admit the truth? I see no reason why I should not, since these journals will not be read by other eyes until I can find a publisher worthy of them (a more difficult procedure than I had believed) and then not until after considerable revision. I hoped and prayed Emerson's memory might be restored, but what
I really wanted restored was his love for me, whether it came by recollection or by being forged anew. That marriage of true minds, based on mutual trust and respect (and on another kind of attraction whose importance I would be the last to deny) was all in all to me. By one means or another I meant to regain it, and I did not really care how it was achieved. It might be a little difficult to explain to a man who has just proposed marriage for, as he believes, the first time, that he already has an eleven-year-old son. It would be an even greater shock to receive the full impact of Ramses all at once, instead of getting used to him
a little at a time. However, I could and would deal with greater difficulties than that, if only . . . So my emotions swung back and forth like the pendulum of a clock, now rising, now falling. So absorbed was I in my thoughts, and in contemplation of Emerson's splendid, scowling physiognomy, that I was unaware of Cyrus's approach until a gentle cough made me look up.
"A penny for your thoughts," he said. "Or whatever amount you ask; they must be distressing, to judge by your face."
"Only confusing," I said. "But I will straighten them out, Cyrus, never fear. Once Mohammed is able to speak, we may be on the way to a solution of our present difficulty. It is a pity his nose and mouth took the brunt of the blow."
Emerson, who had been openly eavesdropping, took this for another not-so-veiled criticism. Scowling even more fiercely, he rose and started to stalk away.
"Don't go far," I called. "Dinner will be served shortly."
There was no reply, not even a grunt.
"I have something that may cheer you up," Cyrus said. "My servant has been collecting the mail, as
usual, he brought the most recent letters here this evening."
"All this way?" I took the packet he handed me. "Cyrus, you are the most thoughtful of men."
"Well, I figured you'd be keen to know what's going on back in jolly old England. I'm a little curious myself, so . ."
"Of course. I have no secrets from you, Cyrus. But I see dinner is ready, I will wait to read this
particular epistle until afterward, I think Not only is it very bulky, but I fear it might spoil my appetite."
From Cyrus's admiring look I could see he took this as a demonstration of British phlegm. In fact I had
a cowardly reluctance to read Ramses's latest literary offering, which I expected would only tell me a number of distressing things I could do absolutely nothing about. If anything serious had occurred,
Walter would have telegraphed.
So after a meal no one except Kevin seemed anxious to eat, we dispersed. Emerson had not joined us, I concluded he had dined with Abdullah and the others. At my invitation, Cyrus followed me to my tent.
There were two letters from Chalfont in the packet. I recognized Evelyn's dainty, precise handwriting
on one, and decided to save it for a treat— or an antidote— after I had read Ramses's.