The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog (37 page)

the rest of the group headed straight south along the royal road. I could only guess at his ultimate destination, but I knew his purpose as clearly as if I had heard him proclaim it. Somehow, by some
means that eluded me, he had arranged for an encounter with our deadly enemy.
I hoped to head him off before he got to wherever he was going. The donkeys had walked slowly, Emerson's pace could equal theirs, even over rough ground. By cutting across the plain at an angle, I intended my path to intersect his, not at the point where I judged he must be at this moment, but at some point ahead of where he would be when I arrived. He could not be far from his intended destination now even Emerson would not be fool enough to tackle such a dangerous foe in darkness. At least Abdullah was with him, and two armed men. Perhaps the situation was not so desperate as I had feared. Nevertheless, I did not regret my action. Emerson's impulsive nature requires the restraint of a cooler individual.
I expected there would be pursuit, but I did not look back. My eyes were fixed on the cliffs, which were rapidly drawing nearer, and as I realized where I was headed a hand seemed to grip my heart and squeeze it. To the left a row of dark rectangles broke the glowing pink of the sunset-brightened cliffs. They were the entrances to the northern tombs, the final resting places of the nobles of Akhenaton's court. To the right, not far distant, was the entrance to the royal wadi. Was it that ill-omened place Emerson had selected for the setting of the last act of the drama?
No, it was not. The entrance was some distance away when I saw him. For once he was wearing his
pith helmet, so even the distinctive black hair was concealed. It was a cloud of smoke that betrayed his presence. Perched comfortably on a rock, he was smoking his pipe and watching my approach. Perched comfortably on a nearby rock was the cat Anubis, watching Emerson. On the ground at Emerson's feet was a rifle.
Rising, he brought the donkey to a stop by tearing the reins out of my hand. " 'Ubiquitous' is certainly
one word for you," he said. " 'Inopportune' is another that comes to mind."
I was not deceived by the calm of his voice, for it had the low purring note that indicates Emerson's
really serious rages, as opposed to his little fits of temper. His eyes moved from my face to that of the rider who was bearing down upon us. Cyrus must have taken Bertha's donkey. I hoped he had not whipped the poor thing, to come so fast.
"Can't I trust you to carry out the simplest assignment, Vandergelt?" Emerson inquired.
Cyrus dismounted. "I will tie her to the donkey. Hold her hands while— "
I brandished my parasol. "The first man who lays a hand on me or the donkey— "
"It is too late," Emerson said. "He, or one of his men, is behind that ridge just north of us. There is another one to the south. It is a safe assumption that they are armed, and you would be a tempting
target on the open plain. He let you approach unharmed so that he could gather us all into his little
trap before he pulled the strings tight."
He rose to his feet, stretching. "Get down," I exclaimed.
"Neither of them can get us in their line of fire without exposing themselves to Abdullah or one of Vandergelt's men," Emerson said. "That was one reason I selected this spot. Another reason . . ." He turned. "Behind that little spur of rock there is the entrance to a cave. When I first discovered it some years ago I thought it might be a tomb, but it was never— "
The sharp crack of a rifle interrupted his lecture and cast some doubt on the accuracy of his assessment of our present situation. Stone chips spattered down from the cliff. Some must have struck the poor donkey, with a terrified bray he bolted, tearing the reins from my hand. The other donkey followed. Pausing only long enough to snatch up the rifle, Emerson ran, pushing me ahead of him.
Behind the spur of rock he had indicated there gaped not one but a dozen cracks and fissures, at least three of which were wide enough to admit a human form. Through one of these, which appeared no different from the others, Emerson propelled me. Cyrus was close behind.
The space within was roughly circular and approximately ten feet in diameter. It narrowed toward the back like a runnel and went on into darkness,- how far, I could not see.
Emerson whirled to face Cyrus. "Abdullah was supposed to be covering that fellow," he said in an ominous growl. "Where are your men, Vandergelt?"
A series of shots struck the cliff face nearby. There was no answering fire.
Emerson drew a long breath. "Well, well. I suppose this weapon you kindly lent me . . . ? Yes, I see.
One bullet in the chamber. A poetic touch, that. I ought to use it on you."
Cyrus stepped forward till the muzzle of the gun touched his breast. The light was almost gone, I could see only their outlines as they faced one another. "That is not important now," Cyrus said coolly. "What matters— " He gestured at me.
"Hmmm, yes." Emerson leaned the rifle against the wall and flexed his hands. "There is another way
out of here."
"What?" Cyrus cried eagerly.
"Oh, come, man, you don't suppose I would be stupid enough to lead us into a dead end? I had this in mind as a bolt-hole in case my plans went awry. Which," Emerson said caustically, "they certainly have done. The trouble is, the exit tunnel is very narrow. I barely made it through last time. We can only hope it has not been blocked further since."
"What are we waiting for, then?" I demanded. I had not spoken before because my brain was reeling under the impact of the dreadful implications Emerson's speech had contained. Why had not Abdullah and Cyrus's two men returned the fire of our attackers? The rifles all belonged to Cyrus had the one he had given Abdullah also been rendered ineffective? The suggestion of treachery, from the man I had considered a dear and trusted friend, was almost too much to bear.
That treachery had not been directed against me, for Cyrus had not anticipated I would be present.
I knew only too well what motive he might have for wishing to betray Emerson.
But this was not the time for retribution. We were all in peril now, escape was the most important consideration. How glad I was that I had rushed to Emerson's side! "What are we waiting for?"
I repeated.
"Only this," said Emerson. He took me gently by the shoulder and struck me on the chin with his clenched fist.
When Emerson hits people, he hits as hard as he can, which is quite hard indeed. I presume that being unaccustomed to judging the amount of force necessary in a situation such as this, he underestimated it.
I do not suppose I was unconscious for more than a few seconds. He had gathered me up as I fell,
when my senses returned I realized that my head lay against his breast, and that he was speaking.
"... if they have not already, that we are unarmed. Someone must hold them off for a while. If you
are stuck like a cork in that bloody tunnel when they break in . . ."
"Yes, I understand."
"You should be able to squeeze through, your shoulders are a trifle narrower than mine. If you cannot,
try to block the tunnel from the other side. And take that damned parasol away from her or she will
batter her way back out."
Cyrus said quietly, "If I cannot get through, I will return and fight with you."
"The more fool you, then," said Emerson rudely. "Take her, man, and go"
Needless to say, I had no intention of permitting such a scheme. I knew I must bide my time, however,
if I indicated my intention to Emerson he would hit me again, perhaps harder. I preferred to take my chances with Cyrus. My parasol hung from my wrist, held by its little strap. I lay limp and unmoving
as Emerson transferred me to Cyrus's arms. I had thought he might give me a last, lingering embrace before doing so, but he did not, possibly because another bullet striking nearer the entrance sprayed
the interior of the cave with stone pellets.
Emerson had not been engaging in empty melodrama (though, like all men, he is prone to grandiloquent gestures). He was perfectly confident he could hold off any number of armed men single-handed. And
he had the effrontery to lecture me about overconfidence! If we could survive long enough, there was
a good chance of rescue. Whatever Cyrus's intention (and I could not believe Emerson's accusation was true there must be some mistake!) he was now in danger too, and his men would not abandon him. Not
if they wanted to be paid, at any rate. Rene and Charles had seen him follow me, our loyal men would hasten to my aid even before they heard the ominous echo of gunfire. Yes, they would come. And we— all three of us— could defend the narrow entrance to the cave until they did.
Stygian darkness wrapped round us as soon as Cyrus passed into the tunnel. It was narrow, but the
ceiling was high enough to permit him to walk upright, at least at the beginning. I knew when it grew lower because Cyrus reeled back with a cry when his head hit it.
This seemed an opportune moment. I did not want to wait until we got into some space too confined to permit easy movement. Taking a firm grip on my parasol I stiffened, straightened my lower limbs, and slipped neatly out of his grasp. Between the bump on the head and the suddenness of my movement he was caught off guard, I was able to slide past him and proceed quickly on my way. I was vaguely aware that my foot hurt like blazes, but it did not slow my pace. Being by now accustomed to the vagaries of pockets and pistols, I was able to extract the latter from the former without difficulty.
I had not gone far when I heard voices, and the calm, measured tones, the absence of any sound of altercation, surprised me so that I slowed my impetuous pace. Was it rescue, so soon? I must make certain before I fired my pistol that I did not injure a friend. Pausing at the end of the tunnel, I peered cautiously out into the cave.
He carried a lantern in one hand, and in the other, the right hand, he held an object that explained the need for light. It is difficult to be sure of hitting a rapidly moving target in total darkness, particularly
when the tirget is intent on hitting you. The object was not a rifle, it was a hand weapon of some sort.
I am no authority on pistols. All I could see was that it was a great deal larger than mine.
Vincey's golden locks were a trifle windblown, otherwise he was as neat and composed as he had been
on that fateful night in Cairo when I first met him. The ugly angle of his jaw softened as he smiled.
"Don't try to reach your weapon," he said pleasantly.
Emerson glanced at the rifle, which lay on the floor a few feet away. "It is empty."
"I surmised as much from the fact that you did not return our fire. It might have taken me a while to
find your hiding place if Anubis had not kindly led me to it. You were wise to propose a truce, though
I must warn you not to expect that anything to your advantage will arise from it."
"Ah, well, one never knows," said Emerson. His eyes went to the cat, which stood midway between the two men, its eyes moving from one to the other and its tail bristling. "I thought you would be unable to resist my invitation, Vincey. I observed the childish pleasure you derive from gloating over people."
Vincey's smile broadened. "I hope you aren't going to claim you did not accept my carefully prepared alibi. Hindsight, my dear Emerson, surely."
His back against the rough wall to my right, Emerson watched the other man intently. "You must take
me for a fool," he said with a curl of his lip. "I saw a great deal of you during those days when I was
your guest. How many pleasant hours of conversation did we enjoy, you lounging in that tasteless overstuffed chair and me in—a less comfortable position? I could hardly be mistaken as to your
identity. How did you manage to involve von Bork in this dirty business?"
"That sickly little wife of his is in need of medical attention," was the reply. "Sentimentality is weakness,
a clever man knows how to use it to his advantage."
A hand grasped my arm. I shook it off. There was nothing Cyrus could do now. He knew if he tried to seize me I would struggle, and that would betray our presence to the smiling blackguard with the very large gun.
Emerson shook his head. "You have played your hand well in the past, I admit, but you have already
lost this latest move. My friends are on their way. You cannot hope to carry me away from here before they— "
"I fear you do not understand. The rules of the game have changed. I am no longer in need of the information I hoped to get from you. When I leave this place you won't be coming with me."
"Hmmm." Emerson rubbed his chin. "I always thought of you as a practical sort of fellow, Vincey.
If you have what you want, why risk your neck chasing after me?"
Vincey's smile widened till it stretched the muscles of his face into a ghastly grimace. "Because you
would continue to risk yours to prevent me from carrying out my plan. I can't have you breathing down my neck for the rest of my life. I admit I will derive a certain personal pleasure— call it sentimentality if you like— from killing you. You defied me, you defeated my deadliest schemes— and worst of all, you had the audacity to patronize me when I was down and out!" His voice rose in pitch. "I am going to do this slowly. The first bullet in the leg, I think. Then an arm— or perhaps the other leg— "
I had only delayed because I was curious about what he had to say. Aiming with care, I pulled the trigger.
Emerson prudently dropped to the floor. The bullet hit Vincey in the left arm. He let the lantern fall, but the wound must have been slight, for with a violent oath he swung around and pointed the gun in my direction. I pointed mine in his direction, but something spoiled my aim, it must have been Cyrus, plucking at me, or the fact that a bullet hit the wall beside me, causing me to start. My next two shots, fired in rapid succession, went wild. One of them, I was distressed to observe, struck the floor quite
close to Emerson's outstretched hand, causing him to swear loudly and pull his hand back. I fired again
— and heard the hammer fall on an empty chamber. I had forgotten to refill the pistol after Emerson
used it to summon help.
There was nothing for it but direct attack. I burst out of the mouth of the tunnel, straight at Vincey. Unfortunately the same idea had occurred to Emerson. We collided heavily, as we toppled, he twined
his arms around me and tried to turn me so he would be on top. Again, our minds worked as one. My efforts succeeded, I landed on top of him, and strove to shield his body with mine.