Tomb of the Golden Bird (8 page)

Cyrus really ought to give her an official title and position. She's earned it." "I agree," his mother said. "You must speak to him about it, Emerson." "What?" It was still early when they reached the house, to find Selim on the veranda drinking coffee. "A bit late for a call, isn't it?" said Emerson. "Don't be rude," said his wife. "It isn't late. I suggested we leave the Castle early because we have an important matter to settle tonight." "What?" said Emerson. For a moment Ramses thought his mother was going to fly at heroblivious husband. "Sethos," she hissed through her teeth. It was a name made for hissing. "Oh," said Emerson, fingering his chin. Selim, who usually enjoyed their exchanges, remained grave. "I have news, Sitt Hakim," he said. "I knew something had happened," she exclaimed. "What?" "The old man is dead. The beggar." Emerson sat up straighter. "What beggar? How? When?" The old man's body had been found that evening, behind a wall of the cemetery. How long it had been there no one knew; the spot was not often visited. Selim had been among the first to hear of it. He had gone at once to examine the body. "There was no mark of violence, no wound. I could tell because he had been stripped of his clothing." "Why would anyone do that?" Nefret asked in surprise. "He owned nothing, he had nothing of value." "He might have done it himself," Ramses said. "Sometimes he did. He would walk about naked, talking to himself or to God, until a kind person took charge of him." Selim nodded. "It is possible. His few pieces of clothing had not been taken away, they lay on the ground next to him." With a sidelong look at Nefret, he added, "I deduce he died in the night. The stiffness had gone from his feet and legs." As experts know, the process of rigor mortis is affected by many variables, including the temperature and the victim's physical condition. However, it was a reasonable deduction for Selim to make. He rather fancied himself as a detective. "An excellent deduction, Selim," Nefret said. "I suppose he has been buried?" "No, Nur Misur. He is here." They had laid him out, as reverently as possible, on a table in the garden shed, covered with a clean white sheet. Fatima sat by him. The lamplight reddened the tears on her cheeks. "I wanted to wash the body, but Selim would not let me," she murmured. "Good thinking, Selim," Ramses said. Nefret lowered the sheet. It was a scene straight out of Dore, or one of the illustrators who specialized in Gothic horrors—the shifting light and elusive shadows, and the naked body, skeletally thin and pallid. Ancient dirt lay encrusted in the wrinkled flesh; a louse crawled out of the wispy gray hair. Normally one of the most fastidious of women, Nefret went over the body with professional detachment. Fatima let out little cries of protest. "He is filthy and covered with insects, Nur Misur. Let me do that." "It's all right, Fatima," Nefret said. "Rigor is well advanced. No wounds on the face or skull. The poor man is covered with bruises and scrapes. Fatima, hand me that damp cloth. I want a better look at his throat." "He was always falling and running into hard things, God be merciful to him," Fatima murmured. "There are bruises on his neck, but no worse than the ones on the rest of his body," Nefret reported. "It wouldn't take much to send a feeble old man like that into cardiac arrest," Ramses's mother remarked. "Oh, bah," said her husband, now fully attentive. "You are always looking for signs of murder, Peabody." She limited her response to an evil look, but Ramses knew exactly what she was thinking. The poor old man's death couldn't have come at a more fortuitous time for them and Sethos. Selim cleared his throat. "I told the men who brought him here that he had run away from you, and that you could help him," he said. Nefret, scrubbing her hands with the soap and water Fatima had supplied, turned to stare at him. "Help him from being dead?" her mother-in-law inquired caustically. "He was ice-cold and stiff, wasn't he?" "They believe you can do magic," said Selim, scratching his beard. "He should have been buried tonight, but they believed me when I said . . ." He stuck there, unnerved by her sarcasm, and Ramses came to his rescue. "You did right, Selim. The precise time of death is open to question. By the time the news spreads, people will confuse Fatima's patient withthe old holy man, who will be unquestionably dead. This is the perfect moment for our guest to reappear in a new identity." "That is what I thought," Selim declared. "Let's have a little chat with—er—him," said Emerson, heading for the door. Over his shoulder he added, "Ramses, fetch the whiskey." When our guests arrived for breakfast, we introduced them to the latest member of the staff. Sethos had reverted to his Anthony Bissinghurstrole. Ramses had supplied him with a dashing black mustache and dye to turn his pale face a healthy tan. He had also supplied him with clothes, for they were almost of a size. He was proving to be a cursed inconvenience in every way; we would have to order new garments for Ramses, since his wardrobe had not been extensive to begin with. A slow grin spread across Cyrus's face when he recognized Bissinghurst. Bertie and Jumana were also acquainted with him and with his true identity, and had been sworn to secrecy; poor Bertie, not the cleverest of individuals, hardly spoke a word, so fearful was he of saying the wrong thing. His silence caused no remark, since he hardly ever got a word in when the rest of us were conversing. Jumana's dark eyes shone with pleasure when "Tony" bent over her hand. She had obviously been attracted to him when they last met and, as was his habit, he had been at his most dashing and courtly. Perhaps she preferred older men. If that was the case, Bertie was doubly disadvantaged. No one could have called the poor boy dashing. Cyrus managed to have a word alone with me as we prepared to leave the house. Concern had replaced his amusement. "What's up, Amelia? That fellow never appears unless there is trouble brewing." "I will tell you about it another time," I replied, wondering what the devil I could tell him. "It better not be Carter's tomb he's after," Cyrus muttered. "Emerson will skin him alive if he tries any tricks." We went first to Deir el Bahri, where the Metropolitan Museum crew was working, and then made the circuit of other temples before turning toward the Valley of the Kings. It was of necessity a cursory tour, but by the time we reached the entrance to the Valley, anticipation had mounted. The persuasive air of suppressed excitement (I am sensitive to such things) surprised me. Clearly the word of a great discovery had spread—not, as yet, to the general public, but among those who had a professional interest in such matters. I glanced at Sethos, who was walking beside me. He looked tired but alert. A new and ugly suspicion had taken root, seeded by Cyrus's remark. What evidence had we of the truth of Sethos's story? Only a mysterious document, which could not be deciphered, and his own word. The attacks on him and on us might have been made by rivals in the antiquities game. If he had returned to his old profession, Carter's tomb would present. . . interesting possibilities. The tomb itself was something of an anticlimax. There was nothing to see except a pile of rubble that filled the stairwell and concealed the steps. After a glance Suzanne raised her shoulders in an elegant Gallic shrug and joined the tourists entering the tomb of Ramses VI. Bertie trailed after her and Jumana offered to show Nadji some of the more interesting tombs. The rest of us stood staring as if hypnotized at the heaped-up debris. "No signs of digging," Emerson muttered after a time. "Even the experienced tomb robbers of Gurneh wouldn't tackle that," said Sethos, hands in his pockets and eyes intent. "If any of them have illegal intentions they'll wait until the stairs are clear and the passageway—if it is a passageway—is open." "Is that what you would do?" Ramses inquired, his voice carefully neutral. "It is what any sensible individual would do. Why go through all that hard manual labor, with very little chance of doing it unobserved, when you aren't certain that it would be worth the effort?" The tomb robbers of Gurneh were not always sensible. But Sethos was. Carnarvon and Lady Evelyn arrived in Luxor on the twenty-third. We were in the West Valley, completing the clearance of Ay's burial chamber—all of us except Sethos and Daoud. Sethos had shown signs of fatigue so I had insisted he rest. Daoud ought to have been with us; the fact that Emerson did not ask about him ought to have given me a hint about his activities. When he turned up we heard him coming long before he appeared, his large sandals rhythmically slapping the ground. "They have gone to the tomb," he panted. "Straight from the train." "Well, of course," said Emerson. "Who could blame them?" "Is it Lord Carnarvon and his daughter of whom you speak?" I asked. "See here, Emerson, I won't have you haring off to the East Valley today." "Would I do that?" Emerson gave me a look of injured innocence. After a moment he added, "Tomorrow will be soon enough. It will take several days to clear the steps again." There was no restraining him. And I will admit, to the Reader, that my interest was almost as keen as his. After two weeks of uncertainty we were within a few days of learning the truth. I could only imagine the state Howard must be in. Really, we owed it to him to express our support and friendship, particularly if, as was likely, the tomb proved to be empty. I did manage to convince Emerson he should wait until a reasonable hour next morning, pointing out that it would not be proper to anticipate the arrival of Lord Carnarvon, who would probably not be early. However, I had underestimated Carnarvon's zeal. When we arrived— Ramses and Nefret, Sethos, Emerson and I—he and Lady Evelyn were on the scene, watching the workmen remove the debris under Howard's direction. George Edward Stanhope Molyneux Herbert, Fifth Earl of Carnarvon, was of medium height and slight build, with features which one could only call unmemorable. His eyes were pale and his complexion, marred by the scars of smallpox, unhealthy. He had not been a well man since a serious motor accident some years earlier, though wintering inEgypt had improved his health (and aroused his interest in Egyptology). I had met the young lady once before and found her somewhat silly and frivolous—a typical example of the young female aristocrat—but I had to admit she knew how to dress. Her skirt was mid-calf length and her laced shoes had low heels. However, they had been died saffron to match her sport suit and she wore a jaunty bow at her throat, of the same brown as her stylish toque. "We dropped by to welcome you back to Luxor," said Emerson, wringing Carnarvon's hand. "And congratulate you." "You think it looks promising, then?" Carnarvon asked eagerly. "Too soon to tell," Emerson said. "You haven't uncovered the lower part of the door yet." "Don't be such a killjoy, Professor Emerson," the young lady exclaimed. "It's all so frightfully thrilling! Pups is frightfully bucked up." She squeezed her father's arm. Emerson winced. He detests coy nicknames. "That is right," I said. "Always look on the bright side. Is there anything we can do to assist? Our son, as you know, is expert in the Egyptian language." Howard came forward and Lady Evelyn turned a bright, admiring smile on him. Howard swelled up like a pouter pigeon. "I believe I can claim to have the ability to carry out a proper excavation. However— er—if any more seals turn up, a second opinion would be useful." He nodded at Ramses, who said gravely, "I would be happy to be of use, naturally." Emerson was peering down into the pit. "You won't reach the bottom of the stairs before later this afternoon." "How do you know how many steps there are?" Lady Evelyn inquired pertly. Emerson shrugged away the question as he would have shrugged off a fly. Glancing at him, Howard said, "The Professor bases his appraisal on the apparent dimension of the doorway, Evelyn. It is standardized in tombs of this period. Isn't that right, sir?" "Hmph," said Emerson. His hands flexed, as if aching to grasp a tool. No one was rude enough to tell us to go away. Nothing short of a direct order could have accomplished it, and Emerson would have ignored even that. We had waited for weeks to learn whether the doorway had been breached, and what lay beyond it. We stood round the edge of the stairwell, watching with pent breath as step after step came into view. Down below, the shape of the doorway lengthened, but it was impossible to make out details owing to the lack of light. Finally Reis Girigar called out, "Sixteen steps, mudir. The door is clear." Emerson was quivering like a hunting dog waiting to be released. He controlled himself, however, and so Howard was the first to descend. Carnarvon and Lady Evelyn were next. A mumble of conversation followed, broken by the young lady's cries of excitement. Then Howard came back up. "Oh, dear," I said. "You don't look at all pleased, Howard. Don't tell me . . . "There are signs of forced entry. A hole. It was filled in afterward." "But that is encouraging news, Carter," Ramses said. "If the tomb had been completely looted, the necropolis priests would not have bothered to close up the hole and stamp their seals all over the door. Are there any other seals?" "Dozens of them." Carnarvon gasped. His daughter helped him up the stairs. "Hundreds. Carter couldn't read them . . ." I should explain, in Howard's defense, that the seals to which Carnarvon referred had been stamped into the wet plaster after it was spread across the stones of the doorway. The passage of time, and perhaps the hastiness of the ancient workers, had wrought considerable damage on these impressions. Crumbling and broken, they were not easy to decipher, especially by a man in a considerable state of excitement. Nefret hastened to Carnarvon and took his other arm. "Sit down here in the shade, sir." "Yes, do, Pups." Lady Evelyn looked doubtfully at Nefret. "You're a doctor, they tell me? Is he all right?" "It's just excitement, I think," Nefret said with a reassuring smile. "I can't rest until I know what those seals read," Carnarvon insisted. "Is there a king's name? Whose name?" "Ramses," said Emerson. "Relieve his lordship's mind, if you please." "Yes, sir," Ramses said. "Unless Mr. Carter would rather—" "No, no," Carter said. "That is ...yes. Come along." They went down together. Knowing his father was about to burst, Ramses reported his findings in a loud, clear voice. "There are signs of entry at the top of the doorway—an uneven, roughly oval gap, which has been blocked up again and resealed. There are more necropolis seals—the jackal and the nine kneeling
captives—and a number of cartouches." A cry from Lord Carnarvon was echoed by one from Emerson. "Whose?" they shouted. "Most of them are illegible, or nearly so, but they appear to be the same name." Carter said something in a low voice—a question, to judge by the inflection. "I agree," Ramses said loudly. "That is definitely a neb sign. And at the top, a sun disk." "Nebkheperure," Emerson said. "Possibly," Ramses said cautiously. "Not Tutankhamon?" Lady Evelyn asked. "Nebkheperure is Tutankhamon," I said. Chapter Four For a few minutes the silence was absolute. had we indeed found the missing tomb of that shadowy monarch, the last of his line, the successor of the great heretic Akhenaton? When Howard and Ramses came up the stairs, Carnarvon burst out, "The doorway must be dismantled. Immediately." "That would be inadvisable, sir," Ramses said, for Howard seemed incapable of speech. "We must preserve the seals if we can, so that they can be studied in detail. That will take a while. Anyhow, according to protocol, an inspector of the Antiquities Department should be present. I presume you notified Mr. Engelbach that you would clear the stairwell today?" Howard nodded dumbly. "Then where is he?" Carnarvon demanded. "Why hasn't he had the courtesy to respond promptly to my message?" "He is a very busy man," I said. "He has all of Upper Egypt in his jurisdiction. But I am sure he will be along soon." The febrile color in his lordship's cheeks faded, leaving him pale and shaking. Nefret lifted his limp hand and placed her fingers on his wrist. "I would advise you to get your father to bed, Lady Evelyn. He is somewhat agitated, but a good night's rest should set him right." "No, no," Carnarvon said. "I'll wait for Engelbach." We had to wait another half hour. I confess I began to share Lord Carnarvon's frustration. One would have supposed the mere existence of a hereto unknown tomb would have aroused the interest of the Chief Inspector for Upper Egypt, which included the Valley of the Kings; but when Engelbach finally turned up, accompanied by Ibrahim Effendi, his lieutenant, he shook hands all round before even looking at the cleared stairs. He was at that time in his mid-thirties; we had known him since he began his career in archaeology and we had always been on good terms. He was not on such good terms with Howard, whom he greeted somewhat cavalierly. "So what have we here?" he asked—of Emerson. Glancing at Emerson as if for support, Howard said, "The lower strata of rubble from the stairwell contain potsherds and inscribed scraps. Ramses has—er—we have found the name of Tutankhamon, but also those of several other pharaohs, including Akhenaton." "A cache, then," Engelbach said coolly. "Containing several burials." "Or the remains of them," said Emerson. "Those broken pieces suggest the tomb was robbed in antiquity, and that a number of objects were removed before the necropolis priests resealed it." Engelbach nodded thoughtfully. "Like KV55. Let's have a look, then." He remained, watching, while the men cleared the last few feet of debris from the bottom of the stairwell. Additional scraps of funerary equipment were found—a certain sign that some objects had been removed from the tomb before the steps were filled in. After inspecting these, and the seals on the door, Engelbach glanced at his watch. "I must be off. You will of course notify me as you proceed. Let us hope," he added, with a sharp look at Howard, "that this discovery won't be botched as was the excavation of KV55." Botched it unquestionably had been, by the elderly American dilettante Theodore Davis, whose dictatorial control had made it virtuallyimpossible for his archaeological assistant to follow the rules of proper excavation. We had been helpless observers of the havoc wrought by Davis, the mention of whose name still brought a snarl from Emerson. He was equally incensed with the inspector of the time, Arthur Weigall, who had been far less strict with the old American than he ought to have been. Rex Engelbach wouldn't make that mistake. "You can count on Carter to do the job right," Emerson said fairly. "I feel certain he appreciates your advice, Professor," said Engelbach. I didn't feel at all certain about it. Emerson's compliment had left Howard unmoved; he bit his lip and looked daggers at the inspector. Engelbach tipped his hat politely to the ladies and went off. "Well," said Emerson, rubbing his hands together, "there are several more hours of daylight left. Shall we get at it?" "By all means," Carter cried, too excited to resent Emerson's bland assumption of participation. "I am surprised at you," said I, having been in receipt of a pointed look from Ramses. "Both of you. There is not enough light for proper photography, and removing the blocks without damaging the seals will take time." "Bah," exclaimed Emerson. "That is—er—quite right, Peabody. Curse it," he added morosely. Accepting the fact that nothing more could be done that day, Carnarvon agreed to go home and was led off by Lady Evelyn. The rest of us followed his example. "I am surprised at Rex Engelbach's disinterest," I said, as Emerson and I left the Valley. "He was rather rude to Howard, I thought." "Snobbery," said Emerson. "He looks down on Carter because of his lower-class origins, and so do many other Egyptologists. He'd rather someone else made a great discovery." After a moment he added grudgingly, "The excavation couldn't be in better hands." Except yours, I thought. I gave the arm I held an affectionate squeeze, in silent acknowledgment of his nobility of character. Howard was something of an amateur photographer himself, but on this occasion he was happy to accept the services of Nefret and Selim. We were all on hand early the following morning, and the job was well underway when Lord Carnarvon and Lady Evelyn arrived. Every square inch of the doorway was photographed and then the blocking stones were taken down one by one, with the greatest possible care. The men at once began removing the stone chips that filled the passage beyond. Its dimensions were obviously those of a passage, not a chamber, but since its length was unknown, it was impossible to determine how long this process would take. As the afternoon wore on, additional disquieting evidences of disturbance appeared—scraps of pottery and of leather (the remnants of bags brought by the thieves to carry away valuable oils) in the lowest levels. At sunset there was no end in sight and Howard decided to stop for the day. We were all on hand the following morning, and so was Mr. Callender, Howard's friend. Whence he had acquired the name of Pecky I did not know; absurd nicknames would seem to be a British failing. He was an engineer and architect, not an Egyptologist, and Emerson greeted him with a certain reserve. "If he is an example of the assistants Carter intends to employ, I do not approve," my husband muttered to me. "Howard is not dependent on your approval," I reminded him. "Do not be premature, Emerson. We do not yet know what sort of assistance may be required." Hour after hour the basket men carried up their loads. The corridor lengthened. Fifteen feet, twenty feet, twenty-five ...At last, in mid-afternoon, the top of another sealed doorway appeared. The clearance was halted while Ramses and Howard examined what they could see of the door. "It's like the outer door," Ramses reported. "It has been breached at least twice, and the openings refilled and resealed." "Never mind," Howard said, wiping the dust from his perspiring face. "Let's get the entire door exposed." The weary men went back to work. "What's he so cheerful about?" I asked Emerson. Hands in his pockets, eyes intent on the cutting, Emerson said, "The contents of an unrobbed tomb belong in their entirety to the Antiquities Department. It took a while for that to dawn on him." "Ah, I see. So if this tomb has been entered—" "The discoverers may expect a division of the remaining contents." The next hour dragged interminably. Howard stood by smoking one cigarette after another. At last the entire doorway was exposed. Carter and Carnarvon went down, accompanied by Lady Evelyn and Mr. Callender. No one else was invited, but I felt it my duty to follow; in my opinion Howard was on the verge of nervous collapse and Carnarvon was in even worse case. They might require immediate medical attention. Beyond the light entering from the stairwell the descending corridor was extremely dark. I crept along, feeling my way with a hand resting on the wall. Ahead I could see the lights of electric torches moving to and fro. Then Howard's voice, soft, but amplified by echoes, reached me. "There's empty space beyond, as far as the iron testing rod reaches." So he had drilled a hole in the door. I stopped, my hand resting on the wall, my heart beating fast. I hoped Howard would have sense enough to use a candle to test for noxious air before widening the hole. A mutter of conversation, of which I heard only a few words, indicated that he had. It was followed by the sound of metal rubbing against stone. He was enlarging the hole. A period of silence followed. Then came Carnarvon's voice, sharpened by suspense. "Well? Can you see anything?" I crept a little closer, trying to move quietly. I could make out their shapes, crowded close to the doorway. Callender's bulky form almost hid the slimmer frame of Lady Evelyn. The other men stood next to them, so close that they resembled the shape of a single, monstrous creature. "Well?" Carnarvon repeated. "Here ...let me look." I think he gave Howard a shove. Howard fell back and Carnarvon took his place. A loud, wordless cry from Carnarvon finally aroused a response from Howard. "Wonderful! Marvelous things, wonderful things!" I blush to admit that I so lost control of myself as to exclaim, "What?" However, my voice was drowned out by those of the others. Lady Evelyn had replaced her father and was emitting little shrieks; Callender kept bellowing, as I had, "What? What?" Carter and Carnarvon uttered broken ejaculations of disbelief. Then came that magic word: "Gold!" It came from Lord Carnarvon. He was again looking in the hole, describing to the others in incoherent phrases what he saw. I listened for a few minutes and then crept quietly up the corridor. It was some time before Howard and the others returned to the top of the stairs. All the world knows what they saw through that small hole; but the first impression was so overwhelming and, let me add, the view so limited, that it is no wonder their description was confused. Howard kept repeating, "Wonderful things! Marvelous things!" Lady Evelyn embraced her father and Howard alternately (and once hugged Ramses—I think by mistake). Eyes glazed, Carnarvon could only murmur the word "gold," over and over. When Emerson asked politely if we might have a look for ourselves, I don't believe Lord Carnarvon heard him. Nor do I believe Emerson would have heard a refusal. Emerson and I, Nefret and Ramses therefore proceeded. We took it in turn to peer through the small opening, passing the torch from hand to hand. At first glance it looked like Ali Baba's cave, filled with a bewildering jumble of gleaming objects. It took a while for the eye to sort them out and for the trained mind to interpret them. From that first look I remember only the huge funerary couch, with the head of some fabulous beast, gilded and painted, on which rested various objects. Under it were piled boxes and pots. The others had their turns. When we went up, Howard turned to Emerson with an eager "Well?" "Remarkable," said Emerson, stroking his chin. "You've months of work ahead of you, Carter. More, if there are other rooms beyond this one." He was the calmest of us all. Even Ramses's normally composedcountenance betrayed the wonder he felt. Lord Carnarvon had collapsed into a camp chair and was being fanned by his daughter. "There must be other rooms," Howard exclaimed. "There is another doorway." "I saw it," said Emerson. "Naturally you will notify Engelbach before you do anything more." Howard's bow tie was askew, his shirt streaked with dust, his hair standing on end. "Yes," he said. "Yes. Notify. Tomorrow?" "We will be happy to join you," said Emerson graciously. At Howard's order, a wooden grille had been set in place at the beginning of the entrance corridor. We watched him close the padlock and then rode homeward. When we neared the house, to see its hospitable lights shining through the gathering dusk, Emerson roused himself from a brown study. "I hope Fatima has put dinner back. I could do with a whiskey and soda." "It isn't that late," I said. "So much has happened that the day seemed longer than usual." We had missed tea. I deduced that the children had been taken off to bed, since the dog was not couchant in front of the door to the veranda. However, the seats in that room were occupied. Sethos was there, of course, his countenance bland as ever. Nor was I surprised to see Cyrus. With his customary delicacy he had refrained from intruding on Howard's activities, but I knew he would be burning with curiosity. The others were there too—Suzanne and Nadji, Bertie and Jumana. "You'll have to excuse us," Cyrus said sheepishly. "We've been hearing rumors. About a room piled high with gold." "Already?" Nefret exclaimed. "You need not apologize," I said, clasping his hand warmly. "Emerson, will you serve the whiskey?" I then launched into a tale that held my audience spellbound. "He's found it, then," Nadji exclaimed. "Tutankhamon. Not a cache?" "So it would appear," Ramses replied. He had taken a seat next toNefret, "I was able to make out a few cartouches on various objects. They were all those of Tutankhamon and his wife." That was more than I had been able to make out, but Ramses's keen eyesight and remarkable memory were legendary in Egypt. At Cyrus's request he drew a rough sketch of what he had seen through the small opening, explaining as he went along. "Directly opposite the door was a funerary couch, in the shape of the Hathor cow. Piled on top of it were an ordinary bed with animal legs, a wicker chair, several stools, and a wooden box. Under it were a number of white-painted ovoid boxes, probably containing food offerings, and in front of them two rectangular wooden boxes and a pair of what seems to be footstools. To the right I made out the tail of what may be another funerary couch, and to the left the head of a third, in the shape of a hippopotamus. I'm not much of an artist," he finished modestly. "The place was in complete disarray." Emerson had lit his pipe. Now he took it from between his teeth. "The tomb was robbed, right enough. The thieves tossed the objects about looking for small valuables. The priests who set the place in order afterward were in a hurry." "We knew the tomb had been robbed at least once," I said. "The golden statuette we found last