“Curse it,” I shouted. “Emerson, come back here at once!”
I reached for the rope and at once found myself in the grasp of four muscular arms. One pair belonged to Ramses, the other to the commandant.
“What the devil do you think you are doing, Mother?”
“The Sitt must not go down there!” cried Ali Bey, just as emphatically.
“It was, perhaps, ill-advised,” I admitted. “I acted instinctively. You may let me go, gentlemen.”
I leaned over the hole, while Ramses maintained a tight grip on me. There was no sign of Emerson, but far below I could see the glow of torches. I called Emerson’s name; after a somewhat nerve-racking minute or two I received a reply.
“Found him,” Emerson shouted, his voice weirdly distorted by echoes.
He ascended as he had descended, and climbed up onto the edge of the hole. “Lower the harness,” he said to the workmen, and to me, in English, “The fat fool can’t even climb a rope.”
The harness was a wooden seat with ropes on both sides, like a child’s swing. The men lowered it and then bent to the windlass, their stringy muscles straining. Emerson’s description of Morley as fat was exaggerated. He was only out of condition, but he was certainly no lightweight.
The commandant said reproachfully, “You said I should watch while you questioned him, Father of Curses.”
“You shall. I have not told him the news.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Morley’s haughty manner did not come off so well as he sat with his feet dangling and his gloved hands clutching the ropes. He was coated with dirt and perspiration. “I did as you required, I hired an archaeologist to assist—”
“Where is she, then? Never mind her, Morley, I have news for you. Plato Panagopolous is dead. Murdered. Why did you kill him?”
Under the grime on his face Morley turned pale. He sputtered wordlessly for a few moments and then gasped, “Murdered? Killed? Where? Why?”
Emerson turned to Ali Bey. “What do you think?”
“Hmmm. I see surprise, yes, and fear on his face, and I hear it in his voice. Was it at the news of Pana…Papa—the man’s death, or of alarm that you have accused him?”
“That may have been an error,” Emerson admitted, looking chagrined.
“Emerson,” I said. “Perhaps you had better leave the interrogation to me.”
Morley had recovered himself. “Interrogation? What right do you have to question me?”
I would have told him, but he hurried on, now flushed with anger instead of deathly pale. “Why would I want to harm Panagopolous? We had come to an amicable agreement, after a—er—slight misunderstanding.”
“Stemming,” I said, “from your attempt to cheat him of his share of the profits of this expedition. You took the scroll and left him penniless. Believing, as proved to be the case, that we would be following you to Palestine, he came to us with a cock-and-bull story. You did not attack him; you had already left the country. He inflicted the injury upon himself in order to win our sympathy. Once here, he blackmailed you into taking him back into partnership by threatening to expose the falsity of his famous scroll. He cheated you, and you cheated him. A pretty pair, I must say.”
If Morley had been flushed before, he was now reddish-purple as a beet. “The scroll is not a fake! It is genuine. It will lead me to the secret passage.”
“He speaks the truth,” Ali Bey said interestedly. “Or I am no judge of men.”
“He speaks what he believes is the truth,” I said. “Where is the scroll now, Major Morley?”
His eyes shifted. “I gave it back to Panagopolous. I have no idea what he did with it.”
“Hid it, I expect,” I said. “He didn’t trust you. With good reason.”
“I don’t have to put up with this,” Morley said loudly. “I didn’t kill the old fool and you cannot prove that I did. Now get out.”
“Shall I come with you?” Ali Bey asked Emerson hopefully.
“What about your errand here?”
“It can wait. I wish to observe the English police methods. You may need me if my subordinates are already there.”
“Good Gad!” Emerson shouted. He set out for the barrier at a dead run.
“Come if you like,” I said to the commandant. “We must hurry, Emerson is in one of his states. Major Morley, you have not seen the last of us.”
“What set the Professor off?” Nefret asked as we hastened away.
“He’s afraid someone will get at his precious discovery,” said Ramses, on my other side.
“Do you have any idea what it might be?” I asked.
“I wasn’t there,” Ramses reminded me.
Daoud, close behind us, had overheard. “Something caught his eye, Sitt Hakim, and he ordered us all out of the trench. He trusts no one but himself to deal with unusual objects.”
I suppose Emerson had counted on the usual delays that accompany any official action in Ottoman territory. He had not expected such a prompt reply from the authorities. I myself could only account for it by the fact that Panagopolous held a British passport. At any rate, when we arrived on the scene it was to see poor Plato’s body lying beside the open pit, surrounded by a group of policemen, who seemed to be arguing about what should be done next. From the depths of the trench came Emerson’s voice, raised in profane lamentation.
“Oh dear,” I said. “Ali Bey, will you be good enough to take charge of these people? Selim, what has happened to anger Emerson?”
Selim wiped his perspiring face. “I tried to stop them, Sitt Hakim, but they said they were from the police and they pushed me away, and then they went into the trench and dragged the body out, and—”
“Oh dear,” I said again.
The commandant had taken charge with a vengeance. One of the police persons lay on the ground, nursing a bloody head. Another was in full flight and the others had retreated to a safe distance.
Emerson’s head appeared. He was a dreadful sight, his face set in a hideous grimace and his black hair wildly askew. “Stop that man!” he bellowed, pointing at the fleeing police officer. “Stop them all! Search them to the skin! It is gone, someone has stolen it!”
WITH THE ENTHUSIASTIC ASSISTANCE of Ali Bey, I soon had the situation more or less under control. The uncontrollable part of the situation was Emerson. He insisted on searching each of the police officers, so thoroughly that I was forced to turn my back. The one who had fled had made good his escape.
“He’s got it!” Emerson shouted, and would have set out in futile pursuit had I not caught hold of him.
“In heaven’s name, Emerson, what has he got?”
“I would like to know that too,” said Ali Bey. “What have we been searching for? A clue to the identity of the murderer?”
“What?” Emerson stared at him. “No, no, nothing so insignificant.” He passed his hand over his brow, leaving a broad smear of dirt, and groaned aloud.
“An artifact of some sort,” I explained to the officer. “It is the only thing that sets Emerson off like this. But there is no use trying to get him to make sense just now. We have more imperative matters to settle. Selim, find someone to construct a coffin. He can’t be left lying here.”
“What shall we do with him, then?” Selim asked.
“Have him carried to our house,” I said.
As I had expected, this served to distract Emerson. “Now see here, Peabody—”
“What else can we do, Emerson?”
“Drop him off at Morley’s tent. You want to examine the body and look for clues and meddle in matters that ought not concern you.”
“I’m afraid they do concern us, Father,” Ramses said. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that one of us might be under suspicion?”
“Me?” Emerson inquired.
“Your antipathy toward him is well known. He was found in your excavation area.”
Ali Bey was listening with intent interest. “Motive and opportunity!” he exclaimed. “It is the B
ritish method.”
“Balderdash,” Emerson said.
“What does that mean?” the commandant asked.
“It means,” I explained, “that other people had even stronger motives for disposing of Panagopolous, and that the body may have been placed here in order to cast suspicion on Emerson. My husband, sir, does not carry a knife and his principles would not allow him to murder a helpless man.”
“I’ll tell you what,” said Emerson, who—I was sorry to see—had begun to take a perverse pleasure in being a suspect. “Come up to the house with us and search for bloodstained garments. You can also examine my hands and arms for scratches.”
“You permit?”
“I insist. What is taking Selim so long?”
When Selim came back he was accompanied by Kamir and two fellows carrying planks of wood. The two set to work at once constructing a crude coffin while Kamir stood staring down at Plato’s body. He murmured something that might, or might not, have been a prayer and then said, “Who is he?”
“Don’t you recognize him?” I asked. “He was with us at the house the other day.”
“I did not see him there.” He turned away, as if the sight were distasteful.
The workmen finished nailing the coffin together and were persuaded, by the offer of extra baksheesh, to put the dead man into it. Upon the payment of additional baksheesh they agreed to carry the coffin up the hill to our house. Emerson handed over the money without arguing. His brow was furrowed in thought.
“My dear,” I said, for I believed he was brooding over his lost artifact, “shall we go?”
“Hmmm? Yes, certainly. Would there,” he asked pathetically, “be coffee, do you think?”
I MADE SURE THERE was coffee, enough for all of us, including Ali Bey. Selim and Daoud had been left at the excavation, with strict instructions to allow no one to approach it. We had some difficulty finding a place for the coffin, since none of the servants wanted it anywhere near them. At last we settled on one of the unoccupied rooms, the one I intended to be used as a study.
On the way back to the house I had had a private word with David. “I am sorry to ask you,” I added, “but it is absolutely necessary.”
“That’s quite all right, Aunt Amelia. I have had worse tasks. I’ll get at it right away.”
Ali Bey found our company delightful. He and Ramses got into an animated discussion of the detectival methods of Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and it was not until I reminded him that he had not yet carried out his original errand that he reluctantly rose to his feet.
“May I ask the nature of your errand?” I inquired. “If you are allowed to speak of it.”
“All the city knows, Sitt. The man Morley is the subject of disquieting rumors, and public anger is rising. They say he is digging in the Haram itself. It cannot be true, but it is my duty to warn him.”
Emerson roused himself enough to mumble a farewell and then relapsed into brooding silence.
“Very well, Emerson,” I said. “Get it off your chest, metaphorically speaking. Do not brood, but share your loss with us. What was the artifact you found?”
Emerson sighed deeply. “You won’t believe it.” He looked round the room. “Where is Nefret?”
“She slipped out some time ago,” Ramses said. “Would you care to guess what she is doing?”
“Examining that confounded corpse, I suppose,” Emerson said.
“Do not speak ill of the dead, Emerson.”
“Bah,” said Emerson. “I will if I like. Find Nefret, I may as well…Ah, there you are, my dear.”
“What did your examination of the body reveal?” I asked.
“Nothing of importance. His throat was cut, but you had already suspected that. There were no other new injuries.”
“And nothing under his fingernails?” I inquired.
“No. I looked, of course.”
“Of course.”
“That would suggest he didn’t fight back,” Ramses said.
“Or that he was unable to do so,” I said.
“Of course.”
“Is anyone interested in my discovery?” Emerson said loudly.
The truthful answer was no, not at the moment. However, Emerson was clearly in need of being soothed. “We are all waiting with bated breath,” I assured him.
“You won’t believe it,” said Emerson in sepulchral tones. “The damned thing is gone, stolen by one of the men who lifted Panopolous out of the pit. I knew it would prove an irresistible temptation. If it hadn’t been for that bastard Morley, I would have been there in time to prevent the theft. Selim was no match for—”
“Emerson,” I said. “Get to the point.”
“You won’t…” He caught my eye. “Er, hmph. It was a fragment of gold that might have been part of a cup or vase. It was flattened and crushed, but I was able to make out a few signs. They were Egyptian hieroglyphs.”
Chapter Ten
Regrettably, Emerson’s pronouncement did not have the effect he had anticipated. It was very interesting, to be sure, but to most of us it paled by contrast to the murder, riot, and mystery that surrounded us.
The only one who reacted as Emerson had hoped was Ramses. “Amazing!” he exclaimed, his eyes alight. “The first actual, physical evidence of Egyptian occupation here. What did the hieroglyphs read, Father?”
“As near as I could make out, they were part of the cartouche of one of the Amenhoteps. I left it in situ, since it had not been photographed or plotted.” He let out another groan. “So much for proper methodology. I ought to have known…”
He jumped up and headed for the door. “And where do you think you are going?” I demanded. “Come back here at once, Emerson.”
“There are still several hours of daylight left,” said Emerson. His sapphirine eyes shone with the fearful glow of fanaticism. “And now, at last, I have my entire crew present. Come, all of you. Bring cameras—tripods—torches—sketching pads—measuring sticks—”
He rushed out, followed by Selim and Daoud. Ramses was about to follow when I stopped him. “You are a trifle flushed,” I said. “Are you feeling well?”
“Yes, of course.” He avoided my outstretched hand and ran after his father.
David glanced uncertainly at me. “Keep a close eye on Ramses,” I said. “Emerson is the most devoted of fathers, but when he is in this state of mind he wouldn’t notice a massacre unless it inconvenienced him.”
“You can count on me, Aunt Amelia.”
“I know I can,” I said affectionately. “And—er—by the way, there is no need to mention your sketch of—him—to anyone else. Tell Emerson Nefret will be along directly with the cameras.”
“No, ma’am. Yes, ma’am.”
Nefret had gone out of the room; I assumed she was looking for the cameras, but when she did not return at once, I went in search of her. I found her in the part of the courtyard we had designated as the kitchen. With her was Ghada, holding a bundle.
“She came for the laundry,” Nefret explained. “And she has brought the baby! Isn’t she sweet?”
The word could have applied to Ghada, whom I saw unveiled for the first time. She had a pretty little face, dominated by those melting brown eyes. I smiled at her; she responded by offering me the bundle. It was meant as a gesture of trust, so I had no choice but to respond. I took the bundle and bounced it experimentally.
There was nothing visible of the baby except a face. A knitted cap covered its head, and layer upon layer of wrappings covered the rest of it. It had its mother’s brown eyes and skin several shades lighter than hers; obviously it had seldom if ever been exposed to direct sunlight. After a suspicious look at me it opened its mouth and let out a howl.
“Here,” I said, handing it over to Nefret. She bounced the baby. The aggravating little creature immediately stopped howling and gave her a dimpled grin.
I knew better than to praise the child. Complimentary remarks would bring down the wrath of innumerable demons. I smiled again, nodd
ed, and went to fetch the washing. I had to order Nefret to hand the baby back to its mother, who inserted it into a sling on her back and went off with the laundry.
“I would like to examine the baby,” Nefret said, watching them go. “It appears to be healthy enough, but its nose was running.”
“Babies’ noses always run,” I said authoritatively (hoping I was right). “You can do that another time. Emerson is waiting for you.”
“Aren’t you coming?”
“Not just yet. It is time I made one of my little lists.”
I RULED THE PAPER according to my usual scheme, with columns headed: “Questions” and “What to do about them.” For reasons which will be apparent as my narrative proceeds, I did not keep a copy of the list. As I recall, the questions went something like this:
Who is Plato Panagopolous?
Who killed him?
Where is the man Mansur and what is his mission?
What has become of Mme von Eine and what is her aim?
Why did Major Morley increase the speed of his work?
I had taken the first step to identifying Panagolopous. He had avoided having a photograph taken, and he had avoided meeting certain individuals. I would show David’s sketch, after it had been modified by me, to those individuals. Once I discovered his real identity, I might have the answer to the second question.
I couldn’t think what to do about Mansur, or even decide whether I needed to do anything. The answer to the second part of the question might be connected with the fifth question. Perhaps some sort of deadline for the completion of that mission was approaching, and perhaps Morley’s assistance was necessary. However, that was as yet only surmise, and interrogating Morley would almost certainly be a waste of time.
Which left me with question number four.
Vanity, alas, affects even the best of us. I took a little time to smooth my hair and change my shirt for a clean one before I selected a rather becoming broad-brimmed hat, with crimson ribbons that tied under my chin. After slipping my little pistol into one of my pockets and a few other useful items into another, I took my heaviest parasol and went forth.
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