The Snake, The Crocodile, And The Dog Part 43

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 G.o.ds. This was of the second variety. The image was that of Sobek-the crocodile G.o.d.

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 gla.s.s 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 G.o.ds 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 circ.u.mstances, 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 embarra.s.sed 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 pa.s.s 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."