The Snake, The Crocodile, And The Dog Part 9

"I would be delighted to join you for tea," I said.

Mr. Vincey's sad gray eyes lit up. They were most expressive optics.

"Please yourself," Emerson grunted. "I have other things to do. Good day, Vincey."

He opened the bedroom door and let out a profane exclamation. The exclamation- though not the profanity- was echoed by Mr. Vincey. "Oh, dear! Was Anubis in that room as well?"

"It appears he was," I replied, studying the crumpled linens and scattered papers with some chagrin. "Never mind, Mr. Vincey, the safragi and his friends did more damage than Anubis, I expect. They will-"

"Curse it!" shouted Emerson. He slammed the door.

I gathered up my handbag and my parasol, and after directing the safragi to tidy the rooms, I preceded Mr. Vincey into the hall.

"I need not apologize for my husband, I believe," I said. "You know his brusque manner conceals a heart of gold."

"Oh, I know Emerson very well," was the laughing reply. "To be honest, Mrs. Emerson, I am pleased to have you to myself. I have . . . I have a favor to ask."

I had a premonition of what that favor might be, but like the gentleman he was, Mr. Vincey waited to propose it until after we had found a table on the famous terrace and the waiter had taken our order.

We sat in silence for a time, enjoying the balmy afternoon air and watching the picturesque procession of Egyptian life pa.s.sing along the street. Carriages let off pa.s.sengers and picked up others, water carriers and vendors crowded around the steps. The tables were almost filled with ladies in light summer gowns and big hats, gentlemen in afternoon garb, and the usual sprinkling of officers. From his pocket Vincey had produced a lead and collar and fastened it on the cat. It submitted to this indignity more gracefully than its conduct had led me to expect, and squatted at its master's feet like a dog.

I found Mr. Vincey a pleasant companion. Our mutual affection for the feline species provided a useful introductory topic of conversation. I told him of the cat Bastet, and he replied with accounts of Anubis's intelligence, loyalty and courage. "For a good many years he has been not only my friend but my best friend, Mrs. Emerson. People talk of the selfishness of cats, but I have not found human friends so loyal"

I recognized this statement for what it was intended to be- a tentative reference to his unhappy history- but naturally I was too well-bred to indicate I knew of that history. I replied with a sympathetic murmur and a look that invited further confidences.

A flush mantled his cheekbones. "You must have guessed what I am about to ask, Mrs. Emerson. Your kindness and sympathy are well known. I had hoped- I am in need ... I beg your pardon. It is difficult for me to sue for favors. I have not lost all my pride."

"Pray feel no self-consciousness, Mr. Vincey," I replied warmly. "Misfortune may come even to the worthy. There is no cause for shame in seeking honest employment."

"How eloquently and with what exquisite tact you express yourself!" Vincey exclaimed. I thought I saw a glimmer as of tears in his eyes. I looked away until he could conquer his emotion.

It was as I had supposed. Hearing of our plans for an enlarged, permanent staff, he was seeking employment. Once the difficulty of this admission was over, he proceeded to recite his qualifications. They were impressive: ten years of excavation, fluent Arabic, familiarity with the hieroglyphs, a good sound cla.s.sical education.

"There is only one difficulty," he concluded, with a smile that shoi even white teeth. "Whither I go, Anubis goes. I could not abandon h

"I would think less of you if you did," I a.s.sured him. "That is no difficulty, Mr. Vincey. You understand I cannot promise anything y; our plans are still in the process of being formulated. However, I will speak to Emerson and- without wishing in any way to hold out false hopes- I have every reason to believe he will be favorably inclined to your offer."

"I cannot thank you enough." His voice broke. "That is the truth,

Mrs. Emerson, you have no idea- "

"Enough said, Mr. Vincey." Touched by his sincerity, respecting his dignity, I pretended to glance at my watch. "Dear me, it is getting late. I must hurry and change. Are you coming to the ball?"

"I had not intended to, but if you will be there-"

"Yes, indeed. I look forward to it."

"What costume are you wearing?"

"Ah, that is a secret," I replied gaily. "We are all to be masked and in disguise. Half the fun will be trying to recognize one's friends."

"I can't believe you have persuaded Emerson to attend," Vincey said. "He used to roar like a chained bear at the very prospect of a social engagement. How you have civilized him!"

"He roared a bit," I admitted, laughing. "But I have found the perfect costume for him, one he cannot object to a.s.suming"

"An ancient pharaoh?" Relieved of his embarra.s.sment, Vincey was ready to enter into the spirit of the thing. "He would be a perfect Thutmose the Third, the great warrior king."

"Now, really, Mr. Vincey, can you picture Emerson appearing in public attired only in a short kilt and a beaded collar? He is a modest man. Anyhow, Thutmose was only a few inches over five feet in height."

"He would look magnificent in armor."

"Suits of armor are not so easily come by in the bazaar. You won't trap me so easily, Mr. Vincey!

I must be off now."

"And I, if I am to find some fancy dress of my own." He took the hand I had offered him, with a rueful look at the makeshift bandage around it, he raised it, bandage and all, to his lips.

Emerson claimed he had forgotten about the fancy dress ball. Then he claimed he had never agreed to attend. After being driven back from both these positions, he retreated to a third line of defense, objecting to my ensemble. It began, "If you think I am going to allow my wife to appear in such a costume . . ." and ended, "I wash my hands of the whole affair. Do as you like, you always do."

In fact, I was rather pleased with my choice I had dismissed the idea of some version of ancient Egyptian dress, there would be dozens of (inappropriate variations of that, by ladies who hoped to conjure up the seductive image of Cleopatra, the only queen known to the idle tourist. I had considered Boadicea or some other prominent defender of women's rights, but it was not so easy to put together a costume in the limited time at my disposal. What I wore was not fancy dress. It would appear as such to the conventional travelers at Shepheard's, however, for I had determined to take the last, bold stride in my campaign of suitable working attire for archaeologically disposed ladies.

My first experiences in Egypt, pursuing mummies and climbing up and down cliffs, had convinced me that trailing skirts and tight corsets were a confounded nuisance in that ambience For many years my working costume had consisted of pith helmet and shirtwaist, boots, and Turkish trousers, or bloomers. They had caused consternation enough when I first appeared in them, but eventually ladies adopted divided skirts and full trousers for sporting activities. They were a good deal more convenient than skirts, but they had certain disadvantages, on one memorable occasion I had been unable to defend myself from attack because I could not locate my pocket (and the revolver in it) among the voluminous folds of fabric.*

I had always envied gentlemen the abundance and accessibility of their pockets My belt of tools- knife, waterproof container for matches and candles, canteen, notebook and pencil, among other useful objects - subst.i.tuted for pockets to some extent, but the noise they made clashing together made it difficult for me to creep up on suspects unnoticed, and the sharp edges on a number of them impeded the in.petuous embraces to which Emerson is p.r.o.ne. I did not intend to abandon my chatelaine, as I jestingly called it, but pockets, large pockets and many of them, would allow me to carry even more essentials with me.

The costume my dressmaker had produced, under my direction, was almost identical with the shooting suits gentlemen had been wearing for some years. There were pockets everywhere - inside the jacket and on its upper portion, and all over the skirts or tails of the said jacket. This object of apparel covered the torso and the adjoining area of the lower limbs. Beneath it were knickerbockers cut like a man's (except for being somewhat fuller in the upper part) of a matching fabric. They were tucked into stout laced boots, and when I had clapped a pith helmet on my head and put my hair up under it, I felt I was the very picture of a young gentleman explorer.

Arms folded and head on one side, Emerson watched me a.s.sume this garb with an expression that left me in some doubt as to his reaction. The occasional quiver of his lips might have been amus.e.m.e.nt or repressed outrage. Pirouetting in front of the mirror, I addressed him over my shoulder.

"Well? What do you think?"

Emerson's lips parted. "You need a mustache."

"I have one." I produced it from the lower left-hand pocket of the jacket and pressed it into place. It was a red mustache. I had been unable to find a black one.

After Emerson had got himself under control I asked him to study the effect again and give me his serious opinion. At his request I removed the mustache, he claimed that appendage rendered serious consideration impossible. After circling me two or three times he nodded. "You don't make a very convincing young gentleman, Peabody. However, the outfit rather becomes you. You might consider wearing it on the dig, it would be much more convenient than those cursed bloomers. They have so many yards of cloth in them, it takes me forever to- "

"There is no time for that, Emerson," I said, gliding away from the hand he had extended in order to make his point. "Your costume is hanging in the wardrobe."

With a dramatic flourish I flung the wardrobe door open.

A number of establishments in the suk sold various versions of native Egyptian robes, for they were popular with tourists. I had to search for some time before I found an ensemble that was not only completely authentic, but particularly suitable to Emerson's tall frame and individualistic character. Though he denies it, he has a secret penchant for disguises and a certain taste for the theatrical. I fancied this costume would appeal to him, for the embroidered jubba and woven kaftan, the gold-trimmed hezaam and loose trousers might have been worn by a prince of the Touareg- those extremely virile and violent desert raiders who are known to their despairing victims as "The Forgotten of G.o.d."

They are also called "The Veiled Ones," because of the blue veils that provide protection against heat and blowing sand. It was this feature that had determined me to select the costume, for it would serve in lieu of a mask, which I felt sure Emerson would not consent to wear. The headdress, called a khafiya, was a square of cloth bound in place by a rope. It framed the face becomingly and, with the veil, would leave only his eyes exposed.

Emerson studied it in silence. "We will go well together," I said cheerfully. "My trousers and your skirts."

The ballroom was decorated in the style of Louis XVI and featured a superb chandelier whose thousands of crystals reflected the lights in a dazzling shimmer. The brilliant and fantastical garb of the guests filled the room with color. There were plenty of ancient Egyptians present, but some of the guests had been more inventive, I saw a j.a.panese samurai and a bishop of the Eastern Church, complete with miter. My own dress provoked considerable comment, however. I had no lack of partners, and as I circled the floor in the respectful grasp of one gentleman or another, I was delighted at how neatly I could perform the vigorous steps of polkas and schottisches.

Emerson does not dance. From time to time I would catch a glimpse of him wandering around the perimeter of the room, or talking to someone who shared his disinterest in terpsich.o.r.ean exercise. Then I saw him no more and concluded he had got bored and gone off in search of more congenial company.

I was sitting in one of the little alcoves screened by potted plants, recuperating from my exertions and chatting with Lady Norton, when he appeared again. "Ah, my dear, there you are," I said, glancing over my shoulder at the tall veiled form. "Permit me to present you to- "