A River in the Sky

Chapter Nine

“There! Do you see?” I shrieked, gesturing with my parasol. “Hurry, Emerson, hurry; they are being immolated!”

Emerson let out a string of oaths in a variety of languages and urged his steed to a gallop. I did not need to prod my driver; with a wordless whoop he cracked his whip, and our equipage thundered away in pursuit of Emerson.

If I had been thinking clearly instead of allowing the anxious heart of a parent to guide my tongue, I would have realized the verb was probably exaggerated. It was just as likely that the smoke was a signal from Ramses himself, to guide us. Still, haste was of the essence-all the more so because coming toward us, though still some distance away, was a sizable body of men wearing Turkish uniforms.

We would have missed the path if we had not been looking for it. Hardly more than a rutted track, it cut off to the left between two rugged banks. Still in the lead, since she had never slackened pace, Nefret swerved abruptly and disappeared into the cleft. Selim was close behind her and Emerson was not far behind Selim. I was on my feet, shouting encouragement and instructions to the driver, when we reached the spot. He made the turn so abruptly that I would have fallen had it not been for my firm grip on the rail and Daoud’s big hands holding me. The path was scarcely wide enough for a carriage-if it were carefully driven. Ours struck the side and came to a shuddering stop. Held erect only by Daoud’s grasp, I watched in stunned surprise as the driver leaped from his perch and cut both horses loose. Uttering equine noises of alarm, they trotted on up the path.

Daoud jumped down and caught the driver by the throat. “He turned purposely into the bank, Sitt Hakim. He is one of the enemy! But I will not let him harm you. I have him fast.”

The last sentence was certainly true. The driver’s headcloth had slipped down over his eyes and his scarf was twisted tightly round his neck. Clawing at it, he strove to speak but could only gurgle. Conceive of my astonishment, dear Reader, when he took the end of his nose between thumb and forefinger and wriggled it-twice!

The entire incident had transpired so quickly that the wheels of the carriage, two of them off the ground, were still spinning. I climbed out of the vehicle and approached the driver, remarking as I did so, “You had better release him, Daoud. Go on, I will catch you up.”

Daoud cast an agonized glance over his shoulder. Sounds indicative of combat floated down to us from above, echoed by running footsteps from below, at the entrance to the path. Whipping my little pistol from my pocket, I fired several shots toward the approaching soldiers. Since I had not actually hit anyone, I doubted it would deter them for long, but it might give them pause, in both senses of the phrase.

“Go on,” I said again. “That is an order, Daoud.”

Daoud was torn between his need to protect me and his desire to aid his friends, but his faith in me was unquestioned. He dropped the driver and ran. I pushed the fellow’s headcloth up and looked into a pair of bulging pale blue eyes.

“Ah,” I said. “Mr. Courtney Camden. Why did you not inform me of your true identity, and why did you wreck the carriage? Be succinct, I beg.”

Mr. Camden, being still short of breath, gesticulated frantically. “Block the entrance,” he gasped. “Turks. Do you…go on. I will-”

“We will go on together. Though I yearn to be at the side of my valiant allies and, if my prayers have been answered, my errant son, I am confident that they have already got the situation well in hand, and that my assistance is not-”

Mr. Camden emitted a loud growling sound, caught hold of my hand, and proceeded on up the path, pulling me with him.

The path twisted and turned, seeking the easiest ascent, but it was steep enough. Thanks to Mr. Camden and my trusty parasol, which served as a walking stick, I had no difficulty. At last we emerged onto a plateau some ten acres in extent, with the walls of a ruined yet imposing fortress directly ahead. A number of horses, including the two from the carriage, were ambling about nibbling at the rank grass and shrubs that covered the ground. The sounds of combat had subsided, which was reassuring or the reverse, depending on one’s anticipations.

“Go slowly,” I urged. “If our friends have been overcome we will take the enemy by surprise.”

“And hit them with your parasol? Oh, confound it, you are right. Slowly it is.”

The great gateway, flanked by towers, was before us. As we passed through, each of us trying to get ahead of the other, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and turned my head in time to behold the hindquarters of one of the horses heading (if that term is appropriate) down the path to the road.

After some casting about we located the gate in the inner wall. Mr. Camden would have held me back; I flung off his hand.

“All is well,” I said. “I can hear Emerson swearing at Ramses.”

To be accurate, he was not swearing at Ramses but swearing in general, interspersing his oaths with such phrases as “All right, are you, my boy?” and “We are on the job, lie still!” This was reasonably good proof that Ramses was still alive, and it was with a mind relieved that I entered the inner area.

My first impression was one of utter chaos. Wisps of smoke arose from smoldering patches of brush, which Selim and Daoud were methodically stamping out. The drifting gray shapes lent a spectral look to the scene, with its rubble-strewn ground and the looming shape of the inner keep. Naturally my eyes went first to the touching tableau with David and Ramses at its center. At least I assumed the tatterdemalion, filthy forms were theirs. Their faces were unrecognizable, the lower half covered with straggling beards, the upper half with mops of hair that had not seen a comb or brush for days. However, Ramses’s nose was unmistakable. He lay on his back, his head in Nefret’s lap. David sat cross-legged on the ground nearby and Emerson paced up and down, rubbing his chin and of course still swearing. Upon observing me he swung round and demanded, “What took you so long?”

“We were delayed by a slight accident,” I replied. “It seems you did not require my assistance, however.”

“We could have used a bit of help,” Emerson admitted. “What with four-or was it five?-villains trying to make off with Ramses, and David staggering after them waving a broken branch, and Nefret-”

“You can continue your spirited narrative later, Emerson.”

I knelt by Ramses and brushed the hair away from his forehead. What I could see of his skin was flushed and red. “Gracious,” I said, “he is burning with fever.”

“It’s the same illness I had,” David said. “I’m much better, but he caught it from me.”

“He also has a nasty lump on his head,” Nefret said.

“Concussion?” I inquired, probing the area she indicated with expert fingers.

Before she could answer, Ramses opened his eyes. “Good morning, Mother. I thought I recognized your touch.”

IT TOOK A WHILE to sort things out. Everyone had a tale to tell and everyone wanted to tell it at once, and I had to forbid further discussion until we had dealt with the most important matter, namely, getting the boys safely home and being cared for. A slight diversion, in the shape of half a dozen Turkish soldiers erupting into the courtyard, was quickly dealt with by Emerson, who fired several shots from a pistol I had not known he possessed over their heads and sent them scampering for safety. David gathered their few possessions, and Emerson wanted to carry Ramses, who turned an even brighter red with indignation at the idea, but he was not unwilling to be guided along by Daoud. As they made their way to the gate I took a final look round. “Are they dead?” I inquired of Emerson, indicating several recumbent forms-another group of soldiers, to judge by their attire.

Emerson chuckled. “Playing possum, as Vandergelt would say. They are waiting for us to leave so they can skulk away.” He added negligently, “I got the distinct impression that their hearts were not in this fight. When we went after them they either ran or fell flat.”

Supported by Daoud and David, Ramses suddenly planted his feet and pulled away from them. “Ran. Who…Dammit, Daoud, let me go. I have to see…”

His eyes moved slowly round, from one motionless body to another. “Where is he?” he asked vaguely. “I don’t see him.”

“Who?” I asked. “We are all here, my dear. Selim and Daoud and-”

“No, no. Mansur. He was here, he…”

The name meant nothing to any of us except David. Knowing Ramses would stay on his feet talking until he got an answer, David said, “He got away, Ramses. Don’t think about that now. We’ll catch up with him.”

Ramses said distinctly, “God damn it all to hell,” and fell into Daoud’s arms.

Several of the horses were still lazing about the outer entrance; we found the rest along the path, and standing by the overturned carriage, which blocked further progress.

The carriage was undamaged except for a few dents, and Selim was able to repair the harness with some of the bits of wire he always carried with him, so we were soon on our way. I took my seat on the box next to the driver, explaining-truthfully-that the carriage was somewhat cramped with three additional passengers. Neither of the boys was fit to ride. Nefret, promptly and without comment, took her place between them.

Mr. Camden, as I must continue to call him, had retreated into his driver persona as soon as he realized his active assistance was not required. No one paid him the least notice (except for Emerson, who delivered a hearty slap on the back and a loud “Good chap!”). It seemed to me an excellent opportunity for a private chat, since the ambient noises made it impossible for us to be overheard. I therefore requested he explain himself.

“I can keep nothing from you, Mrs. Emerson,” he said morosely.

“That is correct.”

“You have probably guessed-deduced, rather-a good deal of it. I am the representative of MO2 in Jerusalem. I owe the position to my brother, George Tushingham, whom I believe you met in London.”

“Aha!” I exclaimed. “Mr. Tushingham, the botanist. I knew you looked familiar. I would have made the connection eventually. So your real name is Tushingham.”

“I beg you will continue to call me by the name the others know. I was told of your mission before you arrived, and my assignment was to assist you in any way possible, without revealing my true identity.”

“Typical male stupidity,” I remarked. “The obsession with secrecy and the refusal of different parts of the bureaucracy to communicate with one another can only lead to-”

“In any case,” said Mr. Camden, raising his voice slightly, “it was some time before I realized our contact at the hotel was out of commission and that my message had probably never reached you.”

“Another example of masculine incompetence. To rely on a single link-”

“Quite, Mrs. Emerson. I was therefore forced to approach you directly, with no means of establishing my bona fides should that become necessary.”

The carriage hit a rut; I caught hold of my hat with one hand and Mr. Camden with the other. “But the signal you gave me-”

This time Mr. Camden’s interruption came in the form of a fit of coughing. I slapped him on the back, rather more forcibly than was necessary, since the truth had begun to dawn on me.

“Speak up,” I exclaimed. “The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!”

“Well-um-you see…I’m afraid that was one of Mr. Boniface’s little jokes. He told me of it when I saw him in Jaffa a few days ago.”

“Jokes,” I repeated.

“He laughed quite heartily about it. He had taken a bit too much to drink, I believe.” Glancing uneasily at me, Mr. Camden went on, “Naturally I reprimanded him severely. However, it served us well in the end, did it not? I couldn’t think what else to do when your large friend was throttling me.”

After a few moments of cogitation, I said very calmly, “So it would seem. I will have a few words to say to Mr. Boniface when next I encounter him. Was there anything in the missing message I ought to know?”

“It concerned Mme-er-”

“There you go again with your confounded secrecy. No one can hear us. Mme von Eine, yes. I deduced her identity without your assistance.”

The great gate of the Holy City came into view; Camden urged the horses to a quicker pace. He was not enjoying our conversation. I had one more important point to make, however, and I proceeded to make it.

“Since your normal means of communication is still inoperative, I think it best that you should be available at all times. Be at the hotel tomorrow morning at eight. We will be proceeding to Siloam. I expect to have the house ready for occupancy within the next day or two. That will put us on the spot while Morley’s excavations are progressing and will enable us to find out what the lady is up to. Have you any questions?”

“No, ma’am,” said Mr. Camden meekly. “Yes, ma’am. I will be there.”

It was late afternoon when we entered the city, having encountered no difficulty. The few Turkish soldiers we met ignored us, and the roadblock was gone except for scattered bits of wood. We were the cynosure of all eyes when we entered the lobby; seldom had such a motley crew arrived at that sedate hostelry. We were all dusty and disheveled, but none of us approached the degree of social unacceptability of David and Ramses. My first act was to whisk them upstairs and order hot baths for them.

I must say, in all modesty, that in slightly more than an hour I had matters under control. All of us were neat and tidy; I had examined both boys, with Nefret’s assistance, and applied what remedies seemed appropriate. In my professional opinion David required only rest and nourishment to make a full recovery. Ramses refused to go to bed, though that was obviously the best place for him. It was during this argument-which I lost, as I might have expected-that David produced a small bundle of dried herbage from his bag.

“This was given us by the village healer,” he explained. “I took it for several days.”

I examined the herbage. “I have no idea what it can be,” I admitted. “Nefret?”

She crumbled a bit, smelled it, and tasted it. “Some variety of mint? I don’t like the idea of giving an unknown substance to either of you.”

“It didn’t do me any harm,” David insisted. “I think it lowered the fever.”

“And put you to sleep for hours,” Ramses said, his jaw set stubbornly. “I can’t sleep yet, I have to warn you about Mansur.”

Much as I yearned to see my afflicted child get the rest he needed, I knew he was right. None of us could afford the luxury of relaxation when there were so many things we needed to know, and without delay.

So we retired to my sitting room, where we found the others assembled and the tea I had ordered set out. Feeling the teapot, I was pleased to find it was just off the boil (I had had occasion earlier to speak to the cook about this). I tipped a teaspoon or so of the herbal mixture into a cup and filled it.

“Mother,” Ramses began.

“I will allow you to tell your tale, Ramses, if you promise that when you have finished you will take your medicine and go to bed.”

A scowl and a nod indicated reluctant agreement. I continued, “First I would like to make a few remarks.”

Ignoring the slight ripple of amusement that ran through the audience, I cleared my throat…And found, to my utter astonishment that I was unable to speak. I suppose I had not fully realized how alarmed I had been-how filled with forebodings I dared not admit even to myself-until I saw all my loved ones gathered together again: Nefret, her golden hair glowing in the lamplight; Emerson, his sapphire-blue eyes fixed on his son with an expression of benevolent affection; Selim stroking his beard and smiling; Daoud amiably contemplating the plate of sandwiches; and my two boys-for boys they will always be to me-returned against all odds from as yet unknown perils. David was too thin and Ramses’s cheeks were flushed with fever (or possibly aggravation), but they were there, safe and sound, and that was all that mattered.

They were all looking at me, waiting for me to begin. It was Emerson, as always, who understood my emotion and relieved it, in his own inimitable fashion. “If you are inclined to say a prayer, Peabody, kindly make it brief.”

I returned his smile. “‘But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret.’”

“Excellent advice,” said Emerson. “We are all waiting for our tea, Peabody. I beg you will pour and allow Ramses to get on with his story. Start from the beginning, my boy. There will be no interruptions.”

This was directed at me, of course; but indeed I had no desire to interrupt a tale that held us all spellbound. Once I had dispensed the genial beverage (I refer in this instance to tea), I took out paper and pencil and began one of my little lists. As I expected, everyone burst out talking at once when Ramses finished. Emerson’s shout rose over the rest. “Damnation! The confounded woman is a spy!”

“And a murderess, in intent if not actuality.” Ramses leaned forward and spoke with febrile intensity. “Father, you must tell MO2 about Macomber. The body may have been moved, but surely there would be evidence remaining.”

“Yes, yes, my boy,” Emerson said, watching him uneasily. “I promise it will be done. Peabody, shouldn’t he be in bed?”

The medicinal brew was a nasty greenish brown in color. Had it not been for David’s urging, I would have hesitated about administering it; but he was now completely free of fever and Ramses radiated heat like a stove. With Nefret’s help I got a few sips of the medicine into him and-after he had decidedly refused to accept our further assistance-David led him off to their room.

“Well!” I said. “We have a great deal to discuss. I have made a few notes.”

Without a word Emerson rose and got out the bottle of whiskey.

After a few refreshing sips, I continued. “The first order of business is to locate that fellow Mansur.”

“No,” said Emerson. “The first order of business is to keep my promise to Ramses. I will wire the War office at once about that unfortunate young man Macomber.”

“Most ill-advised, in my opinion, Emerson. Leave that to me, if you please.”

I ticked off one of the items on my list. Brows forming an emphatic black line across his brow, Emerson said with ominous calm, “Peabody, are you telling me you are in touch with the local agent here?”

“That is correct, Emerson. I will explain later.”

Nefret rose with quiet dignity. “Never mind, Aunt Amelia. I have suspected for some time that you and the Professor were under orders from some cursed government bureau. Frankly, I don’t give a damn about that, or about them. They were of no help whatsoever when it came to locating the boys, and I doubt they will do anything for us we cannot do better by ourselves. I suggest you all go down to dinner now. Daoud has eaten all the sandwiches. I don’t want any dinner. I am going to sit with Ramses.”

I made my peace with Nefret at midnight, when I went in to relieve her vigil, admitting (quite handsomely in my opinion) that we had been wrong to keep her in the dark. She melted at once, dear girl, as she always did, and agreed with me that we ought to wake Ramses for another dose of the medicine. He was groggy enough to offer no resistance and fell back asleep at once. So did David, who had wakened instantly when I came in.

Not long after Nefret had left, Emerson crept in. I think I have mentioned that Emerson believes he can tiptoe, but that he is mistaken. He made enough noise to rouse one of the Seven Sleepers. David sat up with a start.

“All is well, my boy,” said Emerson in a penetrating whisper. “It’s just me.”

“Good,” David mumbled. “Keep watch. Mansur…”

“Go to bed, Peabody,” said Emerson. “I will stand guard till morning.”

I had also made my peace with Emerson earlier, when I told him of Mr. Camden’s true identity and explained my plans for the morrow. He had of course agreed that our best hope of catching up with the murderous Mansur was to keep a close eye on Frau von Eine. The precise relationship between the two was still unclear, but it was likely Mansur would try to communicate with her. In the meantime it was essential that we watch over the boys.

“He cannot possibly get at them here,” I said. “Nefret had the good sense to lock the door and not open it until she heard my voice. I observed that she had her knife.”

“You didn’t lock the door,” Emerson said accusingly.

I showed him my little pistol. “Speaking of that,” I said, while Emerson mumbled to himself, “where did you get the weapon you carried today?”

“Brought it with me, of course.”

“Do you have it now?”

“Good Gad, no. I only hope the bastard does turn up. I would prefer to tackle him with my bare hands.”

I WILL NOT BORE the Reader with a detailed account of my activities the following day, though they would certainly be of consuming interest to any female who contemplates setting up an archaeological establishment. Suffice it to say that by evening our house in Siloam was fit for habitation and our newly hired cook was busy preparing dinner.

I had refused Emerson’s well-meant offers of assistance, knowing his efforts would be confined to moving the furniture to the wrong places and demanding how much longer the process would take. He had gone happily off to his excavation. The others had pitched in with a will and by late afternoon we were taking a well-deserved rest in the sitting room. I had, at Ramses’s request, just finished bringing him and David up-to-date about our recent activities and discoveries when Emerson came in, accompanied by Mr. Camden.

Emerson wrinkled his nose. “Carbolic,” he said resignedly. “Well, well, I ought to have expected it. Isn’t it teatime?”

“I have not had time to instruct our new cook on the proper procedure,” I said gently. “You must expect a few minor inconveniences at first.”

“Perhaps a drop of whiskey instead?” Ramses suggested. He started to rise. Emerson pressed him back into his chair.

“No, no, my boy, you must rest. How do you feel?”

“Much better, sir, thank you.”

“That mysterious herb is amazingly effective,” Nefret said. Perched on a low stool, clasped hands round her bent knees, she looked very pretty, despite-or perhaps because of-the smudges that marked her nose and chin and the loosened locks of hair curling over her brow. “I must find out what it is.”

Following my directions, Emerson had finally located the whiskey and glasses, which were standing in plain sight on the table under the window. “Your best chance of doing so,” he said, handing me a glass, “would seem to lie with the Sons of Abraham.”

“I would like to know a great deal more about that organization,” I said. “They came to Ramses and David’s aid on several occasions, and yet their leader went off leaving Mansur alive and capable of doing both of you an injury.”

“They expected you would kill him,” Selim suggested, in a tone that indicated he would have expected the same thing.

Ramses shook his head. “I don’t think so. I had delivered a rather pompous speech about murdering an unarmed prisoner, and Ismail knew I meant it.”

“Well, we know the identity of one of the group,” I said. “Rabbi Ben Ezra.”

Emerson turned. “We know two. Our landlord. Has he been round today, Peabody? No? Nor did he turn up at the site of my excavation. Odd, isn’t it, considering how ubiquitous he was at first.”

The other servant came in and began to lay the table, as I had taught her. She did quite well, except for mixing up the forks and spoons and forgetting the napkins. I corrected her in a kindly manner and she scuttled out.

“We will pursue that inquiry tomorrow,” I said, suppressing a yawn. “I believe dinner is almost ready. While we eat, you can tell us what you discovered today, Emerson.”

“I believe we are on the track of something interesting,” said Emerson, as the servant returned with baskets of bread and a steaming pot. “Ah-that smells good.” He nodded amiably at the woman, who drew her veil tightly across her face and backed out.

“As I was saying,” Emerson went on, “we managed to get a grid laid out-”

“I am very happy for you,” I said, ladling out the stew. “But when I mentioned a discovery, I was referring to our primary reason for being here. What is Major Morley doing? Was Frau von Eine with him? Did you see anything of Mr. Plato? You had better let the food cool a bit, Emerson, you will burn your tongue.”

He had already done so. “Try a sip of water,” I said, over his mumbled swearwords. “Nefret made sure it was boiled. Now, you were about to tell us about Major Morley.”

“Hmph,” said Emerson. “Well, in a nutshell, Morley never appeared. He’s there, the guards admitted as much, but insisted he was deep down in his damned tunnel and couldn’t be disturbed.”

“How do you know he never appeared if you spent most of the day at your dig?” I inquired.

Emerson took a cautious bite and chewed. He looked at me, at Nefret, at Ramses, and at Mr. Camden, who looked off into space.

“You sent him to watch Morley,” I said. “Well, that makes sense. We have had enough nonsensical secrecy, Emerson. If the rest of you do not know Mr. Camden is really Mr. Tushingham and a British agent, it is high time you did.”

“Who?” said Emerson.

“Speaking of secrecy,” Ramses said, fixing me with a hard stare, “you told me this morning that Macomber’s death had been reported, but refused to say how. Am I to assume that Camden here was the means?”

“I had not yet determined that it was necessary for you to know that,” I explained.

“And now you have? May I ask why?”

His tone was decidedly critical. Since I could not explain what had prompted my change of mind-it had to do with my infallible instincts-I ignored the questions.

“The Sons of Abraham will have to wait,” I said. “Mr. Tushingham, please make your report.”

“Who?” said Emerson, looking round.

“Camden,” I said with a sigh. “Emerson, please pay attention.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Mr. Camden, as I must continue to call him. “Well, after the Professor left me I hung about for several hours, mingling with the pilgrims and the water carriers. Once I tried to pass the guards, claiming I was a friend of Morley’s, but I was summarily dismissed. So I retreated into a clump of cacti and squatted there with my binoculars fixed on the entrance to the excavation. At around noontime Morley appeared, covered with dust and looking, I thought, disgruntled. A few minutes later Frau von Eine showed up, on horseback, and joined him for luncheon. I would have given a great deal to have heard what they were saying, but there was no way I could get closer without being discovered. She did most of the talking. After luncheon she remounted and rode off, and Morley went back into the shaft.”

“So much for her supervision,” Emerson exclaimed. “It was a token gesture, to keep me away.”

“Never mind that now, Emerson,” I said. “You saw no sign of Mansur?”

“Not unless he was one of the workmen. They were indistinguishable, all half naked and smeared with dirt. I never set eyes on the fellow, you know.”

“What about Mr. Plato? You are familiar with his appearance, and I cannot imagine he would consent to hard manual labor.”

“He’d have been first at the luncheon table,” Emerson agreed.

“Well, he wasn’t. He can’t have been at the site or I would have spotted him sooner or later.”

“I wonder what has become of him,” I mused. “Mr. Fazah told me he left the hotel yesterday morning, with his luggage.”

“Which we supplied,” Emerson growled. “I doubt we’ve seen the last of him. Mark my words, he’ll turn up before long.”

He did turn up. But not in the way any of us expected.

“THE SERVANTS SEEM TO BE working out well,” I said at breakfast. “How is your coffee, Emerson?”

“Not bad,” grunted Emerson, who was still on his first cup.

“Quite good,” said Nefret, with an encouraging smile at the house maid. “Tell the cook, Safika.”

Both female servants were in mortal terror of Emerson, whose reputation had preceded him (via Kamir) and whose gestures of friendliness only alarmed them. But they had fallen in love with Nefret, who had taken the trouble to learn their names and compliment them on every achievement. Safika’s eyes narrowed in a smile. The eyes were all we could see of her face, for of course she remained veiled when the men were present. She murmured something to Nefret, who rose at once.

“Ghada is here with our washing, Aunt Amelia. She wants us to inspect it to be sure it is satisfactory.”

Rising in my turn, I said approvingly, “She certainly is prompt. I gave her quite a large load only yesterday.”

The girl was waiting for us in Nefret’s bedchamber. She had spread the laundry out across the bed-shirts, undergarments, nightgowns, and so on.

“Where is your little girl?” Nefret asked in Arabic.

“I did not know…” The big brown eyes were worried.

“That I meant what I said? I did. Bring her next time. Now you must get back quickly. Wait a moment, I will get your money.”

She ran back into the sitting room. The girl said anxiously, “Is it right, Sitt Hakim?”

The garments had been scrubbed until they were in danger of fraying, and everything had been ironed, including Emerson’s stockings. “Very good,” I said. “Very, very good.”

Nefret popped in and began counting out coins into the girl’s outstretched hand. They were of different sizes and values, for as I believe I have said, the currency in the Ottoman territories was not standardized; from Ghada’s reaction it was clear that Nefret hadn’t bothered to add them up.

“You give me too much,” she protested.

That was a complaint one seldom heard in this part of the world. I shook my head and Nefret said, “No. You must have worked very hard. Now go back to your baby.”

“Come tomorrow,” I added. “I will have more washing.”

“And bring the baby,” said Nefret.

Emerson was on his feet and fidgeting when we returned to the breakfast table. “Time we were off,” he announced.

Mr. Camden immediately leaped up, leaving his plate half full. I gestured to him to resume his seat, and informed Emerson that most of us had not finished eating.

“Where are we going?” Ramses asked.

“To my excavation, of course,” his father replied. “I want you to-”

“You are not going anywhere until you have eaten every scrap of your breakfast,” I said to Ramses.

“The fever is gone,” Ramses protested. “I want to see what Father-”

“You are as thin as a rail. I must fatten you up before Fatima sets eyes on you. You know how she is.”

“I am never fat enough for Fatima,” said Ramses resignedly. But he shoveled the rest of his eggs into his mouth and bit into a piece of bread.

I had a little discussion with Emerson before we left the house. He was determined to show off his cursed excavation and I was determined to continue my investigation of Major Morley. In the end I graciously agreed to a compromise. As Emerson pointed out, we stood a better chance of catching Morley when he sat down to his luncheon. There would be time for a quick visit to the excavation first.

We proceeded on our way. Emerson forged ahead, holding Ramses by the arm and talking animatedly. Mr. Camden walked with me.

“Your husband does not appear too concerned about his son,” said Mr. Camden. “I mean no disrespect,” he added quickly.

“Oh, that is just Emerson’s way. He hasn’t the slightest doubt that he can protect Ramses from any possible threat. Which reminds me that I meant to ask whether you agree with me that that threat may be exaggerated. Surely now that Ramses has reported Macomber’s murder, Mansur no longer has any reason to silence him.”

“I would not venture an opinion, Mrs. Emerson.” He looked so grave, I continued to press him.

“But you don’t agree with me?”

He hesitated for a moment and then said, “There was a reference, if you recall, to a mission that had to be completed before Mansur and von Eine left Palestine. She is still here. What conclusions may we draw from that?”

At the bottom of the hill Emerson led the way through patches of prickly pears and a few sickly-looking olive trees, till we saw the roped-off enclosure where he had been digging. Cords had been stretched across an area approximately twenty feet square-the grid he had laid out the day before. In one of the squares thus formed, several planks covered a space some ten feet by five.

“What is that?” I inquired of Emerson.

He turned a beaming face toward me. “The interesting discovery I mentioned. Just wait till you see, Peabody! I covered it as a precaution against…Hell and damnation!”

I clapped my hands to my ears. “Good heavens, Emerson, what is the matter?”

“Someone has been here. See, one of the ropes has been retied so hastily that the knot is loose.” He turned like a tiger on the inevitable assemblage of onlookers. “Which of you dared brave the curse I laid on this place?”

Before the echoes of his voice died the audience had fled. Shouting anathemas, Emerson ducked under the enclosing rope and ran to the boarded-over square. Removing the planks, he looked down. I alone of the watchers beheld the stiffening of his powerful frame.

“Stay back,” he said very quietly. “All of you.”

Assuming that this order did not apply to me, I went to his side.

The space below was only a few feet deep, its sides meticulously straight. It was just the right shape for the purpose to which someone had put it.

I am hardened to death in many forms. I had seen worse. He lay on his back, his hands folded and his eyes closed. He might have been sleeping had it not been for the stain, now dark and hardened, that had dyed his white beard a rusty brown.

Emerson put his arm round my waist. “I told you to stay back.”

“I am hardened to death, Emerson. I have seen worse. We must determine how he died.”

“I believe it is safe to say it was not a heart attack,” said Emerson, tightening his grip. “You aren’t going to determine anything, Peabody. Nor you,” he added, as Nefret came to his side.

“Not here, at any rate,” Nefret said quietly. “Who could have done this? He was so harmless. I rather liked him.”

“I didn’t,” said Emerson. “And at this moment we cannot be at all certain he was incapable of doing harm. However, I object to murder on principle. Camden, go and notify the authorities. He held British papers, so the consul should be told of this.”

Mr. Camden ran off and Emerson replaced the planks over the hole. “Selim, stay here and keep everyone away. The rest of you, come with me.”

“And what are you going to do?” I inquired.

“Interrogate the principal suspect. I’ll have him out of that hole if I have to go down and drag him out.”

We retraced our steps in some haste. “It’s Major Morley Father suspects, isn’t it?” Ramses asked. “Why? Is-was, I should say-the victim that fellow Plato you told me about?”

“That is right, you never met him,” I said. “Yes, that is-was-he.”

“But why Morley?” Ramses persisted. “From the look of it, the fellow’s throat was cut. Morley wouldn’t dirty his aristocratic hands, would he?”

“He would hire someone to do the job,” I said thoughtfully. “Perhaps your friend Mansur? We still don’t know precisely how they are connected.”

“If they are,” said Ramses, who then relapsed into silence.

I had not been near Morley’s excavation for some days. There had been significant changes. Several tents, one large and ornate, now occupied the space beyond the barrier. I wondered why neither Emerson nor Mr. Camden had seen fit to mention this. Or rather, I did not wonder. They were both men. They wouldn’t have realized that Morley would not have abandoned his elegant hotel for a tent, however large, without good reason. The obvious explanation was that he had to be on the scene day and night because he was running short of time. Time to do what? Reach the location Plato had designated as the hiding place of the Ark? That would not be as simple as it sounded. According to Emerson and other authorities, the underground regions were a maze of abandoned cisterns, tunnels old and new, deep shafts and ancient burial caves. More than ever I was determined to get into those regions and explore them for myself.

I did not mention this to Ramses.

When we joined Emerson he was talking with one of the guards at the barrier. The fellow was someone I had not seen before, an imposing figure almost as tall and burly as Emerson, distinguished by a black patch over one eye. As we came up to them Emerson turned to me and said, with a deference I had yet to see him display to a Turkish guard, “My dear, may I present Ali Bey Jarrah, the commandant of the Turkish gendarmerie.”

“And this, of course, is Mrs. Emerson.” Ali Bey made me a polite bow, which I acknowledged with a nod and a smile. His English was excellent, his voice a reverberant baritone, his smile displaying several broken teeth.

Emerson went on to introduce the others. Nefret received an admiring glance, Ramses a courteous acknowledgment, and Daoud an appraising look. I had a feeling that that one eye had measured us and memorized us.

“Ali Bey is also in search of Major Morley,” Emerson explained. “I was asking him to do us the favor of postponing his errand in favor of the sudden emergency that has arisen. As I told you, sir, the body is that of a European, a colleague of Major Morley. I have sent someone to report the discovery, but it is absolutely necessary that I inform Morley at once. I want you to come with me and observe his reaction.”

“Ah.” Ali Bey’s one visible eye lit up. “It is the British police method? You will question him cleverly and determine whether he is the killer?”

“Aywa, yes,” said Emerson. “With your help.”

“It is well known that the Father of Curses and his lady have brought many criminals to justice. Come, follow me.”

“Daoud has been talking again,” Emerson said to me. “I really must stop him from spreading those wild stories.”

I thought he looked rather pleased, though.

“Were you formerly acquainted with the commandant?” I asked. “You seem to be on excellent terms with him.”

“I was not, but I had heard a great deal about him. He lost his eye during a riot at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre when he stepped between an ax-wielding Greek monk and the Franciscan who was the holy man’s intended victim.”

I could think of nothing to say to this. So I said nothing.

The commandant led the way to an area some distance behind the tents. The scene reminded me of Doré or some other painter of horrors. A group of half-naked men were gathered around a primitive pulley standing over a black hole in the ground. Grunting and straining, one of the men hauled on a rope stretching down into the hole and brought up a heavy basket, which he unhooked and carried away. Another man took his place; another basket was pulled up and taken off to a dump nearby.

A brusque order from Ali Bey brought the work to a stop. “Where is the Mudir?” he asked.

“Down there.” One of the workmen gestured.

Before I could stop him, Emerson caught hold of the rope and went down hand over hand.

“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 British 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.”