Crocodile On The Sandbank Read online

  Emerson acquiesced with no more than a mumble. I was at a loss to account for his amiability at first. Then two explanations occurred to me. I was ready to believe either or both, since neither reflected any credit on Emerson.

  Money for excavation was hard to come by; a wealthy patron could relieve Emerson's anxieties in this area. Furthermore, it was as clear as print that Lucas was interested in Evelyn. His eyes seldom left her face, and he made no attempt to conceal his tender concern. Emerson must realize that Walter also loved the girl. He would not be pleased to lose his devoted acolyte; perhaps he meant Walter to marry well, in order to supply more funds for the gaping maw of his research. By encouraging a rival to his brother, he kept that brother under his callused thumb. My suspicions were confirmed when Emerson waxed positively jovial as he showed Lucas the camp. As for Lucas, he bubbled with enthusiasm and admiration. Nothing could be more charming! He could not imagine anything more delightful than camping out in an ancient tomb! The scenery was magnificent, the air was like wine, and- in short, you would have thought our meticulous lordship was rhapsodizing over a modern luxury hotel and a vista of wooded grandeur. He plied Emerson with questions; shook his head over the perfidy of Mohammed and the superstitions of the visitors; insisted on pressing the hand of the faithful Abdullah, who looked askance at this demonstration. The only thing he expressed doubt about was Michael.

  "Are you certain you can trust him?" he asked in a low voice, as we walked past the cook tent where Michael was preparing a simple lunch. The devoted fellow had taken over menial duties that would ordinarily have been below his dignity, since the villagers had abandoned us. We had decided not to involve any of our servants from the boat; there was no telling how they would react to the story, much less the sight, of the Mummy.

  "I trust him implicitly," Evelyn replied firmly. "Amelia saved the life of his child; he would die for her, I think."

  "Then there is no more to be said," said Lucas. But he did say more- a good deal more. Michael was, after all, a native. Was he not just as superstitious as the villagers? Could he be trusted to risk, not only his life, but his immortal soul, as he believed, with a demon of the night?

  "I have considered that," Emerson replied shortly. "You need not concern yourself about it, your lordship."

  His tone brooked no argument. Even Lucas recognized this, and he abandoned the subject.

  Of the tombs in our immediate vicinity only a few were habitable; some were blocked by rock falls or heaps of debris. They were similar in plan, having a large hall with columns beyond the entrance corridor, from which another corridor led on to more rooms, including the burial chamber. Evelyn and I occupied a tomb that had once belonged to a royal craftsman who bore the engaging title Washer of Hands of his Majesty. The tide delighted me because it was a reminder of the constancy of human nature; I could not help recalling our own Tudor and Stuart monarchs, who were served by high noblemen who considered it an honor to be the official holders of the royal trousers.

  But I digress.

  Lucas was with difficulty dissuaded from moving into the most grandiose of the nearby tombs, that of one Mahu, who had been chief of police of the city. Clearing it out would have taken days. So Lucas's servants were set to work on another, smaller tomb, and one of them was sent back to the dahabeeyah with a long list of Lucas's requirements for the next day or two.

  After luncheon we separated, Evelyn to rest, Walter to work at recording some pottery fragments which had been found on the last day of digging, and Lucas to explore. He went jogging off on his little donkey, looking sufficiently ridiculous with his long legs trailing. When he was out of sight, Emerson turned to me.

  "Come along, Peabody."

  "Whereto?"

  "You said you wanted to see the royal tomb."

  "What, now?"

  "Now is as good a time as any."

  I looked up at the broiling sun, now near the zenith; then I shrugged. If Emerson thought to subdue me by such tactics, he would soon find out that I could keep up with any project he proposed. I went to my tomb to assume my rationals. They were dreadfully creased and dusty, and I wished I had purchased several similar costumes.

  When I emerged, Emerson was pacing up and down and glaring at his watch.

  "Will Walter come?" I inquired, deliberately dawdling.

  "Walter had better remain here. There must be someone on guard; I have told Abdullah to go after his lordship, in case the fool breaks a leg trying to climb the cliffs or tumbles off his donkey. Come, come, Peabody; if you don't hurry I will go alone."

  I went- not because he had ordered me to do so, but because I suspected he wanted a private discussion with me.

  However, no such development ensued. The walk was too difficult for leisurely conversation. We turned into a long rocky wadi, or canyon, and followed its course for several miles. It was the most desolate area I had seen yet. The steep, barren walls of the wadi were streaked and cracking; not a single blade of grass or hardy weed found sustenance in the sunbaked soil. The floor of the valley was covered with rocks of all sizes, from enormous boulders to pebbles, which had fallen from the cliffs. The silence was absolute. It was like being in another world; a world in which life was an intrusion.

  After about three miles the rock walls closed in and smaller wadis opened up to left and right. We turned to the northeast and picked our way through a narrow valley. As we stumbled along, Emerson began to ask questions, but they were not the questions I had expected. Instead he interrogated me about Lucas. I answered as shortly as I could. The drift of Emerson's curiosity convinced me that I had been correct in both my assumptions; he was immensely curious about the extent of Lord Ellesmere's fortune and the degree of his interest in Evelyn. I found it increasingly difficult to avoid his inquiries and finally put an end to them by picking a quarrel. That was never difficult with Emerson. He stalked along in offended silence until we reached the isolated tomb which had been prepared for the heretic king and his family.

  In an effort to protect it from thieves seeking the rich treasures buried with the dead, the royal tomb had been situated in a remote part of the cliffs. The attempt at security had failed; the tomb had been robbed again and again. If Khuenaten had ever been buried mere, the royal mummy had vanished centuries ago. I shivered, even in the breathless heat, as I looked up the slope at the high dark hole that marked the entrance to the tomb. An air of brooding desolation hung over the spot. Disappointment and failure haunted it. Toward the end of his life, the royal reformer must have known that his religious revolution would not succeed. After his death his very name had been obliterated. I thought I would not like to come here after dark; it would be too easy to hear, in the jackals' howls, the lament of a starving, nameless ghost.

  Emerson, unaffected by the aura of the place, was already scrambling up toward the entrance. Before it was a little plateau, about fifteen feet off the ground. I followed him, unassisted. He had brought candles; we lighted two of them and went in.

  The tombs of Egyptian royalty were not the simple structures their subjects built. This one had long corridors, steep stairs, turns and curves designed to frustrate the cupidity of thieves. These devices had succeeded as well as such devices usually do- that is to say, not at all. The royal tomb had been roughly cleared, probably by the experienced thieves of Haggi Qandil. Otherwise we would not have been able to penetrate its interior at all, and even so, it was a breathless, dusty, uncomfortable trip. We were unable to reach the burial chamber, because a deep pit, like the one in the other tomb I had seen, cut straight across the corridor. There was nothing to bridge it with. Emerson's suggestion that we run and jump was probably not to be taken seriously. I certainly did not take it seriously.

  We retraced our steps to the top of the second flight of stairs, where three small rooms were located off the main corridor. Here crumbling reliefs showed the death and burial of a princess, one of Khuenaten's daughters. She had died young, and had been laid to rest in her father's
tomb. The little body, stretched out stiffly on its bed, looked very pathetic, and the grief of the parents, holding one another's hands for comfort, was strangely moving. Almost one could hear a thin moan of anguish echoing down the deserted corridors --

  And then there was a moan- or at least, a faint sound of some kind. The reader can only faintly imagine the horrific effect of such a sound- of sound of any sort- in those dark, musty rooms that had never been inhabited except by the dead. Before my scalp had time to prickle, the fainter sound was followed by another, less ghostly, but even more alarming. It was a loud crash of falling rock. Whatever the sound lost by reason of distance was regained by the rolling echoes. I started and dropped my candle.

  Using language no lady could possibly remember, much less reproduce, Emerson scrabbled around in the debris that littered the floor until he found the candle. He relighted it from his own. Then he looked directly at me and spoke in the quiet voice he employed in moments of emergency.

  "You are no fool, Peabody, if you are a woman. You know what that sound may mean. Are you prepared? You will not swoon, or scream, or become hysterical?"

  I gave him a look of withering scorn, and in silence started out of the room.

  With Emerson breathing heavily behind me, I made my way along the corridor. I did not expect that we would meet with any obstruction there. The walls and floors were carved from the living stone of the mountains. No; the difficulty would be at the entrance, and long before we reached that spot I knew that my surmise was unhappily correct. From the foot of the final stair I saw that the light which should have been apparent at the entrance was- not apparent.

  We made our way up the stairs, not without difficulty, for rocks littered the steps, and stood at last before the entrance. The narrow opening was closed by stones- some as small as pebbles, some as large as boulders.

  I blew out my candle. It was obvious that we had better conserve what little light we had. I was stooping to pluck at the rocks when Emerson turned to stick his candle onto a ledge in a pool of its own grease.

  "Take care," he said curtly. "You may start another landslide that will sweep both of us down the stairs."

  We dug for a long time; not as long as it seemed, perhaps, but the first candle was almost burned out when there came a sound from without. It was, to say the least, a welcome event. At first the words were indistinguishable. Then I realized that the person was speaking Arabic. I recognized the voice and, in the stress of the moment, understood what was being said. The voice was Abdullah's. He demanded to know if we were within.

  "Of course we are within," shouted Emerson angrily. "Oh, son of a blind, bowlegged mule, where else should we be?"

  A howl, which I took to be one of delight, followed this question. The howl was followed by a shout in quite another voice: "Hold on, Miss Amelia! Lucas is on the job!"

  All at once Emerson threw his arms against me and pushed me against the wall, pressing his body close to mine. Although I am now alone as I write, my Critic having gone off on an errand, I hesitate to express the thoughts that flashed through my mind at that moment. I knew Emerson was no weakling, but I had not fully realized his strength until I felt the rigid muscles of his breast against mine and felt my bones give under the strength of his grasp. I thought… I expected -- Well, why not admit it? I thought he wasembracing me- relief at our unexpected rescue having weakened his mind.

  Luckily these absurd notions had no time to burgeon in my brain. A horrible rattling crash followed, as the barricade gave way, and great rocks bounded down the stairs and banged against the walls. I felt Emerson flinch and knew he had been struck by at least one rock, from whose impact his quick action had saved me; for my body was shielded by his and his big hand pressed my face into the shelter of his shoulder.

  I was quite out of breath when he released me, and gulped air for several seconds before I realized it was the clean, hot air of the outer world I breathed, and that sunlight was streaming into the vault.

  The sunlight was too bright for my dazzled eyes, accustomed to darkness. I could just make out the silhouettes of the heads and shoulders of two men above the heap of rock that still lay on the threshold.

  Emerson leaned back against the wall, his left arm hanging at an odd angle. As Abdullah and Lucas came scrambling in over the rocks, Emerson turned his head toward his foreman. Rivulets of perspiration were streaming down his face, turning the dust that covered it into a muddy mask.

  "You d -- – fool," he said.

  "You are hurt," said Abdullah intelligently.

  "Words fail me," said Emerson.

  But of course they did not; he went on, though he spoke in gasps. "An experienced foreman… knows better… shoving like a battering ram -- "

  "I tried to tell him to go slowly," Lucas broke in. "Unfortunately my Arabic is nonexistent."

  He looked so guilty, and Abdullah so particularly enigmatic, that I realized who was probably responsible for the accident. There was no point in pressing the matter, however.

  "He was anxious to get us out," I said. "Let us eschew recriminations and act. Is your arm broken?"

  "Dislocated," said Emerson, between his teeth. "I must get back… Walter knows how…"

  "You cannot walk so far," I said.

  This was patently true, and anyone but Emerson would have admitted the fact at once. His knees were buckling, and only the wall at his back kept him upright.

  "I can do… what I must," he replied.

  "No doubt; but there is no need. I saw our local surgeon perform this operation once, on a farmer whose shoulder had been put out of place. If you will direct me- "

  The idea seemed to revive Emerson. His eyes rolled toward me; I swear, I saw a flash of enjoyment.

  "You won't like it," said Emerson.

  "Neither will you," I replied.

  I think I prefer not to describe the procedure that followed. Emerson was not in any mood to make jokes when it was over, but I was the one who had to sit down on the ground and put my head between my knees. Fortunately Abdullah had brought water; we both had been thirsty from the heat and dust even before the accident. A long drink revived me and helped Emerson. I then tore up my petticoat in order to fasten his arm to his body so that it would not be jarred unnecessarily. He had his wicked temper back by then, and made a rude remark.

  "As you would say, my lord, it is just like one of Mr. Haggard's romances. The heroine always sacrifices a petticoat at some point in the proceedings. No doubt that is why females wear such ridiculous garments; they do come in useful in emergencies."

  The way to the royal tomb had seemed long; the road back was interminable. Lucas's strength was of great assistance, and Emerson did not disdain the help of his arm. As we walked along, Lucas explained how he had happened to find us.

  He had had a little adventure of his own. Riding not far from the village, he had been accosted by the owner of his donkey, who had abandoned animal and rider when they first approached the camp. Now the donkey owner demanded his animal back.

  "It occurred to me," Lucas explained, "that you had probably been deprived of donkeys as well as workers, so I determined to keep that one, if I could. If the villagers had realized I was acquainted with you, I never should have gotten it in the first place. I offered to buy the wretched little beast-thinking of Evelyn's using it, of course. But it was no use; when I insisted, I was set upon by a howling horde of villagers and forcibly removed from my steed. They offered me no violence, but I was shaken up and very angry. I was on my way back to camp when I met Abdullah. He said you had gone to the royal tomb; and after my adventure, I was somewhat concerned about you. So we came here- fortunately!"

  "You did not see the rockfall, then?" Emerson asked.

  "No."

  "It couldn't have been an accident," Emerson grunted. "Too fortuitous. Why that one spot, while we happened to be inside the tomb?"

  "We were fortunate that it was not a more extensive landslide," I said, stumbling into a thornbush
.

  "Hmmph," said Emerson, trying not to groan.

  A mile or two from camp we were met by Walter and Evelyn, who, alarmed at our prolonged absence, had set out to look for us. Walter went quite pale when he saw Emerson's faltering steps and bandaged body, but he knew better than to commiserate.

  "It is most unfortunate," he said thoughtfully. "Another accident, just now, will merely confirm the villagers' superstitions."

  "We need not tell them, surely," said Lucas.

  "They will know," I said. "I suspect one of them has good reason to know what has occurred."

  "Aha!" Lucas exclaimed. "You think it was no accident?"

  He was altogether too pleased about the whole affair. I knew it was unfair of me to blame him for enjoying the adventure; his acquaintance with Emerson and Walter was of the slightest, so he could not be expected to feel for them as Evelyn and I did. And certainly the wild events of those days would have appealed to the adventurous spirit of any young gentleman. Nevertheless, his grin annoyed me.

  "It was no accident," I said curtly. "This was a foolish expedition. From now on we must stay in the camp and close to one another. Perhaps no real harm was intended- "

  "We cannot know that," Walter interrupted. "If the rock had struck my brother's head instead of his shoulder- "

  "But his injury was an unfortunate accident. It was incurred during our release, not during the rockfall, which could hardly have been designed to murder us. You knew our destination; you would have searched for us if we had not returned, so that even if Abdullah had not happened to go after us, we would not have been incarcerated long. No; the attempt could not have been at murder. I believe it was only another harassment."

  "And if Peabody says so," remarked Emerson, "that is the Word of the Prophet."

  We finished the journey in cool silence.