Crocodile On The Sandbank Page 18

  Evelyn was walking straight toward the boulder behind which the Mummy lay concealed. But-wait! It had been concealed mere; it was there no longer. While my attention had been fixed on Evelyn it must have slid away. Where was it now? What was happening? And where were our stalwart defenders? Except for Evelyn's slim white figure, not a living soul moved in the moonlight. The silence was so intense I could hear the pounding of my heart.

  A flash of pale color among the rocks at the foot of the path! How silently the creature had moved! It was between Evelyn and the ledge now; she could not retreat to that point of safety. I could endure the suspense no longer. I started to rise. At the same moment the Mummy stepped out into the open, emitting a low, moaning growl that brought Evelyn spuming around to confront it.

  Thirty paces- not more- separated the grisly monster from its intended prey. Evelyn's hands went to her throat. She swayed. I tried to get to my feet- stepped on the folds of my dressing gown- tripped- fell prostrate, my limbs entangled- and saw, from that position, the next act of the drama.

  With slow, measured steps the Mummy advanced on Evelyn, who did not move. Either she was paralyzed by terror or she was carrying out her part of the plot with what seemed to me excessive devotion. I would have been in flight by men, and I am not ashamed to admit it. The blank, featureless face of the thing was more frightening than any possible distortion or scarred countenance. Two dark hollows, under the ridges of the brows, were the only sign of eyes.

  Scratching at the sand, kicking ineffectually, I shouted. Evelyn did not even turn her head. She stood as if mesmerized, her hands clasped on her breast, watching the thing advance. Then- just as I was about to explode with horror and frustration- rescue came! Walter was the first to appear. In a single great bound he burst out of the tomb and reached the edge of the cliff. He flung himself down, preparatory to sliding down the slope. At the same moment Lucas stepped out from behind the concealment of a heap of rocks. I was not even disappointed at the collapse of my theory, I was so relieved to see him- and to see the firearm he held. He shouted and pointed the pistol.

  The Mummy stopped. It stood still for a moment, its head turning from side to side, as if it were considering its next move. Its appearance of cool deliberation was maddening to me. I finally managed to struggle free of my encumbering skirts and stagger to my feet. Another shout from Lucas stopped me as I was about to run to Evelyn. His meaning was plain; he did not want me to get into the line of fire. The pistol was aimed straight at the Mummy's bandaged breast, but Lucas did not shoot; he meant only to threaten, and I could not help but admire his calm in that tense moment.

  Lucas stepped slowly forward, his gun at the ready. The eyeless head turned toward him; from the creature came a horrible mewing cry. It was too much for Evelyn, whose nerves were already strained to the breaking point. She swayed and collapsed into a heap on the ground. With another ghastly moan, the Mummy lumbered toward her.

  I felt sure then that the mummy wrappings did not conceal the form of Mohammed. These people knew firearms and had a healthy respect for them. Even as the thought passed through my mind, Lucas fired.

  The explosion thundered through the silent night. The Mummy stopped and jerked back. One bandaged paw went to its breast. Holding my breath, I waited to see it fall. It did not! It came on, more slowly, emitting that low mewing growl. Lucas took careful aim and fired again. No more than a dozen yards separated the two; this time I could have sworn I saw the missile strike, full in the center of the creature's rotting body. Again it pawed at the place where the bullet had struck; again it came on.

  Lucas stepped back a few paces. His face shone with sweaty pallor; his open mouth looked like a black wound. He fumbled in his jacket pocket. I deduced that his weapon held only two bullets and that he now had to refill it.

  Walter had paused, poised on the edge of the drop, to see what would ensue. Needless to say, the actions which have taken so long to describe only occupied a few moments of real time. Now, with a shout of warning, Walter let himself drop. His booted feet struck the sloping heap of rocky detritus with a force that started a miniature landslide, but he did not lose his balance. Slipping, sliding, running, he reached the bottom and rushed on without a halt.

  Lucas was shouting too, but I could not hear him because of the crash of falling rock. I would not have known he was speaking if I had not seen his lips move. He had finished loading the gun; he raised it. I cried out-but too late. Carried on by the impetus of his leap, Walter flung himself at the menace just as Lucas fired for the third time. And this time his bullet found a vulnerable target. Walter stood stock still. His head turned toward Lucas. His expression was one of utter astonishment. Then his head fell on his breast; his knees gave way; and he collapsed face down onto the sand. For the space of a single heartbeat there was not a sound. Lucas stood frozen, the pistol dangling from his lax hand; his face was a mask of horror. Then, from the Mummy, came a sound that froze the blood in my veins. The creature was laughing-howling, rather, with a hideous mirth that resembled the shrieks of a lost soul. Still laughing, it retreated, and none of the horrified watchers moved to prevent it. Even after the thing had vanished from sight around the curve of the cliff, I could hear its ghastly laughter reverberating from the rocky walls.

  9

  WHEN I reached Walter's side I found Emerson there before me. Where he had been, or how he had come, I did not know; brain and organs of sight were hazy with horror. Kneeling by his young brother, Emerson ripped the bloodstained shirt away from the body. Then he looked up at Lucas, who had joined us and was staring down at the fallen man.

  "Shot in the back," said Emerson, in a voice like none I had heard from him heretofore. "Your hunting colleagues in England would not approve, Lord Ellesmere."

  "My God," stammered Lucas, finding his voice at last. "Oh, God- I did not mean- I warned him to keep away, he rushed in, I could not help -- For the love of heaven, Mr. Emerson, don't say he is- he is-"

  "He is not dead," said Emerson. "Do you think I would be sitting here, discussing the matter, if you had killed him?"

  My knees gave way. I sat down hard on the warm sand.

  "Thank God," I whispered.

  Emerson gave me a critical look.

  "Pull yourself together, Peabody, this is no time for a fit of the vapors. You had better see to the other victim; I think she has merely fainted. Walter is not badly hurt. The wound is high and clean. Fortunately his lordship's weapon uses small-caliber bullets."

  Lucas let out his breath. Some of the color had returned to his face.

  "I know you don't like me, Mr. Emerson," he said, with a new and becoming humility. "But will you believe me when I say that the news you have just given us is the best I have heard for a long, long time?"

  "Hmm," said Emerson, studying him. "Yes, your lordship; if it is any consolation to you, I do believe you. Now go and give Amelia a hand with Evelyn."

  Evelyn was stirring feebly when we reached her, and when she learned what had happened to Walter she was too concerned about him to think of herself. It is wonderful what strength love can lend; rising up from a faint of terror, she walked at Walter's side as his brother carried him to his bed, and insisted on helping me clean and dress the wound.

  I was relieved to find that Emerson's assessment was correct. I had not had any experience with gunshot wounds, but a common-sense knowledge of anatomy assured me that the bullet had gone through the fleshy part of the right shoulder, without striking a bone.

  I had not the heart to send Evelyn away, but really she was more of a handicap than a help; whenever I reached for a cloth or a bandage she was supposed to hand me, I would find her staring bemusedly at the unconscious lad, tears in her eyes and her feelings writ plain on her face for all the world to see. I could hardly blame her; Walter reminded me of the beautiful Greek youth Adonis, dying among the river reeds. He was slight, but his muscular development was admirable; the long lashes that shadowed his cheek, the tumbled curls on hi
s brow, and the boyish droop of his mouth made a picture that must appeal to any woman who is sensitive to beauty and pathos.

  Walter was conscious by the time I finished bandaging the wound. He did not speak at first, only watched me steadily, and when I had finished he thanked me with a pallid smile.

  His first look, however, had been for Evelyn; and having assured himself that she was safe, he did not look at her again. As she turned away with her bowl of water, I saw her lips tremble.

  Emerson had produced a new atrocity-a dreadful pipe that smelted like a hot summer afternoon on a poultry farm – and was sitting in a corner puffing out clouds of foul smoke. When I had finished with Walter, Emerson rose to his feet and stretched.

  "The evening's entertainment is over, it seems," he remarked. "We may as well get some sleep for what is left of the night."

  "How can you talk of sleeping?" I demanded. "I am so full of questions and comments- "

  "More of the latter than the former, I fancy," said Emerson, puffing away at his pipe. "I don't think Walter is up to your conversation, Peabody. It takes a well man, in his full strength, to- "

  "Now, Radcliffe, that will do," Walter interrupted. His voice was weak, but the smile he gave me was his old sweet smile. "I am not feeling too bad; and I agree with Miss Amelia that we have much to discuss."

  "I, too, agree," said Lucas, breaking a long-for him- silence. "But first- may I suggest a restorative, all around? A little brandy might ease Walter's pain- "

  "I do not approve of spirits for such injuries," I said firmly.

  Emerson snorted through his pipe, producing a great puff of smoke.

  "I am not in much pain," Walter said. "But perhaps brandy might help-the ladies. They- they have undergone a considerable shock."

  So we had our brandy. Emerson seemed to enjoy his very much. Although I do not ordinarily approve of spirits, they are of use in some situations; I felt the need of stimulants myself, and the liquor lessened Evelyn's pallor. She was still wearing her nightclothes and dressing gown, not having had time to dress. They were embroidered lawn, of a pale blue, and I could see that Lucas admired them.

  "Well, Peabody," said Emerson. "What is your first question?"

  "Now that is not easy to say. The entire episode has been so bewildering… First, though, I should like to know what has happened to Abdullah."

  "Good heavens," exclaimed Lucas. "I had quite forgotten him. Where is the fellow?"

  "Don't waste your suspicious on Abdullah," said Emerson. "He is probably following the Mummy. I told him to do so if we fail to apprehend it. But I fancy he will be returning soon… Ah, yes, I believe I hear him now."

  He beamed as complacently as if he had arranged Abdullah's opportune arrival. The tall, stately form of the foreman now appeared at the entrance to the tomb. His eyes widened as he beheld Walter, and some time was wasted on explanations before Abdullah told us his story. Again, I translate into ordinary English.

  He had been stationed by Emerson some distance from the camp. He had heard the shots but of course had not known what they betokened. They had, however, alerted him, and thus he was able to catch sight of the Mummy when it left us. Its speed amazed him; he kept repeating, "It ran like a swift young man." He had tried to interfere with the creature. Indeed, I think he was afraid to do so. But he had summoned up enough courage to follow it, at a safe distance.

  "Where did it go?" I demanded. "To the village?"

  Abdullah shook his head.

  "Not village. Into the wadi, to the royal tomb. I did not follow; I thought you need me, I come here."

  Emerson laughed shortly.

  "So it is the ghost of Khuenaten we have with us? Come, now, Abdullah, that does not make sense. Our ghost is an avenging Amonist Priest, if you remember, not a follower of the heretic king."

  "Oh, stop it," I said impatiently. "I cannot blame Abdullah for not following the thing. We agreed, did we not, that the villain, whoever he is, must conceal his grisly costume in some remote place. He was on his way there. Perhaps he went to the village later."

  Emerson was about to reply when Evelyn's quiet voice broke in.

  "I think we should end the discussion. Waiter ought to rest."

  Walter opened his eyes when she spoke, but I had seen the signs of fatigue too.

  "Evelyn is right," I said, rising. "She, too, has had a nasty experience."

  "I am all right," Walter muttered. "Of course you are," I said, with a cheer I did not feel. Fever commonly follows such wounds, and infection is rampant in Egypt. But there was no point in anticipating trouble. "All you need is rest. Come along, Evelyn- Lucas- "

  "I must say one thing first." Lucas bent over the pallet where the sick man lay. "Walter, please tell me you forgive my clumsiness. I had no intention- "

  "It was very stupid, all the same," said Emerson, as Walter made a feeble gesture of conciliation.

  "You are right," Lucas muttered. "But if you had been in my place- you saw, I know, but you did not feel the recoil of the pistol, and then see that ghastly thing come on and on…" With a sudden movement he pulled the gun from his pocket. "I shall never use this again. There is one bullet left…"

  His arm straightened, pointing the gun out the mouth of the tomb. His finger was actually tightening on the trigger when Emerson moved. The man was constantly surprising me; his leap had a tigerish swiftness I would not have expected. His fingers clasped around Lucas's wrist with a force that made the younger man cry out.

  "You fool," Emerson mumbled around the stem of the pipe. Snatching the gun from Lucas's palsied hand, he put it in his belt. "The echoes from a shot in this confined place would deafen us. Not to mention the danger of a ricochet… I will take charge of your weapon. Lord Ellesmere. Now go to bed."

  Lucas left without another word. I felt an unexpected stab of pity as I watched him go, his shoulders bowed and his steps dragging. Evelyn and I followed. As soon as she had dropped off to sleep I went back onto the ledge, and somehow I was not surprised to see Emerson sitting there. His feet dangling over empty space, he was smoking his pipe and staring out at the serene vista of star-strewn sky with apparent enjoyment.

  "Sit down, Peabody," he said, gesturing at the ledge beside him. "That discussion was getting nowhere, but I think you and I might profit from a quiet chat."

  I sat down.

  "You called me Amelia, earlier," I said, somewhat to my own surprise.

  "Did I?" Emerson did not look at me. "A moment of aberration, no doubt."

  "You were entitled to be distracted," I admitted. "Seeing your brother struck down… It was not entirely Lucas's fault, Emerson. Walter rushed into the path of the bullet."

  "In view of the fact that his lordship had already fired twice without result, I would have supposed he would have sensed enough to stop." I shivered.

  "Get a shawl, if you are cold," said Emerson, smoking.

  "I am not cold. I am frightened. Are none of us willing to admit the consequences of what we saw? Emerson, the bullet struck that thing. I saw them strike."

  "Did you?"

  "Yes! Where were you, that you did not see?"

  "I saw its hands, or paws, clutch at its breast," Emerson admitted. " Peabody, I expected better of you. Are you becoming a spiritualist?"

  "I hope I am reasonable enough not to deny an idea simply because it is unorthodox," I retorted. "One by one our rational explanations are failing."

  "I can think of at least two rational explanations for the failure of the bullets to harm the creature," Emerson said. "A weapon of that type is extremely inaccurate, even in the hands of an expert, which I believe his lordship is not. He may have fired two clean misses, and the Mummy put on a performance of being hit in order to increase our mystification."

  "That is possible," I admitted. "However, if I stood in the Mummy's shoes- or sandals, rather- I should hate to depend on Lucas's bad marksmanship. What is your other explanation."

  Some form of armor," Emerson replied promptly. "I
don't suppose you read novels, Peabody? A gentleman named Rider Haggard is gaining popularity with his adventurous tales; his most recent book, King Solomon's Mines, concerns the fantastic experiences of three English explorers who seek the lost diamond mines of that biblical monarch. At one point in the tale he mentions chain mail, and its usefulness in deflecting the swords and spears of primitive tribes. I believe it would also stop a small-caliber bullet. Have we not all heard of men being saved from bullet wounds by a book- it is usually a Bible- carried in their breast pocket? I have often thought it a pity that our troops in the Sudan are not equipped with armor. Even a padded leather jerkin, such as the old English foot soldiers wore, would save many a life."

  "Yes," I admitted. "The wrappings could cover some such protective padding. And I have read of Crusaders' armor being found in this mysterious continent, even in Cairo antique shops. But would such an ingenious idea occur to a man like Mohammed?"

  "Let us abandon that idea once and for all. Mohammed was not the Mummy."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "Its height," Emerson replied calmly. "For a moment Walter was close enough so that I could measure their comparative height. It was as tall as he, or taller. Mohammed and the other villagers are small people. Bad diet and poor living conditions -- "

  "How can you be so cool? Discussing diet, at such at a time -- "

  "Why," said Emerson, puffing away, "I am beginning to enjoy myself. Lord Ellesmere's sporting instincts have infected me; he reminds me that an Englishman's duty is to preserve icy detachment under any and all circumstances. Even if he were being boiled to provide a cannibal's dinner it would be incumbent upon him to- "