"I can get them," Cyrus replied. "Since I did not know- "

"I may want them later," was the curt reply.

He refused to say more until we had reached Abdullah's campsite. Knowing Abdullah, I was not surprised to see that his efforts had consisted of putting up a few tents and gathering camel dung for a fire.

"Very nice, Abdullah," I said. The reis, who had been watching me out of the corner of his eye, relaxed, and then stiffened again as I went on, "Of course nothing is as commodious as a nice, convenient tomb. Why can't we- "

"Because we are not going to work at the tombs," said Emerson. "This site is equidistant between the two groups, northern and southern."

"Site?" Cyrus repeated indignantly. "What the dev------ the d.i.c.kens do you want to waste your time on this area for? There can't be any houses out here, so far from the main city, and no one has found any evidence of tomb shafts."

Emerson's well-shaped lips- now, alas, virtually hidden from my fond eyes by bristling black hair- curled in a sneer. "Most of my colleagues couldn't find a tomb shaft if they fell into it. I told you, Vandergelt, explanations will have to wait till this evening. We have quite a distance yet to cover, follow me."

The sun was now directly overhead and we had been walking (to use that term loosely) for several hours. "Lead on," I said, taking a firm grip on my parasol.

Emerson had already eyed this appendage askance, but had not asked about it, so I saw no reason to explain that a parasol is one of the most useful objects an individual can carry on such an expedition.

Not only does it provide shade, but it can be used as a walking stick or, if need be, as a weapon. My parasols had frequently been employed in the latter capacity. They were specially made, with a heavy steel shaft and a pointed tip.

Like the gallant gentleman he was, Cyrus came to my rescue. "No, sir," he declared. "It's high noon and I'm famished. I want my lunch before I stir another step."

Emerson was ungraciously pleased to agree.

The shade of the tents was welcome. One of Cyrus's servants unpacked the hampers his chef had provided, and we consumed a luncheon far more elegant than most field archaeologists enjoy. While we ate, Emerson condescended to lecture again. He directed most of his remarks at the two young men.

"The brickwork Miss- er- Peabody referred to is on the slopes and at the bottom of the hollow behind us. Some of it probably belongs to tomb chapels. The ruins on the floor of the hollow are clearly of another nature. I will start there tomorrow with a full crew. You, Vandergelt, and Miss -er- "

"If the t.i.tle bothers you so much, you may dispense with it," I said calmly.

"Hmph," said Emerson. "You two will a.s.sist me. I trust this meets with your approval, Miss Peabody?"

"Quite," I said.

"Vandergelt?"

"I can hardly wait," said Cyrus, with a grimace

"Very well." Emerson jumped to his feet. "We have dawdled long enough. Let us be off."

"Back to the dahabeeyah?" Cyrus asked hopefully. "Since you have decided where you mean to excavate- "

"Good G.o.d, man, there are a good six hours of daylight left, and we have seen less than half of the area. Hurry up, can't you?"

Enviously the others watched Cyrus's servant strike off toward the river with the empty hampers then the procession formed again, with Emerson's entourage trailing after him.

I presumed he meant to complete the circuit of the cliffs, and my heart beat high at the thought of seeing again the southern tombs where we had dwelt for so many happy years. But somehow I was not surprised when he led us into the foothills toward an opening in the rocky ramparts. Cyrus, ever at my side, let out a stifled American oath.

"Great jumping Jehoshaphat! I had a horrible premonition about this. The royal wadi! It's a three-mile hike each way and I'll bet you the temperature is high enough to fry an egg on a rock."

"I'll bet you it is," I agreed.

As I have already explained, but will reiterate for the benefit of less attentive readers, the wadis are canyons cut through the high desert plateau by past floods. The entrance to this one was located midway between the southern and northern groups of tombs. Its proper name is the Wadi Abu Hasah el-Bahri, but for reasons that should be evident, it is commonly referred to as the main wadi. The royal wadi proper is a narrow offshoot of this larger canyon, approximately three miles from the entrance to the latter. Here, in a spot as remote and desolate as a lunar valley, Akhenaton had caused his own tomb to be built.

If the southern tombs brought back poignant memories, the royal tomb recalled scenes that had impressed themselves indelibly upon my heart. In the gloomy corridor of that sepulcher I had felt Emerson's arms about me for the first time, along the rubble-strewn floor of the wadi we had raced by moonlight to save those we loved from a hideous death. Every foot of the way was familiar to me, and the spot was as fraught with romance as a garden of roses might be to one who had led a more boring life

Shortly after we entered it the valley curved, cutting off our view of the plain and the cultivation beyond. After approximately three miles the rocky sides closed in and smaller wadis opened up on either side. Emerson had already disappeared,- following, we saw him trotting along one of the narrow side canyons, whose floor rose as it proceeded to the northeast.

"There it is," I said, in a voice pent with emotion. "Ahead and to the left."

Soon the others saw it too-a dark opening framed by masonry, above a scree of tumbled rock. Charlie groaned. His clean-shaven countenance already showed signs of what promised to be a painful sunburn. Even a hat cannot entirely protect those of fair complexion from the effects of Egypt's burning solar orb.

When we had climbed to the ledge in front of the tomb, Emerson was there, glowering at the iron gate that barred entry. "We will certainly need this key," he said to Cyrus. "Make sure I have it tomorrow morning."

By the time Emerson announced we were finished for the day, I was as much in the dark about his intentions as was Cyrus. He had scrambled around the foot of the cliffs to the north and south of the royal tomb for over an hour, poking into holes like a ferret after a rat.

"Where are we going?" Cyrus asked, as we trudged wearily back along the rock-strewn path. "See here, Emerson, there's no earthly reason why we can't spend the night on the dahabeeyah."

"I never said there was," said Emerson, with an air of innocent astonishment that left Cyrus gnashing his teeth.

When we reached the gangplank I saw that Anubis was waiting for us. Where he had been or how he had spent his time I could not imagine, but when we approached he rose, stretched, yawned, and accompanied us onto the boat.

"We will meet in the saloon in half an hour," said Emerson, heading for his room. The cat followed him.

I heard him say "Nice kitty," as he stumbled over it.

I had barely time to bathe and change in the time he had arbitrarily allotted, but I managed it, hastily selecting a garment that required no prolonged process of hooking up, and no a.s.sistance with regard to b.u.t.tons. (I cannot imagine how women lacking husbands or personal maids ever manage to get dressed. Gowns that fasten up the back are impossible except for a contortionist.)

Emerson was already there, brooding over a heap of papers and plans spread across the table. His eyebrows lifted when he saw my pink flounces and ruffles (the garment to which I have referred was a tea gown), but he made no comment, and only grunted when I ordered the steward to serve tea.

I was pouring when Cyrus came in, followed closely by the two young men. Apparently they felt there was safety in numbers. Poor Charlie was as red as an English brick, and Rene's mouth repeated the downward droop of his mustache.

Emerson sat tapping his fingers on the table and looking pointedly patient while I dispensed the genial beverage. Then he said, "If the cursed social amenities are concluded to your satisfaction, MISS Peabody, I would like to get on with it."

"Nothing has prevented you from doing so," I said mildly. "Take this to Professor Emerson, Rene, will you please?"

"I don't want any d.a.m.ned tea," said Emerson, taking the cup. "I thought you were all burning to know where we are going to excavate."

"You told us," Cyrus said, while Emerson sipped his tea. "The stelae- "

"No, no, they won't occupy us for the entire season," Emerson interrupted. "You American dilettantes are always after royal tombs. What do you say to the tomb of Nefert.i.ti?"

CHAPTER 9.

"Martyrdom is often the result of excessive gullibility."

Emerson enjoys making dramatic announcements. I fear the results of this one disappointed him. Instead of expressions of rapturous enthusiasm or scornful disbelief (he is quite happy with either), he got only a skeptical grunt from Cyrus The two young men were afraid to commit themselves by speaking at all, and I raised my eyebrows and remarked, "She was buried in the royal tomb, with her husband and child."

Emerson had finished his tea. He held out his cup to be refilled and girded himself for the kind of battle he much enjoys and in which (I must confess) he generally triumphs.