The windows of the rooms inhabited by the two young men were dark,- from Rene's I heard a rumble of ba.s.s snoring, positively astonishing from such a delicate, aesthetic-looking young fellow. Bertha's window was also dark. No doubt she was weary, the walk to and from the dig would tire a city girl like her, unaccustomed to healthful exercise. I recognized the man who guarded her window by his size, he was the tallest and strongest of the crewmen. Cyrus was taking no chances.

I glanced at his window as I strolled by and saw it too was unlighted. Perhaps he was still in the saloon, which opened onto the upper deck.

I need not have strolled alone in the moonlight. Since only the silent watchers could see me, I permitted myself to smile and shake my head. Dr. Schadenfreude's treatment had not cured Cyrus of his romantic weakness. Being something of an amateur psychologist myself, I wondered if the bluff American's tendency to fall in love with wholly unsuitable ladies was born of his unconscious desire to remain a bachelor. Modest woman that I am, I could not help having observed his increasingly soft glances and his chivalrous indignation on my behalf, but I was well aware that his growing attachment was based solely on friendship and on the rough-hewn gallantry for which Americans are well-known. Any "lady in distress" between the ages of eighteen and forty-eight would have aroused the same instincts. Cyrus knew he was perfectly safe from the toils of matrimony with me, not only while Emerson lived but ever after. Could I, having known such a man, be the bride of another?

The moonlight was making me morbid. Moonlight has that effect when one enjoys it alone. I went to my room, wrote out the telegrams to Gargery and Walter, penned a peremptory letter to my son, and put the notes I had taken on the dig that day into proper form. By the time I finished, my eyelids were heavy,- nevertheless, I gave my hair the usual hundred strokes, took a long (cold) bath, and applied cream to my skin. (This is not vanity but necessity in Egypt, where sun and sand have a frightful effect on the complexion.) I had hoped energetic employment would prevent me from dreaming. However, it did not. I am sure I need not specify the theme of those dreams to the sympathetic Reader.

To a female in the pink of condition, as I always am, a disturbed night is of no consequence. I arose fresh and alert, ready to face the difficulties I felt sure were about to ensue. Emerson had been biding his time, trying to get us off guard by performing his archaeological duties, but he is not a patient man, and I suspected he was about to carry out his ridiculous plan. There was no way I could prevent him from doing so, for reasoned argument has no effect whatever on him when he has got some silly idea into his head. All I could do was antic.i.p.ate the worst and take steps to prevent it from happening. There was one advantage to his scheme, the farther we went from the river, the more difficult it would be for Kevin O'Connell to get at us.

My first sight of Emerson that morning strengthened my hunch that today was the day. He was eating his breakfast with the air of a man stoking himself with food in antic.i.p.ation of strenuous activity ahead, and he was in a suspiciously genial mood, complimenting Rene on the quickness with which he was learning excavation methods, and praising Charlie's plan of the site. From time to time he tossed a sc.r.a.p of sausage to Anubis, who snapped it out of the air like a trout rising to a fly. I wished the confounded beard did not hide his mouth. Emerson's mouth always gives him away when he is contemplating something underhanded, he cannot control the corners of it.

He saw me staring. "Does something offend you, MISS Peabody? Crumbs in my beard, are there? Or is it the beard itself? Come, come, don't be shy of expressing your opinion."

"Since you ask," I began.

"I do, I do. Having strong opinions myself, I can hardly object to others' possessing them."

"Ha!" I said. "Well, then, I must say that yours is one of the most unprepossessing examples of an unattractive appendage I have ever beheld. Beards are unsanitary, unsightly, hot- or so I would suppose, dangerous- to smokers, and indicative of masculine insecurity. Men grow them only because women cannot, I believe."

Emerson's eyes narrowed with rage, but he could not speak at once because his mouth was full of egg and sausage. Before he could swallow, Cyrus- whose hand was plucking nervously at his goatee- exclaimed, "I never thought of it that way. Maybe I should- "

"Don't be a fawning fool, Vandergelt," Emerson growled. "She is talking nonsense in the hope of annoying ME. Who the devil began this talk of beards, anyway? Hurry and finish, all of you, I want to be off."

And he was off, leaving the door swinging wildly on its hinges. The young men jumped up and galloped after him. I b.u.t.tered another piece of toast.

"I didn't mean you, Cyrus," I said, smiling at him. "That goatee is so much a part of you, I cannot imagine you without it."

I meant it as a compliment, but he did not seemed pleased.

The air was still cool and pleasant when we went ash.o.r.e. I lagged behind, talking with young Charlie, who had sought me out with the obvious intention of consulting me. It took him a while to get to the point, in fact, I had to ask him straight out what was worrying him.

"It's the stela," he admitted. "The one high up on the cliff- you remember?"

"Stelae," I said. "Don't concern yourself about it, Charles, it will be some time before Emerson turns his attention to the stelae."

"No, ma'am, it won't! He wants me to get at it today. And- er- I couldn't tell the professor, I didn't dare, but I can't- I have not- rather, I should say I have ..."

"Fear of heights?"

He looked as guilty as if he had just confessed to murder

"My dear Charles, that is nothing to be ashamed of. Scientific research indicates that such fears are weaknesses the sufferer cannot control. You must confess the truth, it would be dangerous, possibly fatal, for you to force yourself to a task you cannot perform." Charles did not appear to be cheered by this consoling diagnosis, so I went on, "If you like, I will tell Emerson."

The young chap squared his manly shoulders. "No, ma'am, I thank you, but that would be cowardly."

"Tell him yourself, then, but bear in mind that I will disclose the truth if you do not do so. Now hurry on, we are falling behind."

The others were already out of sight. As we hastened along the village street, returning the greetings of those who hailed us and stepping over dogs and chickens and children, a man came to meet us. I stifled an exclamation of impatience, it was the sheikh, the mayor of the village, and I could see from his manner that he was intent on delaying me.

We had managed to avoid the time-consuming ceremonies of welcome which courtesy normally requires in such little communities, but I saw no way of getting out of it now without mortally offending the man.

The poor old mayor we had known was long dead; his successor was a man in the prime of life, who looked healthier and better-fed than most of the fellahin. He greeted me with the customary formula and I replied in kind. "Will the Sitt honor my house?" was the next question

Knowing this visit might take an hour or more, I sought a courteous way of escape. "The honor is too great. I must follow Emerson Effendi who is my- er- who is the leader of the work. He will be angry if I delay."

I had thought the argument would be persuasive in this male-dominated world, but the mayor's brow grew troubled. "The Sitt must hear me. I tried to speak with the Father of Curses, but he would not stop. He is a man without fear, but he should know Mohammed has returned."

Mohammed is a very popular name in Egypt. It took me a moment to identify this one. "The son of the old mayor? I thought he had run away, after the affair of the mummy that was only an evil man."

"He ran away, yes. When you and the Father of Curses unmasked the evildoer, Mohammed knew he would go to prison for helping the bad man. Or that the Father of Curses would punish him, which would have been just as painful. He was gone from the village for many years, but he has returned, Sitt, for I saw him myself last night."

I wished, not for the first time, that some ineffable Power had not chosen to interpret my prayer so whimsically. Another ghost from the past! Would all our old enemies return to haunt us? While I pondered, the mayor went on with mounting agitation.

"We are honest people here, we respect the Father of Curses and his honored chief wife and all the Inglizi who hire us to work. But in every village there are a few who are not honest, I think Mohammed is trying to stir them up against the Father of Curses, for he was talking loudly in the coffee shop and the ones who listened were the evildoers among us. Warn the Father of Curses, Sitt, and take care for yourself. Mohammed holds you in equal blame for his disgrace. He hoped to be the sheikh after his father died."

And still hoped, I fancied. The mayor's concern for us was not entirely altruistic, Mohammed could be a potential rival. Nevertheless, he was an honest man, and I thanked him before hurrying on.

Emerson had named our excavation site the Eastern Village, overriding the objections of Cyrus, who claimed that one house and part of a wall did not a village make. He added that no one, not even an idiot like Akhenaton, would build a residential quarter so far from the river. (Cyrus was one of those who did not share my exalted view of the heretic pharaoh, but he generally kept his opinions to himself when I was present.)

They were arguing the matter when I arrived on the scene, for even at my best pace I could not catch Emerson up when he was in a hurry. Emerson had spread his plans out across a boulder. Taking his pipe from his mouth, he used the stem as a pointer. "These are ancient roads, Vandergelt, half a dozen of them converge at this point, which is midway between the southern and northern tombs. The house we finished uncovering yesterday is obviously one of a number of such dwellings, there is mud-brick of similar shape and material scattered all over the hollow. Oh, curse it, I can't be bothered to explain my reasoning now, why the devil should I? Go with Abdullah, he is following the face of the enclosure wall. He ought to come across a gate soon."

Muttering and shaking his head, Cyrus went off. Watching Abdullah and his trained men of Aziyeh was fascinating for an archaeological enthusiast, in some places only a skilled eye could distinguish between crumbled brick and the natural soil that had buried it. Cyrus was enthusiastic about the profession, mistake me not, but like many excavators he preferred royal and n.o.bles' tombs to the dwellings of the humble, which these clearly were. The only artifacts we had uncovered were faience beads and a wooden spindle whorl.

"Emerson," I said urgently. "I must speak to you "

"Well, what is it?" He had rolled up the plan and was poised on one foot, impatient to get to work.

"The mayor told me an old enemy of ours- of yours- has returned to the village."

"What, another one?" Emerson let out a bark of laughter. He started off. I ran after him.

"You must listen to me. Mohammed has good reason to hold a grudge against us- you. He is a sneak and a coward- "

"Then he will have better sense than to bother me. I think," said Emerson consideringly, "that we will divide the work force. Charles seems to be getting the hang of it; with Feisal to help him, he can start on the southeast corner. I want to get an idea of how much diversity in plan . . ."

He trotted off, still talking.

As I had suspected, Emerson had only been teasing poor Charlie when he threatened to set him to work on the boundary stela. The subject was not mentioned again. By the time we stopped for luncheon, the partially uncovered walls of a second house had proved Emerson's theory, to his satisfaction, at least.

My task, which was that of sifting through the fill removed from the site, had not proved onerous, there were few objects, and they were of poor quality. I was glad to stop, though, the sun was hot and there was little shade. How Bertha endured the heat in her m.u.f.fling garments I could not imagine I had enlisted her aid that morning, she had been quick and competent.

Emerson had graciously consented to allow his hard-pressed workers to rest during the hottest part of the day. This was customary on most digs, but Emerson always behaved as if he were making an enormous concession That day he did not so much as mutter. After the others had gone off to find shelter from the sun, I kept my eye on Emerson. He had stretched out on the ground, his hat shading his face. I occupied one of the tents, Cyrus another. The young men had gone to the house Cyrus had built. Where Bertha was I did not know, but I felt certain the man Cyrus had a.s.signed to watch her did know.

Less than half an hour had pa.s.sed when Emerson removed the hat from his face and sat up. He gave the tent where I lay concealed a long, suspicious survey before rising to his feet.

I waited until he was out of sight behind the ridge before I followed. As I had suspected, he was heading east, toward the cliffs and the entrance to the royal wadi.

The plain and the crumpled faces of the cliffs were utterly devoid of life. At this time of day even the desert animals sought their burrows. The only moving objects were a hawk, circling high in the sun-whitened sky, and the tall, erect figure ahead. My skin was p.r.i.c.kling as I hurried after it. Emerson had- quite deliberately- given Mohammed or another adversary precisely the opportunity he wanted. Such a man would watch and follow, waiting in deadly patience for the moment when he might find his victim alone.

I waited until Emerson had almost reached the cleft in the cliff before I hailed him. I dared wait no longer, there were a hundred hiding places in the tumbled rock at their base, thousands among the narrowing walls of the wadi. He heard, he turned, an explosive comment floated to my ears. But he waited for me to join him