"The more honest a man, the easier he can be bamboozled," Cyrus grunted. "Just promise me, Amelia, that if Vincey asks you to meet him in some dark alley you won't accept the invitation."

"Now, Cyrus, you know I would never do such a silly thing."

When I returned to the little faience ring I had been carefully removing from its position, I saw that the cat Anubis was stretched out along the wall. I had forgotten it until that moment, and so, evidently, had Mr. Vincey. Evidently his "faithful companion" was not so faithful as he had believed. Not that I blamed the intelligent animal for preferring Emerson's and my company.

With brushes and tiny probes I freed the ring from the matrix of hardened mud that held it. Emerson came loping over to see how I was getting on, and I handed him the ring- or, to be more accurate, the bezel of a ring. These common objects, made of cheap fragile faience, had usually lost the thinner shank portion when we found them, it may have been because they were broken that they had been discarded. Sometimes they bore the name of the reigning pharaoh and were worn as a token of loyalty, in other cases the bezel was ornamented with the image of a G.o.d favored by the wearer. "Bes," I said.

"Hmph," said Emerson. "So Akhenaton's devotion to his 'sole G.o.d' was not emulated by all the citizens of Amarna."

"The appeal of the homely little G.o.ds of the household must have been difficult to combat." I sat back on my haunches and rubbed my aching shoulders. "Witness the popularity of certain saints in Catholic countries. Bes, being the patron of jovial entertainment and- er- conjugal felicity- "

"Hmph," said Emerson again. "All right, Peabody, don't dawdle. There is a good-sized heap of sand to be sifted."

I noted the ring on the record sheet and put it into the appropriate box, which had been labeled with the numbers a.s.signed to the square, the house, and the particular room. As I bent again to my task, I was conscious of a strange sense of depression. I ought to have been encouraged by Emerson's use of that loved and loving appellation- i.e., my maiden name, sans t.i.tle. He was using it now as he had originally, with sarcastic intent, but even that was a step forward, for it tacitly awarded me the same equality he would have given a fellow worker who happened to be male.

It was not Emerson who had affected my mood, or even the startling discovery of Mr. Vincey's innocence, though the knowledge that we now had to deal, not with an ordinary criminal, but with that enigmatic and unknown genius of crime who had evaded capture so often, was certainly discouraging. What disturbed me most was being forced to acknowledge I had been mistaken in my a.s.sessment of Sethos's character. I had been gullible enough to believe in that strange man's honor- to trust his word that never again would he impinge upon my life. Obviously he was no more to be trusted in that area than in any other. I ought not to have been surprised or disappointed. But I was.

The swollen globe of the sun hung low over the river, veiled by the rising mist of evening, when we started back to the dahabeeyah. Emerson had driven the men unmercifully and himself just as hard- and me even harder. I was so stiff and cramped with squatting I was glad to accept the offer of Cyrus's arm. Rene had given his to Bertha, watching the oddly a.s.sorted pair- the slim, dapper young man and the perambulating bundle of shapeless cloth beside him- I said thoughtfully, "I have never been one to interfere with romantic attachments, Cyrus, but I do not approve of that relationship. His intentions cannot be serious- in the way of matrimony, I mean."

"I hope not," Cyrus exclaimed. "His mother is a member of some n.o.ble French house, the old lady would have a fit if he brought home a squashed blossom like that."

"Please don't mention that to Emerson. He is as prejudiced against the aristocracy as he is against young lovers. However, Cyrus, I cannot approve of an unlicensed attachment, it is not fair to the girl."

"I suppose you've got her future all planned," Cyrus said, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Are you going to give her any say in the matter?"

"Your sense of humor is delightful, dear Cyrus. I haven't had time to consider the matter seriously, first I will have to ascertain what talents she has, and how best to employ them. But I certainly will not allow her to fall back into the life of degradation and abuse she has experienced thus far. Honorable marriage or an honorable profession- what other choices are there for any woman who is given the opportunity to choose?"

Cyrus's hand went to his chin. Finding no goatee on which to tug, as was his habit when perplexed or perturbed, he rubbed his chin. "I reckon you're a better judge than I am," he replied.

"I reckon I am," I said, laughing. "I know what you are thinking, Cyrus, I am a married woman, not an inexperienced girl. But you are wrong. Men always believe what they want to believe, and one of their least attractive delusions concerns the- er- the . . ."

While I was considering how best to express this delicate matter (and really, there is no way of expressing it delicately), I saw the black-robed form of Bertha sway closer to Rene, and her head tilt toward him. I caught my breath.

"Never mind, my dear, I get your drift," said Cyrus with a smile.

However, it was not embarra.s.sment that had caused me to lose track of what I had been saying. The girl's sinuous, swaying movement had roused a long-forgotten memory. I had known another woman whose gestures had that serpentine grace. Her name was one of those on the list I had sent to Sir Evelyn Baring.

The mayor was waiting for me when Cyrus and I reached the village square. His dour expression told me, before he spoke, what news he had to give.

"No sign of Mohammed yet?" I inquired.

"He has not returned to the village, Sitt, and some of the men searched the cliffs all day. Ha.s.san ibn Mahmud believes he has run away again."

"I would like to speak with Ha.s.san." I sweetened the request with a few coins, adding, "There will be the same for Ha.s.san if he comes at once."

Ha.s.san promptly appeared, he had been watching from behind a wall. He frankly admitted that he was one of those Mohammed had asked to join him. "But I would never do such a thing, honored Sitt," he exclaimed, opening his eyes as wide as they would go. The effect was not convincing, like those of many Egyptians, Ha.s.san's eyelids were inflamed by recurrent infections, and his other features were not precisely prepossessing.

"I am glad to hear that, Ha.s.san," I remarked pleasantly. "For if I believed you meant to harm the Father of Curses, I would tear the soul out of your body by means of my magic, and leave it shrieking in the fires of Gehenna. But perhaps you agreed to go along with Mohammed yesterday in order to prevent him from carrying out his evil plan?"

"The honored Sitt reads the hearts of men!" exclaimed Ha.s.san. "It is as the honored Sitt has said. But before we could act, the Sitt appeared, shooting and shrieking, and we knew the Father of Curses was saved. So we all ran away."

Of course I did not believe a word of this fantasy, and Ha.s.san knew I did not. His cowardly allies had waited in concealment to see how Mohammed made out before risking their own precious hides, but if I had not come when I did, they would have been on Emerson like a pack of jackals on a wounded lion. Mastering my contempt and anger, I took out a few more coins and jingled them carelessly in my hand. "What was Mohammed's plan?"

I had to listen to a good many more protestations of innocence before I could winnow the few grains of wheat from among the chaff of Ha.s.san's lies. He insisted that murder was not Mohammed's aim- and that I did believe. Once their victim was subdued and helpless, they would carry him to a place Mohammed knew of and leave him there Ha.s.san insisted he knew nothing more- and I believed that too. He and his friends were only hired thugs- tools, to be used for a specific purpose and discarded.

"And now," Ha.s.san concluded sadly, "Mohammed has run away. One of your bullets struck him, Sitt, for he bled as he ran, and I think he will not come back. I would be glad if he would."

I a.s.sured him the reward was still in effect, offered lesser amounts for any additional information, and sent him on his way- not rejoicing, but in a more cheerful frame of mind.

Twilight crept along the ground like a woman trailing long gray veils. Golden flowers of lamplight blossomed in the windows of the houses. "If I were not in the company of a lady," said Cyrus, "I would spit. I have a bad taste in my mouth."

I took his arm. "For that affliction I usually prescribe a whiskey and soda. And if you pressed me to join you, Cyrus, I would not say no."

"Don't give way to discouragement, my dear." Cyrus squeezed my hand, "You handled that rascal just right. If Mohammed hasn't already skipped the country his pals will be hot on his trail. I don't think we have to worry about him bothering us again."

"But who will be next?" We had reached the sh.o.r.e, warm, welcoming lights glowed from the dahabeeyah and the aroma of roasting mutton wafted to our nostrils. Across the river the western cliffs were crowned with a single brilliant star.

I stopped. "Will you think me foolish, Cyrus, if I confess a weakness I scarcely dare admit to myself? May I confide in you? For I feel the need of unburdening myself to a listener who is sensitive to my feelings and will not reproach me for them."

In a voice gruff with emotion, Cyrus a.s.sured me he would be honored by my confidence. Darkness, I have found, a.s.sists confession,- the softness of the night, the silent attention of a friend lent eloquence to my tongue, and I told him of my selfish, contemptible yearning to return to the past.

"Can you blame me," I demanded pa.s.sionately, "for feeling as if some evil genie intercepted the prayer I had the temerity to address to a benevolent Creator? Legends and myths tell us how such selfish wishes are twisted to harm instead of help the wisher. You remember Midas and the golden touch. The past has come back, not to help but to haunt me. Old enemies and old friends- "

"Right," Cyrus interrupted. "Amelia, dear, you're too sensible a lady to believe that stuff. I figure what you want from me isn't so much sympathy as a jolt of common sense. These people haven't been lying around in some eternal museum waiting to be wound up and set on your trail all at once, you've seen Karl off and on over the years, and me, and Carter, and a lot of other folks. Old enemies are bound to turn up too- along with plenty of new ones, considering how you and Emerson operate. It's impossible to go back, Amelia. This is now, not then, and the only direction you can go is forward."

I drew a deep, steadying breath. "Thank you, Cyrus. I needed that."

His warm, firm fingers tightened around mine. He leaned toward me.

"That whiskey and soda you mentioned will complete the cure," I said. "We had better go on, the others will be wondering what has become of us."

That evening Emerson informed us we would begin work next day in the royal wadi, and that he intended to remain there for several days and nights. The rest of us could do as we pleased, if we preferred to return to the dahabeeyah each evening, he would allow us to stop work early.

Cyrus looked at me. I smiled. Cyrus rolled his eyes heavenward and went off to make the necessary arrangements.

CHAPTER 11.

"All is fair in love, war, and journalism."

I dreamed last night I returned to the royal wadi again. Moonlight transformed the ragged cliffs to icy silver sculptures of ruined palaces and crumbled colossi. The silence was absolute, unbroken even by the sound of my footsteps as I glided on, disembodied as the spirit I felt myself to be. Shadows sharp-limned as ink stains reached out and then retreated as I moved on. Darkness filled the narrow cleft toward which I drifted, and something moved to meet me- a shape of pale light, crowned with moonbeams and swathed in white linen. The deep-set eyes were sunk in shadow. The mouth was set in a grimace of pain. I held out my arms in pity and appeal, but he paid no heed. He pa.s.sed on into eternal night, condemned to oblivion by the G.o.ds he had tried to destroy. Forever will he wander and forever, no doubt, will I return in dreams to that haunted place which draws my spirit as it does his.

"You appear a trifle hollow-eyed this morning, Peabody," Emerson remarked. "Didn't you sleep well? Something on your conscience, perhaps."

We were alone on deck, waiting for the others to collect their gear. A considerable quant.i.ty of supplies would be required if we were to remain in the remote wadi for several days, Emerson had of course left the complex arrangements to Cyrus, and had already complained about the delay.

Ignoring the provocation (for it was nothing less and certainly nothing more), I said, "I want to change that bandage before we go. You have got it wet."

He fussed and protested but I persisted, and at last he consented to follow me to my room. I left the door ostentatiously ajar.