Cyrus was the only one to comprehend instantly the seriousness of the blow "Doggone it! Don't feel bad, my dear, you did all you could. A serious injury like that- "

"Even the great Sitt Hakim's talents could not have prevailed in this case," said Emerson. He had been holding the knife behind him, now he tossed it onto the ground. "Mohammed was murdered- and not by me. In the dark of night the deed was done, with that knife."

The others eyed the weapon as if it had been a snake coiled to strike Charlie was the first to speak "Then then he was deliberately silenced! This is horrible! It means there is a traitor among us!"

He did it very well, I must say.

"We knew that," Emerson said impatiently. "And now that it is too late, we know that Mohammed was a danger to him or to his leader. How the devil did the killer get past your guard, Vandergelt?"

"I am going to find out pretty quick," said Cyrus grimly.

"Mr. O'Connell will wish to accompany you," said Emerson, as Cyrus got to his feet

Kevin was not at all anxious to volunteer. "At least let me finish my breakfast," he pleaded. "If the fellow is dead, he can wait a few more minutes."

"You lack the dogged zeal that is supposed to characterize your profession, Mr. O'Connell," said Emerson. "I had expected you would be on fire to examine the body, study the ghastly face, probe the wound, search the bloodstained garments, crawl around the floor looking for clues. The fleas and lice and flies won't bother a man of your hardened nerve, but do watch out for scorpions."

Kevin's face had gone a trifle green. "Stop that, Emerson," I ordered. "Come, Kevin. I will go with you."

"Chacun a son gout," remarked Emerson, taking a chair and reaching for the teapot. remarked Emerson, taking a chair and reaching for the teapot.

As I had expected, Kevin was of no help at all. After one glance at Mohammed's motionless form he hastily turned his back and began scribbling in his notebook while I crawled around the floor and carried out the other actions Emerson had suggested. I did allow myself to omit one, probing the wound was not necessary, since the stains on the knife blade were sufficient indication of how deeply it had penetrated.

While I searched for clues Cyrus was interrogating the guard. I heard most of what was said, for Cyrus's voice was rather loud and the guard's voice rose in volume as he defended himself. He stoutly denied that anyone had approached during the night. Yes, he might have dozed off, no one had relieved him, and a man could not do without sleep indefinitely. But his body had blocked the entrance to the shelter and he swore he would have sprung instantly awake if anyone had tried to pa.s.s him.

"Never mind, Cyrus," I called. "The killer did not enter that way. Come here and see."

The slit in the canvas wall would have escaped my notice had I not been searching for something of the sort. It had been made by a very sharp knife- probably the same one that had penetrated Mohammed's scrawny chest.

"The killer would not even have to enter," I said. "Only insert an arm and strike. He must have known exactly where Mohammed's pallet was placed. And I had left a lamp burning, so that the guard could see inside. It was a waste of time looking for clues here Let us see if he left footprints outside."

But of course he had not. The ground was too hard to take prints.

I dismissed Kevin, who was very glad to go. Taking Cyrus's arm, I held him back and let Kevin draw ahead.

"Now will you take the precaution I suggested?" I hissed. "Charlie must be put under restraint! You were willing to take such measures with Kevin- "

"And still am," Cyrus said grimly. "Archaeology is not the only profession whose members may be seduced by greed."

I believe I gasped aloud. "You don't mean- "

"Who would know better than the man who sent it that you had received an invitation you wouldn't resist? I thought from the start there was something funny about that, a die-hard like O'Connell would be more likely to sneak up on you than ask you to come to him. He practically goaded you into bringing him here, and now you see what has happened- the first night after he arrived."

"No," I said. "Surely not Kevin!"

It was not the first time those words had burst from my lips. Kevin could not have heard them, but at that very moment he turned his head and looked back. It might have been my overstrained nerves, it might have been the distorted angle at which I saw him, but on his face was a sly, secretive expression more sinister than any I had seen on that countenance before.

Ineptly a.s.sisted by Kevin, I interrogated the others in an attempt to establish alibis. I did not expect useful results, and I got none. Everyone claimed to have slept the sleep of the innocent and weary, and denied they had heard anything unusual. Charles swore Rene could not have left the tent they shared without awakening him, Rene swore the same about Charles That meant nothing. I could- and did- say the same about Bertha. But the dastardly deed could have been accomplished in five minutes or less, and innocent or guilty, we had all been tired enough to sleep soundly.

Emerson watched me with a sour amus.e.m.e.nt he made no attempt to conceal. At last he said, "Satisfied, Miss Peabody? I could have told you this was a waste of time. Does anyone save myself intend to do any work today?"

Taking this for the order it undoubtedly was, Rene and Charles followed Emerson's example, and Emerson. So did the cat.

My spirits were rather low as I prepared my equipment- notepad and pencils, measuring rule and water flask, candles and matches. If the day went on as it had begun, I did not know how I could bear it. Emerson had returned to calling me MISS Peabody. He had not requested my a.s.sistance that day.

Instead of progressing toward that greater understanding for which I had hoped, we were farther apart than before.

Mohammed's death, before he could speak, was discouraging too.

If I had needed anything else to lower my spirits, the knowledge of where we were working that day would have done the job. Cyrus was determined to investigate the new tomb. It had not been mentioned by any of the earlier visitors to the wadi, so it could truly be called unknown, and nothing fires the imagination of an excavator so much as the hope of being the first to enter such a sepulcher. To be sure, the place had obviously been known to Emerson, but as Cyrus dourly remarked, "That son of a gun knows a lot more than he's saying about a lot of things. He doesn't think there's anything worth finding or he'd have dug into the place himself a long time ago. But he's not the last word, consarn him! There's bound to be something there."

I had not told him of my discovery. The ring bezel was in my pocket even at that moment. I seemed to feel it pressing against my breast- which was nonsense, because it was very small and light. Had I followed the dictates of my archaeological conscience, I would have left it behind, safely enclosed in a box labeled with the location and date of the discovery. I cannot explain or defend the idle fancy that told me I must keep it close, like an amulet warding off danger.

The old demonic, animal-headed G.o.ds of Egypt had been proscribed by the heretic king, but it is easier to pa.s.s edicts than enforce them when that which is forbidden appeals to pa.s.sionate, deep-seated human needs and desires. Our earlier excavation had turned up evidence that the common people had not abandoned their beloved household G.o.ds. Sobek was a crocodile G.o.d whose chief center of worship was in the Fayum, far to the north. It was the first time any representation of him had been found at Amarna, but his presence was no more surprising than that of Bes, the grotesque little patron of matrimony, and Thoueris, who protected pregnant women. But for me to come upon the crocodile G.o.d's image there, after narrowly escaping another deadly threat... Is it any wonder superst.i.tion fought with reason in my mind?

First the snake, now the crocodile. Did the third fate still threaten us? If the traditions of myth and folktale held true, it would be the most dangerous of all.

The men had to spend most of the day clearing the tomb entrance, which was choked with fallen rocks. Some were of considerable size, and the sloping scree had been hardened by repeated flooding and drying into the consistency of cement. It was I who pointed out to Cyrus that we must sift through this debris. Water must have poured into the tomb through the opening above, and through other apertures as yet undisclosed, on more than one occasion, and objects might have been flushed out onto the slope.

Only Cyrus's good manners- and, I would like to believe, his respect for my professional expertise- prevented him from objecting vigorously to this procedure, for it took a great deal of time. It was late in the day before the wisdom of my methods was proved. The broken fragment we discovered would certainly have been overlooked by careless excavators.

It was only a piece of alabaster (more properly calcite), five centimeters long and apparently shapeless. The credit for recognizing its importance must go to Feisal- who, of course, had been trained in my methods. He brought it to me, smiling in antic.i.p.ation of praise. "There is writing on it, Sitt. You see the hieroglyphs."

The excitement that suffused every inch of my being when I read those few signs was enough to overcome, for the moment at least, all other considerations. Summoning Cyrus with a piercing cry, I indicated the broken inscription. " The king's great wife Neferneferuaten Nefert.i.ti.' It is part of a shawabti, Cyrus- a shawabti of Nefert.i.ti!"

"A ushebti?" Cyrus s.n.a.t.c.hed it from me. I forgave him this momentary lapse of courtesy/ like myself, he understood the import of the words.

Ushebtis, or shawabtis, were strictly funerary in nature. They were images of the dead man (or woman), animated in the afterlife to perform services for him and work in his stead. The wealthier an individual, the more of these little statues he possessed. Fragments of many ushebtis bearing the name of Akhenaton had turned up, Emerson had found three more the previous day, in the royal tomb But this was the first I had seen or heard of with the name of the queen.

"By the Almighty, Amelia, you're right," Cyrus exclaimed. "It's the lower legs and part of the feet of a ushebti. It can't have come from the royal tomb . ."

"That is not necessarily true." Some scholars, I regret to say, concoct fantastic theories from inadequate evidence, but I have never been p.r.o.ne to this weakness and I felt I must caution Cyrus against overen-thusiasm.

"Broken fragments of Akhenaton's funerary equipment, including ushebtis, must have been thrown out of his tomb," I went on. "And a violent flood could have washed them some distance down the wadi.

But this was not part of bis tomb furnishings. Her name appears on many objects along with his, but ushebtis were designed and named only for the dead person."

Cyrus held the battered fragment as gently as if it had been solid gold. "Then this must have come from her tomb. This tomb!"

"No," I said regretfully. "I think not. If she had a separate tomb it would surely have been nearer his. From what little we have seen of this one, it is small and unfinished. However, this is a remarkable discovery, Cyrus. I congratulate you."

"The credit goes to you, my dear."

"And Feisal."

"Oh, sure." Cyrus gave Abdullah's son a hearty slap on the back "Big baksheesh for you, my friend.

Even bigger if you turn up any more pieces like this."

However, by the time sunset forced an end to the work, nothing more of interest had been discovered. The frustration of his hopes put Cyrus in a bad temper, though I must say it was a model of saintly forbearance compared to the demonstrations of which Emerson was capable. "I'm sure tired of trying to wash in a cupful of water," he grumbled, as we trudged along the dusty path. "If I don't get near a tub pretty soon, I won't be fit company for a mule, much less a lady."

"The lady is in no better case," I said with a smile. "I confess that of all the inconveniences of camping out, the absence of adequate means of ablution vexes me most. Unless I have lost count, tomorrow is Friday, the men will want their day of rest, so I presume Emerson intends to return to the river."