"Not with, but for for him," Emerson answered with a sccowl. "I have nothing against Americans, even rich Americans- even rich American dilettantes- but I work for no man. You have too many cursed old him," Emerson answered with a sccowl. "I have nothing against Americans, even rich Americans- even rich American dilettantes- but I work for no man. You have too many cursed old friends, Peabody."

My famous intuition failed on this occasion. No tremor of premonitory horror ran through me. "I hope you don't harbor any doubts as to Mr. Vandergelt's intentions, Emerson."

"You mean, am I jealous? My dear, I abjured that unwonrthy emotion long ago. You convinced me, as I hope I convinced you, that there could never be the slightest cause. Old married people like ourselves, Peabody, have pa.s.sed through the cataracts of youthful pa.s.sion into the serene pool of matrimonial affection."

"Hmmm," I said.

"In fact," Emerson went on, "I have been thinking for some time that we need to examine our plans, not for this year, but for the future. Archaeology is changing, Peabody. Petrie is still bouncing around like a rubber ball, tackling a different site each year- "

"We have done the same."

"Yes, but in my opinion this has become increasingly ineffective. Look at Petrie's excavation reports. They are . . ." Emerson almost choked on the admission that his chief rival had any good qualities, but managed to get it out. "They are- er- not bad. Not bad at all. But in a single season's work he cannot do more than scratch at the site, and once the monuments are uncovered they are as good as gone."

"I agree, Emerson. What do you propose?"

"Do you mind if I smoke?" Without waiting for an answer he took out his pipe and tobacco pouch. "What I propose is that we focus on a single site, not for one season, but until we have found everything that is to be found and recorded everything in painstaking detail. We will need a larger staff, of course-experts in the increasingly complex techniques of excavation. Photographers, artists, an epigrapher to copy and collate texts, an anatomist to study bones, students who can supervise the workers and learn excavation procedures. We might even consider building a permanent house to which we can return every year." He let out a great puff of smoke and added, "Then we wouldn't have to stay at this cursed hotel."

For a moment I could think of nothing to say The proposal was so unexpected, the ramifications so complex, I struggled to take them in. "Well," I said, on a long breath. "The proposal is so unexpected I can think of nothing to say."

I fully antic.i.p.ated Emerson would make some sarcastic remark about my loquacity, but he did not rise to the bait. "Unexpected, perhaps, but I hope not unwelcome. You never complain, my dear, but the tasks you have faced each year would daunt a lesser woman. It is time you had help- companionship- a.s.sistance."

"Of the female variety, I suppose you mean? A secretary would certainly be useful- "

"Come, Peabody, I had not expected you to be so narrow-minded. We could certainly use someone to keep the records straight, but why need that individual be female? And why not women students, excavators and scholars?"

"Why not indeed?" He had touched a tender chord, the advancement of my underrated s.e.x has always been of deep importance to me. After all, I reflected, I had never counted on more than one year of solitary happiness. I had not even counted on that. Let me enjoy it now and not think of the depressing future. "Emerson, I have said it before and I will continue to say it: you are the most remarkable of men."

"As you have also said, you would have accepted nothing less." Emerson grinned at me.

"Do you have anyone in mind?"

"Nefret and Ramses, of course."

"Of course."

"The girl has demonstrated both interest and apt.i.tude," Emerson went on. "I am also in hopes of inducing Evelyn and Walter to come out with us, once we have established a permanent base. There is a young woman named Murray at University College, a student of Griffith, who shows great promise . . . That is one of the things I hope to do this season, Peabody, interview potential staff members."

"Then," I said, rising, "I suggest we begin by dining downstairs."

"Why the devil should we? Ali's, in the bazaar, has better food- "

"But some of our colleagues are certain to be dining at Shepheard's. We can consult them about their more promising students."

Emerson studied me suspiciously. "You always have some excuse for forcing me into activities I detest. How do you know there will be any Egyptologists here tonight? You invited them, didn't you? Curse it, Peabody- "

"I found messages from friends awaiting us, as is always the case. Come along now. It is getting late and you will want to bathe and change."

"I won't want to, but I suppose I must," Emerson grumbled.

He began undressing as he stamped across the room, tossing collar, shirt and cravat in the general direction of the sofa. They fell on the floor. I was about to expostulate when Emerson came to a sudden stop and gestured emphatically at me to do the same. Head tilted, ears almost visibly p.r.i.c.ked, he listened for a moment, and then, with the catlike quickness he could summon when he felt it expedient, he lunged at the door and flung it open. The corridor was dark, but I made out a huddled form crouched or collapsed on the floor. Emerson seized it in a bruising grip and dragged it into the room.

CHAPTER 3.

"A woman's instinct, I always feel, supersedes logic."

"For heaven's sake, Emerson," I exclaimed. "It is Mr. Neville. Drop him at once!"

Emerson inspected his captive, whom he held by the collar. "So it is," he said in mild surprise. "What the devil were you doing down on the floor, Neville?"

The unfortunate young man inserted a finger between his cravat and his neck, loosening the former from the latter, before he spoke. "Er . . . the gaslight in the corridor must have expired, it was extremely dark, and I could not be certain I had found the correct room When I tried to look more closely at the number, my spectacles fell off."

Here a fit of coughing overcame him. "Say no more," I said. "Emerson, go and look for Mr. Neville's eyegla.s.ses. I only hope you didn't step on them."

As it turned out, he had. Neville studied the ruined objects ruefully. "Fortunately I have another pair.

I did not bring them with me, however, so perhaps you will be good enough to guide my steps tonight, Mrs. Emerson."

"Certainly. And of course we will replace your spectacles. Really, Emerson, you must get over the habit of leaping on people like that."

Neville was one of the younger generation of archaeologists, who had already demonstrated a remarkable talent for philology. In appearance he was one of the least memorable individuals of my acquaintance, for his beard and hair were of the same buff color as his skin, and his eyes were an indeterminate shade of gray-brown. His character was mild and accommodating, however, and he had a pleasant smile "It was my fault, Mrs. Emerson. From the stories I have heard, you and the professor have good reason to be suspicious of people lurking at your door."

"That is true," Emerson declared. "In this case, however, I owe you an apology. No harm done, I hope?"

He began brushing Neville off with such vigorous goodwill that the young man's head rocked back and forth.

"Stop that, Emerson, and go change," I ordered. "You will have to excuse us, Mr. Neville, we are later than I had expected. There is a ma.n.u.script on the table that may interest you, it was in the hope of consulting you about certain pa.s.sages that I asked you to do me the favor of coming early "

By the time I had closed the bedroom door Emerson was already in the bathroom, splashing loudly I concluded he wanted to avoid a lecture- or inconvenient questions. Emerson is inclined to act hastily, but he seldom acts without cause (however inadequate that cause may seem to persons of duller intellect). Had he cause for apprehension that he had not seen fit to confide to me?

He gave me no opportunity to pursue the matter at that time, dressing with uncharacteristic speed and lack of fuss while I was performing my ablutions. I had to call him back from the sitting room, where he had gone to entertain our visitor, in order to request his a.s.sistance in b.u.t.toning my frock. The distractions that often occur during this process did not occur on this occasion.

I was wearing a gown of bright crimson, Emerson's favorite color. It was the latest fashion and I had had to badger my dressmaker to finish it in time. Emerson gave me a cursory glance and remarked, "You look very nice, my dear. I have always liked that dress."

When we returned to the sitting room, Mr, Neville was peering nearsightedly at the ma.n.u.script to which I had directed his attention.

"Fascinating," he exclaimed. "Is this Mr. Walter Emerson's transliteration of The Tale of the Doomed Prince'? The Tale of the Doomed Prince'? It seems much more accurate than Maspero's." It seems much more accurate than Maspero's."

"To compare Maspero's knowledge of hieratic to that of my brother is an insult in itself," said Emerson rudely. "That is a trivial piece of work for Walter, he only transcribed it into hieroglyphs as a favor to Mrs. Emerson. She had a fancy to translate it, and her hieratic- "

"Comparisons are unnecessary as well as invidious, Emerson," I said. "I have never claimed to be an expert at hieratic."

(For the benefit of the ignorant, I ought to explain that hieratic is the cursive, abbreviated form of hieroglyphic writing- so abbreviated, in many cases, that the resemblance to the original form is almost impossible to make out. Walter was one of the leading authorities on this, as on other forms of ancient Egyptian. I was not. Neither was Emerson.)

"It is a fascinating tale," Neville agreed. "What pa.s.sage in particular- "

"No time for that now," said Emerson. "If we must do this, let's get it over with. Lean on me, Neville, I won't let you fall. Take my other arm, Amelia, the cursed safragi has let the light go out, I can hardly see where we are going."

The lights at the other end of the corridor burned bright, and we proceeded with greater speed. A thrill of pride ran through me as we descended the staircase, for all eyes, especially those of the ladies, focused on the form of my husband. Unconscious of their regard, for he is in such matters a modest man, he led the way to the dining salon, where we found our friends waiting.