6

I cannot recall ever seeing Cyrus Vandergelt so angry. Even Emerson sat in silence, without attempting to interrupt, while our old friend paced up and down uttering incoherent American ejaculations.

Nefret and I arrived at the house shortly after the others. From what I could make out, amid his cries of fury, Cyrus had met the other four on the homeward path. He had been searching for Bertie and Jumana for hours, after discovering that both had left Deir el Medina, and was at Medinet Habu, still in quest of them, when they appeared, with Ramses and Emerson supporting Bertie. Whether Cyrus had harbored the same suspicions that would have occurred to his wife upon finding two young persons of opposite genders unaccountably missing from their designated places, he never said.

Relief was immediately succeeded by outrage, as is usually the case. When Cyrus found out where they had been, a good deal of the outrage was directed at Emerson. At the latter’s suggestion they had brought Bertie straight to our house, and it was obvious from their appearance that none of them had had the time, or perhaps the inclination, to make themselves tidy. Their dusty, sweat-stained garments were sufficient proof of a somewhat arduous day, but a quick yet comprehensive survey assured me that Bertie appeared to be the only casualty. He had his foot up on a hassock and Kadija was smearing it with her famous green ointment. Fatima ran in and out with plates of food – her invariable solution for all disasters; Gargery demanded to know what had happened – Jumana tried to tell him; and Cyrus raved. It was very busy and loud.

Nefret went to Ramses. He shook his head, smiling, in response to her unvoiced concern. I removed my hat, put it neatly on a table, and proceeded to bring order out of chaos.

“Cyrus!” I said, rather emphatically.

“Of all the consarned, low-down…” He stopped and stared at me. “Amelia. Where’ve you been? Why weren’t you here? Do you know what underhanded, contemptible stunt this bunch of crooks played on us?”

“I am beginning to get an idea. Sit down and stop shouting, Cyrus. Fatima, will you please bring the tea tray? Thank you. Let us now have a coherent narrative, from…” Jumana was waving her hand in the air and bobbing up and down, like an eager student volunteering to recite. I observed that the jangling noise accompanying her movements came from several articles attached to her belt. I was somewhat flattered but not inclined to encourage her; she looked a little too pleased with herself.

“Emerson,” I said. Jumana subsided, pouting.

I had to shush Cyrus more than once during the course of Emerson’s tale, but the genial beverage, which I forced upon everyone present, had its usual soothing effect – even on me. I was extremely put out by Emerson’s duplicity. However, I confined my expressions of chagrin to a few reproachful looks, which Emerson pretended not to see.

“All’s well that ends well, eh, Peabody?” he inquired.

“Hmmm,” I said. “Nefret?”

She was conferring with Kadija. “No broken bones,” she announced. “He was lucky. But he’ll have to stay off that foot for a few days.”

“Lucky!” Cyrus burst out. “He had no business going off like that. He -”

“Is not the only person present who has ever been guilty of reckless behavior,” I interrupted.

Ramses gave me a wide, unself-conscious grin, and then sobered. “We’d have found him eventually, Cyrus, even without Jumana.”

The girl must have been even more annoying than usual that day, or he would not have minimized her effort. We would certainly have looked for Bertie, but we might not have found him in time. It might well be said that the young man owed her his life.

“Who bandaged his hand?” Nefret asked.

“I wish everyone would stop talking about me in the third person,” Bertie said stiffly. “Jumana -”

“Yes, I did it!” She jumped up, jangling. “You see, I have my belt of tools, too, like the Sitt Hakim! I washed his hand and bandaged it and I took care of him. He was very stupid to go there alone.”

Bertie turned red, but he didn’t have a chance to defend himself; he had not yet learned that in our circle it is necessary to shout in order to be heard. Emerson did it for him. Men always close ranks when women criticize one of them.

“And so were you, Jumana.” Emerson slammed his cup down in the saucer. “Any man or woman, even the most experienced, could suffer an accident in that terrain, and die of exposure before he was found. No, young lady, don’t talk back to me! Why didn’t you tell Vandergelt where you were going?”

Jumana bowed her head. “I wanted to find him myself,” she murmured.

“I see.” Emerson’s voice softened, and Bertie’s face went even redder. Men are such innocents; they had taken her statement as a declaration of affectionate interest. I, who had once pointed out to Jumana that wealthy and powerful Cyrus Vandergelt would think well of anyone who looked after his adopted son, suspected that self-interest had been her primary motive.

“Enough of recriminations,” I said. “We must -”

“I’m not finished recriminating,” Cyrus declared. “Not by a damned sight. Excuse my language, ladies, but I’ve got a few words to say to my old pal here. Emerson, you deliberately and with malice aforethought pawned Deir el Medina off on me so you could do what I would have done if you hadn’t told me not to do it! And by the Almighty, there is a tomb out there! We’ve got proof now.”

Emerson looked sheepish and drank out of his cracked cup. Tea dribbled down the front of his shirt, but I cannot say its condition was appreciably worsened thereby.

“If we had found anything of interest, I would have let you in on it, Vandergelt,” he mumbled. “I only wanted to – er – save you time and effort.”

“Oh. All right, then,” Cyrus said, mollified. “But now we know there is a tomb -”

“I’m afraid not, Cyrus,” Ramses said. “Jamil may not be the most intelligent opponent we’ve ever faced, but he isn’t stupid enough to give away the location of the tomb – if there is one.”

“The gold Bertie saw -” Cyrus began.

“He said it glittered like gold,” Ramses interrupted impatiently. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that the boy has been deliberately leading us astray?”

“It had occurred to me, of course,” I said.

Ramses’s sober face relaxed into a grin and Emerson snarled wordlessly. “Where is the tomb, then?” Cyrus demanded.

“Like Ramses, I am not convinced there is one,” I replied. “I can think of a number of reasons why Jamil might want to lead us on a wild-goose chase. ‘He only does it to annoy, because he knows it teases.’ Or he may want to lure us into a trap. It is wild country, and Bertie’s accident today is a grim reminder of what can happen if he catches one of us alone.”

Jumana lifted her chin and stared defiantly at me. The rather pathetic collection of tools on her belt jingled as she shifted position. I wondered if she had also acquired a parasol.

“He didn’t mean to hurt Bertie,” she declared. “It was an accident.”

“That’s right,” Bertie said quickly.

“Perhaps he didn’t intend to,” I said. “But the result might have been disastrous. He’s been watching us – spying on us.”

“Damnation!” Emerson exclaimed. “Jumana – Bertie – all of you – don’t take any more chances, do you hear? Even if Jamil appears decked out in the Double Crown and the full regalia of a pharaoh, blowing kisses, don’t follow him.”

“Here!” Cyrus exclaimed, his eyes brightening. “Do you think it’s a royal tomb he’s found?”

“Good Gad, Vandergelt, is that all you can think of?” Emerson gave him a rueful smile. “I thought of it, too, I admit. But there won’t be a king’s tomb in that area. My point is that none of us must go into a remote area alone. It is too dangerous, as Bertie discovered today.”