The Curse of the Pharaohs by Elizabeth Peters Page A

broadly. "I sure would if I could. Not just the tomb, but you and Mrs. Emerson to dig it out for me. But"—and here he became quite serious—"Lady Baskerville has set her heart on doing this as a memorial to the dear departed, and I am not the man to stand in a lady's way, particularly when her aim is so fraught with touching sentiment. No, sir; Cyrus Vandergelt is not the man to try low tricks. I only want to help. Call on me for any assistance you may require."
    As he spoke, he straightened to his full height—which was well over six feet—and raised his hand as if taking an oath. It was an impressive sight; one almost expected to see the Stars and Bars waving in the breeze and hearing the stirring strains of "Oh Beautiful America."
    "You mean," Emerson retorted, "that you want to get in on the fun."
    "Ha, ha," said Vandergelt cheerfully. He gave Emerson a slap on the back. "I said we were alike, didn't I? There's no fooling a sharp lad like you. Sure I do. If you don't let me play, I'll drive you crazy thinking of excuses to drop in. No, but seriously, folks, you're going to need all the help you can get. Those Gurneh crooks are going to be on you like a hornets' nest, and the local imam is stirring up the congregation in a fancy way. If I can't do anything else, I can at least help guard the tomb, and the ladies. But look, why are we standing here jawing in the hot sun? I've got my carriage down at the other end of the Valley; let me give you a lift home and we can talk some more."
    We declined this offer, and Mr. Vandergelt took his leave, remarking, "You haven't seen the last of me, folks. You're dining with Lady Baskerville tonight? Me, too. I'll see you then."
    I fully expected a diatribe from Emerson on Mr. Vandergelt's manners and motives, but he was uncharacteristically silent on the subject. After a further examination of what little could be seen we prepared to go; and then I realized Habib was no longer with us. The other guard burst into a garbled explanation, which Emerson cut short.
    "I was about to dismiss him anyway," he remarked, addressing me but speaking in Arabic for the benefit of anyone who might be listening. "Good riddance."
    The shadows were lengthening when we started the climb up the cliff, and I urged Emerson, who was preceding me, to greater haste. I wanted ample time to prepare for the evening's encounter. We had almost reached the top when a sound made me glance up. I then seized Emerson by the ankles and pulled him down. The boulder which I had seen teetering on the brink missed him by less than a foot, sending splinters of rock flying in every direction when it struck.
    Slowly Emerson rose to his feet. "I do wish, Peabody, that you could be a little less abrupt in your methods," he remarked, using his sleeve to wipe away the blood that was dripping from his nose. "A calm 'Watch out, there,' or a tug at my shirttail would have proved just as effective, and less painful."
    This was a ridiculous statement, of course; but I was given no time to reply to it, for as soon as Emerson had ascertained, with one quick glance, that I was unharmed, he turned and began to climb with considerable speed, vanishing at last over the rim of the cliff. I followed. When I reached the top he was nowhere in sight, so I sat down on a rock to wait for him, and—to be candid—to compose my nerves, which were somewhat shaken.
    The tentative theory I had briefly considered in Cairo was now strengthened. Someone was determined to prevent Emerson from continuing the work Lord Baskerville had begun. Whether the latter's death had formed part of this plan, or whether the unknown miscreant had made use of a tragic accident in order to further his scheme I could not then make out, but I felt sure we had not seen the last of attempts aimed at my husband. How glad I was that I had yielded to what had seemed a selfish impulse and come with him. The apparent conflict between my duty to my husband and my duty to my child