Part 33 (1/2)

The windows of the rooms inhabited by the two young men were dark,- from Rene's I heard a rumble of ba.s.s snoring, positively astonis.h.i.+ng from such a delicate, aesthetic-looking young fellow. Bertha's window was also dark. No doubt she was weary, the walk to and from the dig would tire a city girl like her, unaccustomed to healthful exercise. I recognized the man who guarded her window by his size, he was the tallest and strongest of the crewmen. Cyrus was taking no chances.

I glanced at his window as I strolled by and saw it too was unlighted. Perhaps he was still in the saloon, which opened onto the upper deck.

I need not have strolled alone in the moonlight. Since only the silent watchers could see me, I permitted myself to smile and shake my head. Dr. Schadenfreude's treatment had not cured Cyrus of his romantic weakness. Being something of an amateur psychologist myself, I wondered if the bluff American's tendency to fall in love with wholly unsuitable ladies was born of his unconscious desire to remain a bachelor. Modest woman that I am, I could not help having observed his increasingly soft glances and his chivalrous indignation on my behalf, but I was well aware that his growing attachment was based solely on friends.h.i.+p and on the rough-hewn gallantry for which Americans are well-known. Any ”lady in distress” between the ages of eighteen and forty-eight would have aroused the same instincts. Cyrus knew he was perfectly safe from the toils of matrimony with me, not only while Emerson lived but ever after. Could I, having known such a man, be the bride of another?

The moonlight was making me morbid. Moonlight has that effect when one enjoys it alone. I went to my room, wrote out the telegrams to Gargery and Walter, penned a peremptory letter to my son, and put the notes I had taken on the dig that day into proper form. By the time I finished, my eyelids were heavy,- nevertheless, I gave my hair the usual hundred strokes, took a long (cold) bath, and applied cream to my skin. (This is not vanity but necessity in Egypt, where sun and sand have a frightful effect on the complexion.) I had hoped energetic employment would prevent me from dreaming. However, it did not. I am sure I need not specify the theme of those dreams to the sympathetic Reader.

To a female in the pink of condition, as I always am, a disturbed night is of no consequence. I arose fresh and alert, ready to face the difficulties I felt sure were about to ensue. Emerson had been biding his time, trying to get us off guard by performing his archaeological duties, but he is not a patient man, and I suspected he was about to carry out his ridiculous plan. There was no way I could prevent him from doing so, for reasoned argument has no effect whatever on him when he has got some silly idea into his head. All I could do was antic.i.p.ate the worst and take steps to prevent it from happening. There was one advantage to his scheme, the farther we went from the river, the more difficult it would be for Kevin O'Connell to get at us.

My first sight of Emerson that morning strengthened my hunch that today was the day. He was eating his breakfast with the air of a man stoking himself with food in antic.i.p.ation of strenuous activity ahead, and he was in a suspiciously genial mood, complimenting Rene on the quickness with which he was learning excavation methods, and praising Charlie's plan of the site. From time to time he tossed a sc.r.a.p of sausage to Anubis, who snapped it out of the air like a trout rising to a fly. I wished the confounded beard did not hide his mouth. Emerson's mouth always gives him away when he is contemplating something underhanded, he cannot control the corners of it.

He saw me staring. ”Does something offend you, MISS Peabody? Crumbs in my beard, are there? Or is it the beard itself? Come, come, don't be shy of expressing your opinion.”

”Since you ask,” I began.

”I do, I do. Having strong opinions myself, I can hardly object to others' possessing them.”

”Ha!” I said. ”Well, then, I must say that yours is one of the most unprepossessing examples of an unattractive appendage I have ever beheld. Beards are unsanitary, unsightly, hot- or so I would suppose, dangerous- to smokers, and indicative of masculine insecurity. Men grow them only because women cannot, I believe.”

Emerson's eyes narrowed with rage, but he could not speak at once because his mouth was full of egg and sausage. Before he could swallow, Cyrus- whose hand was plucking nervously at his goatee- exclaimed, ”I never thought of it that way. Maybe I should- ”

”Don't be a fawning fool, Vandergelt,” Emerson growled. ”She is talking nonsense in the hope of annoying ME. Who the devil began this talk of beards, anyway? Hurry and finish, all of you, I want to be off.”

And he was off, leaving the door swinging wildly on its hinges. The young men jumped up and galloped after him. I b.u.t.tered another piece of toast.

”I didn't mean you, Cyrus,” I said, smiling at him. ”That goatee is so much a part of you, I cannot imagine you without it.”

I meant it as a compliment, but he did not seemed pleased.

The air was still cool and pleasant when we went ash.o.r.e. I lagged behind, talking with young Charlie, who had sought me out with the obvious intention of consulting me. It took him a while to get to the point, in fact, I had to ask him straight out what was worrying him.

”It's the stela,” he admitted. ”The one high up on the cliff- you remember?”

”Stelae,” I said. ”Don't concern yourself about it, Charles, it will be some time before Emerson turns his attention to the stelae.”

”No, ma'am, it won't! He wants me to get at it today. And- er- I couldn't tell the professor, I didn't dare, but I can't- I have not- rather, I should say I have ...”

”Fear of heights?”

He looked as guilty as if he had just confessed to murder

”My dear Charles, that is nothing to be ashamed of. Scientific research indicates that such fears are weaknesses the sufferer cannot control. You must confess the truth, it would be dangerous, possibly fatal, for you to force yourself to a task you cannot perform.” Charles did not appear to be cheered by this consoling diagnosis, so I went on, ”If you like, I will tell Emerson.”

The young chap squared his manly shoulders. ”No, ma'am, I thank you, but that would be cowardly.”

”Tell him yourself, then, but bear in mind that I will disclose the truth if you do not do so. Now hurry on, we are falling behind.”

The others were already out of sight. As we hastened along the village street, returning the greetings of those who hailed us and stepping over dogs and chickens and children, a man came to meet us. I stifled an exclamation of impatience, it was the sheikh, the mayor of the village, and I could see from his manner that he was intent on delaying me.

We had managed to avoid the time-consuming ceremonies of welcome which courtesy normally requires in such little communities, but I saw no way of getting out of it now without mortally offending the man.