Explanations and introductions followed, slowly, since Lucas kept interrupting. The interruptions ceased, however, when I- for of course it was I who was telling the story- reached the part of the narrative involving the Mummy. Lucas listened in silence. A grin spread slowly over his face, and when I concluded my story he burst into a shout of mirth.
"Excellent! Splendid! Little did I think when I set out for Egypt that I would have such luck. This is like one of Rider Haggard's tales; or the novels of Herr Ebers. How I look forward to meeting the Mummy!"
"I don't know that such an encounter will ever take place, Lord Ellesmere," Walter said. "There is no reason why you should concern yourself with our problems. If you will escort the ladies into safety, we-"
Lucas leaned forward; impetuously he placed a hand on the other young man's arm.
"But, my dear fellow, you would not deprive me of a part in this adventure? I don't claim any noble intentions; I'm sure you can manage quite well without me. My motives are purely selfish, and therefore you must give way to me!"
Watching his beaming face, hearing his jovial tones, I could understand why Mr. Dickens' Scrooge found his jolly nephew so irritating. I was also struck by the contrast between the two young men. They were almost of an age, I thought. Walter's slim height looked boyish next to Lucas' breadth of chest and shoulders. His tumbled dark hair and thin cheeks made him appear even younger. Lucas was dressed with his usual elegance; his pith helmet shone like snow in the sun, his light suit was tailored like a uniform and fit him like a glove. Walter's shirt was open at the throat, displaying reddened, peeling skin. His boots were shabby and dusty, his hands callused from hard labor.
At that, he looked relatively respectable next to his brother, whose bandaged brow and hand added to his look of a battered warrior just come off the battlefield. Emerson was contemplating Lucas with an expression that made me think we might become allies in this, if in nothing else. When he spoke, it was in the rasping growl that was more dangerous than his shouts.
"You should appeal to me, my lord, for permission to join our group. I confess I cannot think of any means of preventing you from pitching a tent anywhere you choose."
From Emerson this was positively a gracious speech. Lucas seemed to realize it; he turned his considerable charm on Emerson, who continued to study him with all the enthusiasm of a gruff old mastiff watching the gambols of a puppy. When Lucas expressed interest in the antiquities of the area, he unbent a trifle and offered to show Lucas some of the tombs.
"We have uncovered very little of the city," he explained. "The ruins that remain are not interesting to a layman. The carvings in the tombs have a certain appeal, however."
"I regret that I have not had time to examine them more closely," I interrupted. "I meant to ask you, Emerson, whether there might not be more tombs to be discovered. What of the long's own tomb, for instance? He of all people must have had a sepulcher here."
"That is one of the projects I had hoped to undertake this season," Emerson replied. "The royal tomb has never been properly cleared out, although these villainous villagers removed anything of salable value some time ago. There was not much; the reliefs in the tomb were never finished, and I question whether Khuenaten was ever buried there, although fragments of a sarcophagus may still be seen in the burial chamber. Hmmm. Yes, Peabody, I would like to have another look at it. Suppose we go this afternoon."
"The royal tomb is not to my taste today," Lucas said, stretching out his booted feet lazily. "It is quite a distance, I am told, and the path is rugged."
"It would mar the finish of your boots," Emerson agreed gravely. "You seem to know something about Amarna, Lord Ellesmere. The royal tomb is not on the ordinary traveler's list of sights.
"Oh, I have become an interested student of all things Egyptian. Already I have made a splendid collection of antiquities, and I hope to acquire more along the way. I intend to set up an Egyptian gallery at Ellesmere Castle."
Emerson had been keeping himself under tight rein- for what reason I could not imagine- but this was too much for him.
"Another amateur collection, ignorantly displayed and isolated from scholars," he burst out. "Of course you are collecting your antiquities from the dealers, my lord- which means that they have been wantonly pilfered from the original places, with no records kept- "
"I seem to have struck inadvertently at a tender spot," Lucas said, smiling at Evelyn.
She did not return the smile; instead she said seriously, "Mr. Emerson's feelings are more than justified, Lucas. It is vital that excavations should be carried out only by trained archaeologists. Some objects are fragile and can be damaged by unskilled hands. More important, the provenance of an object can sometimes tell us a great deal- where it was found, with what other objects, and so on. If visitors would not buy from dealers and peasants, they would stop their illicit digging."
"Dear me, you are becoming quite an enthusiast yourself," Lucas exclaimed. "That is what I shall need for my Egyptian gallery- an expert who will tend and classify my collection. Then perhaps Mr. Emerson will not despise me."
Evelyn's eyes fell under his meaningful regard.
"Emerson will despise you in any case," I said. "The only steps you can take to redeem yourself are, one, to cease buying antiquities, and two, to present the ones you have to the British Museum. The scholars there will take proper care of them."
Emerson muttered something which, though indistinct, was clearly uncomplimentary to the British Museum.
Lucas laughed. "No, I cannot give up my collection, perhaps Mr. Emerson will read my papyrus for me."
"You have a papyrus?" I inquired interestedly.
"Yes, quite a good one- brown with age, crumbling, covered with those strange little scratches which were, I am told, developed from the hieroglyphic picture writing. When I unrolled it- "
An ominous moaning sound emerged from Emerson. "You unrolled it," he repeated.
"Only the first section," said Lucas cheerfully. "It began to break apart then, so I thought… Why, Mr. Emerson, you look quite pale. I gather I have done something reprehensible."
"You might as well confess to a murder," Emerson exclaimed. "There are too many people in the world as it is, but the supply of ancient manuscripts is severely limited." Lucas seemed subdued by the reproof. "I will give it to you, then, if you feel so strongly. Perhaps it will count as my payment of admission to this charming group," he added more cheerfully. "I must send back to my dahabeeyah for supplies, if I am to spend the night. Let us just have a look around, shall we? I can hardly wait to see the scenes of the Mummy's appearance, and select a tomb for myself."
Emerson acquiesced with no more than a mumble. I was at a loss to account for his amiability at first. Then two explanations occurred to me. I was ready to believe either or both, since neither reflected any credit on Emerson.
Money for excavation was hard to come by; a wealthy patron could relieve Emerson's anxieties in this area. Furthermore, it was as clear as print that Lucas was interested in Evelyn. His eyes seldom left her face, and he made no attempt to conceal his tender concern. Emerson must realize that Walter also loved the girl. He would not be pleased to lose his devoted acolyte; perhaps he meant Walter to marry well, in order to supply more funds for the gaping maw of his research. By encouraging a rival to his brother, he kept that brother under his callused thumb. My suspicions were confirmed when Emerson waxed positively jovial as he showed Lucas the camp. As for Lucas, he bubbled with enthusiasm and admiration. Nothing could be more charming! He could not imagine anything more delightful than camping out in an ancient tomb! The scenery was magnificent, the air was like wine, and- in short, you would have thought our meticulous lordship was rhapsodizing over a modern luxury hotel and a vista of wooded grandeur. He plied Emerson with questions; shook his head over the perfidy of Mohammed and the superstitions of the visitors; insisted on pressing the hand of the faithful Abdullah, who looked askance at this demonstration. The only thing he expressed doubt about was Michael.