"I shall be within ten feet of Evelyn the entire time," he said in a thrilling whisper, holding the gun so that no one outside our group could see it. "I think our bandaged friend will be deterred by the mere sight of this. If not, I have no scruples about using it."
"And what about me?" I asked.
Emerson was unable to ignore the opportunity.
"God help the poor mummy who encounters you, Peabody," he said bitterly. "We ought to supply it with a pistol, to even the odds."
So saying, he stalked away. He was followed by Walter. Lucas chuckled and rubbed his hands together.
"What an adventure! I can hardly wait!"
"Nor I," said Evelyn. "Amelia, will you not reconsider?"
"Certainly not," I said in a loud voice, and walked off with my head held stiffly. I did not like leaving them alone together, but I felt it wise to add to the impression of ill will. It would be helpful later, when Evelyn and I staged our quarrel.
It was a one-sided argument, for Evelyn could not even pretend to shout at me. I made up the deficiency, and ended the argument by storming out of our tomb with my pillow and counterpane under my arm. I carried them down the ledge and into the little tent Michael had been occupying. Any watcher might readily assume that Evelyn and I had had a falling out, and that I had refused to share our sleeping quarters.
I could not strike a light, since it would have been visible through the canvas walls of the tent. It was not an honest English tent, only a low shelter of canvas; I could not stand erect in it. Squatting on the sand which was the floor of the shelter, I thought seriously of the man who had been its occupant. I was not at all convinced that Michael had left of his own free will. Men are frail creatures, of course; one does not expect them to exhibit the steadfastness of women. All the same, I did not like having my judgment of Michael disproved, and I determined to search the tent in the hope of finding some clue. There was just enough light from without to show me that Michael's scanty possessions had been removed; but as I wriggled around, my fingers touched an object buried in the sand. I dug it out. I did not need to see the moonlight sparkling off its metallic surface to comprehend what it was. A crucifix. Part of the chain was still there, but only part. It had been snapped, not unfastened in the usual way.
My fingers closed tightly over the small object. Michael would never have left it; it was the only thing of value he owned, as well as an amulet against evil. The breaking of the chain confirmed my dread. It must have been snapped during a struggle.
Heedless of possible watchers, I crawled around the confined space searching for further clues, but found nothing. I was relieved; I had feared to find bloodstains.
So absorbed was I in the conjectures and suspicions which followed my discovery that time passed swiftly. A sound from without brought me back to myself. Stretching out flat, I lifted one edge of the canvas and peered out.
There was nothing to be seen- literally nothing. I had miscalculated, and I cursed my stupidity. The tent was behind a low ridge of tumbled stones that extended out from the cliff; I could not see the ledge, or the tomb entrances. This would never do. I must be in a position to assist Evelyn if the Mummy pursued her; and, in spite of my boasts, I did not really think it was after me. Squirming out from under the tent, I began to crawl forward. Before long I had reached the end of the rocky ridge and, rising to my knees, peered cautiously around it.
I pride myself on my self-possession; but I confess I almost let out a cry when I saw what stood beyond the ridge, only a few feet away. I had never seen it so close before. We claim to be rational, but there is a layer of primitive savagery in all of us. My brain sturdily denied superstition, but some deeply hidden weakness inside whimpered and cowered at the sight of the thing.
It was a grisly sight in the cold moonlight. In that clear, dry air the moon gives a queer, deceptive light; small details are visible in it, but shadows distort and deceive the eyes; the pallid glow robs objects of their real color and gives them a sickly grayish-green shade. The Mummy stood out as if faintly luminescent. The bandaged hands resembled a leper's stumps. The hands were raised as if in invocation; the creature stood not twenty feet away, with its back toward me. It faced the ledge, and the blind head was tilted back as if the eyeless sockets could see.
If Evelyn carried out our plan, she would shortly emerge from the tomb and start along the ledge. I expected her; I knew that mere were four strong, alert men bidden nearby. But when the slight white form appeared in the dark mouth of the tomb, I started as violently as if I had seen an actual spirit.
Evelyn stood for a moment staring up at the stars. I knew she was trying to gather her courage to leave the security of the ledge, and my heart went out to her. She could not see the Mummy. At the moment she emerged it had moved with horrid swiftness, sinking down behind a rock at the cliff's foot.
I have written that there were four defenders close at hand; but I was not absolutely certain of that fact. Despite Emerson's sneers, I am not a stupid woman. I had already considered an idea that must have occurred to my more intelligent readers, and as Evelyn turned and slowly began to descend, my brain rapidly reviewed this reasoning.
I had been impressed by Walter's insistence that Mohammed had not left the village on one occasion when we were visited by the Mummy. Moreover, much as I disliked agreeing with Emerson on any subject, I felt as he did, that the plot was un-Egyptian- if I may use that term. Not only was it too sophisticated for the crafty but uneducated mind of Mohammed, but it smacked quite strongly of European romanticism. It might have been invented by a reader of gothic novels, inspired by An Egyptian Princess and other fictional horrors.
If Mohammed was not the Mummy, who was? It is no wonder that a certain name came immediately to mind; for he had the shallow but fertile intelligence, the bizarre sense of humor that suited the plot.
I was fully aware of the objections to my theory. The greatest was the question of motive. Why should Lucas, Lord Ellesmere, go to such absurd extremes in order to frighten his cousin? Or was it I he was trying to frighten? However, I was not worried about this; Lucas's motives were beyond my comprehension, and I thought it possible that he had some insane notion of terrifying Evelyn into leaving Egypt and accepting his protection. He would never succeed, but he might not have sense enough to know that. The other objections were more difficult. Lucas might possibly have caught us up in time to play his role; we had dawdled and stopped along the way. But he could not have anticipated our stay at Amarna. It had been purely fortuitous, not known to him in advance.
Despite the objections, I clung to the notion of Lucas's villainy. The truth is, I wanted him to be a villain- a veritable crocodile, like the one in the ancient poem, that lay in wait for the lover seeking to win his sweetheart. A woman's instinct, I always feel, supercedes logic. So you may believe that I waited with considerable interest to see whether Lucas would appear to rescue Evelyn.
My heart beat in sympathy with the girl as she advanced along the path that led away from safety. She put on a good act of indifference; only once, as she passed the quarters of Walter and his brother, did she falter and glance aside. But she squared her shoulders and went on. She reached the bottom of the ledge and started out across the sand.
If she continued on the route she had chosen, she would pass too close to the Mummy for comfort. I wondered if I was the only one who knew the creature's precise location. I was not sure where the men lay concealed; perhaps they had not seen the thing. If so, it was incumbent on me to interfere before Evelyn went much farther. I did not know the creature's intentions. It would be shock enough if it merelyjumped out and began moaning and waving its arms. But suppose it tried to touch her? The horror of that, to a girl of Evelyn's sensitive temperament, would be dreadful. And yet if I moved too precipitately I might frighten the thing away before the men could seize it. I hesitated, in an agony of doubt.