“So what have we here?” he asked—of Emerson.

  Glancing at Emerson as if for support, Howard said, “The lower strata of rubble from the stairwell contain potsherds and inscribed scraps. Ramses has—er—we have found the name of Tutankhamon, but also those of several other pharaohs, including Akhenaton.”

  “A cache, then,” Engelbach said coolly. “Containing several burials.”

  “Or the remains of them,” said Emerson. “Those broken pieces suggest the tomb was robbed in antiquity, and that a number of objects were removed before the necropolis priests resealed it.”

  Engelbach nodded thoughtfully. “Like KV55. Let’s have a look, then.”

  He remained, watching, while the men cleared the last few feet of debris from the bottom of the stairwell. Additional scraps of funerary equipment were found—a certain sign that some objects had been removed from the tomb before the steps were filled in. After inspecting these, and the seals on the door, Engelbach glanced at his watch.

  “I must be off. You will of course notify me as you proceed. Let us hope,” he added, with a sharp look at Howard, “that this discovery won’t be botched as was the excavation of KV55.”

  Botched it unquestionably had been, by the elderly American dilettante Theodore Davis, whose dictatorial control had made it virtually impossible for his archaeological assistant to follow the rules of proper excavation. We had been helpless observers of the havoc wrought by Davis, the mention of whose name still brought a snarl from Emerson. He was equally incensed with the inspector of the time, Arthur Weigall, who had been far less strict with the old American than he ought to have been. Rex Engelbach wouldn’t make that mistake.

  “You can count on Carter to do the job right,” Emerson said fairly.

  “I feel certain he appreciates your advice, Professor,” said Engelbach.

  I didn’t feel at all certain about it. Emerson’s compliment had left Howard unmoved; he bit his lip and looked daggers at the inspector. Engelbach tipped his hat politely to the ladies and went off.

  “Well,” said Emerson, rubbing his hands together, “there are several more hours of daylight left. Shall we get at it?”

  “By all means,” Carter cried, too excited to resent Emerson’s bland assumption of participation.

  “I am surprised at you,” said I, having been in receipt of a pointed look from Ramses. “Both of you. There is not enough light for proper photography, and removing the blocks without damaging the seals will take time.”

  “Bah,” exclaimed Emerson. “That is—er—quite right, Peabody. Curse it,” he added morosely.

  Accepting the fact that nothing more could be done that day, Carnarvon agreed to go home and was led off by Lady Evelyn. The rest of us followed his example.

  “I am surprised at Rex Engelbach’s disinterest,” I said, as Emerson and I left the Valley. “He was rather rude to Howard, I thought.”

  “Snobbery,” said Emerson. “He looks down on Carter because of his lower-class origins, and so do many other Egyptologists. He’d rather someone else made a great discovery.” After a moment he added grudgingly, “The excavation couldn’t be in better hands.”

  Except yours, I thought. I gave the arm I held an affectionate squeeze, in silent acknowledgment of his nobility of character.

  Howard was something of an amateur photographer himself, but on this occasion he was happy to accept the services of Nefret and Selim. We were all on hand early the following morning, and the job was well underway when Lord Carnarvon and Lady Evelyn arrived.

  Every square inch of the doorway was photographed and then the blocking stones were taken down one by one, with the greatest possible care. The men at once began removing the stone chips that filled the passage beyond. Its dimensions were obviously those of a passage, not a chamber, but since its length was unknown, it was impossible to determine how long this process would take. As the afternoon wore on, additional disquieting evidences of disturbance appeared—scraps of pottery and of leather (the remnants of bags brought by the thieves to carry away valuable oils) in the lowest levels. At sunset there was no end in sight and Howard decided to stop for the day.

  We were all on hand the following morning, and so was Mr. Callender, Howard’s friend. Whence he had acquired the name of Pecky I did not know; absurd nicknames would seem to be a British failing. He was an engineer and architect, not an Egyptologist, and Emerson greeted him with a certain reserve.

  “If he is an example of the assistants Carter intends to employ, I do not approve,” my husband muttered to me.

  “Howard is not dependent on your approval,” I reminded him. “Do not be premature, Emerson. We do not yet know what sort of assistance may be required.”

  Hour after hour the basket men carried up their loads. The corridor lengthened. Fifteen feet, twenty feet, twenty-five…At last, in mid-afternoon, the top of another sealed doorway appeared. The clearance was halted while Ramses and Howard examined what they could see of the door.

  “It’s like the outer door,” Ramses reported. “It has been breached at least twice, and the openings refilled and resealed.”

  “Never mind,” Howard said, wiping the dust from his perspiring face. “Let’s get the entire door exposed.”

  The weary men went back to work. “What’s he so cheerful about?” I asked Emerson.

  Hands in his pockets, eyes intent on the cutting, Emerson said, “The contents of an unrobbed tomb belong in their entirety to the Antiquities Department. It took a while for that to dawn on him.”

  “Ah, I see. So if this tomb has been entered—”

  “The discoverers may expect a division of the remaining contents.”

  The next hour dragged interminably. Howard stood by smoking one cigarette after another. At last the entire doorway was exposed. Carter and Carnarvon went down, accompanied by Lady Evelyn and Mr. Callender. No one else was invited, but I felt it my duty to follow; in my opinion Howard was on the verge of nervous collapse and Carnarvon was in even worse case. They might require immediate medical attention.

  Beyond the light entering from the stairwell the descending corridor was extremely dark. I crept along, feeling my way with a hand resting on the wall. Ahead I could see the lights of electric torches moving to and fro. Then Howard’s voice, soft, but amplified by echoes, reached me. “There’s empty space beyond, as far as the iron testing rod reaches.”

  So he had drilled a hole in the door. I stopped, my hand resting on the wall, my heart beating fast. I hoped Howard would have sense enough to use a candle to test for noxious air before widening the hole. A mutter of conversation, of which I heard only a few words, indicated that he had. It was followed by the sound of metal rubbing against stone. He was enlarging the hole.

  A period of silence followed. Then came Carnarvon’s voice, sharpened by suspense. “Well? Can you see anything?”

  I crept a little closer, trying to move quietly. I could make out their shapes, crowded close to the doorway. Callender’s bulky form almost hid the slimmer frame of Lady Evelyn. The other men stood next to them, so close that they resembled the shape of a single, monstrous creature.

  “Well?” Carnarvon repeated. “Here…let me look.”

  I think he gave Howard a shove. Howard fell back and Carnarvon took his place. A loud, wordless cry from Carnarvon finally aroused a response from Howard. “Wonderful! Marvelous things, wonderful things!”

  I blush to admit that I so lost control of myself as to exclaim, “What?” However, my voice was drowned out by those of the others. Lady Evelyn had replaced her father and was emitting little shrieks; Callender kept bellowing, as I had, “What? What?” Carter and Carnarvon uttered broken ejaculations of disbelief.

  Then came that magic word: “Gold!” It came from Lord Carnarvon. He was again looking in the hole, describing to the others in incoherent phrases what he saw. I listened for a few minutes and then crept quietly up the corridor. It was some time before Howard and the others returned to the top of the stairs.

  All the world knows what they saw through that small hole; but the first impression was so overwhelming and, let me add, the view so limited, that it is no wonder their description was confused. Howard kept repeating, “Wonderful things! Marvelous things!” Lady Evelyn embraced her father and Howard alternately (and once hugged Ramses—I think by mistake). Eyes glazed, Carnarvon could only murmur the word “gold,” over and over.

  When Emerson asked politely if we might have a look for ourselves, I don’t believe Lord Carnarvon heard him. Nor do I believe Emerson would have heard a refusal. Emerson and I, Nefret and Ramses therefore proceeded. We took it in turn to peer through the small opening, passing the torch from hand to hand.

  At first glance it looked like Ali Baba’s cave, filled with a bewildering jumble of gleaming objects. It took a while for the eye to sort them out and for the trained mind to interpret them. From that first look I remember only the huge funerary couch, with the head of some fabulous beast, gilded and painted, on which rested various objects. Under it were piled boxes and pots.

  The others had their turns. When we went up, Howard turned to Emerson with an eager “Well?”

  “Remarkable,” said Emerson, stroking his chin. “You’ve months of work ahead of you, Carter. More, if there are other rooms beyond this one.”

  He was the calmest of us all. Even Ramses’s normally composed countenance betrayed the wonder he felt. Lord Carnarvon had collapsed into a camp chair and was being fanned by his daughter.

  “There must be other rooms,” Howard exclaimed. “There is another doorway.”

  “I saw it,” said Emerson. “Naturally you will notify Engelbach before you do anything more.”

  Howard’s bow tie was askew, his shirt streaked with dust, his hair standing on end. “Yes,” he said. “Yes. Notify. Tomorrow?”

  “We will be happy to join you,” said Emerson graciously.

  At Howard’s order, a wooden grille had been set in place at the beginning of the entrance corridor. We watched him close the padlock and then rode homeward. When we neared the house, to see its hospitable lights shining through the gathering dusk, Emerson roused himself from a brown study.

  “I hope Fatima has put dinner back. I could do with a whiskey and soda.”

  “It isn’t that late,” I said. “So much has happened that the day seemed longer than usual.”

  We had missed tea. I deduced that the children had been taken off to bed, since the dog was not couchant in front of the door to the veranda. However, the seats in that room were occupied. Sethos was there, of course, his countenance bland as ever. Nor was I surprised to see Cyrus. With his customary delicacy he had refrained from intruding on Howard’s activities, but I knew he would be burning with curiosity. The others were there too—Suzanne and Nadji, Bertie and Jumana.

  “You’ll have to excuse us,” Cyrus said sheepishly. “We’ve been hearing rumors. About a room piled high with gold.”

  “Already?” Nefret exclaimed.

  “You need not apologize,” I said, clasping his hand warmly. “Emerson, will you serve the whiskey?”

  I then launched into a tale that held my audience spellbound.

  “He’s found it, then,” Nadji exclaimed. “Tutankhamon. Not a cache?”

  “So it would appear,” Ramses replied. He had taken a seat next to Nefret, “I was able to make out a few cartouches on various objects. They were all those of Tutankhamon and his wife.”

  That was more than I had been able to make out, but Ramses’s keen eyesight and remarkable memory were legendary in Egypt. At Cyrus’s request he drew a rough sketch of what he had seen through the small opening, explaining as he went along. “Directly opposite the door was a funerary couch, in the shape of the Hathor cow. Piled on top of it were an ordinary bed with animal legs, a wicker chair, several stools, and a wooden box. Under it were a number of white-painted ovoid boxes, probably containing food offerings, and in front of them two rectangular wooden boxes and a pair of what seems to be footstools. To the right I made out the tail of what may be another funerary couch, and to the left the head of a third, in the shape of a hippopotamus. I’m not much of an artist,” he finished modestly. “The place was in complete disarray.”

  Emerson had lit his pipe. Now he took it from between his teeth. “The tomb was robbed, right enough. The thieves tossed the objects about looking for small valuables. The priests who set the place in order afterward were in a hurry.”

  “We knew the tomb had been robbed at least once,” I said. “The golden statuette we found last year and the confession of the thief prove that.”

  “Twice,” Ramses said. “There is evidence of at least two breaches in the door.”

  “They couldn’t have stolen any large objects, if the holes were the size you describe,” Cyrus said shrewdly. “What an incredible find! Even if the tomb was robbed, most of the funerary goods are still there. When is Carter taking the inner door down?”

  “Tomorrow, I believe,” I said.

  “I sure admire his patience,” Cyrus said, shaking his head. “I’d have been at it all night.”

  “I would give anything to be there,” Suzanne exclaimed.

  The lamps swung in a sudden puff of wind, sending strange shadows across the intent faces. No one answered Suzanne’s implied request; but Jumana turned her head to look at the other young woman. If Suzanne got into that tomb before she did, there would be trouble, and to spare. Bertie cleared his throat and looked hopeful, but dared venture no further. After his first ejaculation of wonder, Nadji had relapsed into silence.

  Fatima came to the doorway—or rather, since I knew she had been eavesdropping, she showed herself in the doorway. “Dinner is served,” she announced.

  “Will you stay?” I asked Cyrus.

  “No, no, we’ve imposed enough already. Will we see you in the West Valley tomorrow? Emerson?”

  “What?” said Emerson.

  “I doubt it,” I said. “But you may be sure we will keep you informed.”

  Dinner was a silent meal. We were all tired, even Emerson, who sat hunched over his plate and who had to be reminded from time to time to put food in his mouth. For once Sethos spoke very little. His abstracted expression reawakened suspicions I had tried to dismiss. There was something on his mind, something of which he preferred not to speak.

  Instead of joining us for coffee in the sitting room, Nefret excused herself.

  “I’m awfully tired, and I want to look in on the twins.”

  “Allow me to see you home,” Ramses said, offering his arm.

  She laughed a little, and yawned. “There’s no need, darling. I’m going straight to bed.”

  Ramses said something in a low voice; she laughed again. “Thank you, kind sir.”

  I smiled to myself and thought how nice it was to see them so devoted. Ramses had not allowed the thrill of the tomb to let him forget his familial obligations. They went out arm in arm, his dark head bent devotedly toward her. The little byplay passed right by Emerson. He did not even respond to Nefret’s soft good night. I attempted a few conversational advances, getting no more response than Nefret had, and then decided to abandon indirection.

  “What is it now?” I demanded. “Your preoccupation arouses the direst of suspicions, Emerson. I do hope you are not planning something underhanded. If you have some idea of breaking into that tomb—”

  Slowly, like a hunched vulture spreading folded wings, Emerson straightened his shoulders and got to his feet. The look he fixed on me was so dreadful, my tongue froze.

  My unpredictable brother-in-law burst out laughing. “It took you long enough, I must say. I was afraid I would have to mention the possibility myself.”

  “You did,” I cried, as realization dawned. “They will wait until the passage is cleared, you said. Good heavens!”

  “Not a possibility,” Emerson muttered. “A probability. They will. Of course they will. And they may not be the only ones.”

  “She did go straight to bed,” said Ramses, in the doorway. “So I decided to come back for…Is something wrong?”

  Emerson whirled on him. “Come with me. At once.”

  Accustomed though he was to his father’s eccentricities, this order caused Ramses’s dark eyes to widen and his heavy brows to rise. “Where?”

  “The Valley, of course.” Emerson pushed past him. “Hurry.”

  “Wait for me,” I cried, dropping my embroidery. Grinning, Sethos rose to his feet.

  “Wait for me,” I repeated, this time to Ramses. Emerson had left.

  I dashed down the corridor to my room. My belongings were in perfect order as always, so I was able to lay my hands on the objects I wanted without delay. My parasol, of course, and two electric torches; there was not time for a change of clothing, nor even for the assumption of my useful belt of tools. (It took a certain amount of adjustment because of the tendency of the objects hanging from it to become entangled.) Hoping I would not need it, I hastened back to the sitting room. Sethos and Ramses had obeyed my order to wait.

  “Does this mean what I think it does?” Ramses demanded.

  “Yes. Perhaps. Cursed if I know,” I said, rendered incoherent by confusion. Sethos had spoken of robbers attacking the tomb. Had Emerson been referring to another group of intruders?

  A distant bellow from Emerson propelled us into rapid motion. “He isn’t planning to break into the tomb,” I panted, trotting to keep up with Ramses’s long strides. “At least I don’t think so. I more or less accused him of it, and he said…He said something like, ‘Of course they will, and so may others.’”

  “Damnation,” said Ramses. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  Sethos cleared his throat in a pointed manner.

  We were soon mounted and on our way. I must have made a pretty picture riding astride with the skirts of my frock hitched up to my knees and my hair coming loose from its pins. I did not allow these minor inconveniences to distract me, for I was preoccupied with what might lie ahead of us.