The Mummy Case
professionally. Our interests had taken us elsewhere. I had not realized how I yearned to explore a pyramid until I found I could not.
    " Abusir," I said. "Emerson, what about Abusir? The pyramids there are much decayed, but they are pyramids."
    "We will dig at Mazghunah," said Emerson. He said it very quietly, but his chin protruded in a manner I knew well. Emerson's chin is one of his most seductive features. When it jutted out in that particular fashion, however, I had to repress a desire to strike it smartly with my clenched fist.
    "The remains of the pyramid at Zawaiet el 'Aryan," I persisted. "Maspero failed to enter it ten years ago. We might find the entrance he missed."
    Emerson was visibly tempted. He would love to do Maspero or any other archaeologist one better. But after a moment he shook his head. "We will dig at Mazghunah," he repeated. "I have my reasons, Amelia."
    "And I know what they are. They do you no credit, Emerson. If you intend—"
    Crossing the room in a few long strides, he stopped my mouth with his. "I will make it up to you, Peabody," he murmured. "I promised you pyramids, and pyramids you will have. In the meantime, perhaps this..."
    Being unable to articulate, I gestured wordlessly at the doorconnecting our room to the next. Ramses had retired thither, purportedly to give John an Arabic lesson. The murmur of their voices, broken now and again by a chuckle from John, bore out the claim.
    With a hunted look at the door, my husband released me. "When will this torment end?" he cried, clutching his hair with both hands.

Ramses' voice broke off for a moment and then continued.
    "John should be able to resume his duties tomorrow," I said.
    "Why not tonight?" Emerson smiled meaningfully.
    "Well... Good heavens," I exclaimed. "I had forgotten. We have a rendezvous this night, Emerson. The distressing news quite shook it out of my head."
    Emerson sat down on the bed. "Not again," he said. "You promised me, Amelia___What are you up to now?"
    I told him what had transpired at the bazaar. Little gasps and cries escaped his lips as I proceeded, but I raised my voice and went on, determined to present him with a connected narrative. At the end I produced the scrap of papyrus.
    "Obviously Abd el Atti was lying when he claimed he had no papyri," I said. "To be sure, this is Coptic, but—"
    Emerson pushed the fragment aside. "Precisely. Walter is not interested in Coptic; that is the language of Christian Egypt."
    "I am well aware of that, Emerson. This fragment proves—"
    "You had no business going to that fat scoundrel. You know what I think of—"
    "And you know that the dealers are likely to have the best manuscripts. I promised Walter—"
    "But this is not—"
    "Where there is one scrap there must be a papyrus. I—"
    "I told you—"
    "I am convinced—"
    "You—"
    "You—"
    By this time we were both on our feet and our voices had risen considerably. I make no apologies for my exasperation.
    Emerson would try the patience of a saint. He loses his temper on the slightest provocation.
    We broke off speaking at the same time, and Emerson began pacing rapidly up and down the room. In the silence the rise and fall of Ramses' voice went placidly on.
    Finally Emerson left off pacing. Rapid movement generally calms him, and I will do him the justice to admit that although he is quick to explode, he is equally quick to regain his temper. I smoothed his ruffled locks. "I told Abd el Atti we would come to the shop tonight."
    "So you said. What you failed to explain is why the devil I should put myself out for the old rascal. There are other things I would rather do tonight."
    His eyes sparkled significantly as he looked at me, but I resisted the appeal. "He is desperately afraid of something or someone, Emerson. I believe he is involved in the illicit antiquities business."
    "Well, of course he is, Peabody. All of them are."
    "I am referring, Emerson, to the recent, unprecedented flood of stolen objects you and

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