Read Online The Mummy by Max Allan Collins - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Max Allan Collins
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brother . . . found your box . . .”
“Now I remember,” O’Connell said, nodding, smiling, and, shackled or not, the prisoner managed to throw a short, sharp right jab into Jonathan’s jaw. Pugilism had never been a long suit of Jonathan’s, and the punch dropped him to the ground. He sat there rubbing his jaw, not quite unconscious.
“At any rate,” Evelyn continued, “we found your puzzle box and we’ve come to ask you about it.”
O’Connell was looking at her with renewed interest. “I just decked your brother, you know.”
“Yes, well, and I’m sure he deserved it. He is my sibling; I would know.”
O’Connell half-smiled at her. “I guess you would at that, Evy.”
“That’s ‘Miss Carnahan,’ if you please. Now about the box—”
“Don’t you mean, about Hamanaptra?” White teeth flashed in the unshaven, deeply tanned face.
Jonathan, finally getting to his feet, brushing himself off, replacing his hat which had been knocked off, said, “Keep your voice down, man! The walls have ears.”
Actually, it was the scruffy hood-eyed guard standing in the cell with O’Connell who had ears, and while English may have been foreign to those ears, the word “Hamanaptra” might be all too familiar.
“What an interesting thing to say, Mr. O’Connell,” Evelyn said, coyly. “Whatever was it about that box that brought, uh, that mythical place to mind?”
“Maybe it was because I was at that mythical place when I found it.”
She blinked. “You were there?”
“Yeah, and if a caravan of diggers out of Cairo hadn’t stumbled across me in the desert, I wouldn’ta lived to tell the tale.”
Jonathan, jaw aching, feeling irritable toward the chap, snapped, “How do we know this isn’t a load of pig swallow?”
“Well, for one thing, I have no idea what pig swallow is. And for another, step over here near the bars again . . .”
“No thank you,” Jonathan said, taking a step back.
But Evelyn had no compunction about stepping near the bars, closer to the filthy prisoner. She asked, “You were there? At Hamanaptra?”
He flashed her another big grin. “I sure as hell was, lady. Seti’s joint. City of the Goddamned Dead.”
“You swear?”
“I’m afraid so—every goddamn day.”
She frowned in frustration. “No, no, what I mean to say is, do you take an oath that—”
“I know what you mean. I’m just pulling your leg. Or anyway, I’d like to . . .”
Her chin lifted, her gaze traveled to him down her fine nose. “You’re hardly in a position to make flirtatious remarks, Mr. O’Connell. This is strictly business.”
“Is it, now?”
“What did you find?”
“Sand. A lot of sand.”
“Well, then, what did you see?”
“Death. Lot of that, too. They aren’t kidding when they say that place is cursed.”
“Superstition, Mr. O’Connell, is the hallmark of the small mind. My interest is in research. My brother and I are Egyptologists.”
“Really? Well, then—I bet you’d like to go there. To Hamanaptra, I mean.”
Jonathan crossly said, “Will the two of you keep your voices down?”
Evelyn was very near the bars of the cage. “Could you tell me how to get there? The exact location?”
“Better than that. I’ll take you there.”
“But Mr. O’Connell—you are rather indisposed.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“Couldn’t you just tell us how to get there? Give us the exact location?”
“Have you opened the box?”
“Well, uh . . . yes we have.”
“Then you have the map.”
Evelyn glanced at her brother, who shrugged.
“About the map, old boy,” Jonathan said, keeping his distance, “I’m afraid there was a slight mishap—a portion of it was burned away . . . the, uh, portion including the particular site of interest, shall we say.”
“Come closer, Jonathan,” O’Connell said, crooking his finger, smiling tightly, “I can’t hear you . . .”
Jonathan stepped back a pace.
Evelyn said to the prisoner,
“Now I remember,” O’Connell said, nodding, smiling, and, shackled or not, the prisoner managed to throw a short, sharp right jab into Jonathan’s jaw. Pugilism had never been a long suit of Jonathan’s, and the punch dropped him to the ground. He sat there rubbing his jaw, not quite unconscious.
“At any rate,” Evelyn continued, “we found your puzzle box and we’ve come to ask you about it.”
O’Connell was looking at her with renewed interest. “I just decked your brother, you know.”
“Yes, well, and I’m sure he deserved it. He is my sibling; I would know.”
O’Connell half-smiled at her. “I guess you would at that, Evy.”
“That’s ‘Miss Carnahan,’ if you please. Now about the box—”
“Don’t you mean, about Hamanaptra?” White teeth flashed in the unshaven, deeply tanned face.
Jonathan, finally getting to his feet, brushing himself off, replacing his hat which had been knocked off, said, “Keep your voice down, man! The walls have ears.”
Actually, it was the scruffy hood-eyed guard standing in the cell with O’Connell who had ears, and while English may have been foreign to those ears, the word “Hamanaptra” might be all too familiar.
“What an interesting thing to say, Mr. O’Connell,” Evelyn said, coyly. “Whatever was it about that box that brought, uh, that mythical place to mind?”
“Maybe it was because I was at that mythical place when I found it.”
She blinked. “You were there?”
“Yeah, and if a caravan of diggers out of Cairo hadn’t stumbled across me in the desert, I wouldn’ta lived to tell the tale.”
Jonathan, jaw aching, feeling irritable toward the chap, snapped, “How do we know this isn’t a load of pig swallow?”
“Well, for one thing, I have no idea what pig swallow is. And for another, step over here near the bars again . . .”
“No thank you,” Jonathan said, taking a step back.
But Evelyn had no compunction about stepping near the bars, closer to the filthy prisoner. She asked, “You were there? At Hamanaptra?”
He flashed her another big grin. “I sure as hell was, lady. Seti’s joint. City of the Goddamned Dead.”
“You swear?”
“I’m afraid so—every goddamn day.”
She frowned in frustration. “No, no, what I mean to say is, do you take an oath that—”
“I know what you mean. I’m just pulling your leg. Or anyway, I’d like to . . .”
Her chin lifted, her gaze traveled to him down her fine nose. “You’re hardly in a position to make flirtatious remarks, Mr. O’Connell. This is strictly business.”
“Is it, now?”
“What did you find?”
“Sand. A lot of sand.”
“Well, then, what did you see?”
“Death. Lot of that, too. They aren’t kidding when they say that place is cursed.”
“Superstition, Mr. O’Connell, is the hallmark of the small mind. My interest is in research. My brother and I are Egyptologists.”
“Really? Well, then—I bet you’d like to go there. To Hamanaptra, I mean.”
Jonathan crossly said, “Will the two of you keep your voices down?”
Evelyn was very near the bars of the cage. “Could you tell me how to get there? The exact location?”
“Better than that. I’ll take you there.”
“But Mr. O’Connell—you are rather indisposed.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“Couldn’t you just tell us how to get there? Give us the exact location?”
“Have you opened the box?”
“Well, uh . . . yes we have.”
“Then you have the map.”
Evelyn glanced at her brother, who shrugged.
“About the map, old boy,” Jonathan said, keeping his distance, “I’m afraid there was a slight mishap—a portion of it was burned away . . . the, uh, portion including the particular site of interest, shall we say.”
“Come closer, Jonathan,” O’Connell said, crooking his finger, smiling tightly, “I can’t hear you . . .”
Jonathan stepped back a pace.
Evelyn said to the prisoner,
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