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cliffs of western Thebes, and the Theban thieves are busier than before. If she must be found, better it should be by a scholar than by the local robbers; they will destroy what they cannot carry away, sell the treasures to any purchaser, scatter them to the far ends of the earth. You will give me your promise—your solemn oath." The hand that held the weapon had fallen to his side; he took a step closer to Emerson. "You will not allow her mummy to be violated. You will keep her funerary equipment intact and undamaged, treat her remains with reverence. Do you swear?"
    The deep, solemn tones echoed like a prayer, or a curse. Emerson shifted uneasily, but he met the other man's gaze straight on.
    "I cannot swear," he said. "If it were within my power, I would do precisely as you ask, though in all honesty I must tell you my motives would not be the same as yours. Such a find would be unique; scholarly principle would demand it be kept intact, guarded and carefully preserved. Your assessment is correct: if tomb robbers find it first, they will tear the mummy to pieces and destroy what they cannot carry off. It would be a tragedy in scientific terms.... Oh, good Gad, why am I wasting time in futile speculation? There is no such tomb, and even if there were, I could not give you my word, for mine would not be the ultimate decision."
    "You have said enough. You have spoken the truth. Few men would do that. And no man would fight to preserve her tomb as you would."
    "That is true," I said, for Emerson remained silent. "And you know, Emerson, there is a good chance we could succeed. As the excavators we would have certain claims to the contents of the tomb; if we gave up those rights to the Museum, in exchange for M. Maspero's promise that he would keep the objects all together—"
    "Oh, do be quiet, Peabody!" Emerson turned on me, glaring. My dear Emerson is never more handsome than when he is in a rage. His large white teeth were bared, his eyes glowed like the eastern sky when theapproach of night deepens the azure depths, his lean cheeks were becomingly flushed. Speechless with admiration (and with the impossibility of making myself heard over his bellowing), I gazed on him.
    "It is just like you to plan an entire campaign of action on the basis of a fantasy," Emerson went on bitterly. "My patience is running out, Saleh. I will give you"—he took out his watch—"precisely sixty seconds longer. If at the end of that time you have not produced something tangible to prove your claim, I will throw you out."
    Saleh had returned the pistol to his pocket. Coolly he resumed the chair he had abandoned and picked up his glass. "The ring is not proof enough?"
    Emerson snorted, and Saleh went on, irony coloring his voice, "Not to a mind as rigidly logical as yours, I suppose. What would satisfy your requirements?"
    "Precise directions," Emerson replied promptly. "The entrance must be well hidden or it would have been found before this. There are many acres of rough, broken ground in the region you mentioned."
    "I thought you would say that." Saleh had finished his whiskey. Placing the glass on the table, he reached into his pocket and took out a folded piece of paper. "I was told ... I ..."
    His voice broke in a horrible, rattling gurgle. One hand went to his throat; the other clenched, crumpling the paper it held. Emerson jumped forward, but he was too late; a violent, convulsive movement threw the stranger out of the chair and onto the floor.
    "Get back, Peabody," Emerson said, reinforcing the suggestion with a sharp shove. I got back in time to avoid a kick from the recumbent man; his limbs thrashed in uncontrolled, tetanic spasms that jerked his body back and forth, as if he were performing some prone and primitive dance. Emerson threw himself onto the writhing body and interrupted his eloquent curses long enough to gasp instructions. "Fetch a doctor, Peabody—go yourself, don't—damnation!—Captain Cartright or—oh, good