Free The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog by Elizabeth Peters Page B

Emerson, brooding over the map, spoke for the first time.

"I don't believe we want to go south of Luxor, do we? Unless there is some site between there and Assuan that you yearn for."

"None that comes to mind. The Theban area offers a number of interesting possibilities, however."

We had decided to breakfast in our room, for the sake of greater privacy and also because Emerson did not want to get dressed to go downstairs. His shirt was open at the throat and his sleeves had been pushed up to the elbows, the sight of him lounging at ease, long legs stretched out, a pipe in one hand and a pen in the other, almost distracted me from the matter at hand. Unaware of my affectionate regard, he shoved the map at me. "Have a look, Peabody. I have marked my choices, add or subtract as you like."

"I think I had better subtract," I said, looking at the emphatic crosses that marked the map. "We must narrow the possibilities down to half a dozen or less. Beni Hassan, for instance, would not be my first choice."

Emerson groaned feelingly. "The tombs have deteriorated badly since I first saw them. They need to be copied"

"That can be said of almost every site you have marked."

So the discussion proceeded,- after a refreshing hour or so we had reduced the list to three—Meidum, Annarna and western Thebes— and I had agreed to Emerson's suggestion that we inspect the sites before making a final decision.

"It is still early in the season," he reminded me. "And we have not had the leisure to play tourist for several years. I would like to have a look at the tomb Loret found last year. He has left some of the mummies there, bloody fool that he is."

"Language, Emerson," I said automatically. "It would be nice to see the dear old Valley of the Kings again. What do you say we start with Meidum, since we are in the neighborhood?"

"Hardly in the neighborhood. Admit it, Peabody, you favor Meidum because there is a pyramid."

"We must start somewhere. After Meidum we could— "

A knock at the door interrupted me. The safragi entered, carrying a bouquet of flowers. I had already received several floral offerings from our guests of the previous evening, M. Maspero's was the largest and most extravagant. All the vases were in use, so I sent the servant out to find another while I admired the pretty arrangement of roses and mimosa.

"No red roses?" Emerson inquired with a smile. "I don't allow you to accept red roses from gentlemen, Peabody."

In the language of flowers, red roses signify passionate love. It was reassuring to hear him speak jestingly of a subject that had once driven him into a jealous rage. So I told myself, at any rate.

"They are white," I replied rather shortly. "I wonder who . . Ah, here is a card. Mr. Vincey! A gentlemanly gesture, upon my word. I hardly had a chance to speak to him. By the by, Emerson, I have been meaning to ask you— what was the disgraceful business you referred to?"

"The Nimrud treasure. You must have read of it."

"I do remember seeing newspaper accounts, but that was some years ago, before I took a personal interest in archaeology. The cache was a rich one— gold and silver vessels, jewelry and the like, it was sold, as I recall, to the Metropolitan Museum."

"Correct. What the newspapers did not report, because they are well aware of the laws of libel, was that Vincey was suspected of being the agent through whom the museum acquired the collection. He was excavating at Nimrud for Schamburg, the German millionaire"

"You mean he found the gold and did not report the discovery to his patron or the local authorities?
How shocking!"

"Shocking indeed, but not necessarily illegal. The laws regarding the disposition of antiquities and the ownership of buried treasure were even more undefined then than they are today In any case, nothing could be proved. If Vincey did peddle the loot to the Metropolitan, he did it through an intermediary,
and the museum was no more anxious than he to explain the