Tomb of the Golden Bird Read Free Page B

I realized that, like myself, he was curious about the gentleman's motives. "Ah," said Sir Malcolm. "I would give a great deal to have the firman for that area." Emerson shrugged and took out his watch. Sir Malcolm persisted. "I believe you are of the same mind. You attempted to persuade Carnarvon to give up the concession to you, did you not?" "Good Gad," said Emerson, his color rising. "Is there no end to gossip in this business? Where did you hear that?" "From an unimpeachable but necessarily anonymous source," said Sir Malcolm smoothly. "Come, Professor, let us not fence. You believe Carter will find a tomb—specifically, that of Tutankhamon. So do I." Emerson returned his watch to his pocket and stared fixedly at Sir Malcolm. After waiting in vain for a verbal reaction, Sir Malcolm was forced to continue. "Evidence of such a tomb exists. You know it and I know it. Theodore Davis believed he had found it, but he was wrong; that cache of miscellaneous objects was clearly leftover materials from Tutankhamon's burial. The statuette that was in your possession last year obviously came from his tomb. Tomb 55, the only other East Valley tomb of the same period, is directly across the way from the area Carter means to investigate." "I do know that," said Emerson impatiently. "But the evidence, such as it is, is irrelevant. Carnarvon has the concession, and that is that." Sir Malcolm leaned forward. "What if Lacau could be persuaded to revoke it?" There was a moment of silence. Then Emerson said softly, "By you?" "There are ways," Sir Malcolm murmured. "He wouldn't award it to me, but he could hardly deny an excavator of your reputation." "Supposing you could accomplish that," Emerson said, fingering the cleft in his chin. "What would you want in return?" "Only the right to share the expenses and the ...er...rewards," Sir Malcom said eagerly. "Emerson," I cried, unable to contain myself. "You would not enter into such an immoral—" "Hush, Peabody." Emerson raised a magisterial hand. "It seems to me, Sir Malcolm, that you are risking your influence on a very slim hope. Even if such a tomb exists, even if it is in the area in question, the likelihood is that it was looted in antiquity, like all the other royal tombs." "It's not much of a financial risk," Sir Malcolm declared. He thought he had won his case; his eyes shone with poorly concealed excitement. "You, of all men, know it doesn't cost all that much to excavate here. Wages are low and one can manage quite well without expensive equipment. Carnarvon may complain about getting a low return on his investment, but the return can't be measured in terms of objects found. It's the thrill of the hunt, the gamble!" For a moment Emerson's expressive countenance mirrored the enthusiasm that had transformed that of our visitor. Then he shook his head. "The return is in terms of knowledge gained. Your protestations would be more convincing, Sir Malcolm, if you were not known as a rabid collector. I cannot participate in such a scheme. I bid you good evening." Sir Malcolm rose to his feet. "I am staying here at the hotel and I can be reached at any time." "Good evening," said Emerson. Sir Malcolm smiled and shrugged, and started for the door. "Oh," he said, turning. "It nearly slipped my mind. It is common knowledge that you are shorthanded this year. I know a well-qualified fellow who—" "Good evening!" Emerson shouted. "Well," I exclaimed, after Ali had shown the gentleman out. "What effrontery! Does the man never know when to give up?" "He is a collector," said Emerson, in the same tone in which hemight have said, "He is a murderer." "And he is still smarting about losing the statuette to Vandergelt." The little golden statue, which had been temporarily in our hands the year before, was certainly enough to inspire the lust of any collector. An exquisitely fashioned image of a king, it had been identified (by us) as that of the young Tutankhamon, stolen from his tomb shortly after