The Mummy Case (Amelia Peabody)
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Radcliffe Emerson, the irascible husband of fellow archaeologist and Egyptologist Amelia Peabody, has earned the nickname "Father of Curses"—and at Mazghunah he demonstrates why. Denied permission to dig at the pyramids of Dahshoor, he and Amelia are resigned to excavating mounds of rubble in the middle of nowhere. And there is nothing in the barren area worthy of their interest—until an antiquities dealer is murdered in his own shop. A second sighting of a sinister stranger from the crime scene, a mysterious scrap of papyrus, and a missing mummy case have all whetted Amelia's curiosity. But when the Emersons start digging for answers in an ancient tomb, events take a darker and deadlier turn—and there may be no surviving the very modern terrors their efforts reveal.
window. Was it rescue—reinforcements? No. It was David, wild-eyed and pale with fright. We could not count on assistance from him. Emerson saw him too, and with the brilliance that always marks his actions, seized the only possible advantage from his presence. "Look there, at the window," he cried. As Ezekiel turned, Emerson leaped. The gun went off. The bullet struck harmlessly into the ceiling. David shrieked and vanished. John jumped to his feet and promptly sat down again as his knees gave
more closely. It certainly appeared to be in good health and spirits. In a purely investigative manner, to check the condition of its fur, I tickled the back of its head. "I am training it to hunt for itself," Ramses explained, dragging the loathsome morsel across the cub's rounded stomach. Apparently it had had enough to eat, for it ignored the meat and began licking my fingers. "What are you going to do with it?" Emerson inquired, sitting down on the floor. The cub transferred its attentions
in a sheet." My dear Emerson was himself again, and I was happy to accede to this reasonable request. "Certainly, my dear," I replied. "John, take the young lady to your room." The girl shrieked and resumed her struggles. "It is the only room fit for habitation that is presently available," I explained, somewhat irritated at this excessive display of sensibility. "Wait a moment until I find my slippers and I will accompany you. Curse it, where are they?" "Madam!" John exclaimed. "You will
absorbed in that wonderful story, Professor. I was not expecting anyone—" "Bah!" Emerson exclaimed. "Doesn't your creed tell you that lying is a sin, Miss Charity?" "It was the truth, sir." "A half-truth at best. This village is no longer safe, child. Can't you persuade your brother to go elsewhere?" The girl lifted her head. "You see what we are doing here, sir. Can we admit defeat—can we abandon these helpless infidels?" I caught the eye of one of the infidels, who was peeking at us from
considered de Morgan a serious suspect, of course. I felt a little uncomfortable searching the place, but told myself that all is fair in love, war and detective work. I then put my head in the next tent, which was presumably occupied by Prince Kalenischeff, but it was even more barren of clues. In fact, it was bare. There was no sign of his personal possessions. I found Emerson squatting by one of M. de Morgan's tunnels, peering into the depths and lecturing the foreman. "Look at this,