CHAPTER XVII.

MR. TAWWAB COMES TO TERMS

“In my opinion,” said Professor Blackwell, “the whole thing might be

described as a demonstration.”

John Cumberland nodded.

“I agree with you,” said he.

“You are right,” Danbazzar confirmed, “and we’ll have proof of it in

the next few hours.”

“In what form?” Barry asked.

“A visit from Mr. Ahmed Tawwab!”

Danbazzar tensed his lips, looking fiercely from face to face. The

anxious night was ended, and in the light of early morning this was a

somewhat haggard company. Danbazzar with Hassan es-Sugra had been up

onto the crest and had explored the Farshût caravan road for some

five miles northwest of the camp, but had found no trace of the Arabs.

It was possible that they were still somewhere in the vicinity, but

Danbazzar considered this unlikely.

“We’ll drive right on!” he boomed. “I wouldn’t check now for a million

dollars! The work below can’t be heard in the valley, and all we have

to watch for is that we’re not seen coming or going.”

“Mahmoud tells me that two or three of the men are nervous,” said

Barry.

“What about?” his father inquired--“the Arabs?”

“Yes.”

“They’d better keep their nerves out of sight!” roared Danbazzar’s

great voice. “If Hassan sees any signs of nerves he’ll knock stars out

of them!”

“A most surprising character,” Professor Blackwell murmured.

“He’s the most efficient headman, sir,” Danbazzar assured him, “at

this kind of work that ever came out of Egypt. We’re surely lucky to

have him.”

“Quite!” said the Professor. “I quite agree.”

Mahmoud, grinning cheerfully, appeared with steaming coffee, and as

the sun crept up into the sky the vapours of the night disappeared.

Triumph was in sight. The discovery of the granite sarcophagus, alone,

in John Cumberland’s opinion justified the expedition.

“Even if it were empty,” said he, “its existence confirms the

authenticity of the papyrus.”

“It won’t be empty,” Danbazzar asserted confidently. “That lid has

never been moved since a Rameses reigned in these parts. When early

tomb robbers have been at work, it’s generally found smashed.

Certainly they would never have taken the trouble to put it back

again.”

“There is another possibility,” Professor Blackwell interrupted. “I

believe it was Dr. Rittenburg who mentioned it: the possibility that

the story of Princess Zalithea was merely a sort of religious

ceremonial. I am disposed to share his theory. I seem to recall that

no bull has ever been found in the Apis mausoleum. The sarcophagi are

all empty.”

John Cumberland, behind the speaker’s back, pulled a wry face.

“True enough, Blackwell,” he admitted; “but then the lids had all been

moved!”

“Quite, quite!” the Professor said. “The parallel is not exact, I

agree.”

“There’s no damned parallel at all!” boomed Danbazzar. “Inside this

granite sarcophagus there’s a wooden sarcophagus, and in that there’s

a mummy!”

“How long will it take to remove the other blocks?” Barry asked

excitedly.

“We ought to be in to-night!” was the reply. “It’s an easy job. That

doorway was only temporarily walled up--as we might have expected.”

“And what about lifting the lid?”

“We have a set of jacks for the purpose, Barry,” his father replied.

“They are in the cases that were shipped from Birmingham to Port Said.

It is this sort of heavy gear that makes our position so dangerous. If

Mr. Tawwab saw those jacks, for instance----”

“Quite!” said Professor Blackwell, and poured out another cup of

coffee, to which he added a finger of rum.

Danbazzar had brought some mail across from Luxor, including a cable

for Barry from Jim Sakers, which had infuriated the former to the very

limits of endurance. It was conceived as follows:

Called on Mr. Brown yesterday afternoon. Door was opened by Princess.

Recognized description. Height five eight. Age fifty-two. Weight

thirteen ten. She carried a rolling pin at beginning of interview and

threw it at end of same. Congratulations.

Jim.

There was also a letter from Aunt Micky touching briefly upon the

principal causes of dysentery in hot climates and emphasizing the

claims of Vichy water as a dentifrice. There was much home chat about

mutual friends, and then a brief postscript which read:

Avoid Nile boils. I had one on my honeymoon.

Barry hurried back to the excavation, his father accompanying him.

Danbazzar had a number of arrangements to make in regard to the

transport of necessary implements to the tomb, and it was considered

desirable that one representative of the party should remain in camp.

Therefore Professor Blackwell remained.

And so it happened that late in the afternoon, while the Professor sat

in the shade before his tent, studying through a magnifying glass a

number of small bones from the arm of a mummy, neatly arranged upon a

sheet of white paper, he started suddenly and looked up from his task.

The cause of his disturbance was a distant shot. It came from

somewhere between the camp and Kurna, and ordinarily it would not have

aroused especial interest. This morning it had a particular meaning.

Professor Blackwell placed the specimens inside the tent, and,

standing up, clapped his hands sharply. An Arab appeared from the

kitchen. In the absence of Mahmoud, who was a specialist in the kind

of work now going forward in the tomb of Zalithea, this man was

preparing the midday meal. But he had other duties; and, as he saluted

the Professor:

“Danbazzar Effendi!” said the latter, and pointed southwest.

The Arab saluted again and set off at a steady trot along the _wâdi_.

Professor Blackwell peered into the kitchen. He found nothing more

formidable going forward than the slow stewing of a sort of vegetable

ragout; and so he contentedly lighted his pipe, which had gone out.

Already the morning was uncomfortably hot, and Professor Blackwell’s

costume must have occasioned some little comment had he seen fit to

wear it before a class of students at Columbia. It consisted of canvas

shoes, B.V.D’s and a sun helmet. The more exposed parts of his person

presented a glistening appearance, occasioned by the presence of a

certain pungent oil with which he anointed himself against the onset

of mosquitoes and sand flies.

About half an hour later Danbazzar appeared, followed by the Arab

messenger. His was a picturesque and attractive figure. His great

height and breadth of shoulder appeared to best advantage in such

attire as he wore now: A very clean white shirt with sleeves rolled up

above the elbow, the low pointed collar unbuttoned, white breeches,

and tan riding boots. He wore also a soft felt hat, wide brimmed,

light gray in colour, and he held a cigar between his small,

strong-looking teeth.

“You got the signal?” he asked abruptly.

Professor Blackwell nodded.

“Half an hour ago,” he replied.

“Then we can expect him almost any time,” said Danbazzar.

“Have you got everything ready to be moved up to the tomb?” the

Professor asked.

“Yes.” Danbazzar nodded. “I’m only waiting to get the measure of

Tawwab. Then I’ll shoot it all along.”

They were apparently deep in conversation and quite unaware of the

presence of any stranger, when presently Ahmed Tawwab strolled into

the _wâdi_. He was smoking a cigarette and looking about him, as one

who lounges in Bond Street, or idly glances at the notices in the

lobby of his club.

Danbazzar suddenly saw him, and:

“Why! Mr. Tawwab!” he exclaimed, and jumped up. “Look, Professor,

who’s here!”

“Surely, Mr. Tawwab?” the Professor murmured. “How fortunate you find

us at home!”

Mr. Tawwab agreed that Fate had indeed been very kind, coffee was

prepared, and a perfectly meaningless conversation began. After a long

time:

“Mr. Cumberland and your other young friend will be returning

shortly?” Mr. Tawwab inquired.

“Probably in an hour or so,” Danbazzar assured him. “They are visiting

one of the more interesting tombs.”

“Ah! the tombs--Yes. I thought they might be shooting.”

“Shooting?” Danbazzar echoed. “No, I don’t think so; not this

morning.”

“I thought I heard a shot,” Mr. Tawwab explained, “down on the edge of

the swampy ground, to the left of the road. You know the spot I mean?”

“Quite!” murmured Professor Blackwell. “Quite! It might have been one

of our fellows after quail.”

“Sure it might,” Danbazzar agreed. “We’re devils for poultry in this

camp.”

“You are wise, however, in delaying your departure,” said the

Egyptian.

“How is that?” Professor Blackwell asked politely.

“Well,” Mr. Tawwab extended his palms apologetically, “it is not to

our credit to say so, but the whole of the country west of the Nile,

from here across to Farshût or even further north, is in a somewhat

disturbed condition. In fact”--he sighed reflectively--“the Mudîr, I

am sure, would feel more happy if you would return to Luxor.”

“That would cheer him up, would it?” said Danbazzar.

“It would be most agreeable to him,” Mr. Tawwab assured the speaker.

“Much as we are indebted for the offer,” said Danbazzar gravely, “I

fear that to return to Luxor would interfere with our plans.”

“We should never forgive ourselves,” Mr. Tawwab murmured, “if you were

molested in any way. Even if you were not harmed personally, your

property might be destroyed, or stolen. I dislike to think of it.”

“So do I,” Professor Blackwell declared.

“We know rather more about the nature of the disturbance,” Tawwab

pursued evenly, “than when you called upon us. It is a matter

concerning the collection of certain revenues. Concessions demanded by

the Sheik Ishmail we are not, as a matter of fact, prepared to grant.

But, oddly enough, the negotiations have been left practically in my

hands, as I know the Sheik Ishmail quite intimately.”

“I rather thought you did,” said Danbazzar, with a large, amiable

smile.

He exchanged a significant glance with Professor Blackwell, and the

latter, by a prearranged plan, stood up glancing at his wrist watch.

“I have a few notes to make on the subject of those mummy bones,” he

murmured, “and there’s only just time before lunch. Perhaps, Mr.

Tawwab, you will excuse me for a few minutes?”

Mr. Tawwab also stood up and bowed most ceremoniously as the Professor

departed to his own tent. This haven reached, Blackwell produced the

paper of small bones again, and ostentatiously spread them upon a

table before his door.

The interview between Danbazzar and Mr. Tawwab occupied an

inordinately long time. Two relays of coffee were requisitioned, and

at intervals Danbazzar’s great voice was raised in a manner rather

unparliamentary. But as the debate was throughout conducted in Arabic,

Professor Blackwell could only assume that the question was one of

terms.

It was ultimately settled amicably, however, Mr. Tawwab expressing his

profound regret that he could not wait for the return of Messrs. John

and Barry Cumberland. But important official business demanded his

speedy reappearance in Luxor.

As Danbazzar walked beside him along the _wâdi_, one large hand laid

caressingly on his shoulder, the contrast between his slight Egyptian

figure and the great bulk of his companion was notable. Professor

Blackwell derived an odd impression that Danbazzar would have loved to

twist Mr. Tawwab’s neck.

Having escorted him to where a servant waited with two horses,

Danbazzar threw a stump of cigar upon the sand and selected a fresh

one from several which he kept loose in the breast pocket of his white

shirt. He bit off the end and spat it out reflectively, standing, a

huge, picturesque figure, staring after the horsemen.

When presently he rejoined Professor Blackwell:

“How much?” the latter asked, standing up to greet him.

“Ten thousand piastres for the first week,” Danbazzar replied calmly,

and critically surveyed the end of his lighted cigar, which he

extracted from between his teeth apparently for no other purpose;

“twenty thousand piastres for the second week; forty thousand piastres

if we stay over into a third, and so on. In other words, if we stayed

for three months we’d need to send an SOS to Mr. Rockefeller! That’s

our rent, and we’ve got to pay it!”

“Quite, quite!” the Professor murmured. “Five hundred dollars for the

first week, a thousand dollars for the second, and two thousand

dollars for the third, or any part of the third, during which we

remain here. Is that the figure?”

“You said it.”

“And suppose John Cumberland declines to submit to this extortion?”

“Let’s suppose.” Danbazzar dropped down upon a small packing case

which sometimes served as a chair. “In the first place, we’d be raided

to-night by some scurvy bunch of Arabs in the pay of Tawwab. If we

came out smiling, from to-morrow onward we’d be watched so closely the

game wouldn’t be worth the candle. He would then threaten official

interference. And if we kept right on smiling, there’d be another

raid--and they’d take our shirts! They’d also take our excavation and

every damn thing they could find in it! The real shape of our job in

the valley shown up, Mr. Tawwab would next suggest, say a hundred

thousand piastres to let us go home to America. Alternative--send us

to Cairo for trial! Professor”--he extended his palms in an

extravagant imitation of Ahmed Tawwab’s favourite gesture--“he has

walked away with my check on the National Bank of Egypt for ten

thousand piastres. We’ve got a clear week.”

“Do you think he will stick to his bargain?”

“Certainly not!” roared Danbazzar, and brought his hand down with a

resounding bang on the side of the box, so that it emitted a drumlike

note. “If we were ready to move in three days, it would make no

difference. He’d want at least another fifty thousand piastres to let

us leave Luxor.”

“It is expensive,” the Professor murmured.

“It _would be_,” Danbazzar returned, “if we paid it.”