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.”