Birds of the Nile by N E. David Page B

enclosed space while Ira scurried about, ensuring that he examined every detail for inclusion in his report.
    They were underground for the full ten minutes that Miss Malaysia had promised. When they returned to the surface,blinking in the bright light, Mrs Biltmore was exactly where they’d left her, crouched on her boulder and sheltering beneath the black parasol.
    “So, what was it like?” she was keen to ask.
    “Very good,” said Blake. “You really should have joined us.”
    But from the distressed look on her face he knew that had never been possible.
    The question then arose as to what they should do next. The obvious answer was to ask Miss Malaysia. She replied without hesitation. “We’ll go and see Ramses IX.”
    Blake was still puzzled as to her motives. He wondered whether she was really trying to help or whether they were just guinea pigs on whom she’d chosen to try out some newly acquired knowledge. Whatever game she was playing, Blake was keen to find out. He had no doubt that the tomb of Ramses IX would be much the same as that of Ramses I but for him, its interest now lay in the performance of their self-appointed guide rather than any of its contents.
    As Miss Malaysia turned to make her way back down the valley, it was a signal for Mrs Biltmore to haul herself up from her boulder and prepare for the return journey.
    “Well, I guess we’re off again…”
    She handed back the parasol by way of Ira and fell into line.
    Blake took the opportunity to seek out Keith and make an apology. The visit to the tomb had served to calm him down and he’d begun to feel contrite.
    “Sorry about my little outburst back there. I was a bit out of order, I’m afraid.”
    “Think nothing of it,” said Keith. “To tell you the truth, I’d forgotten all about it.”
    “She’s very good, isn’t she?” said Blake, nodding in the direction of the young Asian.
    “Very,” said Keith. “Any idea who she is?”
    “Not a clue. Someone off the tour, I suppose.”
    And for the moment, that was as far as they could get.
    Somewhere toward the rear, Mrs Biltmore plodded gallantly on, gathering strength on the downhill stretch.
    If anything, the tomb of Ramses IX was more impressive than that of his ancestor. The entry corridor was sloped rather than steeply stepped – and it was much more extensive, so there were far more pictures and paintings to admire.
    Miss Malaysia’s performance was no less polished than before and in her desire to be thorough, she enumerated every detail. As a result, they were longer underground than they’d planned and so by the time they’d completed the slow upward climb to the surface and emerged into the daylight, squinting again, almost half an hour had elapsed.
    Mrs Biltmore had once more been left to her own devices next to the entrance and was fanning herself furiously.
    “Well there you are! Goodness me, I’d thought you’d gotten lost down there or somethin’. Ira, I don’t know what you’ve been letting these folks get up to, but you need to pay a bit more attention, honey. Why, I thought you were never coming back.”
    Ira deemed it sensible to remain silent.
    There followed another ‘what shall we do next?’ debate. By now their appetite for tombs had been sated and the general consensus was that as much as they had enjoyed their impromptu tour, they should make their way slowly back to the bus. Keith made a short speech of thanks to their temporary guide, then the group split up and began to drift slowly back down toward the entrance.
    It was now mid-morning and the influx of visitors was reaching its peak. Groups of tourists, most of them Japanese, were clustering round the entrances to the tombs and the lower end of the path was thronged with people.
    Miss Malaysia hurried on ahead. Blake watched as her black parasol bobbed up and down above the crowd, charting herprogress. Where on earth was she off to now? he wondered. He was convinced she’d chased him up the