The Curse of the Pharaohs by Elizabeth Peters Page B

native eating place in the bazaar. Emerson prefers such places, and so do I; but as I pointed out, we had been a long time away and our resistance to the local diseases had probably decreased. We dared not risk illness, for the slightest malaise would be interpreted as further evidence of the pharaoh's curse.
    Emerson was forced to agree with my reasoning. Grumbling and swearing, he got into his boiled shirt and black evening suit. I tied his tie for him and stood back to observe him with pardonable pride. I knew better than to tell him he looked handsome, but indeed he did; his sturdy, upright frame and square shoulders, his thick black hair and his blue eyes blazing with temper formed a splendid picture of an English gentleman.
    I had another reason for wishing to dine at the hotel. Shepheard's is the social center for the European colony, and I hoped to meet acquaintances who could bring us up to date on the news of the Luxor expedition.
    Nor was I disappointed. When we entered the gilded dining hall the first person I saw was Mr. Wilbour, whom the Arabs call Abd er Dign because of his magnificent beard. White as the finest cotton, it sweeps down to the center of his waistcoat and frames a face both benevolent and highly intelligent. Wilbour had wintered in Egypt for many years. Rude gossip whispered of a political peccadillo in his native
    New York City, which made it expedient for him to avoid his homeland; but we knew him as an enthusiastic student of Egyptology and a patron of young archeologists. Seeing us, he came at once to greet us and ask us to join his party, which included several other old friends.
    I took care to seat myself between Emerson and the Reverend Mr. Sayce; there had been an acrimonious exchange of letters the previous winter on the subject of certain cuneiform tablets. The precaution proved useless. Leaning across me, his elbow planted firmly on the table, Emerson called loudly, "You know, Sayce, that the people at Berlin have confirmed my date for the tablets from Amarna? I told you you were off by eight hundred years."
    The Reverend's gentle countenance hardened; and Wilbour quickly intervened. "There was a rather amusing story about that, Emerson; did you hear how Budge managed to trick Grebaut out of those tablets?"
    Emerson disliked Mr. Budge of the British Museum almost as much as he did Grebaut, but that evening, with the Director's discourtesy fresh in his mind, he was pleased to hear of anything to Grebaut's discredit. Distracted from his attack on the Reverend, he replied that we had heard rumors of the event but would be glad of a first-hand account.
    "It was really a most reprehensible affair in every way," Wilbour said, shaking his head. "Grebaut had already warned Budge that he would be arrested if he continued to purchase and export antiquities illegally. Quite unperturbed, Budge went straight to Luxor and bought not only eighty of the famous tablets but a number of other fine objects. The policy promptly moved in, but Grebaut had neglected to provide them with a warrant, so they could only surround the house and wait for our popular Director of Antiquities to arrive with the requisite authority. In the meantime they saw no harm in accepting a fine meal of rice and lamb from the manager of the Luxor Hotel—next to which establishment Budge's house happened to be located. While the honest gendarmes gorged themselves, the hotel gardeners dug a tunnel into the basement of Budge's house and removed the antiquities. By a strange coincidence Grebaut's boat had run aground twenty miles north of Luxor, and he was still there when Budge set out for Cairo with his purchases, leaving the police to guard his empty house."
    "Shocking," I said.
    "Budge is a scoundrel," Emerson said. "And Grebaut is an idiot."
    "Have you seen our dear Director yet?" Sayce inquired.
    Emerson made rumbling noises. Sayce smiled. "I quite agree with you. All the same, you will have to see him. The situation is bad