He didn’t even notice.
Agatha decided to break the ice. “When you found us, were you searching for the two laborers who disappeared?” she asked casually.
The scholars looked at each other, astonished.
“How do you know about that?” asked Maigret, nervously wiping his mouth. “We haven’t told anyone outside the camp!”
“It’s our job,” Chandler said drily. “We’re here to investigate.”
The oldest Egyptologist was delighted. “What did I tell you?” he told his assistants. “The Eye International detectives are the best in the world! See, they’re already on top of this mystery!” Then he turned to Chandler. “Where would you like to begin, monsieur?”
“At the beginning, of course.”
By the light of the halogen lamps, Professor Maigret began to recount the sequence of events from the time they first left for the Valley of the Kings, about a month earlier.
Maigret and his assistants had followed the lead on an ancient piece of papyrus, preserved in the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities in Cairo, which spoke of a cursed pharaoh. His tomb, numbered sixty-six by the Egyptian experts, appeared to be somewhere deep in the funnel-shaped valley. They had begun excavating immediately: days and days under the burning sun without even finding a coconut shell. Until finally Jafar, the director of operations, let out an exultant shout.
They all rushed to see what he’d unearthed and found themselves staring openmouthed at a large, clay tablet.
“Jafar,” Agatha murmured to herself. “That’s the name of the fourth man!”
She wanted to tell Dash right away, but just at that moment Dr. Dortmunder started to speak, describing the techniques they’d used to recover the relic. Because the ancient clay was so fragile, extracting the tablet had required surgical precision. It had been brought to the lab for analysis less than a week ago.
“We knew at once what a sensational find it was,” Dr. Paretsky broke in. “I swear, in my whole career, I’ve never seen anything like it!”
“Doctor, are you referring to the backward hieroglyphs?” Agatha asked.
Once again, the three scholars’ dumbstruck expressions proved her right.
“Yes, the hieroglyphs,” he said gloomily. “When we finished cleaning the tablet that night, I deciphered the first few sentences…”
“What did it say?” Chandler asked.
“They described a magnificent tomb that priests had secretly moved to this valley after an uprising,” he said. “Unfortunately I didn’t have time to find out its location before…”
“You see, we were in desperate need of sleep,” Professor Maigret went on. “So we decided to continue our study the following morning.”
“But by morning, the tablet was gone,” finished Agatha.
“And two laborers…poof…vanished into thin air,” Dash added.
Paretsky’s face reddened. “You mean those despicable thieves?” he said, banging his fist on the plank table. “They stole our treasure from under our noses while we were asleep. You know nothing about it, boy!”
Dash frowned, offended. Dr. Dortmunder grabbed another ice-cream pop from the freezer and unwrapped it. The tension was palpable.
“Don’t jump to conclusions, Dr. Paretsky,” Chandler said calmly. “The investigation has just begun.”
Agatha confirmed this with a nod. “Did anyone see the men leave?” she asked.
Maigret began to pace around the table. “That night, Jafar and two of his workers were on guard duty,” he recounted. “We questioned them all, but they insist that no one passed the checkpoint.”
“I bet they climbed right up the cliffs,” Dr. Paretsky snarled again. “I swear, if I ever get my hands on those miserable—”
“Well, that’s all we know about the situation,” Professor Maigret concluded hurriedly. “What else can we do to help you?”
Agatha drummed her fingers on the bridge of her nose, as she always did when her imagination started spinning.
After a few seconds, she smiled.
“First, we’ll need to consult with the detective in private,” she said. “If you don’t mind, we’ll all be back soon to tell you exactly how we intend to proceed.”
The scholars had no choice but to agree.
Cultivating an air of professional cool, the three detectives got up from the table and walked outside into the night.
As soon as they left the pavilion, Agatha started to pace back and forth, thinking hard, her chin tucked down low.
“Something’s not adding up,” she said to herself. “I’m not sure what it is yet, but a good walk would help clear my head,” she concluded, looking up. “I propose we take a look at the excavation site.”
Dash and Chandler followed a few paces behind her, lighting the way with flashlights. They passed a supply shed with a military jeep parked behind it and finally came to the quarry where the tablet had been found. It was cordoned off with barbed-wire fencing and a sign stating AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. They walked right up to the base of the cliffs. A bare stretch of rocky terrain led to the only entrance into the valley.
The entrance was guarded by a small group of laborers armed with rifles.
Within twenty minutes, the trio had made a complete circuit of the valley’s perimeter, but Agatha wasn’t satisfied. She scrambled up onto a large, flat rock, surveying the moonlit cliffs.
Chandler and Dash could tell that her brain was working at top speed. They waited.
“There’s only one possibility!” she exclaimed suddenly.
“What?” asked Dash.
Agatha jumped off the boulder. “Two things,” she began. “First of all, it’s clear that two laborers left in a rush without passing the checkpoint. That makes them highly suspicious,” she concluded. “Secondly…”
“Secondly?” Dash echoed, hanging on every word.
“They must have had an accomplice,” she said, bending to pet Watson.
“An accomplice?!” marveled the young detective, tousling his hair with his hand. “What makes you think so?”
“Let’s start with the motive, Dash,” Agatha explained. “Let’s say these two workers have stolen the tablet. What would they do with it?”
“I don’t know,” he stammered. “Maybe sell it to a collector or on the black market?”
“It’s not a gold necklace,” said Agatha. “It’s a crumbling piece of old clay. Only an expert would know its true value.”
Dash sat on a rock. “Good point. Why steal a lump of clay covered in code? It’s an interesting artifact, but its only real use would be finding the tomb…”
“Exactly.” Agatha glowed. “And the thief must be someone who knows how fragile the tablet is. If the workers climbed up those steep cliffs with it, they must have taken great care not to break it. Someone with experience transporting fragile antiquities must have told them how to do it,” she finished. “So our list of suspects is reduced to four: Jafar and his Egyptologist friends, obviously!”
“The scientists? But…but…they called us in!” Dash protested. “How could they be accomplices?”
“All four are experts in their fields, and each of them has a good reason to keep the tablet for himself.” Agatha paused to observe her companions.
Her lanky cousin was stirring his hair into tangles. Chandler rubbed his square jaw.
“I think I get it,” said Dash. “Whoever’s the first to uncover the cursed pharaoh’s tomb will get all the fame and glory!”
Chandler nodded. “What is the game plan, Miss Agatha?” he asked.
Glancing over her shoulder to make sure that no one was listening, she said, “The best thing to do is to separate the suspects into two groups, Jafar in one, scientists in the other. They’ll need to be kept busy while we search for evidence that will lead straight to our accomplice.”
Dash and Chandler agreed that it sounded like a good plan.
There was only one problem.
“How are we going to separat
e them and keep them busy?”
“We’ll come up with something,” said Agatha. “In fact, I’ve already got an idea…”
The three of them brainstormed for several more minutes while Dash looked up satellite maps on his EyeNet.
The plan they came up with was risky, but they would just have to play their roles convincingly and take control of the situation.
With a nod of agreement, they stepped back onto the hard-packed path between tents. The laborers snored like a discordant orchestra.
Dr. Dortmunder spotted them first. “They’re coming back,” he announced to his colleagues in the kitchen.
They all took their seats around the table. In formal tones, Agatha started the speech they had planned. “Thanks to our infrared satellite images, Agent DM14 has located the two fugitives at the Abu Sidan oasis, fifty kilometers due east, in the desert.” Not one word of this was the truth, but she made it sound absolutely convincing. This was another of Agatha’s talents.
“As soon as the sun comes up, we’ll take the jeep and some rifles,” continued Chandler, playing his part perfectly. “We will catch the thieves by surprise and return with the tablet by nightfall.”
The scholars cried out in delight. They shook Chandler’s hand, patting the master detective’s shoulder. Dr. Paretsky hung back a bit, still intimidated by his bulk.
“That means we can get back to work at the dig,” rejoiced Professor Maigret, suddenly filled with the energy of a twenty-year-old. “Maybe we’ll finally discover the cursed pharaoh’s tomb!”
But his joy disappeared when Agatha shook her head. “Professor, sir,” she explained politely. “Agent DM14 will need your support on his mission. All three of you.”
“What?!” hissed Dr. Paretsky. “Why us?”
“You know the two laborers and speak their language,” Agatha explained.
Chandler’s stubbly jaw tightened as he loomed over the table. “Would you prefer to risk the thieves escaping and taking the tablet with them?” he boomed, leaving no room for argument.
The three scholars immediately stopped complaining.
“Great, now that that’s settled, we can move on,” said Dash. “Where are we sleeping tonight? We’re completely exhausted.” He leaned on the freezer, yawning repeatedly. Like Agatha, he was completely convincing: his role had been very well cast.
Agatha seized her chance. “Why don’t we stay in the missing laborers’ tent?” she suggested to Maigret. This would give them the perfect chance to start investigating immediately. “Unless someone else has moved into it?”
“No, no, it’s still empty,” he said, hesitating. “But we turned it upside down, searching. It’s a mess!”
“No problem.” Agatha winked at Dash, whose bedroom was always a pigsty. “I’m sure we’ve seen worse.”
“Well then, Dr. Dortmunder will escort you there,” replied the professor, looking at Chandler. “Does breakfast at seven suit your schedule, sir?”
Agatha took Dash by the arm. “Better make it seven thirty. This guy is a world-class sleeper,” she joked.
Everyone said good night.
Dr. Dortmunder helped himself to three more ice-cream pops and escorted them out of the pavilion. Whistling cheerfully, he handed two pops to the kids and unwrapped the third for himself.
Chandler walked behind them in silence, toting the saddlebags and a folding chair he had brought from the kitchen.
Between bites of ice cream, Dr. Dortmunder showered Agatha with compliments. “Such remarkable insight! Mm, aren’t these yummy? Brilliant detective work. How did you manage to track down the thieves so quickly?”
“We’ve got a great teacher,” she shrugged, glancing at the trusty butler.
“You’re so modest, Miss!”
The scholar chuckled, rubbing the round belly that spilled out from under his T-shirt. Then he stopped in front of a lopsided tent and unzipped the mosquito net guarding the entrance. “Here’s your royal palace,” he said. “If you need water, the tank is down that way. Sweet dreams to all!”
Before joining her companions, Agatha watched him waddle down the path, whistling.
“He’s gone,” she whispered, pulling back the tent flap.
Dash was already out like a light, snoring on one of the cots, while Chandler had settled himself into the folding chair. He had gotten used to sleeping sitting up when he had worked the night shift at a hotel desk.
“What are you doing, you slackers?” Agatha scolded them. “I asked to stay in this tent so we could search for clues, not go to sleep!”
Chandler opened his eyes and sprang to his feet. “Certainly, Miss Agatha,” he said quickly.
Dash didn’t budge. “Can’t it wait till tomorrow?” he droned in a hollow voice.
“No, Dash.”
Eyelids drooping, Dash dragged himself up from the cot and attempted to stand. His body sagged like a mummy. “Sorry, verticality issues,” he mumbled, sliding down onto a pile of clothes left behind by the laborers.
A split second later, he was asleep again.
“Guess it’s just us, Chandler,” Agatha sighed.
He nodded and hung up a battery-powered lantern, flooding the tent with light.
They started to poke through the mess. Chandler lifted a bath towel, uncovering a stash of Egyptian goods: cups, small pots, ashtrays, and coasters decorated with pictures of pharaohs and gods.
“Very curious,” he observed.
Agatha turned a bust over and started to laugh. The label read MADE IN CHINA.
“It looks like our two laborers sold souvenirs on the side,” she said, tapping the bridge of her nose. “Which makes me think they were…”
“What, Miss Agatha?”
But she didn’t have time to respond.
“ARGHHH!” yelled Dash. “That stupid cat!”
Watson ran over to Agatha. “What happened?” she asked.
“That furry monster was licking my ear,” screeched Dash. “Feel this…it’s all slimy!”
He lowered his voice. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
Agatha strode over and peeled off a piece of paper that had stuck to his cheek.
There was a message written on it, composed in Arabic letters cut out of a newspaper.
“Instant Translate,” said Agatha. Dash was already scanning it onto his EyeNet.
“It says…pathetic fellah.” He looked at his cousin. “Fellah?”
“Fellahin are Egyptian peasants. Go on.”
Dash read: “You will be struck by the pharaoh’s curse if you do not leave by dawn!”
Agatha’s heart beat faster.
“This changes everything!” she gushed. “The tablet is still here! Nobody stole it! It’s right in this camp!”
The next morning, the three detectives awoke bleary-eyed, but satisfied that they had made a big step in their investigation.
The message in newspaper clippings cleared the two laborers of any guilt.
Agatha had once read a book about Egyptian curses. The curse of Tutankhamen was the most famous, and many fellahin refused to work on tomb excavations because of such superstitions. Obviously the two poor laborers had fled the camp in a hurry, without telling a soul, because they were terrified by the curse.
So they hadn’t stolen the tablet.
There was only one possible conclusion: the precious find was hidden somewhere in the camp.
“You need to keep the three scientists away from base camp as long as possible,” Agatha told Chandler. “If we can find out where the tablet is hidden, we’ll also discover who stole it, right, Dash?”
“Um…what?” said Dash, still half asleep.
“Certainly, Miss Agatha,” responded the butler, tying a neat Windsor knot in his tie.
It was 7:25 a.m.
They went to the kitchen pavilion. Dr. Dortmunder was serving breakfast to the other two scientists, who sat at the plank table. He wore a funny Bavarian apron around his broad waist.
“Black
coffee and chocolate doughnuts,” he said with a laugh. “We’ll need a truckload of energy to face today’s mission!”
Dr. Paretsky looked disgusted. “In Poland, breakfast consists of an omelette, kielbasa sausage, and pickles,” he commented sourly.
Maigret gulped down his cup of café au lait and went off to talk to Jafar. “While we’re gone, he’ll be in charge of base camp security,” he explained.
The Mistery cousins exchanged knowing glances.
By the time Professor Maigret returned, Chandler had already started the jeep’s engine. Paretsky sat tall and straight. Dortmunder had his rifle ready. Although he wished he was holding a family-size tub of pistachio ice cream instead.
“Ready,” announced Maigret, climbing into the jeep. “See you later, kids!”
“Bon voyage!” Agatha called to him. “Be careful,” she said to Chandler.
He nodded and stepped on the gas. The jeep skidded on the gravel and took off in a cloud of dust.
“Now it’s all up to us!” Agatha exclaimed after Jafar had headed back to camp.
“How are we going to pull this off?” asked Dash. “We have to make sure Jafar’s out of the way. And the rest of the workers.”
“You’re right,” she said. “First let’s go down to the dig and make sure they’re all busy. Then we can search the rest of the camp for clues.”
And that’s what they did. Dash used his heat sensor to make sure that the whole crew was accounted for.
Some of the laborers split rocks with their pickaxes and others carried up buckets filled to the brim with crushed rock. Jafar sat at a long counter, sifting through rock fragments, peering at them with a jeweler’s magnifying eyepiece and carefully labeling samples for further analysis.
Several more laborers carted off the discarded material, piling it onto a mound a short distance away from the cordoned-off quarry.
“Good morning, Mr. Jafar,” said Agatha. “How’s it going?”
“Same as usual,” sneered the excavation director. “Nothing of interest.”
The Curse of the Pharaoh #1 Page 4
