The Mummy Snatcher of Memphis Read Online Free Page B

goddess of truth and Ptah creator of all. The malachite heart scarab is buried under the linen bandages of his mummy.
    We looked at each other, bewildered.
    â€œWhat’s a scarab?” Waldo asked.
    â€œA kind of Egyptian beetle,” Isaac replied
    Rachel hadn’t been paying attention. “We must help Ahmed,” she burst out.
    â€œYe-es,” I agreed, but I was troubled. I was thinking over the story. I liked Ahmed. He had an honest face and there was something winning about his manner. I was disposed to trust him. Could we? Was it true that the scarab’s loss had smote down his father and cursed his village?
    â€œWe must, Kit,” Rachel repeated.
    Ahmed was staring at me, as if trying to winkle into my mind. Wordlessly, his eyes begged for my help. He looked so forlorn. I made up my mind.
    â€œWe will do everything we can to find the scarab and restore it to Memphis,” I announced.
    Rachel was overjoyed and hope flamed on Ahmed’s face. Only Waldo looked dubious. “Are you going to just take a native’s word for this?” he demanded.
    â€œWhy ever not?”
    â€œWell … he’s a native!”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œNatives are more likely to lie and cheat. They’re like children. They don’t know the difference between right and wrong.”
    â€œAll the children I know understand the difference between right and wrong perfectly. Of course it may be different in America.”
    â€œHe’s probably after the mummy’s treasure. Natives are just born greedy!”
    â€œFor goodness’ sake …” I said and stopped, spluttering. Waldo’s attitude disgusted me, though I myself had felt a stab of caution at Ahmed’s story. It is contrary of me I know, but when Waldo becomes all superior I can’t help taking the very opposite point of view. I hate it when people look down on other races: folk whom theyhave never even met! I was, however, struggling to put my feelings into words when Rachel spoke in her quiet way.
    â€œPeople say the same thing about Jews. They say we’re born greedy.”
    Waldo blushed. “I didn’t mean anything of the sort—” he began when I cut in.
    â€œLook at him! He’s a poor, scared boy. Anyway, what treasure? We’re not talking of precious gold. A moldy old scarab!”
    â€œIt could be worth something.”
    â€œAnyway, who has more right to it, Aunt Hilda, or the villagers?”
    Waldo had the decency to look a little less sure of himself.
    â€œWe’ve got to help him,” I announced. “We’ve got to fight for justice.”
    Put like that even hoity-toity Waldo agreed. We would steal the scarab! Though it could scarcely be called theft to snatch it in order to return it to its rightful owners. Once we had the scarab, we would somehow find Ahmed safe passage on a steamer back to Egypt.
    How the best intentions can come undone! In our foolish hope, we imagined that righting Ahmed’s wrongs would be a simple matter. We are English, wethought, citizens of Queen Victoria—and children of the greatest empire the world has ever known. Our soldiers have conquered a tremendous portion of the globe—so vast “the sun never sets on the British Empire.” What use is our power if it is not tempered with mercy?
    Besides, in my secret heart I thought, how hard can it be to help a simple Egyptian boy? I imagined it would be short work to sneak off with the scarab. After all, my father trusted me in the museum.
    Sadly, it didn’t go quite according to plan. Over the next few weeks we experienced terror like never before—and came face to face with pure wickedness. All of us were to be sorely tested. As for your friend, Kit Salter, I was to face the hardest lesson of all. I learned that I am not
always
right. (Only, I will concede, 99 percent of the time.)

Chapter Five
    â€œIt is a pleasure to make your acquaintance again,