Chapter 9 Adventures in the Egyptian Tomb

Since people opened the tomb of King Menhara, a series of mysterious deaths have followed.I have always thought that the investigation of this case was the most tense and dramatic of my many adventures with Poirot. Lord Carnarvon, Sir John Willard and Mr Brener, from New York, continued excavations not far from Lo after discovering the Tudan Aman tomb.Near those pyramids in the province of Kiza, an unexpected series of tombs was discovered.Their discovery caused a sensation.Archaeological evidence shows that the ancient tomb was originally the burial place of a little-known king of the Eighth Dynasty, Menhala.At that time, that ancient kingdom had begun to decline, and there were very few relevant materials recorded in history.Therefore, major newspapers have given detailed reports on these findings.

Not long afterward, an event occurred that attracted special attention from the public: Sir John Willard died suddenly of a heart attack. Some of the gossiping newspapers immediately took the opportunity to revive the age-old superstition that certain Egyptian wealth brought bad luck.The unfortunate mummies in the London Museum, and the ancient red-maned horse, revived the curiosity and talk of the time.The museum denies these claims, but gossip continues. Two weeks later, Mr. Brener died of acute blood poisoning.A few days later, one of his nephews shot himself in New York. "The curse of Menhala" became a hot topic for a while, and the magic power of the ancient Egyptian pharaoh, which had long been wiped out, revived to an unbelievable and daunting level.

At this moment, Poirot received a brief letter from Mrs. Willard, the widow of the late archaeologist.He invited Poirot to meet her at her home in Kensington Square, and I went with Poirot. Mrs. Willard was a tall, thin woman in dark mourning, and her face belied the great misfortune which had lately befell her. "It is very kind of you to have come here so soon, M. Poirot." "I am at your service, Mrs. Willard. Would you like to speak to me?" "I know you're a detective, but it's not just because you're a detective that I want to talk to you, I know you've got your own way of seeing things, you've had a lot of experience, you've got a lot of worldly knowledge, and you've got an imagination. Please tell me, Monsieur Poirot, what is your opinion of incomprehensible, supernatural powers?"

Poirot hesitated for a moment before answering, he seemed to be thinking, and then said: "Let us not misunderstand each other, Mrs. Willard. The question you are asking me now is not a general one, but a personal request, is it not? You are speaking euphemistically of your recent death. cause of death of her husband." "Exactly," she admitted. "Do you want me to investigate the cause of his death?" "I would like you to confirm to me exactly how much the newspaper's claims are to be trusted, and what the facts are. Three deaths in succession--each of which could be interpreted as a natural death or suicide, but this Putting the three things together must be an unbelievable coincidence, and they all happened within a month after the excavation of the ancient tomb! This can be said to be just a superstition, or it can be said that modern science is difficult to explain The ancient curse of the old curse. And the facts don't change the fact that one or three people are dead! I'm terrified. M. Poirot, I'm terribly terrified. Perhaps it's not over yet."

"Who are you afraid of?" "For my son. As soon as I heard of my husband's death, I fell ill, and my son just returned from Oxford, and he went out to the place where my husband died. He brought the--the body home, In spite of my prayers and prayers, he is now determined. He is fascinated by archaeology. He wants to succeed his father in the excavations. You may think me a stupid superstitious woman, but, M. Poirot, I really am. Afraid. What if the ghost of the dead king is not at rest? It may seem to you that I may be talking nonsense—” "No, really, Mrs. Willard," said Poirot hastily, "I also really believe in the power of superstition, and superstition is one of the most powerful forces that ever existed."

I looked at him in astonishment, and I could hardly believe that Poirot could be a superstitious man.Still, the little man was clearly eager to prove it. "All you really need of me is to protect your son, and I will do my best to keep him out of danger." "Yes, under normal circumstances, this is easy to do. But, are you sure about dealing with the mysterious power?" "In medieval books, you can find many ways to break magic, Mrs. Willard. They may be more than those we modern people know with all the advanced technology. Now, let's go back to the facts In this way, I can get some enlightenment. Your husband has been a dedicated archaeologist of ancient Egypt from the beginning to the end, isn't he?"

"Yes, from his youth, he is one of the greatest authorities in that field." "I've heard, however, that Mr. Brener is more or less an amateur." "Ah, yes. Mr. Brener is a very rich man who is free to do whatever he likes. My husband did everything he could to get him interested in Egyptian archeology, and it was he who used the money for Excavations for this archaeological expedition have been adequately funded." "And what about his nephew? Do you know his hobbies? Did he also take part in archaeological work?" "I don't see it that way. In fact, I never knew of him. I only found out about him when I read about his death in the papers. I don't think there's any connection between my brother and Mr. Brener." How close, Mr Brener never mentioned that he had any relatives."

"Are there any other members of their excavation team?" "Ah, there is Dr. Toswell, an officer of the British Museum, and Mr. Schneider, of the Metropolitan Museum, New York; and a young Secretary of the State; and Dr. Ames with the expedition team. , to perform the doctor's duties together; and Hassan, who is my husband's loyal servant." "Do you remember the name of the American secretary?" "Harper, I think. I don't know, though. He hasn't been with Mr. Brener very long, and he's a very pleasant fellow." "Thank you, Mrs. Willard."

"If there is any other situation--" "Not for the time being. Leave this matter to me now. Please believe that I will do my best to protect your son from artificial harm." These words are not words that are absolutely reassuring.I also noticed that Mrs. Willard blinked when Poirot said this.However.At the same time, the fact that she didn't underestimate the fear she felt seemed to be a consolation in itself. to me.Poirot had never been suspected before.It was in his nature to have such a profound view of superstition.I kept asking him about it on our way home, and he looked very serious.

"Yes, Hastings. I believe in such things. You must never underestimate the power of superstition." "What shall we do about superstition?" "Facts, Hastings. Well, first we have to send a cable to New York for more details on the death of Mr. Brener's nephew." He lost no time in sending his telegram.The content of the call back is detailed and accurate.Young Lupiter.Brener has been living in poverty in recent years. He has been a beach bum and made a living on the islands in the South Pacific, but he has to rely on domestic remittances to get by.two years ago.He returns to New York.In New York, his life took a turn for the worse.One of the things that stands out to me is that he recently managed to finance a trip to Egypt. "There, I have a good friend who can borrow money." He said so.But when he got there, his plan fell through, and he returned to New York, cursing his miser uncle, who cared more about the dead and the king's skeleton than his own flesh and blood, and it was during his stay in Egypt that something happened. John.Sir Willard's death.

Life in New York for Lupit went from bad to worse again.Later, he fell into poverty.In the end, without any warning, he committed suicide and left a letter behind him.A few strange words were written in the letter.It seems to have been written out of momentary regret.He said that he was a leper, yes, a useless social bum, and the letter concluded: He deserved to die like this. A vague idea flashed through my brain.I never really believed in the so-called vengeance of Egyptian pharaohs who died long ago.Now, what I see is.A more modern crime.For example, the young man once made up his mind to kill his uncle by poisoning him.Due to mistakes and negligence, John.Sir Willard drank the deadly poison.The young man returned to New York.Always troubled by his crimes, when the news of his uncle's death reached his ears, he realized that his poisoning was really unnecessary.Remorse and annoyance made him heartbroken, and finally made him decide to end his life. I outlined my reasoning to Poirot.He is very interested. "You can think of this, which shows that you are very smart-resourceful. It may be true. However, you have ignored the crucial prerequisite of the ancient tomb." I shrugged. "You still think these things have something to do with the ancient tomb?" "It has a lot to do with the tomb, my dear friend. Tomorrow we set out for Egypt." "What?" I exclaimed in surprise. "As I said, we're going to Egypt tomorrow." A heroic gleam appeared on Poirot's face.Then he groaned with an expression of pain: "But, oh, the sea, the damned sea!" After a week.Our feet stepped on the golden sand in the great desert, and the hot sun shone directly from the top of our heads.Poirot looked miserable, and stood beside me with a haggard face; the little man was definitely not good at long journeys.We embarked from Marseilles, and the four days' voyage had been a long and painful voyage for him, and when he landed at Alexandria he was so disfigured that he could hardly even maintain his usual neat habits.We arrived in Cairo and immediately drove to the Mona Hotel, which is located next to the Shwedagon Pagoda. The charm of Egypt fascinated me deeply, but Poirot did not feel how charming it was.He was again dressed exactly as he had been in London, and he kept a small brush in his pocket with which he kept brushing the dust off his black clothes. "My shoes!" he wailed in agony. "Look at my shoes, Hastings. They're made of good leather, and they always shine. But now, look, The sand in it made my feet hurt. Looking at the upper of Jun's shoes, it is simply an eyesore. And this sweltering weather, it makes my mustache limp and collapsed." "Look at that sphinx with a sphinx," I greeted him hastily, "even I can feel his mystery and charm." Poirot glanced at it and was not satisfied. "Not a hint of joy." He said, "How can it be happy? It's half buried in the sand, and it's so messy. Ah, the dreadful sand!" "Come on, there's a lot of sand in Belgium too," I reminded him.I mean ours in Knoxino.A vacation.The guidebook says the sand there is famous all over the world as "beautiful sand dunes". "There is no sand in Brussels." Poirot interrupted me, his eyes fixed on the Great Pyramid. "To be honest, these pyramids are at least geometrically correct, and they are also very strong. But they are so uneven in appearance that they look It's hard to please, and I don't like the palm trees; they weren't neatly arranged when they were planted!" I interrupted his whining and suggested that we set off for the archaeological camp.We need to get there on camels; those camels are patiently kneeling on the ground, waiting for us to mount their backs.Several very exotic boys guard the camels, headed by a very chatty professional tour guide. I witnessed the whole process of Poirot riding a camel, which is a great spectacle.He started moaning and moaning as he got on the camel, and soon he was climbing down again, gesticulating with gritted teeth, and praying, asking the blessings of the gods—from the Virgin Mary to every god he had prayed to.Then climb on the back of the camel.In the end, he still shamelessly climbed off the camel and rode on a little donkey to finish the journey.I must admit that riding on the back of a trotting camel is definitely not an easy task for a novice. I was sore for several days due to the bumps along the way. Finally, we came to the archaeological excavation site, and a man whose skin was darkened by the sun came out to greet us.He has a gray beard, wears a white dress, and wears a helmet on his head. "Are you Poirot and Captain Hastings? We have received your telegram. I am sorry that no one came to Cairo to meet you; we have had an accident here which has disrupted all our plans." Poirot's face immediately became pale.His hand, which was about to slip furtively into his pocket for his little brush to brush his clothes, stopped. "Another dead?" he asked, holding his breath. "yes." "Sir Guy Willard?" I asked aloud. "No, Captain Hastings. It's my American colleague, Mr. Schneider." "And the cause of death?" Poirot continued. "Tetanus-" I immediately turned pale.Everything about me seemed to me to have an elusive, eerie air!A terrible idea suddenly flashed into my mind.What should I do if the next one is me? "My God," cried Poirot in a low voice. "It's unbelievable, it's terrible. Please tell me, sir, is it definitely tetanus?" "I believe so. But Ames will go into more detail than I can." "Ah. Of course, you are not the doctor." "My name is Toswell." This, then, was Mrs. Willard's British expert in the British Museum, whose unwavering, serious demeanor immediately attracted my attention. "If you come with me," Dr. Toswell went on. "I'll take you to Sir Guy Willard. He's most anxious to hear of your arrival." We walked through the camp and came to a big tent.Dr. Toswell drew back the curtain.We went in.There were three people sitting inside. "Mr. Poirot and Captain Hastings have arrived, Sir Guy," said Dr. Toswell. The youngest of the three rose immediately and came forward to greet us.He has an impulsive nature.It made me think immediately of his mother.He wasn't as tanned as the others, but there were dark halos of worry and grief around his eyes that made him look much older than his twenty-two years.It is clear.He is enduring great pressure in his heart. He introduced us to two of his colleagues.Dr. Ames was about thirty years old.Looks very capable.There was a strand of white hair at the temples; Mr. Hamper, the secretary, was a friendly, thin young man with wide-rimmed spectacles. After a few minutes of hustle and bustle.The secretary went out, and Dr. Toswell followed.It was just us and Guy in the tent.Sir Willard.And Dr. Ames. "Ask any questions you wish, M. Poirot," said Willard. "We are so distraught and completely disoriented by this strange series of mishaps, and yet it may just be—it cannot be otherwise. coincide." There was a trace of tension in his words, and it was obvious that he disagreed.I saw Poirot staring at him carefully. "Are you sure you are giving all your energy to this work, Sir Guy?" "Yes. Whatever happens, or whatever its outcome, the work must go on, you understand." Poirot turned his face to the other. "Have you anything to say, Monsieur Doctor?" "Me?" said the doctor, "I don't agree with giving up." Poirot grimaced again. "Obviously, then, we've got to figure out what we're going to do. When did Mr. Schneider die?" "Three days ago." "Are you sure he died of tetanus?" "Absolutely." "Isn't it possible, for example, that strychnine poisoning caused the death?" "Impossible, Monsieur Poirot, I know what you mean, but this is an obvious case of tetanus." "Have you not been injected with serum containing antibodies beforehand?" "Of course we injected," said the doctor dryly. "We took precautions against all possible situations." "Did you bring the serum?" "No, we got it from Cairo" "Are there any other cases of tetanus in the camp" "No, not one" "Are you sure Mr. Brener died of tetanus" "Absolutely not. He put He had a cut thumb, infected thumb, septicemia infestation and death. To an untrained eye, it sounds like two people died from the same disease) But these are two very different causes" "Then We have four deaths—all different, one from a heart attack, one from blood poisoning, one from suicide, and one from tetanus." "Exactly, M. Poirot." "Are you sure you don't have anything to connect the four situations?" "I don't quite understand what you mean." "Let me make it clearer. Did the four dead behave in any way disrespectful to the spirit of the Menhalla?" The doctor stared at Poirot in surprise. "You're talking nonsense, M. Poirot? Of course you shouldn't believe those utterly stupid rumours; they're just nonsense," said young Willard angrily. Poirot remained calmly motionless, blinking his bright eyes. "So you don't believe in this kind of thing, sir." "Yes, sir, I don't believe it," the doctor emphasized, "I'm a technician, and I only believe in science." Was there no science in ancient Egypt?" Poirot asked calmly. In fact, he did not wait for an answer.In fact, Dr. Ames seemed unable to turn the corner for a moment. "No, no, don't answer me, but please tell me the following question: What do local workers think of this?" "I suppose," said Dr. Ames, "that the natives are not quite sober when the whites are out of their wits. I must confess that they are, so to speak, frightened, though they have no reason to be frightened." That's great." "I can't tell," said Poirot noncommittally. Sir Guy Willard leaned forward. "To be sure," he cried in disbelief, "you can't believe it—oh, but it's absolutely absurd! If you think so , you will know nothing about ancient Egypt.” In reply, Poirot drew from his pocket a little book--an ancient and well-worn volume; and when he showed it to everyone, I saw its title: "The Magic of the Ancient Egyptians."He waved the book in front of everyone's eyes, then walked out of the tent.The doctor stared at me. "What's going on in his head?" This phrase, which Poirot used so often, struck me as interesting when it came out of another person's mouth. "I don't know," I admitted. "I believe he has some plans to drive out the devil." I went out to look for Poirot, and saw him talking to a thin-faced young man, Harlan, secretary of the late M. Brener. "No," Mr. Harper was saying, "I have been on the Archaeological Team for six months. Yes, I know Mr. Brener's affairs very well." "Can you tell me something about his nephew?" "He came here one day, and he seemed like a nice young man, I'd never seen him before, but some of the others knew him, Ames, and Schneider. The old man was not happy to see him, and the two of them couldn't get along well for a while, and they quarreled as soon as they met. "Not a penny!" The old man was furious, "Not now, nor when I die! I want Invest my money in the cause of my life and I have spoken to Mr. Schneider about it today.' Their words were mostly the same, and young Mr. Brener will be in Cairo soon"" Was he in good health then?" "You mean the old man?" "No, that young man." "I believe he did mention some problems with his body, but it can't be a serious illness, otherwise, I should have the impression." "One more question, did Mr. Brener leave a will?" "As far as we know, no legacy remains." "Are you going to stay with the archaeological team, Mr. Harbor?" "No, sir, I'm not going to stay, and I'm going to New York as soon as I sort out what's left of here. You can laugh at me, but I'm not going to be the next victim of this damned Menhala. If I stay here, it will catch me and take me away one day." The young man wiped the sweat from his brow. Poirot turned to leave, but turned his head again, leaving a sentence with a meaningful smile: "Remember, in New York he also took one of his victims." "Oh, damn it!" said Mr. Harper sharply. "That young man is so tense," Poirot mused. "He is on the verge of a breakdown." I looked at Poirot strangely, but saw nothing but an inexplicable smile on his face.Accompanied by Sir Guy Willard and Dr Toswell we toured the entire archaeological dig site.The main archaeological finds were transported to Cairo, but some of the tombs were also of particular interest.The enthusiasm of the young jazz is obvious, but I can feel his extremely tense inner activities from his words and expressions, and he seems to be unable to shake off a certain threat in the air.As we entered the tent that had been prepared for us to wash off before dinner, we saw a tall, dark figure in white robes standing aside, gesturing gracefully for us to pass him.Greeting us in a low voice in Arabic; Poirot stopped. "You are Hassan, Sir John Willard's servant!" "I used to serve my Lord John; now I serve his son, Sir Guy Willard." He stepped closer to us, and said in a low voice, "They say they are wise How to deal with those demons and goblins. Get my young master out of here, for the air around us is full of evil." He made an unexpected gesture, and hurried away without waiting for a reply. "There is evil in the air," repeated Poirot. "Yes, I have felt it." Our dinner, which was held out of doors, was hard to say how pleasant it was, with Dr. Toswell alone at the table talking, and he concluded with the customs of the ancient Egyptians.Just as we were about to retire to rest, Sir Guy took Poirot's arm and pointed to him: a looming moving figure appeared in the tent.This is not a human figure, I clearly recognize it, this is the shadow with a dog's head that I have seen on the wall of that ancient tomb! Seeing this scene, my blood froze all over my body. "My God!" Poirot murmured, drawing the cross desperately on his body, "this is a dog-headed god with a human body, the ancient Egyptian god of guiding the dead!" "Someone is threatening us!" cried Dr. Toswell, jumping up angrily. "He came into your tent, Harlan," said Sir Guy nervously, his face pale. "No," said Poirot, shaking his head, "it went into Dr. Ames' tent." The doctor stared suspiciously at Poirot.Then, repeating what Dr. Toswell had said, he cried out: "Someone is scaring us, let's go together, we can catch that guy soon!" The doctor rushed forward bravely, looking for the looming ghost, and I followed closely behind.But, despite our careful searches, we were unable to find any trace of anyone's presence.We had to return, distraught, only to find that Poirot, in his peculiar way, was taking active steps to ensure his own safety.He is busy drawing various symbols and figures on the sand. He drew a circle around our tent.I could see that the five-pointed star and the pentagon were drawn many times.As he always did, while he was painting on the ground, he kept improvising incantations such as preventing demons and exorcising demons, and he also quoted scriptures from the Book of the Dead and ancient books, talking non-stop.This obviously aroused Dr. Toswell's great contempt.He took me aside, angrily expressing his contempt for Poirot's conduct. "Nonsense, sir," he said angrily, "pure ignorance. The man is a liar, and he has no idea of ​​the vast difference between the superstitions of the Middle Ages and the beliefs of the ancient Egyptians. Never heard of it." This hodgepodge of ignorance and superstitious stupidity." I calmed the agitated archaeologist, and Poirot and I went into the tent.My short friend flushed with excitement. "And now we can sleep in peace!" he said cheerfully. "I can say the spell in sleep too, but my head hurts badly. Oh, if only I could have a cup of herbal tea." As if in answer to his prayer, the curtain of the tent was thrown back, and Hassan appeared.He handed Poirot a cup of piping hot tea, a kind of tea made from chamomile, which Poirot was particularly fond of drinking.After thanking Hassan and declining his offer to bring me a drink, we were alone in the tent again.After taking off my clothes, I stood at the door of the tent for a while, looking out at the vast desert. "What a wonderful place," I exclaimed. "What a marvelous work, I can feel its fascination. This desert life, this digging and exploring of a civilization long gone. Poirot, there is no doubt , you must also feel this charm, right?" I didn't get an answer and turned around a little annoyed, my anger quickly turning to worry.Poirot was lying across the rough rug, his face horribly contorted, and beside him was the empty glass.I rushed to him, then sprinted out of the tent again, across the camp to Ames' tent. "Dr. Ames!" I yelled. "Come here!" "What's the matter?" The doctor came out in his pajamas. "My friend, he's sick and dying. It's because of that cup of chamomile tea. Don't let Hassan leave the land..." The doctor rushed into our tent like an arrow, and Poirot lay there, motionless as I had left him. "Ah," exclaimed Vimes, "looks like he's having a seizure—what did you say he drank?" He picked up the empty glass. "Only I didn't drink it!" said a calm voice, and we both turned our heads in amazement to see Poirot sitting up in bed, smiling. "No," he said softly to the doctor, "I didn't drink it. When my good friend Hastings was expressing his emotions to the night scene, I took the opportunity to pour it out, not pour it into Instead, it was poured into a vial, which was to be sent to the forensic doctor for analysis. (At this point the doctor seemed startled, and quickly reached into his purse.) As a Reasonable man, you should know that violence never ends well, and I have plenty of time to put that medicine bottle in a safe place before Hastings calls for you. Ah, quick , Hastings, catch him!" I ignored Poirot's anxious tone and seized the doctor, thinking only of protecting my friend Poirot.I flew in front of him, but the doctor's quick movements had another meaning.His hand was suddenly in his mouth, and a bitter almond smell filled the air, and he staggered and fell forward on the ground. "Another victim," said Poirot gravely, "but this is the last, and perhaps for the best; he has three lives in him." "Doctor Ames?" I exclaimed in surprise, "but I thought you really believed in some unfathomable power." "You misunderstood me, Hastings. I meant that I believed in the terrible power of superstition. Once people have the stubborn idea that a series of deaths are caused by supernatural forces, then you simply How easy it is to persecute a man in broad daylight, and still call it a curse; and how deeply superstitious the so-called supernatural superstition is in the human mind! From the first I doubted that anyone would take advantage of it. a superstition, which I think the death of Sir John Willard inspired in him. A frenzy of superstition arose at once, and so far no one, so far as I have seen, has gained from the death of Sir John. Any particular favor. Mr. Brener's situation is different. He is a very rich man. The news I got from New York has several meanings. First, young Brener, who is nephew of his, who was reported to have said that he had a good friend in Egypt from whom he could borrow money. It goes without saying that he was referring to his uncle. But it seems to me that if that In this case, he could have said it more clearly, and he said that he meant his own friends who could help him. Secondly, he raised enough money to get him to Egypt, and his uncle They refused to give him a penny outright, yet he was able to pay for his return to New York, and someone must have lent him that money." "But these reasonings are very strained," I objected. "Also, Hastings, it can often happen that words that are said in cryptic terms can be taken literally, and the reverse can also happen. It can also be understood in terms of its metaphorical meaning. The young Buchener clearly wrote before his death, 'I am a leper', but no one realized that he shot himself because He believes he has a terrible disease like leprosy." "What?" I was speechless. "It was a clever ruse by a vicious fellow. Young Brener had a mild skin disease. He had lived on a South Pacific island where it was quite common. Ames was an old friend of his, and a well-known medical expert at that, and it would never have occurred to him in his dreams to doubt his words. When I came here, my suspicions were in Harper and Ames However, I soon realized that only a doctor could commit a crime and cover up a crime. I learned from Harang that the doctor knew young Brener before, and there was no doubt that young Brener was in Whenever he wrote a will or invested in life insurance for himself, and left the inheritance or insurance money to the doctor in the future, the latter saw his opportunity to grab wealth. When he vaccinated the old Mr. Brener, It was also easy to inject him with a deadly germ, and then, in desperation, Brenner's nephew, after hearing the fatal news of his leprosy from his friend Ames, shot himself. Regardless of Mr. Brener's wishes, he has left no bequest, and his fortune will pass to his only relation, his nephew, and from his nephew, young Brener, to the doctor." "Why kill Mr. Schneider?" "We don't know. He knew young Brenner too, you remember? Maybe the doctor suspected something, maybe the doctor thought an extra death for no reason or purpose would make that superstitious statement even stronger."今人信服。再者，我要给你讲一个有趣的心理现象，黑斯廷斯，一个谋杀者，总是有一种强烈的愿望要重复他曾经成功的罪行，这种不断重复犯罪的想法会在他的脑子里生根发芽。因此，我替年轻的威拉德担心。今天晚上的那个导引亡灵之神的身影，就是哈桑按照我的命令化装的，我想看看我是否有可能让大夫感到害怕。但是，要让他害怕，不能仅仅是制造迷信，我可似付出，我假装相信迷信，他根本就没上当。我导演的那个小小戏剧，根本没有能骗过他，我因此怀疑他会施行阴谋：使我成为下一个牺牲品。啊，尽管旅途晕船，一路颠簸，炎热难当，还有可恶的沙子，但我的这些小小的脑神经细胞仍然运转正常！” 结果表明，波洛的推断完全正确。年轻的布雷纳几年前有一次喝得酩酊大醉，曾开玩笑似地立了一个“遗瞩”： 将他垂涎已久的我的香烟盒，以及我死的时候能够拥有的所有其他物品，都毫无条件地奉送给我的好朋友罗伯特·艾姆斯。他曾经救过我的命、使我免于淹死水中。 这件案子尽可能地不被张扬出去。直到今日，人们在谈到那一系列引人注目的死亡案件时，还把它和门哈拉古墓联系在一起，并且把那一系列死亡案件看成是一个早已死去肋法老对掘墓人行使报复取得胜利的一种证明——这种说法，就像波洛向我指出的那样，和所有的古埃及信仰和思想都是背道而驰的。