Ron Goulart - The Curse of the Obelisk

10 RON GOULART
"Even so."
The director sighed, shrugged, patted his hair. "Very well. If you will but follow me."
Slowly he led them through the big room, along a dimly lit corridor and into a smaller room.
Mounted upright on a wooden stand was the miniature obelisk, a tapering shaft of red granite
profusely covered with carved hieroglyphs. Two small gas lamps, one on each side of the room,
provided the only light.
Allegre hunched his shoulders. "A paltry example, hardly worth making a fuss about," he
observed, stroking his nose. "It stands approximately six foot eight in height, which makes it
roughly one tenth the size of the obelisk to be found in your country."
Jennie edged closer. "Do these inscriptions spell out the curse?"
"Among other things." Reluctantly he joined her near the obelisk. "Those lower rows there,
near the base, provide the phrases that give the obelisk its unsavory reputation."
Harry strolled over. "What do they say exactly?"
Impatiently Allegre translated. " 'By the awesome power of Osiris, who holds the secret of
eternal life, cursed be those who disturb this tomb. Death, not life, shall be their sure and swift
reward.' And so forth and so on. A standard and not especially imaginative curse, as ancient curses
go. Yet sufficient, because of the idiocies practiced by the disgraceful press to—"
"Some reporters," put forth Jennie, "are highly reputable."
"I am astounded to hear you express such sentiments, Mile. Barr, since America's newspapers
are, one is told, even more vile than—"
"Is Osiris usually associated with the secret of eternal life?" asked Harry.
"He is the king and the judge of the dead," answered Allegre. "One doesn't often find him
addressed in exactly these terms, yet the association is—"
"Take the New York Daily Inquirer. There's an honest and well written paper," said Jennie.
"Why, some of the reporters on its staff are—"
"We'd best get on with your inspection tour, Operative Barr." Harry slipped an arm around her
slim waist and gave her an unobtrusive prod in the ribs. "You and M. Allegre can chat about
journalism some other time. I want to check all the entrances before he leaves us."
"Ah, yes," said the director after consulting his gold pocket watch, "the hour does indeed grow
late. I would like to be far from here before midnight strikes." He started out of the room.
After kicking Harry in the shin, Jennie followed.