The Cattle Baron. Margaret Way
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do some research on the Banfields. They’re landed gentry. There’s got to be a story, and it doesn’t sound like a fairy tale.”
Marley rolled his eyes. “There’s always a story. Unfortunately it doesn’t help me. Chase Banfield doesn’t share his uncle’s interests. Not in the least. In fact, he derides them. The problem is, if I can’t get to Chase Banfield, I can’t get onto Three Moons.”
“Where this cache was found.” Rosie phrased it as a statement, not a question.
“I didn’t exactly say that, Roslyn.”
“I think you did. If you want my help, there shouldn’t be secrets between us. Presumably Porter Banfield unearthed the scarab and the rest of the stuff on the station and approached you as an eminent archaeologist. What’s in it for him?”
Marley sighed, as though he wished he didn’t have to choose her as his partner in this enterprise. “The thrill of the find, Roslyn.” He reverted to testiness. “I told you he’s an Egyptologist.”
“And nothing would please him more than sharing the limelight with you,” she said, a touch sarcastically. “Perhaps the two of you going on a lecture tour. As I remember, he was very conscious of his own importance.”
“He’s a scholar, Roslyn,” Marley muttered. “Don’t lose sight of that. Antiquities are his passion.”
“As long as he can explain where he got them.”
“That’s not our business, my dear.”
Rosie rested both elbows on the table, trying to think it out. “And he was exploring Three Moons back when his nephew was a boy? He sounds like a man obsessed.”
“Why not?” Marley stared at her with that strange look in his eyes. “Are you trying to tell me, my dear, that you don’t care?”
Rosie stroked her forehead. “I’m fascinated, Dr. Marley—if it’s all genuine.”
He blinked hard. “Surely you don’t think I’d be party to a hoax.”
“Oh, no.” Rosie emphasized the no. “There’s your integrity, your reputation. I don’t mean that the objects aren’t genuine. After all, finds of ancient Egyptian origin have been turning up for many, many decades. They’ve been reported in newspapers and magazines from the turn of the century. The big question is, where did these objects come from? Can Porter Banfield be telling the truth about where he acquired his treasure trove? Obviously, if his interest is antiquities, he knows all the dealers. One or two are probably shady.”
“Dear God!” Marley shook his head in disbelief. “Allow me to judge the man’s qualifications. With all due respect, I think I’m a better judge than you. I wouldn’t have set up this meeting if I didn’t think we were really onto something big. Banfield claims he knows the site of the ancient Egyptian village. He said his brother knew. Their father before them. They knew the site of the pyramid.”
“And Chase Banfield doesn’t? I refuse to believe it.”
“Hell, why?” Marley looked rattled. “He was only ten when his parents died. For years he was pretty traumatized.”
“His father and uncle never shared the family secret? I think he has to know. You’ve got to admit, Doctor, this is fairly hard to buy.”
“Does everything have to make perfect sense?” Marley quivered in outrage. “There are many things out there one can’t explain.”
“True,” Rosie acknowledged. “Particularly if the bait you’re dangling is such a marvelous scoop.”
Marley nodded. “It is marvelous, and it’s real. And you’re the only person I could think of who might get through to Banfield. A combination of skill and charm. Porter swears that what he says is true. The cache he left in my keeping was unearthed on Three Moons. As to how it got there? Banfield believes with every particle of faith in him that there was an ancient Egyptian village on the station. For one thing, rock paintings on the property depict papyrus, two-stem and three-stem. Papyrus was the swamp plant of ancient Egypt, as I’m sure you know. It’s not indigenous to Australia. As well, there are Egyptian-like figures and glyphs depicted. I haven’t seen these caves. I can’t get onto the property to see them, which is enormously frustrating to someone in my position. They’re almost inaccessible, so I’m told, but until I study the paintings, I can’t give a definite answer as to their date or their origin. Banfield says they’re very old Aboriginal drawings.”
“And who’s going to brave the crocodiles?” Rosie asked, stirring abruptly as though one was hiding under the table.
Marley rubbed his shapely hands together. “I don’t think they’re going to attack us if we don’t attack them.”
“Maybe not the average crocodile,” Rosie said with a shudder, “but there are plenty of rogues.”
Marley gave a dismissive little wave of his hand. “Forget the crocodiles.”
“Hell, no!”
“Nothing bad’s going to happen to you,” Marley assured her. “I’ve been Outback hundreds of times. Admittedly most of my experience has been with the fresh-water variety.”
Rosie groaned. “Don’t West Australians keep them as pets? We’re talking the saltwater variety, Dr. Marley. The ones that take you down into a death roll and shove you under a log until they’re ready to party. Whichever way you look at it, saltwater crocodiles are part of your package.”
“But you look like the adventurous type,” Marley joked. “Anyway, maybe you can get Chase Banfield himself to play great white hunter. He must know his own property like the back of his hand.”
At those words, Rosie pounced. “Isn’t that proof there’s nothing there?”
For the first time doubt sprang into Marley’s eyes, yet he plowed on. “A huge slice of it is jungle. He doesn’t know where to look for the site. Three Moons is vast. Some ten thousand square kilometers. Fifty thousand or more Brahmin-based cattle roam the open savannahs and the hill country. There’s a farming project, as well, forage sorghum, different varieties of hay. That kind of thing. I’m no farmer.”
“Neither, apparently, was Porter Banfield.” Rosie pushed glinting wisps of hair from her temples. “Not a cattleman, either. Which might account for a lot of Chase Banfield’s problems,” she added perceptively. “From the little knowledge I gained when I was up there, Three Moons station some ten years ago was almost at the point of collapse.”
“Well, that’s far from the case now,” Marley said irritably. “I understand it’s back to full production.”
“So Chase Banfield is no slouch,” Rosie offered with admiration.
“Apparently not,” Marley responded, unsmiling. “Porter may have been a failure in some areas, but he knows his ancient history. The pyramid exists, although it’s covered with eons of vegetation, hidden away in the back country. Lonely, isolated, scary country.”
“Where you want to go trekking?” Humor sparkled in Rosie’s eyes.
“I’d go trekking in hell if I could unearth an ancient civilization,” Marley returned bluntly. “What I want to know is whether you’re prepared to help me make my discovery.”
“Porter Banfield’s discovery, surely.”
Marley didn’t so much as blink. “He’s had his cache for a while. He might be something of an Egyptologist, but he doesn’t have the expertise to excavate anything, let alone an ancient ruin. Wise man, he knows his limitations. It takes an archaeologist of my training to successfully carry out a project like that. What I’m asking of you is a pact of mutual trust. If you can get to Banfield, persuade him to sanction our plan to uncover this ancient village, it might turn out to be the greatest assignment you’ll ever have. To be part of an exploration group that would prove once and for all that there was