Herring on the Nile by L. C. Tyler

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    ‘You’ll be able to read that stuff now, having listened to Campion,’ said Proctor with a sneer.
    ‘Not really,’ I said, giving up the charade of doing so.
    ‘Exactly,’ said Proctor, leaning against the pillar. He was using a thumbnail to extract the last remains of his breakfast from between his front teeth. He held up the modest fruits
of his labours to the light and squinted at it before adding: ‘That man’s a complete fraud.’
    ‘I wouldn’t go that far . . .’
    ‘Oh, I would. “He of the Sedge and the Bee”. What sort of title is that? He hadn’t got the first idea what those cartouches said.’
    ‘I did wonder the same thing,’ I said. I couldn’t vouch for the hieroglyphs, but the Ptolemy numbering thing continued to niggle me. It felt odd siding with Proctor, but his
suspicions echoed my own. I glanced round the courtyard to see whether any of our party was within earshot. I could see nobody, but of course anyone could have been concealed behind one of the
numerous columns. ‘Yes, he is acting oddly,’ I agreed. ‘He said something last night that I’m sure was wrong. He said this temple was constructed by Ptolemy II.’
    Proctor nodded. ‘They can’t fool you, eh Ethelred? Ptolemy II my arse.’
    For a moment I thought that, like Elsie, he was not taking my concerns seriously. I pressed on anyway.
    ‘So, why should he be pretending to be an Egyptologist?’ I asked.
    ‘Why indeed, Ethelred? Why indeed? You see, I’m trained to pick up these things – in real life, where it counts. Of course, if this was one of your little books, he might just
be a red herring – he might have some entirely innocent reason for playing at being a professor. But not in real life, Ethelred. When that sort of thing happens in real life, there’s a
reason for it. What you need in this business is cold logic and an instinct for danger. You have to be two steps ahead . . .’
    The slab of sandstone, as I was later informed, was halfway to the ground before anyone spotted it. At that point two or three people had screamed helpfully, but it took far longer for us to
react than for the rock to complete its descent and shatter against the flagstone floor. It was fortunate that standing still was a relatively safe option. I was aware only of something large
hitting the deck not far from us. Whereupon a whole lot more people screamed. As the dust cleared I saw Proctor staring at me open-mouthed; then everyone within the courtyard and some from the hall
beyond converged on us asking us if we were all right. My arm, I discovered, had been grazed by a fragment of stone, thrown up when the slab flew apart. Proctor appeared shocked and dusty, but
unhurt. It was only once I had reassured everyone that I was fine that I thought to look up.
    ‘It must have broken off from the roof, up there,’ I started to say, though I couldn’t have said exactly which part of the roof had given way.
    ‘We need to clear the hall and get people over to the other side of the courtyard,’ said somebody near me. ‘Another piece could come down at any moment.’
    There was general agreement on this point. Though the outer court was entirely open to the sky, and no part of it other than that adjoining the hall offered any threat of falling objects, most
of us gravitated quickly to the far side – with frequent backward glances. There I met other members of our party, including Elsie.
    ‘What happened in there?’ she demanded, lick in galarge ice cream with three chocolate Flakes. ‘Did you break something?’
    ‘A rock fell from the roof,’ I said. ‘It just missed me and Herbie Proctor.’
    Elsie nodded, though the rapidly melting vanilla goo was demanding the better part of her attention. I showed her my scratched arm, and received an assurance (between skilfully deployed licks)
that I would probably live. Only when I pointed to the widely dispersed remains of the slab on the far side of the courtyard did