The Valley of the Kings, 1907. Journey on a perilous adventure into antiquity with Amelia Peabody, fiction's most beloved archaeologist, and her captivating cohorts.
"Ape" has it all ' exotic scenery, brazen tomb robbers, stolen treasures, vengeful gods, a mysterious cult ' and a ruthless, remorseless killer who has his eye on Amelia.
"So charmed was I by [this book] that I spent most of the last month devouring... Amelia Peabody mysteries."
LOS ANGELES TIMES
"In April of this year, Peters, who has been writing mysteries for 30 years, was honored as a Grand Master by the Mystery Writers of America. This captivating novel... validates her peers' high regard.... Rich in characterization, incident and humor, this latest adventure of Amelia Peabody is a grand, galloping adventure with a heart as big as the Great Pyramid itself."
"Amelia remains an irrepressible delight."
THE NEW YORK TIMES BOOK REVIEW
"Amelia is Indiana Jones, Sherlock Holmes, and Miss Marple all rolled into one."
THE WASHINGTON POST
"Amelia is one of the most interesting and delightful characters in the mystery genre."
ST. PAUL PIONEER PRESS
"Elizabeth Peter's mysteries are like comfort food--they always satisfy...Peters' witty writing and her cast of outrageous characters move the story along at a brisk pace."
SAN FRANCISCO EXAMINER
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April 30, 1999
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Excerpt from The Ape Who Guards the Balance by Elizabeth Peters
I was inserting an additional pin into my hat when the library door opened and Emerson put his head out.
"There is a matter on which I would like to consult you, Peabody," he began.
He had obviously been working on his book, for his thick black hair was disheveled, his shirt gaped open, and his sleeves had been rolled above the elbows. Emerson claims that his mental processes are inhibited by the constriction of collars, cuffs and cravats. It may be so. I certainly did not object, for my husband's muscular frame and sunbronzed skin are displayed to best advantage in such a state of dishabille. On this occasion, however, I was forced to repress the emotion the sight of Emerson always arouses in me, since Gargery, our butler, was present.
"Pray do not detain me, my dear Emerson," I replied. "I am on my way to chain myself to the railings at Number Ten Downing Street, and I am already late."
"Chain yourself," Emerson repeated. "May I ask why?"
"It was my idea," I explained modestly. "During some earlier demonstrations, the lady suffragists have been picked up and carried away by large policemen, thus effectively ending the demonstration. This will not be easily accomplished if the ladies are firmly fastened to an immovable object such as an iron railing." "I see." Opening the door wider, he emerged. "Would you like me to accompany you, Peabody? I could drive you in the motorcar."
It would have been difficult to say which suggestion horrified me more -- that he should go with me, or that he should drive the motorcar.
Emerson had been wanting for several years to acquire one of the horrid machines, but I had put him off by one pretext or another until that summer. I had taken all the precautions I could, promoting one of the stablemen to the post of chauffeur and making certain he was properly trained; I had insisted that if the children were determined to drive the nasty thing (which they were), they should also take lessons. David and Ramses had become as competent as male individuals of their age could be expected to be, and in my opinion Nefret was even better, though the men in the family denied it.