Lord of the Silent: A Novel of Suspense (34 page)

courteous inquiry as to how long we meant to remain in Luxor, but I immediately took advantage, catching Emerson with his mouth open. "We are giving serious thought to spending the rest of the winter in Luxor. We have almost finished the task with which Herr Junker was good enough to entrust us, so there is nothing more for us to do at Giza, and Emerson believes that a detailed survey of the Luxor sites would prove useful." Emerson closed his mouth with an audible click of teeth; Cyrus expressed his delight and approval; and Mr. MacKay frowned. "Not that you have not done your best," I added graciously. "But it is too large a task for one man." The young fellow's troubled brow cleared. "Candidly, Mrs. Emerson, it would be a great relief to me. For some time I have been torn between my duty to my profession and my duty to my country. Were you and your family here, I could leave with a clear conscience." He sounded sincere. Was he? Ramses had spoken very little. Observing his enigmatic look at MacKay, I realized his thoughts had been running along the same lines as mine. MacKay and Barton did not linger over coffee, and both declined a postprandial libation. Their working day began at dawn. Soon thereafter Katherine took Bertie up to bed, and Cyrus suggested she retire as well. I was about to administer a tactful hint to William when he murmured something about being tired from the trip, and effaced himself. They were scarcely out of the room when all eyes focused on me, some in hopeful inquiry, some-Cyrus's-in stern expectation. "You aren't going to wiggle out of it this time, Amelia," he remarked. "I'll sit here all night if I have to." "So you've heard," Emerson said resignedly. "About Emmeline? Yep. Now I've kept mum, folks, didn't deny or admit anything. Seems to me I'm entitled to hear the whole story. Who is the mysterious lady?" "That is no lady," I said, unable to resist a touch of humor. "That is the Master Criminal." Cyrus's jaw dropped and Emerson let out a strangled oath. Nefret's face rounded in a smile. Ramses said nothing. "Now, Emerson, don't roar," I said. "I realized immediately that we have no choice but to confide wholly in Cyrus. Why should we not? He has been our staunchest ally and dearest friend." Cyrus let out a choked gurgle and cleared his throat. "Thank you, Amelia. I-uh-I thought I was used to your shenanigans, but you knocked the breath clean out of me with that one. Why are you folks sheltering your worst enemy? Or are you holding him prisoner? Why? Holy Jehoshaphat, I thought the fellow was dead." "Ramses will explain," I said. Ramses started violently and so forgot himself as to scowl at me. It seemed to me only fair that since he and Nefret had initiated the deception, they should render the necessary explanations, but I gave him a brief breathing space by remarking, "Cyrus, I believe that instead of brandy I would like a whiskey and soda, if you ¦would be so good." Ramses then launched into his narrative, to which I listened with as much interest as Cyrus, since I was curious to know how Ramses was going to avoid certain matters which could not be divulged even to Cyrus: namely and to wit, Sethos's relationship to Emerson, which was a private family matter, and the former's career as a secret agent, which was a private government matter. I must say that after a somewhat faltering start Ramses did credit to my training. His mention of a "lost tomb" fascinated Cyrus to such an extent that his critical faculties were dulled, and our friend readily accepted Ramses's explanation that he had come to Sethos's aid because he was, in a sense, the lesser of two evils. "His rival is completely ruthless-a killer," Ramses said. "And I am sure I need not remind you of the numerous occasions upon which Sethos risked his life to protect the lady he loves devotedly ..." He proceeded to remind them of those occasions, at unnecessary length, and in a prose style that was reminiscent of Miss Minton's more romantic passages. Ah well, I thought, as Emerson chewed fiercely on the stem of his pipe and my son pretended to look apologetic, I suppose I had it coming. I did not doubt that Ramses enjoyed getting back at me for "putting him on the spot." Our relationship was developing in quite an interesting fashion. Ramses was able to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth about Miss Minton's involvement, which explained to everyone's satisfaction how Sethos had ended up at the Amelia. He ended with an apology for involving Cyrus, which the latter, now bright-eyed as an adventurous boy, brushed aside. "I understand. Had to keep those thugs away from the Amelia and your lady. Getting him off the boat was a good idea too, but you'd better make sure the word spreads that you no longer have a guest. How about if I tell the world that poor old Emmeline's decided she wants nothing more to do with this unsanitary sickly country? Packed her traps and gone off in a huff. I could take you to the train tomorrow, Amelia, bid you a brotherly farewell, you can get off at Hammadi and catch the next train back . . . What's so funny, Nefret?" "You," Nefret sputtered. "We ought to have taken you into our confidence from the start. You're almost as good at invention as Mother." "Quite," said Ramses, giving Cyrus a look of alarm. "It won't wash, Cyrus. We can't prove Emmeline was ever here at the Castle, because she wasn't. All we can do is add another lie to the rest and say she's gone-and the sooner the better. I'll tell Nasir and Ashraf tomorrow, and if they wonder how the bloody hell-excuse me- how we got 'her' away unseen, they can speculate to their hearts' content." Cyrus was obviously disappointed. "Well, if you say so. Now how are we going to go about finding that gol-durned royal tomb?" A thump and a click brought us all to our feet. It sounded as if someone had slammed a door which had been slightly ajar; yet I had made certain both doors to the sitting room were tightly closed before I began to speak. Emerson dashed toward one door and Ramses, whose hearing was slightly more acute, for the other. He flung the panel wide; and there, blinking and emitting little bleats of alarm, was William Amherst. 15

William stuttered out a series of incoherent phrases-"Couldn't sleep-came down to get a book from the library-fell against the door-frightfully sorry . . ." He was holding a book, and he was attired in pajamas and dressing gown, but no sensible conspirator would neglect such obvious precautions. We did not bother asking whether he had overheard all or part of our conversation, since he would not have told the truth anyhow. It might have been only idle curiosity that had prompted him to ease the door open-or someone else might have opened it before he came along. Cyrus was loath to admit that his former protege could be guilty of wrongdoing. "He sure has changed, though. Used to be a swell young fellow who would look you straight in the eye. He's a different man." "Hmmm," I said. "No!" Emerson's shout rattled the crystal. "No, Amelia. We already have two experts in disguise in this-er-group. I refuse to admit even the slightest possibility of a third!" We did not linger long after that. I persuaded Cyrus that since Sethos's murderous rival was (presumably) the only one who knew the location of the (hypothetical) tomb, our first priority should be identifying him-which would have the additional advantage of preventing further violence. I also felt obliged to scold Cyrus a little, for his own good. "There is absolutely no reason to suppose that the tomb is that of a royal personage, Cyrus. I know that it has been your greatest ambition to find such a tomb, but the greater your expectations, the greater will be your disappointment should those expectations fail to materialize. Let imagination flourish freely, my friend, but do not pin your hopes-" "You have made your point, Amelia," said Emerson. "I hope that you will take it to heart." I rose before my spouse, as I usually do, filled with ambition and energy. I had believed, before we arrived in Luxor, that life had become somewhat complicated. Little had I known! Stimulated though I was by the tasks that awaited me, I admitted the necessity of organizing them in order of priority and feasibility. I therefore slipped out of bed without wakening Emerson, assumed a dressing gown, and went into the sitting room that adjoined our bedchamber. We had, of course, been given Cyrus's best suite of rooms. They were even more elegant and comfortable than when I had stayed in them before. The same fine Oriental rugs covered the floors and the light of early morning filtered through the beautifully carved mashrabiya screens that covered the windows. Katherine's thoughtful hand was visible in the new draperies, the luxurious appointments of the adjoining bath chamber, and the nice little desk in the sitting room. Nothing had been overlooked: notepaper and envelopes, writing materials and blotting paper. I settled myself into the comfortable chair and drew a sheet of paper toward me. "Interview the other archaeological suspects," was the first item of business. Despite Emerson's jeers I felt certain that I had been right in believing that the man behind the mystery was an Egyptologist. I was acquainted with all of them, but never before had I had occasion to study them as possible murderers and criminals. I wanted to interview the ones who had not been present the previous evening. Under this heading I added: Alibis. I doubted anything would come of this; it is only in fiction that detectives are able to extract verifiable statements from their suspects. Memories are faulty, and witnesses, particularly to noctural activities, are often lacking. Still, it was worth a try, and a "Timetable of Attacks" might be useful. I wrote this phrase under "Alibis." "Find the Tomb" was my second heading. Two methods of inquiry suggested themselves, aside from the obvious one of catching the villain and forcing him to confess. Yusuf and the other members of the family in Gurneh might know something. I did not suppose they would deliberately conceal information, but they might consider it unimportant. Emerson and Selim were the best persons to ask such questions. The other line of inquiry was to search for the place ourselves. This was not such a hopeless endeavor as it might sound, since logical analysis had limited the number of likely areas, and the villain might have left signs of his presence that would be visible to expert eyes like ours. A further advantage to this procedure was that if we came anywhere near the actual location it might inspire our adversary to attack us. I had got this far when I heard a rustle of bed linen and a querulous oath from the adjoining room and Emerson abruptly appeared in the open doorway. "So there you are," he exclaimed. "Where did you think I would be?" "With you, one never knows." Emerson leaned against the doorframe and rubbed his eyes. He is not at his best in the morning, physically or mentally, but even his present state of dishevelment- hair tousled, eyes half closed, chin bristling-did not detract from his splendid looks. Since we were not in the comfort of our own home, he had agreed to wear a minimal amount of sleeping attire-pajama trousers, to be precise-which exposed to my fond eyes the admirable musculature of his chest and shoulders. I was a trifle out of temper with him, however. My attempts the previous night to carry on a conversation had failed. All he would do was grunt. "Since you are awake, I will ring for tea," I said. "I could do with a cup; I have been working for over half an hour." Emerson stumbled across the room and leaned over my shoulder. "Another of your confounded lists," he said disagreeably." 'Find the Tomb'? Good Gad, you make it sound as simple as scrubbing a floor or-" But at that point the sitting room door opened-the service at the Castle was always first-rate-and Emerson retreated, mumbling irritably. "Your dressing gown is in the wardrobe," I called after him. He was wearing it when he returned, and his expression was a trifle less forbidding. "I hate it when you creep away like that," he said. "When I reach out for you and you aren't there-" "Drink your tea," I said. That might have been meant as an apology, but it had sounded more like criticism. A cup of the genial beverage, heavily loaded with sugar, restored Emerson. Reaching out a long arm, he took my list from the writing desk and studied it. "I don't see any mention of your favorite method of identifying an enemy," he remarked. "Something along the lines of 'Wait to be attacked,' or 'Instigate an attack,' or-" "I have already taken care of that," I replied. "Hmmm, yes. Your announcement last evening that we intended to remain in Luxor for the rest of the winter. Really, Amelia, I wish you would warn me of these little schemes of yours; if I were not so accustomed to your methods I might have blurted out a denial. You do realize, I hope, that your entire theory and methodology are based on pure surmise? We don't know that there is a tomb; we don't know that the discoverer is an Egyptologist; we don't know why, assuming that the first two premises are correct, he has refrained from removing the artifacts. He may-note the word 'may'-have attempted to keep us from coming here, but now that we are here he may simply wait until we leave, however long it takes. He doesn't appear to be in any particular hurry." "Anything is possible, my dear. However, he went to considerable lengths to induce us to remain in Cairo, and he is now aware that Sethos is also after his treasure. Were I in his position-" "Yes, yes, I know what you would do," Emerson muttered. "Speaking of my-of Sethos, I don't see his name on your list. I expected your first move would be to head for the Winter Palace." The idea had, of course, passed through my mind. But greatly as I yearned to come face-to-face with the remarkable individual who had returned-again!-from the dead, I knew that we must avoid drawing undue attention to the hotel. It was well known in Luxor that Emerson never went to such places if he could get out of it, and our appearance at an early hour would be so unusual as to arouse curiosity. I explained this to Emerson. "I will pen a brief missive to Miss Minton, asking her to join us for luncheon at two." "Ah, yes, Miss Minton," said Emerson thoughtfully. "You haven't put her on your list either." "I had not finished the list. Rest assured I am well aware that we owe her a debt of gratitude for rescuing your-er-Sethos. I have it all worked out. Now hurry and dress, Emerson, we must get an early start." When we went down to breakfast we found the Vandergelts already at table. I had expected Cyrus would be "raring to go," as he quaintly expressed it, but I was somewhat surprised to see Bertie also dressed for riding. On second thought, I was not surprised. Our appearance had interrupted a rather brisk discussion between mother and son. Katherine turned to me in appeal. "I have been trying to dissuade Bertie from going, Amelia. He isn't fit enough yet." Rapidly I considered what advice I ought to give. Bertie's presence would inhibit our conversation to some extent, since we had agreed that for the time being at least Katherine should be spared the knowledge that we were involved with not one but two groups of criminals. She had seen the advantages of Egyptology as a profession for Bertie, but she would most probably consider that a distinct disadvantage. The young man was too well-bred to say more than, "I assure you, Mother, I am up to it," but his mutinous expression made it clear he meant to have his way, so I patted her hand and reassured her. "We will only be out for a few hours, Katherine, and in the coolest part of the day. Nefret and I will make sure he doesn't overdo." "Quite right," said Emerson, pausing in his brisk intake of nourishment. "You can't keep the lad wrapped in cotton wool forever, Katherine. Let him have his head. We will look after him." Having mixed his metaphors and thoroughly vexed his hostess, he returned to his eggs and toast with the complacent air of a man who has been the soul of tact. Unconvinced but outvoted, Katherine said no more. We had arranged the night before that Nefret and Ramses should meet us at the Castle. When they turned up they were accompanied by two youthful Egyptians, whom I had no difficulty in identifying as Jumana and her brother. Daoud's description of the girl had not done her justice. What made her remarkable was not only her pretty face but the vivacity that animated every feature. Her brother bore a strong resemblance to her, but that morning his handsome face was disfigured by a swelling that had almost closed one of his eyes. As soon as we set off, Jumana attached herself to Emerson, so I joined Bertie, whose attempt to ride beside her she had coolly ignored. His eyes fixed on the slim little figure of the girl, who was gesticulating so vigorously she appeared to be in danger of falling off the horse, he did not respond to my innocuous if pointless remark that it was a fine morning. I nudged him gently with my parasol. "I beg your pardon?" he said, starting. "Well?" Nefret had joined us. "What do you think of her?" "I have not had time to formulate an opinion," I replied. "If she is as intelligent as she is-er-enthusiastic ..." "She is also a conniving little minx," said Nefret with a smile. "You see how she is making up to Father. Before you got here, Ramses was the object of her attentions." "Oh, I say," Bertie exclaimed. "She's not a ... she's not like that. Really, she's not." "Her interest is purely professional," Nefret explained. "She's a Moslem female; she assumes that the men in the family make the decisions, and she is dead set on becoming an Egyptologist." Bertie's ingenuous face brightened. "Well, so am I." He drew himself up, straightened his shoulders, and looked about with an air of great interest. "Cyrus mentioned we were going to Deir el Bahri. That's Queen Hatshepsut, isn't it?" "Very good," I commended, and launched into a little lecture on the career of that illustrious woman. Nefret, who of course knew all about it, fell back to where she had wanted to be all along-with Ramses, that is. The queen's mortuary temple was one of the favored sites on the west bank and one of the most conspicuous. As we approached I explained the architectural features to Bertie and attempted to conjure up a picture of how it must have looked in Hatshepsut's time, with flowering trees lining the causeway and huge statues adorning the columned terraces. He was listening attentively and had asked several intelligent questions when Emerson took it upon himself to interrupt. "Don't let her give you too much at one time," he advised. "She'll drown you in facts if you allow it." Bertie insisted that he had enjoyed every word, but Emerson obviously wanted a private conversation with me. He suggested that Bertie join Jumana, which pleased everyone except possibly Jumana. " 'Find the tomb,' " said Emerson in a low growl. "Rather a formidable task, isn't it, even for you?" His gesture took in the long curve of the cliffs that enclosed Hatshepsut's temple and the ruins of the one next to it. Even in that limited area there were a hundred possible hiding places. It fit one of our criteria, however. It was certainly public enough. There were not as many tourists as there had been in past years, but they were all over the place, in clumps and pairs. (The second member of the pair being in all cases a dragoman or guide. It required force majeure to be left alone.) "Ah well, we can only do our best," I replied. "No one can succeed unless he tries. Life-" "One more aphorism-particularly one beginning 'life'-and I will divorce you, Peabody," said Emerson. But he smiled as he said it. "It's not going to be easy exploring with this entourage trailing us. What the devil are we looking for anyhow? A signpost, labeled 'THIS WAY TO THE LOST TOMB'?" I always allow Emerson his little touches of sarcasm, which give him the illusion that he is being witty. Smiling back at him, I said, "We are supposed to be looking for a site for Cyrus. That provides us with a reasonable excuse to go anywhere we like. We can't allow Bertie to clamber about the cliffs, though. Leave it to me." "I always do," said Emerson. Jumana had left Bertie and was trotting briskly toward us. I told Emerson to go on and summoned the girl to my side. We had a little chat. I do not believe in beating about the bush, particularly with young persons. Subtle hints pass right over their heads, and this young person appeared to be even more determined and self-centered than most. I reminded her that Cyrus was extremely wealthy, dedicated to archaeology, and devoted to his stepson, and added, "I want you to stay with Bertie today, and on future occasions, while the rest of us engage in activities that would be too strenuous for him." "Ah," said Jumana, her smooth brow wrinkling as she thought it over. It did not take her long to catch my drift. "If I do that, you and Mr. Vandergelt "will