The Falcon at the Portal: An Amelia Peabody Mystery (20 page)

"Hmph," I said, when Nefret had finished describing Ramses's costume. "Very picturesque, upon my word. Why were you following Daoud and Nefret? He is large enough and faithful enough to protect her."

Slouching upon the divan, with his feet on the rim of the fountain, my son replied, "He would gladly lay down his life for her, but by the time that regrettable event occurred it might be too late for Nefret. After what happened to you this morning we cannot take too many precautions."

"I don't need to be protected," Nefret said predictably. "I had my knife."

For the first time we were enjoying the amenities of the courtyard of our new abode. Consciousness of a task well done filled me with satisfaction as I contemplated it. Wicker settees and chairs, small tables and hassocks had been arranged around the fountain, where a jet of water tinkled musically. The plants Geoffrey had brought were the finishing touch; selected with the taste of an artist and planted with loving care, they had turned a bare courtyard into a garden. The pots containing orange and lemon trees, hibiscus and roses, were local products; their simple lines and softly burnished surfaces suited the ambience and were reminiscent of their ancient counterparts. Certain styles of pottery have not changed in general appearance for thousands of years.

"My adventure today has one positive aspect," I remarked. "If any of you entertained lingering doubts about David's guilt, they have surely been dispelled."

"You are assuming that the attack on you is related to the other business," Emerson said. The lamp on a nearby table illumined his scowling countenance.

"Surely it would be too much of a coincidence if they were unrelated," said Ramses.

"Not at all. Your mother is always getting into unpleasant situations. She goes looking for them. She attracts them. She revels in them."

"What nonsense!" I exclaimed.

"All the same," said Ramses, while Nefret hid her amusement behind her hand, "there are only two possibilities. Either Mother's recent—er—misadventure is not related to the inquiries we have been making, or it is. The second alternative seems most likely. Mother doesn't have
that
many old enemies lurking about. At least ... Do you, Mother?"

"Hmmm," I said. "Let me think. No, not really. Alberto passed on a few years ago, quite peacefully, I was told by his cellmate, and it seems most unlikely that Matilda—"

"Don't go down the list, it would take too long," said Emerson. "We will accept the second alternative as a working theory. Do you have more to say, Ramses?"

It was a foolish question. Ramses always has more to say.

"Yes, Father. We may derive from that alternative certain other likely possibilities. First, the man we are after is somewhere in the Cairo area. Second, he has decided we—or Mother—constitute a danger to him. Third, it is a more complex business than we had supposed, with more at stake than a modest profit. We've known a few forgers in our time, and more than a few peddlers of stolen antiquities. How many of them would have committed murder to prevent exposure?"

"Several," said Emerson grumpily. "Especially ... Close your mouth, Peabody, and don't swear. I told you, I do not suspect Sethos this time. I was thinking of that villain Riccetti."

"He has been in prison since the hippopotamus affair," I pointed out. "I believe we would have heard had he been released."

"The prize that time was an unrobbed royal tomb, with all its contents," Ramses said. "That sort of thing does inspire exaggerated activity on the part of criminals."

Nefret's eyes sparkled. "You don't suppose ..."

"We can't count on having that sort of luck twice in a lifetime," said Emerson. He sighed. "This is only a simple, vulgar case of fraud, I fear."

"The word 'vulgar' is not entirely apropos, Father," Ramses said.

"No," Emerson agreed. "The forgeries aren't the usual sort of thing at all. I cannot spare much sympathy for the buyers; it serves them right if they have been swindled. They have no business buying antiquities anyhow. I'd be tempted to let the fellow get away with this if it were not necessary to clear David."

Leaning forward, his hands clasped, Ramses said with unusual heat, "Then it's time we stopped being so tender of David's feelings and reputation. Even if we could afford that luxury, which I don't believe we can, it is bloody damned stupid."

"Don't—" I began.

"Swear," said Ramses between his teeth. "I beg your pardon, Mother. Don't you realize David is bound to hear about this sooner or later? The word will spread, it always does. Collectors communicate with one another, dealers approach valued customers. God knows how many other fakes there are in various antiquities shops; we were only able to locate a small percentage of them. I'm surprised one of our acquaintances hasn't mentioned Abdullah's 'collection' before this. Believe me, David won't thank us for keeping him unaware. It's a damned—excuse me, Mother— insult."

The silence that followed his statement was tantamount to tacit agreement. It was obvious that he was not the only one to arrive at this depressing conclusion. It had certainly occurred to me.

"You write to David, don't you?" I asked.

"Now and then. Not as often as Nefret writes Lia."

"Men are wretched correspondents," said Nefret with a sniff. "I've said nothing to Lia. You aren't suggesting that we break the news to David in a letter, are you, Aunt Amelia? I don't like that idea one bit."

"I wasn't suggesting it. I only wondered whether David had said anything that might indicate he had got wind of the business."

"I've heard nothing from him to make me believe that," Ramses said. "Nefret?"

"Lia would have told me," Nefret said positively.

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Emerson demanded. "Confound it, Ramses, it's all very well to say we must change our strategy, but unless you can come up with a useful idea—"

"I suggest we stop tiptoeing around the bush, if I may be permitted to mix a metaphor," said Ramses. "We must take Daoud and Selim into our confidence. If we have not settled this business by the time David and Lia arrive, he will have to be told. We might also ask Mr. Vandergelt's advice. He is in closer touch with the world of collectors and legitimate dealers than we, and surely not even Moth            surely no one could suspect him of dealing in forgeries."

"That is quite all right, Ramses," I said. "An imputation of realistic skepticism is not one I find offensive. It is, in my opinion, a useful idea. Katherine and Cyrus are above suspicion and we can count on their discretion. They are spending the Christmas season with us and will arrive shortly; we will tell Selim and Daoud at the same time, and have a council of war!"

Fatima came trotting in to announce dinner and we all rose from our chairs except for Nefret, who had to detach Horus claw by claw before she could move.

"It is agreed, then," said Emerson. "Just try and keep out of trouble till then, eh, Peabody?"

"I cannot imagine why you are directing your warnings at me, Emerson. We must all take care."

"Hmph," said Emerson. "No more visits to the suk, is that understood?"

"Why the suk?" I demanded. "It was not in the suk that I was attacked. You only want to keep me from shopping. I haven't purchased all my Christmas presents yet, and there is—"

"Enough!" Emerson exclaimed, clutching at his hair. "If you must go I will go with you, and Ramses, in some loathsome ensemble or other, and Daoud and the entire crew. Stop arguing and come to dinner."

"Our guest has not yet arrived, Emerson."

"Guest? What guest? Devil take it, Peabody—"

"Karl," I said, cutting into Emerson's complaint with the skill of long practice. "I asked him this morning. He should be along soon."

"Since we are confiding in all and sundry, do you propose to tell von Bork about the forgeries too?" Emerson inquired.

"I thought I might mention the subject of forgeries in general," I admitted. "Just to observe his reaction."

"Oh, well, that should settle the matter," said Emerson. "The moment you pronounce the word he will drop his fork, turn pale, and confess."

It would not have surprised me greatly if Karl had done just that—supposing he was guilty, I mean. In my estimation he was too timid and too much in awe of me to be a good criminal. Either he was innocent or he had become more hardened than I supposed, because my introduction of the subject failed to induce any of the reactions Emerson had described. Karl was interested, however, and treated us to a long lecture on some of the forgers he had known and some of the methods they employed.

After he had bade us good night we gathered round the fountain for a final cup of coffee, and Emerson remarked sarcastically, "So much for your latest scheme, Peabody. It didn't work, did it?"

"Oh, Emerson, don't be silly. I did not suppose Karl would break down and confess. He does know quite a lot about faking antiquities, though, doesn't he?"

With the arrival of guests imminent and the social activities attendant upon the season unavoidable, Emerson was all the more determined to get as much work out of us as he could. I had only been teasing Emerson a little when I said I had not finished my shopping. Most of it was done, and archaeological fever was rising in my bosom. It was with beating heart and spirits aflame with anticipation that I stood one morning by the newly exposed stairs and prepared to descend into the substructure of my pyramid.

Emerson refused to allow it.

"Confound it, Peabody," was how he began. He went on for a considerable time.

We had quite a large audience. Nefret and Ramses were there, of course, and our men. We were still discussing the matter when we were joined by Maude and Jack Reynolds.

I was not surprised to see Jack, since he had been assiduous in his attentions to us, turning up almost every day and proving— as even Emerson grudgingly admitted—to be of considerable assistance. I was not surprised to see Maude, either. She was becoming something of a nuisance—to me, at any rate. Whether Ramses felt the same I was not prepared to say. He had not appeared to encourage her, but it was always difficult to know what Ramses was thinking, much less doing.

Dimpling, Maude joined him and Nefret, who had removed themselves to a discreet distance while Emerson and I chatted. Selim had done the same. He was humming under his breath and shuffling his feet. I thought I observed a familiar rhythm: one two three, one two three ...

Jack was not so tactful as Selim. "You folks arguing again?" he inquired with a broad toothy smile.

"We are not arguing," I explained.

"Yes, we are," said Emerson. "I ought to know better. She always gets her way. Very well, Peabody, you can come with me this time. Only control your exuberance, if you please, and don't push me into the shaft or trample me underfoot trying to get ahead."

"You will have your little joke, Emerson," I said.

Jack gaped at me, showing an even greater number of teeth. "But Mrs. Emerson, why do you want to go down there? The place is absolutely empty and it's very dark and dirty and close."

I did not reply to this inane remark but followed Emerson, who had already started down the stairs.

 That word most probably gives my Reader an inaccurate impression, for the steps were so worn and broken they more resembled a ramp than a staircase, and the angle of descent was steep enough to render progress somewhat hazardous. After a time the passage entered the rock and the slope became gentler. It was not such a long passage—a bit over a hundred feet—but the darkness that soon enveloped us made it seem longer. I wondered what Emerson was going to do about light. The candles we carried were adequate for the limited space of the passage, but whether we could keep them lighted in the bad air of the lower regions was another matter.

Not that there was much to see. The walls were squared off but not smoothed or plastered, the ceiling had a number of cracks running across its surface. This was not a good sign; the rock appeared to be of rather poor quality, and there is always the danger of a collapse. None appeared imminent at the moment, however, or so I told myself.

Finally Emerson stopped and put out his arm. "Slowly," he called, his deep voice booming in hollow echoes. "Very slowly, if you please, my dear."

His warning to me had been quite unnecessary. To proceed precipitately through the passages of a pyramid is something I never do. Even if I had not known there was a deep shaft in this particular pyramid, I would have been on the lookout for some such thing; the builders of these monuments constructed pitfalls and other dangers in the hope of foiling tomb robbers.

Emerson's muscular arm formed a barrier as effective as a steel railing. He had come to a halt several feet from the shaft. Above, a square opening stretched up into darkness. The lower extension of the shaft had been partially bridged over by several stout planks. On the left-hand wall of the shaft I saw another dark opening.

"The passage goes on through there," Emerson said, indicating this side opening. "I've had a quick look round—"

"Well, Emerson, really! You knew how desperately I have anticipated exploring the substructure! You might have waited for me."

Emerson chuckled. It was an eerie sound in those dark depths. "You have no more sense than a child," he said fondly. "Look up, Peabody."