Tomb of the Golden Bird (24 page)

The thin lips stretched into Smith's best effort at a smile. Removing his hat, he said, "Good morning, Mrs. Emerson." "Good morning be damned," Emerson exclaimed. "What are you doing here?" "He came with us," Ramses said. "At my insistence." "I came," said Mr. Smith, "because I owe you an explanation." "Damn right," said Emerson. "Damn right," shouted Charla. "Emerson, please!" I said. Anticipating the need for a council of war, I had instructed Fatima to move the furniture in the parlor accordingly. When Mr. Smith saw my arrangements he murmured, "Very efficient, Mrs. Emerson. Where am I to sit?" I indicated a chair. The others took their places. Smith studied their faces with polite interest. "I take it that everyone present has a right to be here?" he asked, staring pointedly at Margaret. "They do," I said, in a tone that allowed no debate. "There is one more witness to come. Daoud, will you bring him here?" Sethos entered with his head held high and his features impassive. He had the air of an accused criminal expecting a harsh sentence. The sight of his chief brought an exclamation of surprise from him. "You? Here?" "Don't stutter," I said. "Mr. Smith, the first order of business concerns our mutual friend here. He told us that the so-called secret message was no more than a string of meaningless numbers. That was an untruth. Yesterday I broke the code and read the message." "Mother, you didn't," Ramses exclaimed. "That is—how?" "I found the right book," I said, with a little cough. "Purely by accident. We will discuss that at another time. What I want to know from Mr. Smith is who misled whom?" "Ah, I see," Smith said. "Our friend's veracity is in question. He had no business telling you that much, but since he did I may as well clear him. He told you what he believed to be the truth." Margaret's rigid form relaxed and she let out a long sigh. Sethosglanced at her and then looked away. "Thank you," he said ironically. "Now, sir, perhaps you will explain why you lied to me?" "You know the rules," Smith said. "You were told what you needed to know. Nothing more." "The devil with your bloody rules," growled Emerson. "I need to know everything—who was plotting against whom and why and wherefore. And if you mention the bloody Official Secrets Act I may lose my temper." "Heaven forbid," said Smith piously. "Very well. I am prepared to break certain rules in order to set your minds at ease—and prevent you from stirring up trouble." "Proceed," I said, taking pen in hand. Smith started to object, but wisely decided not to. "There was only one conspiracy," he began. "Bashir's group and the malcontents in Iraq were part of the same plot, though neither group was aware of the other, or of the real aim of the people behind the affair. Both had been infiltrated by men who meant to use them to attain their own ends—professional killers, trained in the techniques of assassination. Poor fool that he was, Bashir meant no harm to anyone. These people and their bloodless coups . . . Really, they oughtn't be let loose without a chaperon. "When Ramses and his wife suddenly decided to go to Cairo, the assassins took alarm. They knew the message was not a fraud and they feared he was about to expose the real conspiracy. They were tracking you two from the moment you arrived, and you made no effort to elude pursuit. Breakfasting in full view of the world on the terrace at Shepheard's! Somehow or other—we may never know how—Bashir got wind of their intentions and tried to warn you. He was a martyr, if you like," Smith concluded, with a nod at Ramses. We paid Bashir the tribute of a moment of respectful silence. He had repented of his errors in judgment and possibly saved the lives of Ramses and Nefret. Then Emerson said, "Three murders. Why?" "Is it not cui bono a rule of criminal investigation?" Smith asked. "Who profits? Ask yourself what would have happened had these crimes been committed."

His air of superiority was grating. Ramses, who disliked him anyhow, said, "Egypt and Iraq would have dissolved into chaos. Britain would be forced to intervene. Possibly a full-fledged military intervention and the reestablishment of a formal mandate." "Quite right," said Smith, with a gracious nod. "And who would have profited from that?" "The jingoists and imperialists in Britain," I suggested. "There has always been a vociferous majority who believe the European powers have the right, if not the duty, to rule over those they consider to be their inferiors." "And who else?" It was, surprisingly, Sethos, who lost his temper. "The jingoists aren't the cause, they are the means used by the real instigators. Behind them are the people who expect to make money from British control. Oil in Iraq, cotton and foodstuffs in Egypt. And cheap labor in both countries. The financiers, the leaders of industry. The shadowy group I spoke of. Shadowy because they will never be held to account. In the end it all comes down to money. That's all they care about; they are indifferent to the lives they affect and the deaths for which they are ultimately responsible." Smith appeared somewhat put out. Sethos had anticipated his speech and delivered it with a passion he could never have matched. "Essentially, that is the case," he said, propping his long chin on his folded hands. "Then these people will never be brought to justice," I said. "Never. Nor even identified. They don't give direct orders; they confer and hold committee meetings and drop veiled hints." " 'Who will free me from this turbulent priest?' " I murmured. "Not even as direct as that, Mrs. Emerson," Smith said. "But the message is clear to their subordinates, and so it goes down the chain of command, until it reaches the individuals who direct the actual operations. Even supposing we could trace the initial instigators, we couldn't hold them accountable. They would express horror and dismay and deny that they so much as hinted at such a thing." "It's a damned depressing picture," said Emerson, chewing on his pipe. "I find it so," said Smith; and I saw a trace of emotion flicker across that masklike face. "All we can do is forestall, if possible, the deadly results and perhaps identify a few of the minor criminals. At least we've got a line on two of them. Malraux and Farid." "I am so sorry," I said, with a somewhat hypocritical air of regret. "But I'm afraid you haven't. Suzanne and Nadji have nothing to do with this." "Then why did they run off?" Emerson demanded. "Run . . . Oh, no. No." He clapped his hand to his brow. "Don't tell me this is another of your—your—" "Precisely," I said. "They ran off—to be married. Suzanne did her best to win her grandfather over to the idea without actually asking his permission. She was afraid to risk that, but she hoped being with Nadji and other worthy Egyptians, seeing our fond relations with them would soften his prejudices. It was, as I could have told her, a forlorn hope. When he insisted on her returning to England with him, she felt she had no other choice but to elope with her lover." Ramses closed his mouth, swallowed strenuously, and said in a very gentle voice, "Would you mind explaining, Mother, how you arrived at this remarkable deduction? Are you going to claim you knew all along those two were in love?" "As your father has indicated, I enjoy a certain reputation for settling romantic affairs," I said modestly. "The complete indifference those two displayed toward each other was highly significant. They went to considerable lengths to ensure we would hire them both: Nadji for his unquestioned competence, and Suzanne because of the portfolio he had prepared for her. Who else would have conspired in that deception? You may have found your artist in Nadji, Cyrus." "Good," Cyrus said, staring. "Then where are they?" Nefret asked. "Why haven't we been able to find a trace of them?" "They have gone to earth with one of Nadji's friends on the West Bank, I expect," I said. "You believed he had none? But he was in the habit of visiting a certain coffeeshop in Luxor. He made acquaintances there."

Emerson, who was familiar with my methods, hid a smile behind his big hand, on the pretense of fiddling with his pipe. Smith, who ought to have been familiar with them, eyed me askance. "Forgive me, Mrs. Emerson, but all this is hindsight. And as yet unverified." I couldn't help feeling a little sorry for him. He had tried so hard, and he so wanted to punish someone. However, truth must out, whatever the consequences. And I resented his implication. "It shouldn't be difficult to verify," I said. "The habitues of the coffeeshop in question will talk freely if we assure them we want only to assist the lovers. Ramses should be the one to carry out that mission, I think. The word of the Brother of Demons is as good as another man's oath." "One of Daoud's aphorisms," Emerson explained to Smith. "Thank you," said Smith, baring his teeth. "You will not object, I hope, if I remain in Luxor until they are apprehended?" "Suit yourself," I said. "However, it seems to me you would be more usefully employed in Cairo or Baghdad. Can you be absolutely certain your men are in a position to prevent the assassinations?" "I wouldn't count on it," said Sethos. "There has been, shall we say, a certain confusion of communications on various levels." Smith did not miss the implicit accusation. "Then you had better go yourself. The Baghdad flight—" "No. I've done my last job for the Department." "Come now," Smith exclaimed. "I understand why you might feel a certain degree of—er—resentment, but you're an old hand, you know it was necessary." "Too old a hand," Sethos said quietly. "I am submitting my resignation, as of now, in the presence of these witnesses." He turned to Margaret, who was listening with parted lips. "I have said that before, but this time I mean it. Amelia won't let me squirm out of it this time." Margaret jumped up and ran out of the room. "Excuse me," said Sethos. He followed her. As a rule I would never intrude on intimate moments, but I wantedto make certain that I could check this little item off my list. Peeking round the door, I saw that they were locked in a close embrace. I tiptoed away. "I believe that covers everything," said Mr. Smith. He appeared more than ready to go. "If it was not Suzanne and Nadji who spied on us and reported on our activities, who was it?" Nefret asked. "We've run out of suspects, Mother." "That wretched boy, of course. Azmi." "What?" Emerson cried. "I told you, Emerson, that you ought not have taught him to spy and sneak. Observing that he was in your confidence, 'they' approached him and offered him money to report to them. One cannot really blame him, since he did not suspect there was any danger to us. I will have to take him in hand. He is a clever child, and it may not be too late to instill in him a moral sensibility." "If anyone can do it, you can," said Mr. Smith. "Good day, Mrs. Emerson." I think he meant it as a compliment. "Well, Peabody," said Emerson, "it seems that you are not about to add another scalp to your belt." Stretched out on the bed, hands under his head, he watched me give my hair its one hundred strokes. It had been a long day, but I do not neglect such things. "That is a very ugly metaphor, Emerson." "Another notch to your gun?" Emerson suggested. "Another villain safely in custody?" Nadji and Suzanne had been found, just where I had said they would be—at the home of one of the young customers of the coffeeshop. They had gone through a marriage ceremony conducted by the local imam. To be on the safe side, I hustled them across to Luxor and served as witness while Father Bennett married them again. It was a purelysymbolic gesture, since (as the good father piteously pointed out) they had gone through none of the preliminary formalities. I promised we would take care of these, and that he could marry them again afterward. "We have become spoiled, I fear," Emerson went on. "There is something satisfactory about ending a case with the arrest or the burial of the villain." "Do not despair, my dear. There may yet be a villain to be arrested." Emerson sat up. "Who? Please tell me it is Sir William Portmanteau." "I wish I could. Whether he is complicit or not, he is the sort of man Smith meant when he spoke of shadowy forces, men without conscience. We cannot have him arrested, but cheer up! He will receive a painful blow when I tell him about Suzanne and Nadji." "Perhaps he will have a fatal stroke," Emerson said hopefully. "Serve him right. Who, then? Curse it, I don't like fighting shadows, I want to get my hands on a flesh-and-blood villain." He was so downcast, I was tempted to admit him to my confidence. However, I decided not to. Though I was fairly certain of my deductions, it would have been unkind to raise his hopes and then be forced to destroy them. Instead I offered consolation of another nature. It proved to be acceptable. Consulting my list of Things to Be Done at breakfast, I was able to cross out several items. Sethos and Margaret had been dealt with, at least for the time being. With two such domineering personalities, further upheavals were likely, but I could not worry about that. The situation of Nadji and Suzanne was well on the way to a satisfactory conclusion, with only one more step to be taken. I am not in the habit of leaving unpleasant tasks to others, so I set out for the Castle immediately after breakfast. Cyrus came running out to greet me. "What the dickens have you been doing?" he demanded. "You left me stuck with that old villain Portmanteau, and he's been driving me crazy. Even Cat is fed up with him, and you know she's not easily upset." "I will deal with him forthwith," I said, brushing dust off my trousers. "Tell him I want to see him." He was some time in responding, and when he came into the drawing room I observed that he had been comforting himself with brandy. Katherine was with me; having learned of my arrival, she could hardly wait to complain about her unwelcome guest. "He is no gentleman, Amelia, he ignored my hints that he should go to the hotel, and his language. . . !" Sir William's appearance caused her to break off. He had abandoned any pretense of gentility. Red-faced and unkempt, he wasted no time in being offensive. "Well, Mrs. Emerson, what have you to report? You promised me—" "I know where they are," I said, raising my voice over his. "They are safe and very happy." If the last word reached Sir William's ears, it never penetrated as far as his brain. "Where is she? Why didn't you fetch her here? By God, when I get hold of that girl—" "You no longer have any authority over her," I said. "She is a married woman." Katherine gasped. "Those two? Married?" "Well, that's nice," Cyrus said. Sir William's face went from red to purple and he was gobbling like a turkey cock. I watched him with, I regret to admit, more curiosity than compassion, until his breathing became so labored that he was forced to stop talking. I shoved him into a chair. "I would recommend brandy but for the fact that you appear to have taken too much already. I would take you to see Suzanne but for the fact that you would only abuse her and her husband. The die is cast, Sir William, and you can't do a cursed thing about it. Your only recourse is to get yourself out of this house, across the river, and on to Cairo as expeditiouslyas possible. Perhaps (it does not seem likely, but all things are possible), perhaps in time you will come to your senses and attempt to reestablish friendly relations with your granddaughter." "Never!" Sir William wheezed. "No kin of mine. Out of my will. Not a penny!" "I will have the servants pack his bags," Katherine said. She hurried out. "And I," said Cyrus, his eyes twinkling, "beg to differ with you, Amelia. A little more brandy, or perhaps a great deal of brandy, is just what he needs." With the departure of our dear ones imminent, we found ourselves in a whirl of social activity. Selim and Daoud put on a splendid fantasia, and we celebrated New Year's Eve in the American style, with a glittering ball at the Castle. Cyrus had brought a musical ensemble all the way from Cairo. After a vigorous waltz with Emerson I needed to catch my breath, so I joined Katherine at one of the tables. She gave a guilty start when she saw me, and then burst out laughing. "Caught in the act," she said, indicating her heaped plate. "But on the whole I have been good, Amelia." "An occasional indulgence never hurt anyone," I said. "You do seem much stronger and healthier, Katherine." "And wiser, I hope. Cyrus tells me this is the time to make resolutions for the new year ..." Her eyes moved to a couple whirling past—Nadji and Suzanne, whose healths we had all drunk in Cyrus's best champagne. They were to work with Cyrus for the remainder of the season, Nadji as staff artist, and Suzanne as Jumana's assistant. "Seeing Sir William's appalling behavior," Katherine resumed, "made me realize that I had not overcome my own prejudices. It was like a caricature of my worst attitudes. Look at those two—blissfully happy—and I would once have said their marriage was doomed from the start." "They will have difficulties to overcome," I admitted. "Including the differences in their religions. However, marriage is always a chancy business, Katherine. I have known individuals who appeared perfectly suited, by family background, religion, and nationality, who were thoroughly miserable." "So you believe in taking the chance?" "Certainly. What is life without some risk?" She laughed and cut off another bit of frosted cake. "That is my resolution, then. To take a few risks, and let others take theirs." "Ah," I said. "Excuse me, Katherine. I have just remembered something I must do." Jumana was dancing with Sethos, who was, in my opinion, holding her too tightly. She did not seem to mind. When the waltz ended, I asked if I might have a few minutes of her time. "The next is Ramses's," she said, glancing at her dance card. "He can wait. This cannot, it has gone on too long. You do care for Bertie, and not only as a friend. Don't deny it. Why won't you marry him?" Jumana went white and then bright red. "How did you know?" she gasped. "Detecting romantic attachments is one of my talents," I replied. "Why won't you?" She looked me straight in the eye. "It would break his mother's heart. She has been good to me. I will not go where I am not wanted." "Pride," I said, shaking my head. "It is cold comfort when one is unhappy, Jumana. Why not take a chance? Who knows, you might be pleasantly surprised." Ramses turned up to claim his dance; I handed Jumana over to him with a comfortable feeling that matters were proceeding nicely. I took the additional precaution of saying a few words to Bertie, and sure enough, by the end of the evening we had another pair of lovers to toast. Cyrus's look of pride and pleasure was very nice to see, and so was Katherine's maternal embrace. The engaged couple appeared to be somewhat stupefied. But they would get over it. All in all, it was a thoroughly satisfactory evening. The final touch was delivered in the form of a telegram, which we found waiting on our return home. Mr. Smith was as brief as Emerson would have been, but much more original. "The wrong has failed, the right prevailed. Happy New Year." I had always suspected the man had the rudiments of a sense of humor. Our own family gatherings were made more poignant by the knowledge that they were for the last time. The last game of chess (lost by David), the last little books of Charla's, to be delivered to the grandparents in England, the last of Fatima's magnificent teas, the last visits to the Valley of the Kings. David couldn't stay away from the Valley. He took his drawing materials with him, and watched the removal of each item with yearning eyes. The crowds around the tomb had become a real nuisance, and I would have felt sorry for Howard had he not behaved so badly. Yet one could hardly blame the sightseers. The clearance had proceeded apace. Item after astonishing item had been taken along the path to the tomb of Seti II. Howard had made some concession to the visitors by allowing the artifacts to be carried uncovered. After we had returned to the house following one such visit, Ramses sought me out. "There is a matter I've been wanting to discuss with you, Mother." "I can guess what it is." Can your "My dear, one is always en rapport with those one loves. You are thinking of David, wishing you could gain him entry to Tutankhamon's tomb. I have racked my brains for a means of doing so, but to no avail. I even lowered myself by writing to Howard, in a friendly manner, inviting him to tea. Don't tell your father." "He would say, as do I, that you were wasting your time," said Sethos, emerging from the house. He had the smug, self-satisfied look of a cat who has cream on its whiskers. I deduced he had been with Margaret. Settling himself comfortably in a chair, he steepled his fingers and peered owlishly at me. "What did you do that for?" I explained. "Ah," said Sethos. "Very nice. You were willing to humiliate yourself in order to help David. I trust you didn't ask Carter directly?" "Good Gad, no. I would have worked up to that gradually. Ah well, I did my best." "Quite," said Sethos. "Is tea ready?" He made something of a pig of himself, pretending to squabble with Charla over the iced biscuits. Afterward he and Margaret went across to Luxor, to dine a deux at the hotel. "I'll keep her out of mischief," he assured me, twirling his mustache. "Not if I encounter O'Donnell," said Margaret. "He has got ahead of me, and I won't let him rub it in." Next day was the last. David, Sennia, and Gargery were to catch the train the day after, on the start of their long journey home. We had invited our closest friends to tea that afternoon, to say good-bye. When I asked how they wanted to spend the morning, Sennia voted for a final visit to King Tut, as she had taken to calling him. David's eager face expressed his sentiments, and Gargery took it for granted that he would come along. Even Emerson condescended to join the party. He had given up on the motorcar for the time being. The part I had removed, with Nefret's assistance, proved to be essential to its operation. Margaret was the last to join us in the stable, where the horses were being saddled. She had added a bright scarf and a selection of silver bracelets to her khaki trouser suit, and I detected a trace of artificial coloring on her cheeks. "Where is—er—Anthony?" I asked. "Gone off on his own. Which am I to ride?" "This donkey," said Emerson, hoisting her unceremoniously onto the saddle. "I prefer a horse to a donkey," Margaret said with a mutinous look. "I will keep you company," I promised. "You and I and Gargery and Sennia. Won't that be nice?" After a somewhat dusty ride, we found the donkey park crowded with animals, sand carts, and two-horse carriages. We had made an early start, knowing the
crush would increase as the day went on. We arrived just in time to see a spectacular object carried out of the tomb—the glorious gilded throne Rex Engelbach had described. Mr. Mace walked beside it, his face furrowed with the anxious look of a father watching his child's first steps. I assumed that he had taken preliminary steps to stabilize some of the ornamentation, but still it was a touchy operation, and when he came back from the conservation tomb, smiling with relief, I called out a hearty congratulation. A lull ensued before the next artifact appeared. There was a great deal of activity, however; importunate persons argued with the guards, trying to get past them, and people ran in and out with messages, including several telegrams. Tourists photographed every moving object; journalists wandered up and down, looking for someone to interview. One of them recognized Sennia and would have interrogated her— heaven knows what about—had Emerson not intervened. I had brought refreshments, and was about to gather my group and retire for a quick luncheon when the appearance of Howard roused a great stir in the watchers. Ignoring the questions shouted at him by various persons, he stood with hands on hips, looking round. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I thought, and waved my parasol in greeting. No one was more astonished than I when Howard gestured me to approach, rather in the manner of a potentate condescending to a petitioner. Deciding that I was in no position to resent this, I made my way past the guards and joined Howard. He showed the strains of the past days; there were deep lines in his face and his eyes were shadowed. "It seems to be going well," I said in a friendly manner. "Yes, quite. No problems thus far. Er—is Mr. Todros with you?" "As a matter of fact, he is," I said, attempting to conceal my astonishment. "I have been instructed—I have decided—to allow him to make a drawing of one of the artifacts." Taking it for granted that (or not giving a curse whether) he had been included in Howard's gesture, Emerson had followed after me. "Which one?" he instantly demanded. Howard glanced at the paper he was twisting between his fingers. It appeared to be a telegram. "Whichever he likes." With a flash of temper, he added, "But not in the tomb!" "Of course not," I said. "You are busy there. The storage tomb." Like Emerson, I realized we must seize time by the fetlock before Howard could change his mind. "Yes," he said grudgingly. Taking a pencil from his pocket, he scribbled on the back of the telegram. "Give this to Lucas. And tell Todros I will hold him accountable for any damage!" I gave Emerson a little poke to prevent him from expressing his indignation, and took the note from Howard's reluctant hand. "Hurry," I exclaimed, as we retreated in haste. "Where is David?" We had to battle our way through a horde of journalists; they were so hungry for news that they pounced on anyone who had spoken with Howard. Emerson told them to go to the devil and I told them Howard was about to give a press conference, whereupon they squatted like a pack of hungry jackals round the mouth of a rabbit hole. I led my group away. When we were at a safe distance I broke the news to David. The look in the dear boy's eyes would have brought tears to my own, had I been a sentimental person. "You have your drawing materials with you, I believe?" I asked. "Yes. Yes, but—" "What else do you need?" Nefret asked. "I'll go to the house and fetch it." "Paints and brushes . . ." "I understand. Will you come with me, Margaret?" Margaret at once agreed. She appeared as pleased and excited as everyone else. The rest of us went at once to the tomb of Seti II. The open area in front of the entrance was a scene of what appeared to be utter chaos; objects being treated lay on tables and trestles, boards for constructing packing cases leaned against the walls, paper and packing materials were strewn about. Inside the tomb, whose gate stood open, one could see half a dozen wooden cases and several working areas. Even from the outside the smell of acetone, collodion, and other chemicals was strong. Lucas was not surprised to see us. He shook hands all round and read the note from Carter. "I wondered when Carter would get over his pique," he said. "As you can see, we are in something of a turmoil here, but I am happy to oblige. Are you interested in any particular item, Mr. Todros?" David's eyes were fixed on it—the painted chest. It rested on a tableseveral yards down the corridor. Lucas frowned. "The exterior only, I presume? The contents are in terrible condition and Mace hasn't started on them yet. I would rather not move it." "I quite agree. I observe you have employed paraffin wax on the exterior," I said, craning my neck to see better. "The wood had begun to shrink and the painted gesso to come loose," Lucas said. "We had to take immediate steps." "There is nothing like paraffin wax," I said. "It has done the job, and even enhanced the colors." "We will leave you to get on with your work, then," I said, adding that someone would be coming by later with David's painting materials. David did not acknowledge our farewells. Seated on a campstool, he had already begun to sketch, and was lost in his own world. "I hope he can finish today," I said to Emerson. "There is something decidedly odd about this. Howard's pique is still firmly in place. He received orders from someone to let David work." "Lacau, perhaps?" Ramses suggested. Emerson snorted. "Carter snubs and ignores the Antiquities Department. There is only one person from whom he takes orders." "Lord Carnarvon," I agreed. "However, his compliance is equally inexplicable." We reached the end of the wadi and turned into the main path, where whom should we behold but Sethos, sitting on a rock and smoking a cigarette. "Where have you been?" I asked. "Hither and yon. Is it time for luncheon? Sennia has informed me that she is ravenous." We collected Sennia and Gargery and found a nice empty tomb. Seated in a circle round the picnic basket, we let Sennia explore the contents and hand them out. "Where's Margaret?" Sethos asked, accepting a cheese sandwich. "She and Nefret have gone back to the house to fetch David's painting materials," I said. "Howard has given him permission to copy one of the artifacts for the ILN." "Has he indeed?" "I think we should go home after luncheon," Sennia announced. "Gargery looks tired." "What?" Gargery straightened and got a firmer grip on the sandwich that had been about to fall from his hand. "Tired? Me?" "I want to wait until Nefret returns," I said. "That will be a while. Why don't you and Gargery go back with Emerson, or perhaps Ramses." "I will escort them," Sethos said, foraging in the basket. "What do you recommend, Sennia, tomato or chicken?" Upon her advice, he selected the chicken and settled back to eat it. "There is still brown dye behind your ear," I said, out of the corner of my mouth. Sethos grinned and went on eating. The three of them went off after luncheon, and Ramses, Emerson, and I waited for Nefret. I was not the only one who had deduced the explanation for Howard's volte-face. "Which one was he?" Ramses asked. "The very ragged messenger with the very rude vocabulary, I think. You know his tendency to overplay a role." "Good Gad," Emerson exclaimed. "You mean he ...Sethos was the . . . How the devil did he counterfeit a telegram from Lord Carnarvon?" "As he will no doubt say, he has his methods. I don't think he wants David to know. David's principles are so rigid he might feel Howard had been taken unfair advantage of." "He was," said Emerson, a pleased grin spreading across his face. "Excellent! I must commend my dear, dear brother. For once he has put his questionable talents to good use. And the best of it is," he went on, "Carter will find out in due course that he has been deceived—when it's too late for him to do anything about it!" He burst into a peal of hearty laughter, in which he was joined by Ramses. I confess I let out a little chuckle of my own. We had resigned ourselves to a long wait, but were pleasantly surprised when Nefret turned up a good half hour before we could reasonably expect her. She was accompanied by Selim, carrying David's easel and paints. "How quick you were," I exclaimed, hastening to meet them. "I trust you did not tire the poor horses." "No," said Selim. He mumbled something. "I beg your pardon, Selim?" I said. "Speak up." "We drove the motorcar," Selim bellowed. Emerson let out a cry of delight. "What a fine day this is turning out to be! You repaired it, Selim?" "Yes," said Selim, studiously avoiding looking at Nefret, who was carefully not looking at me. "Go along, Selim," I said. "Mr. Lucas is expecting you." He went off at a run. "I'm sorry, Mother," Nefret whispered to me. "I thought the emergency excused the betrayal." "You were correct," I said with a sigh. "Into every life a little rain must fall." Naturally Emerson insisted on driving home in the motorcar. That left the rest of us to deal with the horses and several reluctant donkeys. We left David's Asfur for him. He would not stop until the last of the light had faded. Dusk was well advanced and our other guests had assembled before Asfur came, at a walk, with David cradling a covered box as tenderly as if it were a baby. He handed it down to Ramses and Jamad led Asfur away. When David lifted the lid, a universal cry of admiration arose—except from David, whose cry was one of woe. "It's smudged—here and here—it was wet, I couldn't wait for it to dry . . . Damn!" "It can be repaired," I said. "Or copied again. David, it is splendid! You have captured the colors and the vivacity of the scene as no one else could." "Darn right," Cyrus exclaimed. "Congratulations, my boy. The Illustrated London News will be delighted." David looked up from his inspection of the painting. "I cannot offerit to the ILN, sir. Not without Mr. Carter's explicit permission. I looked for him before I left, to thank him—" "Damnation," said Emerson. "Sir?" "Er . . . never mind. Go on." "Unfortunately he had already left for the day," David said. "Ah," I said. "We will thank him for you, David. Er—you don't need his permission to sell it to the ILN, you know. His and Carnarvon's legal rights are questionable." "Oh, I wouldn't do it unless he said it was all right," David exclaimed. A smile of utter bliss transformed his face. "The important thing is that I could do it. That I have it. I wouldn't lower myself by attempting to make money from such a marvelous task." "It's a damn good thing David is leaving tomorrow," said Emerson, after our guests had left and David had gone to his room to finish packing. "He'd be determined to call on Carter personally. Confound the boy's confounded principles!" "What matters to him is the work itself," Sethos said. "He has that and will always have it." "Yes," said Emerson. "Quite. Er—well done. What do you say to another whiskey and soda?" We saw them off early next morning, amid tears and laughter and assurances that we would soon meet again. David carried the box containing his painting as if it were made of glass. "Be good," I said, giving him a final embrace. "I've got off much easier than I deserved, Aunt Amelia." "You got precisely what you deserved, David. Our fondest love and a wish come true, and, perhaps, a little lesson to be pondered." "I will," David said earnestly. "You may count on that." When we gathered for tea later that day, Emerson grumbled, "The house is too quiet. I miss that child." I gave him a little poke and he said hastily, "But I have you, my darlings, to console me."