Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [13]
“A moving plea, madame,” said Lacau with a patronizing smile.
Nefret flushed but kept her temper. “What I would like to do is subject them to X-ray examination.”
“The Museum does not have the equipment.”
“But I do—that is to say, my hospital in Cairo does. Mr. Grafton Elliot Smith carried the mummy of Thutmose the Fourth to a private clinic to have it X-rayed, if you recall.”
“By cab, yes. Somewhat undignified and inconvenient.”
“We could do better than that,” Nefret said eagerly. “A proper ambulance—”
“Well, it is an interesting suggestion. I will think about it.”
Nefret had the good sense to thank him and pretend to be grateful for even that degree of consideration. She was accustomed to being patronized by men of a certain kind—most men, I would say, if that were not an unfair generalization. (Whether or not it is unfair I will leave to the judgment of the Reader.)
Lacau inspected the laboratory, but not for long; a medley of pungent odors suggested that Martinelli was trying several chemicals on various pieces of linen and wood. Cyrus then proudly displayed “his” records and generously admitted that they were the result of our joint labors. They were, if I may say so, a model of their kind—photographs, plans, sketches, detailed written descriptions—all cross-indexed and filed. We then returned to the display rooms for a final look.
“I can see that I must give the matter some thought,” Lacau said, sweeping the assemblage with a possessive eye. “I would like to place the objects on display at once, and we must consider how we are to find the space. I had not realized there would be so much.”
Cyrus’s face fell. Lacau appeared not to notice; he went on, “Now I must bid you good evening, my friends. Thank you for your splendid hospitality and for a most astonishing experience.”
After we had seen him off we lingered to cheer Cyrus, who had put the most depressing interpretation possible on Lacau’s words.
“He can’t take everything,” Emerson insisted. “Don’t borrow trouble, Vandergelt, as my wife would say. Curse it, he owes you for your time and effort and expenditure, not to mention Bertie’s claim as the finder.”
“I thought you supported the idea that all major objects should remain in Egypt,” Cyrus said in surprise. “You handed over the whole contents of Tetisheri’s tomb to the Museum.”
“It isn’t a simple issue,” Emerson said, taking out his pipe. “Archaeologists and collectors have been looting the country of its antiquities for decades, and the Egyptians haven’t had any voice in the matter. With nationalist sentiment on the rise—”
“Yes, but what about preserving the objects?” Cyrus cried in genuine anguish. “The Museum hasn’t the facilities or the staff.”
“Well, whose fault is that?” demanded Emerson, who was quite happy to argue on any side of any issue—and change sides whenever he felt like it. “It’s a question of money, pure and simple, and who determined how it was disbursed? Politicians like Cromer and Cecil. They never gave a curse about maintaining the Museum, or hiring and training Egyptians to staff it, or paying them enough to—”
“Excuse me, Emerson, but we have all heard that speech before,” I said politely but firmly. “We must hope that M. Lacau will be reasonable.”
“I just wish he’d make up his consarned mind,” Cyrus grumbled. “It’s the suspense that’s killing me.”
When we took our leave I looked round for Signor Martinelli, to no avail. “He might at least have said good night before retiring,” I remarked.
“He hasn’t gone to bed,” Cyrus said. “He’s off to Luxor again.”
“At this hour?”
“What he does in Luxor can be best accomplished at this hour,” said Emerson. He and Cyrus exchanged meaningful glances.
I had heard the stories too, since I have many friends in Luxor, and