Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [16]
“I’m not that big a fool,” Cyrus snapped. “They know I was looking for Martinelli, though.”
“His disappearance, if it is that and not simply delay, cannot be concealed from them,” I said. “I take it he has never spent the entire night out before this? No? Some degree of concern for him is understandable, then, and if he does not turn up we will have to conduct inquiries which cannot be kept secret. First, let us ascertain what, if anything, he took with him.”
“I’ll have a look,” Bertie offered.
“Yes, that would be sensible,” I agreed. “You are probably more familiar with his wardrobe than I.”
Bertie slipped out in his inconspicuous way and Katherine persuaded her agitated spouse to take a chair and a restorative cup of coffee. “I beg your pardon, folks,” Cyrus muttered. “Shouldn’t have lost my head like that. But, consarn it! This puts me in an awful position.”
He was too generous to point out the corollary—that we were in an even more invidious position. Martinelli had been one of the restorers and forgers employed by Sethos in the days when he ran the illegal antiquities business in Egypt. Sethos had recommended him to us, and Cyrus had unquestioningly accepted our word that he was worthy of trust.
The dire implications were not lost on any of us. Emerson, his noble brow furrowed, was the first to acknowledge them aloud. Squaring his broad shoulders, he announced, “The ultimate responsibility is ours, Vandergelt. I regret with all my heart that you have suffered this disaster, but rest assured you will not bear the brunt of it alone.”
“That is very noble, Emerson,” I said, as Cyrus turned to him with moist eyes and an outstretched hand. “But, if you will excuse me for saying so, not particularly helpful. At the moment we don’t know the extent of the disaster, nor have we considered means of lessening it. I have a few ideas.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Emerson muttered. “See here, Amelia—”
Bertie slipped back into the room. “Well?” Emerson demanded.
“If he has gone for good, he abandoned his personal property” was the answer. “Clothing, luggage, even his shaving tackle. His coat and hat and that gold-headed walking stick he always carried are gone, and I think there was a smallish portmanteau which was not there.”
“How strange!” I exclaimed. “He did mean to return, then.”
“Not necessarily,” said Ramses. Ramses’s countenance was less phlegmatic than it had been in his younger days, when Nefret had described it as his “stone-pharaoh face.” He allowed himself to display emotion now, especially the touching affection he felt for his wife and children; but on this occasion the stony look was back as he pronounced the words that dealt the death blow to my optimistic assessment. “He could hardly pack his bags and carry them out of the house unobserved. As for secreting objects in his luggage when he takes his official departure, he must know Cyrus would have sense enough to check the inventory before allowing him to leave.”
I nodded reluctant agreement. “That assumption would certainly be made by an experienced criminal, as he has been, trained by one of the finest criminal minds in—”
“Damnation, Amelia!” Emerson sprang to his feet and fixed me with a terrible glare. “How can you use the words ‘finest’ and ‘criminal’ in conjunction?”
Cyrus’s stare was hardly less forbidding. “Are you suggesting that Sethos is behind this, Amelia? I thought he had reformed.”
“She isn’t suggesting anything of the sort.” Nefret’s musical voice quelled the complainants. “Aren’t we getting off the track? We are all in this together, and our first priority is to take what action can be taken before any more time is lost.”
“Hmph,” said Emerson. His keen blue eyes softened. “Er. I beg your pardon, Peabody.”
His use of my maiden name, which he employs as a term of professional approbation, told me I was in favor again. “Granted,” I said graciously. “Nefret is correct. We must get on Martinelli’s trail at once. If the search is unsuccessful we will consider what steps to take