Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [45]
“Hmph,” said Emerson. “Walter, you have had quite enough to drink. Either go to bed or pay attention.”
“Then I will go to bed.” Flushed and smiling, he rose, and of course Evelyn rose too. “Good night, all. And thank you for a most enjoyable evening, uh—er—brother.”
After they had left the room I suggested that perhaps we ought not discuss the matters Emerson was determined to discuss in the presence of the waiters. Resuming his chair, Sethos shrugged.
“I have nothing of importance to report.”
Emerson’s scowl indicated he was not willing to accept this, so Sethos elaborated. “I went the rounds this afternoon. As I already knew, my chief lieutenants were gone.”
“Gone,” I exclaimed. “Do you mean—”
“Several of them died in France. Do you remember René? He was killed in the first week of the war.”
I did not conceal my distress. I had liked the young Frenchman. He had been a criminal and a thief, but he had been a gentleman.
“Your admirer Sir Edward is alive and well,” Sethos assured me. “Never mind the others; suffice it to say they are out of the picture. The rank and file also suffered attrition. Without my guidance they grew careless and paid the penalty. A few of the antiquities dealers with whom I was acquainted are still in business, but they were never permanent members of the organization. To sum it up—and I hope I may be allowed to do so, since Nefret has been swallowing her yawns for several minutes—I can think of no one in Cairo to whom Martinelli might have taken the objects.”
“Can we believe that?” Emerson asked bluntly.
“You will have to” was the equally brusque reply. “There are certain persons with whom I had private dealings, but they are scattered, some in Europe, some in America, some elsewhere in the Middle East. I will continue my inquiries, but not just now. I must return to Constantinople tomorrow. My business there was unfinished.”
“I don’t suppose you would care to tell us what it is,” I said.
“You are, as always, correct, Amelia,” said Sethos, his smile broadening.
“Then we will say good night,” I said, cutting off Emerson’s incipient protest.
I had no intention of letting Sethos get away so easily. Thinking that he might speak more openly if the others were not present, I sent them off to their rooms—getting an extremely fishy look from Ramses—and turned to my brother-in-law.
He anticipated me, as he so often did. “Yes, Amelia, we have a few things to say to each other.”
“And to me,” said Emerson, who, as I hardly need mention, had stood motionless as a rock when I dismissed the children.
“Quite,” Sethos agreed. “Let us find a cozy corner.”
We found one, in the Moorish Hall. The surroundings were seductive, shadowy nooks and dim lamps, but Sethos did not waste time in idle conversation. “If you will take my advice, you will get out of Cairo as soon as possible.”
“I had come to the same conclusion,” I informed him.
“Curse it,” exclaimed Emerson, who was, in the vernacular, spoiling for a fight, it didn’t much matter with whom. Being around Sethos for any length of time has that effect on him. “When did you conclude that, Peabody? Don’t tell me you’ve been talking to Abdullah again.”
Sethos’s well-shaped eyebrows shot up. “I beg your pardon?”
“She dreams about him,” Emerson said. “I am a reasonable individual; I have no objection to my wife having long intimate conversations with a man she—er—greatly admired. What the devil, I was fond of the old fellow too. I do object to her passing off her own opinions as those of a dead man.”
“I am surprised to find you so dogmatic, Radcliffe,” said Sethos. “ ‘There are more things in heaven and earth—‘ “
“Bah,” said Emerson. “And don’t call me Radcliffe.”
Sethos’s lips twitched. “I will endeavor not to do so. But I expect Amelia, like myself, came to her decision after rational consideration. I’ve been thinking about that strange adventure of Ramses. It worries me.”
“You gave the impression of being amused and incredulous, not worried,” Emerson said, scowling.
“I couldn’t resist teasing