He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [125]
“Answer my question first, Professor.”
“What question? Oh, that question.” Emerson scowled. “If we are going to engage in a prolonged discussion, I would prefer to do it elsewhere.”
He led the way back to Russell’s office, where he settled himself in the most comfortable chair, which happened to be the one behind Russell’s desk. Again Russell left the door ajar. The ensuing dialogue—Ramses could not have got a word in even if he had wanted to—got louder and more acrimonious as it proceeded. Emerson extracted the information he had demanded and gave a grudging, carefully edited account of their activities in the Khan el Khalili on the night in question.
“Why didn’t you tell my men about the back entrance?” Russell shouted.
Emerson glared at him. “Why didn’t they have the rudimentary intelligence to look for one?”
“Confound it, Professor!” Russell brought his fist down on the desk. “If you had not interfered—”
“If I had not, the fellow would have got clean away. He agreed to meet with me because he trusted my word.”
“And because you offered him a bribe.”
“Why, yes,” Emerson said in mild surprise. “As my dear wife always says, it is easier to catch a fly with honey than with vinegar. Unfortunately it appears the other side got wind of his intentions. Not my fault if he was careless. Well, well, that is everything, I think. Come along, Ramses, we’ve wasted enough time ‘assisting’ the police. Trying to do their job for them, rather.”
He got up and started for the door.
“Just a damned minute, Professor.” Russell jumped up and went after him. “I must warn you—”
“Warn me?” Emerson thundered. He whirled round.
Ramses decided it was time to interfere. His father was enjoying himself immensely, and he was in danger of getting carried away by his role.
“Please, sir,” he exclaimed. “Mr. Russell is only doing his duty. I told you we oughtn’t get involved.”
“I might have expected you would say that,” Russell said contemptuously. “Thank you for coming, Professor. You are one of the most infuriating individuals I have ever encountered, but I admire your courage and your patriotism.”
“Bah,” said Emerson. He gave the door a shove. A dozen pair of boots beat a hasty retreat.
Ramses lingered only long enough to breathe a few words and see Russell’s nod of acknowledgment.
Still in character, Emerson stamped into the waiting room, collected his womenfolk, and swept the entire party out of the Administration Building.
“Well?” Nefret demanded.
“It was he,” Emerson replied. “What was left of him. Found early this morning lying in an irrigation ditch near the bridge. Dead approximately twelve hours.”
“How did he die?”
Emerson told her. He did not go into detail, but Nefret had an excellent imagination and a good deal of experience. Some of the pretty color left her face. “That’s horrible. They must have found out he meant to betray them, but how?”
“The most likely explanation,” Ramses said slowly, “is that he told them himself, and demanded more than Father had offered. Oh, yes, I know, it would not have been a sensible move, but Farouk was arrogant enough to think he could bargain with them and get away with it. Being more sensible than he, they simply disposed of an unnecessary and untrustworthy ally, and in a manner that would have a salutary effect on others who might be wavering.”
“An old Turkish custom,” Emerson repeated. “They have a nasty way with enemies and traitors.”
Cursing somewhat mechanically, he dislodged half a dozen ragged urchins from the bonnet of the motorcar and opened the door for Nefret. As Ramses did the same for his mother, he saw that her eyes were fixed on him. She had been unusually silent. She had not needed his father’s tactless comment to understand the full implications of Farouk’s death. As he met her unblinking gaze he was reminded of one of Nefret’s more vivid descriptions. “When she’s angry, her eyes look like polished steel balls.” That’s done it, he thought. She’s made up her