He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [128]
I had no objection. I had found the inspiration I sought.
It is impossible to indulge in ratiocination while driving with Emerson. What with bracing oneself against sudden jolts, and warning him about camels and other impediments, and trying to prevent him from insulting operators of other motorcars, one’s attention is entirely engaged. I was therefore forced to wait until we reached the house before applying my mind to the idea that had come to me on the terrace of Shepheard’s. A long soothing bath provided the proper ambience.
Sethos was in Cairo. I began with that assumption, for I did not doubt it was so. I have no formal training in Egyptology, but I have spent many years in that pursuit, and the peculiar circumstances surrounding the discovery of the statue had not escaped me. I am sure I need not explain my reasoning to the informed Reader (which includes the majority of my readers); she or he must have reached the same conclusion. The statue had been placed in the shaft within the past few days, and there was only one man alive who could have and would have done it.
As for Sethos’s motives, they were equally transparent. He was taunting me: announcing his presence, defying me to stop him should he choose to rob the Museum or the storage magazines or the site itself. I had realized early on that the present confusion in the Antiquities Department and in Egypt would be irresistible to a man of Sethos’s profession. Some might wonder why he had announced himself by giving up one of his most valuable treasures. I felt confident it was one of Sethos’s little jokes. His sense of humor was decidedly peculiar. The joke would be on us if he managed to steal the statue back. What a slap in the face that would be for Emerson!
I leaned back, watching the shimmer of reflected water on the tiled ceiling of the bath chamber. There was no doubt in my mind that Emerson had reached the same conclusion. Very little having to do with Egyptology escapes him. Of course the dear innocent man did not suppose I was clever enough to think of it. He had not told me for the same reason I had kept silent. The subject of Sethos was somewhat delicate. Emerson knew I had never given him cause to be jealous, but jealousy, dear Reader, is not under the control of the intellect. Had I not myself felt its poisonous fangs penetrate my heart?
Yes, I had. As for Sethos, he had made no secret of his feelings. Early in our acquaintance he had tried on several occasions to remove his rival, as he considered Emerson, once before my very eyes. Later he had sworn to me that he would never harm anyone who was dear to me. Obviously that included Emerson, and I sincerely hoped that Sethos agreed. Just to be on the safe side, I decided I had better find him before Emerson did. I had no doubt I could succeed. Emerson had not my intimate knowledge of the man. Emerson would not recognize him in any disguise, as I could do . . . as I had done . . . as I believed I had . . .
I must have a closer and longer look at the man I suspected. The Reader may well ask why, if I believe Sethos to be guilty of nothing worse than stealing antiquities, I should try to find him instead of concentrating on the viler villain, the enemy agent, who might also be a traitor to his country. I will answer that query. In his day, Sethos’s web of intrigue had infiltrated every part of the criminal underworld of Egypt. He knew every assassin, every thief, every purveyor of drugs and depravity in Cairo. He could draw upon that knowledge to identify the man I was after—and by heaven, he would, for I would force him to do so! I raised my clenched fist toward the tiled ceiling to reinforce that vow, narrowly missing the nose of Emerson, who had crept up on me unobserved and unheard, owing to the intensity of my concentration.
“Good Gad, Peabody,” he remarked, starting back. “If you want privacy you need only say so.”
“I beg your pardon, my dear,” I replied. “I did not know you were there. What do you want?