He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [133]
Clapping his hands, el-Gharbi dismissed his sycophants and offered Ramses a seat beside him.
“She is a pearl,” he announced. “A gem of rare beauty, a gazelle with dove’s eyes . . . Now, my dear, don’t glower at me. You don’t like me to praise your lady’s loveliness?”
“No.”
“I was curious. So much devotion, from so many admirers! Having seen her, I understand. She has strength and courage as well, that one. Such qualities in a woman—”
“What did you want to see me about?”
“I?” The kohl lining his eyes cracked as he opened them wide. “It is you who have come to me.”
When Ramses left the place a quarter of an hour later, he wasn’t sure what el-Gharbi had wanted him to know. Fishing for facts in the murky waters of the pimp’s innuendoes was a messy job. Once again, Percy had been the main subject—his affairs with various “respectable” women, the secret (except to the all-knowing el-Gharbi) hideaways where he took them, his brutal handling of the girls of the Red Blind District. Ramses thought he would probably never know for certain what Percy had done, or was doing, to annoy el-Gharbi—damaging the merchandise might be a sufficient cause—but one fact was clear. El-Gharbi wanted Percy dead or disgraced, and he wanted Ramses to do the job for him.
•
Ten
•
I had decided to admit Nefret to my confidence—up to a point. We were finishing the last of the photographic plates when I explained my intentions, and for a moment I feared I had spoken too soon. Nefret managed to catch the plate before it broke, however.
“Sethos?” she exclaimed. “The Count? Aunt Amelia!”
“Put that down, my dear. That is right. Come into the other room and I will explain my reasoning.”
I was not surprised to find Emerson missing. I had known he would go after Ramses to guard him, since if he had not, I would have done it myself. Nefret did not comment on his absence; she assumed that he had also decided to visit the coffee shop.
I sat Nefret down in a chair and explained my deductions about the statue. I could see that the notion made sense to her; in fact, she tried to tell me she had thought of it herself. Emerson and Ramses do that sort of thing all the time, so I simply raised my voice and proceeded with the next stage of my deductions.
“I was struck, on the few occasions when I have glimpsed him, by the Count’s resemblance to a villain I once knew named Kalenischeff. He was a member of Sethos’s gang and a thoroughgoing scoundrel; when he attempted to betray his dread master, Sethos had him killed.”
“Yes, Aunt Amelia, I know.”
“Oh? I told you about him?”
“You told us about many of your adventures, and Ramses told David and me about others.” Her face softened in a reminiscent smile. “We would foregather in Ramses’s room or mine, smoking forbidden cigarettes and feeling like little devils, while we discussed your exploits. They were much more exciting than the popular romances.”
I was gratified, but I felt obliged to add, “With the additional advantage of being true.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Sethos has upon occasion mimicked the appearance of a real person,” I continued. “I believe he finds it amusing. The fact that the Count has consistently avoided me is also suspicious. Without wishing to boast, I believe I may claim that many newcomers to Cairo try to strike up an acquaintance with me or with Emerson.”
“He hasn’t avoided me,” Nefret murmured.
I gave her a sharp look. She was twisting a lock of hair round her finger; it gleamed like a ring of living gold. “Hmmm. Well, that makes my scheme all the more plausible. I would like you to ask the Count to take you to dine tomorrow night—at one of the hotels, naturally, you must not under any circumstances go off alone with him. You can think of some plausible excuse, such as . . . er . . .”
“I can think of an excuse,” Nefret said. “You are serious about this, aren’t you?”
“My dear, you can hardly suppose I would ask you to commit such a breach of good manners unless I were. It is not surprising that you should not have suspected the