Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [100]
“Good Gad, Ramses, have you added eavesdropping to your other misdemeanors?” I demanded. “Listening at doors is not proper.”
“But it is very useful,” said Ramses, holding out a glass as Emerson poured the whiskey. He lived in hopes that his father would absent-mindedly fill it and that I would absent-mindedly fail to see him drink. The chance of both those failings occurring on the same day were slim to the point of being nonexistent, but as Ramses had once explained to me, it cost nothing to make the attempt.
It proved ineffective on this occasion. Emerson handed me my glass. “I wonder,” he said musingly, “how Mr. Ronald Fraser knew the young lady was with us. He does not strike me as a person of profound mental capacity.”
“He may have caught a glimpse of her yesterday,” I suggested.
“Possibly. Well, Peabody, what do you think? Is the guilty man Donald or Ronald?”
“How can you doubt, Emerson? Enid told us—”
“Yes, but it is the word of a young girl who admits she does not know the facts against those of both brothers. They are certainly in a better position to know than she.”
Logically he was correct. In every other way he was wrong. I had no rational arguments to offer, only a profound understanding of human nature, which is a far more reliable guide in cases of this kind than logic; but I knew what Emerson’s response would be if I mentioned that.
“Interesting and touching as the personal affairs of the young people may be, Emerson, more important is our search for the Master Criminal. The revelations of Father Todorus may contain a clue after all. Or perhaps one of the villagers knows more than he or she is willing to admit.”
Ramses instantly demanded to know what I was talking about. Humoring the boy, Emerson told him about the temptation of Father Todorus—omitting, I hardly need say, any reference to other than liquid temptations.
“Hmmm,” said Ramses, pursing his lips. “The incident casts a most intriguing light upon the personality of the gentleman for whom we are searching, but I cannot see that it offers any useful information. Perhaps if I were to interrogate the priest—”
“You would learn no more than we did,” I said shortly. “In fact, Father Todorus would be even less inclined to confide in a person of your tender years. Your father is right; this genius of crime—”
A spasm crossed Emerson’s face. “Must you refer to him by that complimentary name?”
“I don’t see what is complimentary about it, Emerson. However, if it disturbs you, I will confine myself to calling him Sethos. A most curious appellation, that one; I wonder what prompted him to select it.”
“I,” said Emerson, “could not care less.”
“But Mama has raised a point worthy of consideration,” piped Ramses. “We know this gentleman has a peculiar sense of humor and a fondness for challenging his opponents. What if this alias is in itself a joke and a challenge?”
“I hardly think so, Ramses,” I said. “It is much more likely that the name expresses the man’s poetic and imaginative qualities. The mummy of Sethos the First is remarkably handsome (as mummies go) and the phrase describing Set as a lion in the valley—”
“Bah,” said Emerson. “What rubbish, Peabody.”
“I am inclined to agree with Papa’s evaluation, though not with the language in which it was expressed, for I would be lacking in filial respect should I apply such a term to the cognitive processes of either parent, particularly—”
“Ramses,” I said.
“Yes, Mama. I was about to suggest that the golden ring bearing the royal cartouche may be significant. Where did Sethos obtain such a rarity? Was it conceivably part of the loot from his first venture into tombrobbing, and did it suggest the name by which he has chosen to be known?”
“Humph,” said Emerson thoughtfully. “Quite possible, my boy. But even if you are right, the information is of no use to us. It seems to me that my original suggestion was nearer