Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [65]
The thought of pyramids had distracted me. I turned my thoughts back to the other problem. In lieu of a treasure, what would attract the Master Criminal? An answer soon came to me; but although I had every confidence in Ramses’ ability to get himself out of ordinary scrapes, it did not seem quite right to use him as a lure to capture a murderer. There was another way, just as effective and less open to criticism on the grounds of maternal affection.
The sun climbed higher and the temperature climbed with it. Occupied with my work and my schemes, I did not notice the passage of time or feel the heat until, glancing at Enid, I saw she was flushed and aglow with perspiration.
“You had better join Bastet in the tent,” I said, taking the notebook and pencil from her. “I forgot you are not accustomed to the sun.”
Courageously she asserted her willingness to remain on duty, but I overcame her scruples. She went off, and I was about to resume my labors when I saw a cloud of sand on the northern horizon. Another group of cursed tourists! Coming from the direction of Sakkara this time, and on horseback. The younger and more adventurous visitors preferred this approach.
When I saw that the riders did not halt at the North Pyramid but were coming straight toward us, I left Selim in charge of the diggers and hastened to Emerson. He had once bodily removed from a tomb a little old lady who turned out to be the former Empress of the French. The ensuing international furor had taken quite a while to die down.
He was rolling up his sleeves. I took firm hold of him and awaited the event. Before long I recognized, in the party of mounted men, the same young Englishmen I had seen at Shepheard’s the day before.
They were still wearing the fantastical and inappropriate bits of Arabic costume they had purchased in the bazaars. However, they were expert horsemen—not surprising in persons who have few occupations in life other than sport and idle amusement. The guns slung from the saddles or carried over their arms were of the latest and most expensive design.
Whooping and laughing, they drew up beside the tent, and the young man in the lead prepared to dismount. Seeing me, he stopped midway, one foot still in the stirrup, the other lifted over the horse’s back. The horse chose that moment to curl its lips back, and the resemblance to its rider, whose teeth were almost as prominent, was so absurd I had to stifle a laugh.
“ ’Pon my word, it’s a lady,” the young man exclaimed. “Look here, you chaps. What the devil d’you suppose she’s doing out here in the middle of nowhere? How de do, ma’am.”
He whipped off his turban. Emerson was not appeased by the gesture. He growled, “Watch your language, young man. Mrs. Emerson is not accustomed to vulgarity.”
“Mrs. Emerson? Then you must be Mr. Emerson.” The fellow grinned as if proud of this brilliant deduction.
“Professor Emerson,” I corrected. “And you, sir?”
One of his companions hastened to his side. “Allow me to present his lordship Viscount Everly.”
Emerson grunted. “Now that you have presented him, you may take him away. This is an archaeological expedition, not a club for wealthy idlers.”
“Archaeology! Is that so? ’Pon my word! I say, Professor, you can just show us round a bit. Or better, let your better half do it, eh? Always take a pretty woman when you can get one, isn’t that right, old chap?” He clapped Emerson on the shoulder and bared so many of his teeth, I was afraid they would fall out of his mouth.
I did not hear Emerson’s reply, which is just as well. I had seen something that drew my attention and roused my most intense detectival instincts.
Another of the viscount’s entourage had come forward. When he removed his headgear, a turban of astonishing height and breath, his head looked as if it had caught fire. The features below the coppery locks were hardly less astonishing. It took a second look to convince me that they were not those of Mr. Nemo. Further examination indicated the resemblance was not, in fact, as close as I had supposed;