Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [102]
“Father won’t, but I occasionally do,” Ramses said. Nefret saw him brace himself, like a duelist en garde. “One must sometimes sacrifice principle to expediency or lose an important piece to a private collector.”
“You weren’t surprised to see me. Did Mrs. Emerson tell you I was coming to Luxor?”
“Had you informed her of your plans?”
With a faint smile she acknowledged her second failure to get past his guard, and attacked from a third direction. “Surely she told you about the body she found in the mastaba.”
Nefret decided to intervene. She had read the letter and the clipping from the Gazette. Ramses had not. Besides, she was tired of fencing.
“Is that why you’re here?” she demanded. “If it is, you are on the wrong track. All we know is what Mother told us in her last letter, and that was little enough.”
The waiter came with the food they had ordered. Miss Minton waved away the menu he offered her and asked for tea. While he hovered, arranging the dishes to his satisfaction, she glanced round the garden.
“Who is that man?” she asked suddenly. “He’s been staring at me ever since I sat down.”
He was still staring—a burly man with a heavy, neatly trimmed beard and a bush of curly brown hair—but not at her. Catching Nefret’s eye, he stood up and came toward them, smiling and holding out his hand.
“Hello, Nefret. It’s wonderful to see you again. I’ve not met your husband, but of course I’ve heard of him. May I offer my felicitations to you both?”
Ramses rose and took the extended hand. A soft brown fuzz covered the back; it felt like a cat’s fur, but his grip was almost painfully hard. Ramses met it with equal strength, thinking how childishly they were behaving, flexing their muscles to impress a woman.
“Sorry I missed you the other day,” the other man went on. Nefret pronounced the formal words of introduction, and Kuentz kissed her hand. Introducing Miss Minton could not be avoided; she was firmly settled in her chair and had no intention of leaving.
“She is a well-known journalist,” Ramses added.
“Ah. Then I must be careful what I say!” His booming laugh made heads turn.
“Not unless you’ve done something you’re ashamed of,” Miss Minton replied.
“Me? No! Never! To blow up the German House, that was not a shameful thing.”
The sentence contained three words that would have aroused any journalist’s curiosity. Miss Minton’s fingers twitched. “Blow up? German? What’s this about?”
“She is wanting to write it all down,” Kuentz said with a grin. “See how she crooks her fingers as if they were holding a pen. So you had not heard of our humble effort on behalf of the Allies?”
“We had heard of it,” Ramses said. “But no one seemed to know who was responsible.”
The journalist turned her hungry gaze on him, and since he saw no reason to conceal the facts, he went on to explain. It might get Miss Minton off on another track.
“The German government built the place a few years ago to serve as headquarters for their archaeologists. Without wishing to denigrate your effort, Kuentz, I can’t see that blowing it up did the Allied cause much good.”
“It was very ugly,” Kuentz said airily. “Too large, too red, too German.”
“Hardly sufficient cause for destroying someone else’s property,” Ramses said.
“It was not the only reason.” Kuentz glanced around, like a stage conspirator, and lowered his voice. “Carter and I found out that the place had become a center for the illicit antiquities trade—among other undesirable activities. I say no more, eh?”
“But I’d like to hear more,” Miss Minton said eagerly. “Was Mr. Carter involved, then? Who else?”
“I did not say that,” Kuentz declared. Ramses had the impression he was quite enjoying himself. “I and I alone was responsible. And now I must return to my labors, I have been too long away.”
“Then perhaps you would dine with me