Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [152]
“Exactly.” Sethos had been eating with the grim determination of someone performing a necessary duty. He pushed his empty plate away. “If I may have the loan of a suit of your clothes, and a razor, and a few other objects designed to add verisimilitude—”
“What hotel did you have in mind?” Nefret interrupted. A new and pleasing idea had replaced her indignation. “It wouldn’t be the Winter Palace, by any chance?”
“It’s a matter of complete indifference to me” was the curt reply.
“Oh, really? She got there all right, but we haven’t had a chance to communicate with her since yesterday afternoon.”
The briefest flicker of emotion passed over Sethos’s face before it resumed its habitual blandness. “If you agree, we’d better get started. It will take a while to transform me into a debonair world traveler.”
“Quite a while.” Nefret was clearly enjoying herself. “You’ll need our cooperation to carry this off, and you won’t get it until you’ve told us everything we want to know.”
“Is blackmail allowed by the Hippocratic oath?”
“I can’t recall its being mentioned. There’s no hurry,” Nefret added sweetly. “You can’t leave today in any case.”
“But—”
“Explain it to him, Ramses.”
“You’ll probably have another attack this afternoon,” Ramses said. “Right, Nefret? We can’t complete the necessary arrangements and get you into the hotel before that.”
“Right,” Nefret said. “Start talking.”
It was Nefret’s idea that they lunch at the Winter Palace. “We ought to make certain she’s all right. And she’ll want to hear about him.”
“I did promise we would let her know, but I should think she’d have recovered from her romantic fantasies. He’s behaved like a brute.”
“Ah, well,” said Nefret enigmatically.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing of importance.” She adjusted her hat and straightened her skirt. “There, I’m ready.”
The tourist ferry appeared to be suitable for their purposes. At that time of day there were hordes of people returning to their hotels after a morning of sightseeing. If they could get their unwilling and unwanted guest to the quay, he would blend in perfectly. After that he would be on his own, and if he didn’t have sense enough to stick to the plan, it would serve him right if his enemies caught up with him.
He claimed he had told them everything he knew. Having declared himself resigned to the inevitable, he had produced a glib but—when you got right down to it—uninformative story. The devil of it was there was no way of checking on its accuracy, though Ramses meant to ask a few questions of a few people.
One of them was not available. Sayid must have found a tourist to victimize, for he was not at his usual spot in front of the Winter Palace. They asked at the desk for Miss Minton and were informed that she was in the dining salon.
One would have supposed from her appearance—smartly dressed, carefree and smiling—that she had not a worry in the world. She must have been watching the door, though, for the moment they made their appearance she stood up and waved, motioning them to join her. At the sight of her companion, Nefret stopped short.
“What the devil is he doing here?”
The headwaiter gave her a startled look. Ramses took her arm. “Control your homicidal impulses and try to act like a lady.”
“Why didn’t she tell us she knew the bastard?”
“Because she had no reason to suppose we would be interested,” Ramses said. It was sometimes necessary to belabor the obvious when Nefret’s indignation got the better of her. “Remember that we’ve never been properly introduced. Smile. Or at least stop grinding your teeth.”
“Smith” was on his feet when they reached the table. After asking whether they were acquainted and receiving a prompt denial from Smith, Margaret