Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [159]
One could almost feel sorry for the bewildered criminals of Luxor. It did not take them long to realize there was not one Master, but two, since each of them was attempting to identify the other and claiming to be the true and original Master Criminal. Some had spoken with Sethos, some with the impostor, and they had no way of knowing which of the two was genuine. Recruitment suffered; the more cautious of the fellows refused to have anything to do with either.
“It is still a mystery to me why, if this—er—whatever—hopes to become the new head of the illegal antiquities game, he hasn’t stolen anything,” Emerson said. “Apparently Sethos was responsible for the thefts of which we heard. Nothing of interest has come on the market recently. Why hasn’t he begun removing smaller objects from the tomb, as the Abd er Rassuls did at Deir el Bahri?”
“That is how the authorities caught up with the Rassuls,” Ramses pointed out. “This fellow has probably learned from their mistake. If he can make a clean sweep of the place over a period of only a few days, he can be well away from here before the objects appear on the market, and leave no trail the police could follow. But at this point the very existence of such a tomb is pure conjecture. Sethos arrived at the same conclusions we did, on the basis of the same clues—or so he claims. If there is such a place, its location is known only to its discoverer. He’ll need assistance when he removes the contents, but it is only common sense to confide in no one until that day comes.”
“Hmph,” said Emerson round the stem of his pipe.
A hail from Ashraf, standing guard at the gangplank, made me realize how much time had passed. “There is Cyrus’s carriage come for us,” I said. “We mustn’t keep him waiting. Emerson, put your coat on. Ramses, are you ready, my dear?”
Nefret ran off to get a wrap, and while the men collected their scattered garments I considered Sethos’s story. It made perfectly good sense, but then I would have expected nothing less from my old adversary and present brother-in-law. Believing him dead, I had not had sufficient opportunity to adjust to that relationship. It would take some doing. The thought of seeing him again, as I meant to do next day, induced confused emotions—memories of long years of aggravation and impertinent advances, equally strong memories of his noble sacrifices for us and for his country.
Apparently the latter sacrifice had been only a temporary arrangement. Mentally I added a new task to the list I had composed. Sethos would have to be reformed, and made to remain reformed. He could not be allowed to return to his old ways.
There was one other little matter that was of equal importance, and I brought it up after we were on our way to the Castle. “It should not be difficult to identify el-Hakim. He is an archaeologist, not an Egyptian, and since there are only a few remaining in Luxor—”
“Curse it, Amelia, there you go again!” Emerson shouted. “Stating as fact what is as yet only an unproved theory.”
I knew why he was in such an acrimonious frame of mind, so I replied calmly, “All the evidence points to that conclusion, my dear. This fellow would not be able to masquerade successfully as the Master had he not many of the latter’s skills and attributes—including his ruthlessness. He has committed three murders—”
“And tried to commit a fourth,” said Nefret.
“Yes.” I turned to Ramses, who immediately assumed an expression of wary expectation. “I am not going to criticize you, my dear,” I assured him. “I understand why you felt it necessary to divert attention from the presence of a guest aboard the Amelia, but—”
“Speaking of that,” Nefret said quickly. “We’ve been unable to think how to break it to Cyrus that he has an ailing sister.”
“Oh, dear,” I murmured. “He’s bound to hear of it sooner or later, I suppose.”
“We were counting on you, Mother,” said my son, “to come up with a convincing explanation.”
“Lie, you mean,” grunted Emerson. “That is your