Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [164]
I had got this far when I heard a rustle of bed linen and a querulous oath from the adjoining room and Emerson abruptly appeared in the open doorway.
“So there you are,” he exclaimed.
“Where did you think I would be?”
“With you, one never knows.” Emerson leaned against the doorframe and rubbed his eyes. He is not at his best in the morning, physically or mentally, but even his present state of dishevelment—hair tousled, eyes half closed, chin bristling—did not detract from his splendid looks. Since we were not in the comfort of our own home, he had agreed to wear a minimal amount of sleeping attire—pajama trousers, to be precise—which exposed to my fond eyes the admirable musculature of his chest and shoulders.
I was a trifle out of temper with him, however. My attempts the previous night to carry on a conversation had failed. All he would do was grunt.
“Since you are awake, I will ring for tea,” I said. “I could do with a cup; I have been working for over half an hour.”
Emerson stumbled across the room and leaned over my shoulder. “Another of your confounded lists,” he said disagreeably. “ ‘Find the Tomb’? Good Gad, you make it sound as simple as scrubbing a floor or—”
But at that point the sitting room door opened—the service at the Castle was always first-rate—and Emerson retreated, mumbling irritably. “Your dressing gown is in the wardrobe,” I called after him.
He was wearing it when he returned, and his expression was a trifle less forbidding. “I hate it when you creep away like that,” he said. “When I reach out for you and you aren’t there—”
“Drink your tea,” I said. That might have been meant as an apology, but it had sounded more like criticism.
A cup of the genial beverage, heavily loaded with sugar, restored Emerson. Reaching out a long arm, he took my list from the writing desk and studied it. “I don’t see any mention of your favorite method of identifying an enemy,” he remarked. “Something along the lines of ‘Wait to be attacked,’ or ‘Instigate an attack,’ or—”
“I have already taken care of that,” I replied.
“Hmmm, yes. Your announcement last evening that we intended to remain in Luxor for the rest of the winter. Really, Amelia, I wish you would warn me of these little schemes of yours; if I were not so accustomed to your methods I might have blurted out a denial. You do realize, I hope, that your entire theory and methodology are based on pure surmise? We don’t know that there is a tomb; we don’t know that the discoverer is an Egyptologist; we don’t know why, assuming that the first two premises are correct, he has refrained from removing the artifacts. He may—note the word ‘may’—have attempted to keep us from coming here, but now that we are here he may simply wait until we leave, however long it takes. He doesn’t appear to be in any particular hurry.”
“Anything is possible, my dear. However, he went to considerable lengths to induce us to remain in Cairo, and he is now aware that Sethos is also after his treasure. Were I in his position—”
“Yes, yes, I know what you would do,” Emerson muttered. “Speaking of my—of Sethos, I don’t see his name on your list. I expected your first move would be to head for the Winter Palace.”
The idea had, of course, passed through my mind. But greatly as I yearned to come face-to-face with the remarkable individual who had returned—again!—from the dead, I knew that we must avoid drawing undue attention to the hotel. It was well known in Luxor that Emerson never went to such places if he could get out of it, and our appearance at an early hour would be so unusual as to arouse curiosity.
I explained this to Emerson. “I will pen a brief missive to Miss Minton, asking her to join us for luncheon at two.