Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [176]
“I hope you don’t mind my accompanying you,” she said, baring her teeth at me. Her black eyes looked like jet beads.
“Out of the question,” I said.
I won my point, naturally, but not without an argument. She tried every underhanded trick she could think of, from threats and promises of assistance, to pleading. She was forced to give way at last; when she pushed past me, on her way to the door, I saw there were tears in her eyes.
“She really cares for him,” Nefret said, as I joined her in the carriage.
“Those were tears of rage, I expect,” I replied. “But I have no sympathy for bathetic sentimentality. She ought to have more pride. So you have discovered my little scheme?”
“It wasn’t difficult,” Nefret said, with a knowing smile. “You are aching to confront him. Do you know where he is?”
“At one of the other hotels, I expect. One would not expect such a devious man to do anything so obvious, but that is why it is so clever. One is reminded, is one not, of Mr. Poe’s ‘Purloined Letter’ trick.”
“I wasn’t,” Nefret said. “But the same idea had occurred to me. It has only been five days since he fell ill and he knows there is danger of a recurrence if he doesn’t take proper care of himself.”
“Have you mentioned your idea to Ramses?”
“No, not yet. But I will, Mother, and if we locate Sethos I will tell him that as well. I can’t lie to him. So if you would rather leave me off at the Amelia—”
“Good gracious, no. I will tell them all about it myself, this evening. I just didn’t want them along, shouting and cursing and confusing the issue.”
The line between Nefret’s brows smoothed out. “What are you going to do with him if you find him?”
“That is one of the matters I wanted to discuss with you. I mean to question him intensively, of course. I feel certain he knows more than he admitted. So far we are at an impasse. Oh, I expect that eventually I can work it out, but my investigations may take a little time and I would like to settle the business before Christmas.”
“Christmas, of course,” Nefret murmured. The corners of her mouth twitched.
“We may want to bring him back to the Castle with us,” I continued.
“Good Lord, Mother, you can’t do that to poor Katherine! Hasn’t she enough to contend with already?” Her face underwent a series of strange alterations. In some alarm I reached for her. She waved me away, sank back into the corner, and laughed so hard tears filled her eyes. I handed her my handkerchief.
“I do apologize,” she gurgled. “I was picturing Christmas at the Castle, with Horus trying to get at Sekhmet, and Bertie trying to get Jumana off in a dark corner, and Katherine trying to keep him away from her, and the chef storming out of the house because Fatima won’t let him use the ovens, and—and—and in the middle of it all, Uncle Sethos, disguised as Father Christmas!”
I allowed the dear girl to enjoy her moments of merriment. Far be it from me to mar those moments by reminding her that if we did not succeed in identifying the villain he might be among the guests.
We took the ferry across and as we leaned against the rail, holding firmly to our hats, I told Nefret about my dream, and the one that had preceded it.
“But how unkind!” she exclaimed, her eyes twinkling. “To tell you of rich tombs and not disclose their location—”
“He was teasing me. He enjoys doing that. Never mind the unknown tombs, Nefret, I have been haunted by the feeling that I missed something of importance—one of those confounded mysterious clues Abdullah is so fond of dropping.”
“Tell me again what he said.”
I repeated the conversation. She shook her head. “I can’t think what it might be.”
“You don’t really believe in my dreams, do you? It is good of you to pretend to take them seriously.”
“How could I be arrogant enough to deny the possibility? Even if they are the product of your sleeping mind, they cannot be dismissed as meaningless.”
“I do not believe in the libido,” I warned her.
Nefret’s face dissolved into laughter. “Of course not, Mother, darling. Anyhow, Abdullah would