Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [177]
There were at that time eight European-style hotels on the east bank. Two of them were clean but inexpensive; the other six offered greater amenities along with higher rates.
“Again, I would welcome your advice,” I replied. “He might have doubled back to the Winter Palace under another name—”
“Not in the same suit of clothes,” Nefret said.
“And not on the same day,” I agreed, thinking what a pleasure it was to deal with an intelligent, intuitive (female) mind. “The closest hotel to the Winter Palace is the Luxor . . . Watch your step, my dear, the quay is very slippery.”
“So we are going to the Luxor?”
“No. Sethos told the clerk at the Winter Palace he was going to the railroad station. I believe that is exactly what he did. If he had taken a carriage to any other destination, the driver might remember him, and that he would avoid at all costs. It is easy to lose oneself in the crowd waiting for the train, and slip away. The Hotel de la Gare is within easy walking distance of the station.”
“That is very ingenious, Mother,” Nefret said.
I smiled modestly in acknowledgment of the compliment and waved my parasol at a passing carriage.
We went first to the Winter Palace, where I learned that Mr. Bracedragon-Boisgirdle (whose eminently forgettable name I had, fortunately, noted in my diary) had taken his departure two days earlier. This was most satisfactory news, for it confirmed one of my theories (not that I had ever doubted its accuracy). I then directed the driver to take us to the Hotel de la Gare.
The best Baedeker could say about the station hotel was that it was clean. It certainly did not measure up to my standards; the threadbare carpet in the lobby was gritty with sand and the desk clerk had obviously been wearing the same collar for several days. His jaw dropped when he saw us; it was not the sort of place where ladies of our distinction were likely to come.
“Good morning,” I said pleasantly, placing my parasol on the desk. “I am looking for a gentleman who arrived yesterday morning.”
The clerk looked from me to the parasol, to Nefret, and back to me. It took him several seconds to get his jaw into operation.
“Yes, Sitt. There were several—”
“Let me see the register, please.”
Seven persons had checked into the hotel the previous day. Two were man and wife—or claimed to be—and there had been a party of three gentlemen. That left two possibilities. It was not necessary for me to elicit descriptions from the clerk; one man had given the name of Rudolf Rassendyll.
“His bizarre sense of humor will prove to be his downfall one day,” I remarked to Nefret, as we started up the stairs to the third floor. The lift was out of order, of course.
“How many people have read The Prisoner of Zenda?”
“Quite a lot, I should think. It was careless of him.”
The door was at the end of a dismal corridor lit only by a nearby window. The advantages of the location were manifest; no one could get at him via his windows, of which there were probably two, since his was a corner room, and they provided convenient exits. No doubt he had already knotted one of the bedsheets into a makeshift rope.
“Are you going to pretend to be a servant?” Nefret whispered.
I looked at her in surprise. “No, why should I do that?” I removed one of my gloves and knocked emphatically on the door. “It is I, Amelia. Let me in at once.”
Utter silence followed. I knocked again. “I have no other appointments today,” I said in a louder voice. “You may as well open the door.”
The portal was flung wide, and there he stood.
I thought I had prepared myself mentally for the meeting. I had been mistaken. The last time I had seen him he had been lying on a litter, dead or dying, as I believed, drenched in blood and wearing an auburn wig and mustache. It might have been Emerson who confronted me now—ruffled black hair, prominent chin, squared shoulders. Even the scowl was familiar. He was wearing a dressing gown I recognized as one of Ramses’s, and his feet were bare. I found myself somewhat