Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [178]
“Quite right,” he said. “You would stand there all day, shouting.”
He stood back and beckoned us in. “Is that all?” he inquired. “Where are the rest of them? Radcliffe, Ramses, Miss Minton—”
“Let us not waste time in irony,” I said.
“How did you find me?”
“That is also irrelevant.” The room did have two windows. It also had a narrow bed, a wardrobe, a small table, a single chair, and a set of chipped bathroom utensils, blatantly displayed, without so much as a curtain to conceal them. “Goodness, how unpleasant,” I said. “You can’t stay here.”
“Not any longer, no.”
My knees were a trifle unsteady. I sank into the chair. It wobbled, but held. “Sit down,” I ordered, removing a bundle of cloth from my bag. “You don’t look at all well.”
“For God’s sake, don’t cry,” Sethos exclaimed. He began to back away. “You never cry. You didn’t shed a tear when I died in your arms. You—”
The room was too small for him to retreat far. He fetched up against the edge of the bed and collapsed onto it.
Nefret had closed and bolted the door. Since there was not another chair, she sat down next to Sethos.
“I have no intention of crying,” I said, shaking out the bundle.
“What the devil—” Sethos began.
“Don’t swear,” I said automatically. “It is, as you have no doubt observed, a galabeeyah. I took the liberty of borrowing a long scarf from Katherine. It will serve as a turban. You must leave here this evening. I doubt we were followed—your adversary cannot be everywhere—but he may be clever enough to investigate the other hotels. It was foolish of you to use that pseudonym.”
“I—” said Sethos, trying to pull Nefret’s hand away from his forehead.
“No fever,” she announced.
“How much quinine did you give him?”
“Enough for five days. Half a grain per day.”
“Hmmm. I would have recommended more. How many days has it been?”
“I’ve rather lost track,” Nefret admitted. She began counting on her fingers. “Sunday, Monday—”
Sethos said, “Why—”
“Never mind. We will have to risk it. He should be over the worst by now.”
Sethos said, “How—”
“Through the window, of course,” I said impatiently. “Mr. Rassendyll will renege on his bill. No doubt they are accustomed to that sort of thing at the Hotel de la Gare. Go straight to the landing and take the ferry across. Someone will be waiting for you on the west bank.”
“Where—”
“The Castle?” Nefret inquired. Sethos gave her a look of abject horror.
“No, Selim will take him to our old house. Daoud is staying there too. That should be ample protection. I do not see any dirty crockery, so I assume he has not eaten today. It is necessary to keep one’s strength up. Nefret, would you be good enough to go down and order food?”
She did not demur by so much as a raised eyebrow; her sympathetic imagination told her that I wished to be alone with him. After she had departed I locked the door and returned to my chair. I had believed my thoughts were in perfect order, but strangely, I found myself mute. We contemplated one another for a few moments. His eyes were the first to fall.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” he said. “I swore never to see you again, and I meant to keep my promise this time.”
“ ‘There is a fatality that shapes our ends,’ ” I remarked. “Or is it the War Office that has shaped them? Don’t bother to deny that you are still working for British intelligence. You deceived Ramses and Nefret, but you cannot deceive me. It was on your account that Mr.—er—Smith came to Luxor. You were to report to him, and that is one of the reasons why you were so anxious to get to the Winter Palace. He left the day after you arrived. You had been to Kharga. Why would you go there unless it was to spy on the Senussi?”
Much of what I had said was pure surmise—logical, but unproved. He remained silent, head bowed, until I added, “You accepted the assignment Ramses refused.”
I had been sure that would stir him up. He stiffened and scowled at me. “If you think I did it on his account, you are mistaken.”
“I would never accuse you of being guided by altruism or affection,” I assured him.
“He couldn