Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [183]
Ramses was at a loss for words. After a moment Emerson went on, “Don’t keep your thoughts to yourself. I never do, and neither does your mother, and so we—well, we thrash it out, you see, and that’s all to the good.”
“I expect you’re right, sir. I appreciate your advice.”
“Hmph,” said Emerson, who was brick-red with embarrassment. “One more bit of advice, then. Don’t always give the other fellow the benefit of the doubt. Your instincts are good enough guides.”
“What do you suggest? Instead of shaking hands with Kuentz, I should walk up to him and punch him in the face?”
Emerson grinned. “It might not be such a bad idea. Well. That’s all I wanted to say.”
He loosened the reins and urged his horse into a trot.
Ramses followed more slowly. He had been touched and amused by that exchange; it wasn’t easy for Emerson to talk about personal matters, but when he did he went straight to the point and hit the nail square on the head. Now all I have to do is follow his advice, Ramses thought. If I can.
Had he been too inclined to give Kuentz the benefit of the doubt? The evidence was mounting up. Another point against Kuentz which no one had mentioned was the fact that he had not always been at the dig at times when most excavators would be working. Their opponent must be busy these days, trying to find Sethos, keeping track of their activities, guarding his find. If he wasn’t there today . . .
He was, though. He had a crew of ten or twelve men at work, and a good twenty square meters had been cleared since Ramses had last seen the site.
He greeted them with his usual exuberance and shook the hands of everyone except Daoud, who folded his arms and fixed Kuentz with an intimidating frown. Emerson explained that Cyrus was looking for a site.
“What about you, Professor?” Kuentz asked.
“Possibly, possibly. We have decided to stay on in Luxor for a while.”
Kuentz was full of suggestions. They included almost every site in Luxor. Were the omissions significant? Damned if I know, Ramses thought, watching in growing distaste as Kuentz slapped people on the back and emitted genial roars of laughter and finally turned the conversation from professional advice to general gossip. How was Miss Minton getting on with her story about tomb robbers? He owed her a dinner invitation, though he wouldn’t be able to match her generosity; the Winter Palace was too expensive for a poor hardworking archaeologist. The Vandergelts must excuse his failure to call on them, as courtesy demanded; he would come by one day soon, if he might. How was Mrs. Emerson? Had Nefret recovered from her shocking experience the other day?
“I feel responsibility,” he explained to Emerson.
“No reason why you should,” Emerson said, stroking his chin. “The tomb you mentioned was empty anyhow, I believe.”
“Except for broken pieces of Roman mummies. They looked as if someone had danced on them,” Kuentz said with another guffaw. “Teeth and bones and scraps of linen.” He turned abruptly. “What are you doing?” he shouted at one of the workmen, who was holding up an object that appeared to be a broken pot. “I told you not to remove anything. Damn these people, they have to be watched every second.”
“We are keeping you from your work,” Emerson said. “Time we were getting back anyhow.”
“Time for tea?” Another hearty laugh. “You English must have your tea. I will see you soon again, I hope.”
“Sure,” said Cyrus. “We’ll have a little dinner party. You and Barton and Lansing and a few others.”
“It will be an honor.” Kuentz shook hands all round again and hastened back to his crew. They heard him shouting Arabic curses as they mounted and started off.
“Did he confess?” Daoud asked hopefully.
“No,” Emerson said. “But there were a few points of interest, eh, Ramses?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Roman mummies. Disgusting objects. All in pieces, too.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Not the right place. Don’t say ‘yes, sir’ again,” he added.
“No, sir.”
“Excuse me—” Cyrus began.
“Later,