Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [202]
I had not informed my brother-in-law of my intentions; with most men, particularly the members of the Emerson family, advance warning is a tactical error. However, I paid him the courtesy of waiting until the servant informed me he had finished breakfast, and was up and dressed, before I knocked.
When he saw who it was he put down the book he had been reading, and sat in surly silence while the others filed in. I was pleased to see that he had shaved that morning and that he was looking quite respectable in a shirt and trousers borrowed from Ramses. The two of them were almost the same size. After I had locked the door I invited everyone to sit down.
“By all means,” Sethos said. “A private little family conference, is it? Margaret told me about your activities yesterday, so you needn’t go over them again. Congratulations on your discovery.”
“Damnit, man, is that all you have to say?” Emerson demanded.
“I am somewhat curious about one thing.”
“And what is that?” I asked.
He turned those strange gray-green eyes on Ramses. “How the devil did you get her away from Mubashir?”
“It wasn’t very nice of you to let him go alone if you thought he couldn’t,” I said critically. “But I feel obliged to remark that from what little I have been allowed to hear of the affair, it would be impossible to praise too highly the courage and cleverness and skill and—”
“Mother, he’s doing it again,” Ramses interrupted. “Don’t let him get you off the subject, or we’ll be here all day.”
“Quite,” said Emerson. “You have an agenda, I believe, Peabody. I suggest you stick to it.”
“Certainly, my dear.” I unfolded the papers I had taken from my pocket, spread them out on the table, and cleared my throat.
“This won’t take long. Assuming, of course, that our—er—kinsman does not continue to equivocate.”
“Kinsman,” Sethos repeated. “On the whole, Amelia, I would prefer—”
“Perhaps it would be better if I simply stated the facts.” His lips parted, but long years of experience with Ramses, and to some extent, Emerson, had taught me how to turn a conversation into a monologue. Raising my voice slightly, I continued.
“You are still working for British intelligence. You were sent here to ascertain the intentions of the Senussi and the extent to which they had influenced the desert tribes. Mr. Bracedragon . . . Mr. Boisgirdle . . . Mr. Smith is the person to whom you report. You met with him the evening you went to the Winter Palace.”
Up to this point I was on solid ground. The rest of it was somewhat problematic, and I hesitated, trying to think how to get the confirmation I needed before committing myself. One look at Sethos told me I was not going to get any help from him. He had tilted his chair back and was watching me with a mocking smile.
“What shall we do with Mr. Kuentz?” I inquired.
The front legs of the chair thudded onto the floor. “Why are you asking me?” he demanded, with an unconvincing show of surprise.
“The matter is a trifle delicate, is it not? Our friends are under the impression that we arrested Mr. Kuentz because he was a murderer and tomb robber—which is good and sufficient cause. Your superiors may not wish it known that he is also a German spy.”
“I might have known you would arrive at that conclusion,” Sethos muttered.
“It was obvious,” said Emerson, folding his arms and trying to look as if he had known it all along.
“Well, it was, rather,” I admitted. “Ramses’s encounter with poor Mr. Asad could only have been arranged by someone who knew the role Ramses had played the previous winter—in other words, an agent of Turkish or German intelligence—but I cannot blame myself for failing to give that interesting clue the importance it deserved, since the attacks on us continued even after Ramses had left Cairo. Everything that happened from then on was designed to keep us in Cairo and bring Ramses back. That was what confused me initially, the fact that our adversary had two roles and two motives. I even considered the possibility that there were two different people involved: