Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [48]
We had our usual table, next to the open door of the restaurant. I was not aware of watching that doorway until Emerson kicked me on the ankle and suggested, in what he thinks is a whisper, that I stop being so obvious. After an excellent meal Emerson invited Bassam to join us for coffee and a pipe. The last was a habit I had never acquired, and I wondered, as the men passed the mouthpiece back and forth, how on earth Emerson could ingest so many dubious substances without the slightest alimentary inconvenience.
Bassam gave him the opening he wanted by asking after Nefret and Ramses. “They have gone to Luxor, I hear.”
Emerson glanced at me. If Mr. Bassam knew, so did everyone else in Cairo. The speed with which gossip spreads in that city is astonishing. “Yes,” he said. “They told us what a fine dinner they had here. Did you happen to see their friend?”
“They were alone,” Bassam said, looking puzzled. “Not even the lady cat was with them.”
“They ran into him just after they left,” Emerson explained. “Ramses asked me to look him up, and give him a message, but he seems to have moved. I thought he might be one of your regular customers.”
“Ah. What is his name?”
Emerson had no choice but to give the only name we knew, though it was unlikely the fellow was still using it. Bassam shook his head. The description Emerson proceeded to give struck no chord either.
“Eyeglasses, young, a thin beard,” Bassam mused, stroking his own bushy appendage fondly. “It could be any one of several who come from time to time. Shall I watch out for him and tell him the Father of Curses wishes to speak with him?”
“Tell him the Father of Curses has news for him. Good news, that he will be glad to hear.”
“Well done, Emerson,” I said, after we had taken leave of our host and left the establishment.
“I doubt anything will come of it. If Asad learned anything from his temporary leader, he has probably altered his appearance.”
Nothing came of it that night, though we strolled with snail-like slowness through the dark alleys. We could only hope that the word would spread. It probably would; Emerson’s activities were always of consuming interest to the citizens of Cairo. He dropped a few more words the following night, in various coffee shops around the University.
“People tend to return to familiar surroundings,” he explained. “He was a student at Al-Azhar and knows the area.”
Nothing came of that visit either, though we sat late in the garden every night and informed Ali that if anyone approached the house in a surreptitious manner he was not to raise the alarm but come quietly to inform us. I suggested, therefore, that we try a more direct approach by informing the police of Asad’s reappearance and asking what they knew about him.
Emerson was against the idea. “I would rather not have anything more to do with British officialdom, Peabody. Thus far they have left us alone. Why invite their interest?”
“What shall we do, then?”
“Wait,” said Emerson. “Someone is bound to attack you sooner or later, it happens every year. In the meantime, if you can bring yourself to put up with mundane mastabas, we will get on with our work.”
I forgave him his ill humor, for the work was not progressing as quickly as he had hoped. We had already been shorthanded; with Ramses and Nefret both gone, our workforce had been cut in half. The tomb on which we had just begun was a double mastaba, of a man and wife, its perimeter cluttered up with a hodgepodge of later tombs; it had no fewer than six burial shafts and a chapel with the remains of painted reliefs. One morning I was trying to help Selim with the photography—he wasn’t much better at it than I—while the unsifted rubble piled up and Emerson cursed Daoud for not holding the measuring stick level, when a soft voice addressed me.
“Mrs. Emerson? Er—good morning? Uh—I hope I am not interrupting you?”
I assure the Reader that the interrogation marks are necessary to indicate the indecisive tones. The speaker, who had approached while my eye was fixed to the viewfinder of the camera, was a youngish man