Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [74]
“Yes. Have the police found any clues?”
“Ah, the police!” Legrain’s cynical smile showed his opinion of the local gendarmerie—an opinion Ramses shared. “No, there were no clues—although if Madame Emerson had been here she would have found some, n’est-ce pas? Whoever the thieves were, they knew their antiquities. They took four of the best—a charming little alabaster statue of Thutmose III, virtually intact, and three larger statues from the late Eighteenth Dynasty.”
“No sign of them on the antiquities market?” Ramses asked.
Legrain shrugged again, and fondled his impressive mustache. “I notified the authorities in Cairo, of course, but I do not expect results. What is difficult to understand is how the villains moved such heavy objects. Mais, c’est la vie!” He chuckled and smiled at Nefret. “I think I will hope not to find anything more for a while. My work, it is primarily that of restoring and rebuilding. The discovery of the statue cache was an accident, as you know.”
“Not much help,” Nefret said, as they walked toward the river. “Are we going back to the west bank now?”
“I thought we might have lunch at one of the hotels.”
“It’s still early. I’m not hungry yet.”
“Whatever you say.”
“It seems logical to talk to the other Egyptologists who are working in Luxor, doesn’t it? There aren’t that many of them, and they are all working on the west bank except for M. Legrain, and they might be able to give us a lead.”
“All right.”
“You’re so damned agreeable I could kick you,” Nefret muttered. She was stamping along beside him, her head bowed, her face hidden under the broad brim of her hat. “And don’t say you’re sorry!”
“All right.”
Nefret stopped dead in her tracks. He turned to her in surprise. Her face was flushed, and her eyes fell before his puzzled gaze. “What’s wrong, darling?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She bit her lip. “I’m being beastly. But—but if you’d only yell at me when I behave like this, or shake me, or—”
“Beat you? Anything to oblige. I hope you won’t object if I put it off until we’re alone, I do dislike providing entertainment for tourists.”
There were several parties heading toward the temple, and a few people had stopped to stare at them—probably, Ramses thought, because they took him for a jumped-up Egyptian in Western clothing being too familiar with an English girl. Nefret glared at a rather large woman in a very large-brimmed hat and quantities of veiling, and made a vulgar gesture. The woman turned red and went on her way, muttering indignantly. Having relieved her feelings by this bit of rudeness, Nefret began to chuckle.
“You’re impossibly even-tempered,” she murmured. “Kiss me?”
“In front of all these people? Not on your life. Anyhow, you don’t deserve to be kissed. Where did you learn that gesture? Not from me!”
“From Father,” Nefret said calmly. She slipped her arm through his and they walked on. “So where shall we go first?”
“The Valley, I suppose. MacKay is one of the few people who’s still working, and he ought to be there today.”
Ernest MacKay, who had replaced Weigall as head of the Theban Tombs Conservation Project, was an Englishman in his mid-thirties. They found him in the tomb of Thutmose III, where he was inspecting the paintings. He greeted them courteously but with a conspicuous absence of warmth.
“I’d heard you were in Luxor.”
“The word does spread, doesn’t it?” Nefret gave him a dazzling smile.
“Yes.” The smile had no effect this time; MacKay’s face remained glum. “To the best of my knowledge, Tetisheri hasn’t been touched. I’d have notified Professor Emerson at once had I had reason to suppose that.”
“Yes, quite,” Ramses said, thinking he understood the change in MacKay’s manner. He’d been friendly enough the last time they encountered him. “No one could possibly expect you to watch over all the tombs on the west bank, and carry out your other duties. It must be horribly frustrating.”
“There are no longer any inspectors between Cairo and Assuan,” MacKay