Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [77]
Not until Nefret started showing signs of impatience did Ramses realize they had been there for over an hour and he had not yet raised the question of thefts. As she had predicted, Lansing was unable to offer any useful information.
“We’ve found very little that would interest thieves. MacKay’s the one you ought to talk to; the poor guy’s supposed to be looking after all the Theban tombs, more or less single-handed.”
“We spoke with him yesterday,” Ramses said.
“Or Alain Kuentz.”
“German?” Ramses asked in surprise.
“Swiss,” Lansing corrected. “You don’t know him? He started working at Deir el Medina a couple of years ago. It was after you folks left, so maybe you never met him. Reason I mentioned him is that he actually caught one of the Gurnawis in the act of digging out a tomb up behind the Ptolemaic temple.”
“Who was it?”
Lansing shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Kuentz. He knew there was no point calling in the police, so he gave the fellow a good hiding and kicked him down the hill.”
“That’s the method the Professor favors,” Nefret said. “We’ll have a little chat with Alain. I didn’t know he was back in Luxor. It was good to see you, Mr. Lansing, and to meet you, Mr. Barton. We didn’t mean to take up so much of your time.”
Lansing was young, still in his early twenties, and unmarried. He accompanied them to where they had left the horses and insisted on helping Nefret to mount.
“You going to be here long?” he asked hopefully. “It would be swell to have you all back in Luxor.”
“There’s not much chance of that this year,” Ramses said. “But one never knows. We’ll stay for a few weeks anyhow.”
“Come by any time.” He stood by Nefret, his hand on the saddle, looking up at her.
“And you must come to us one evening,” Nefret said. “Both of you. We will decide on a time and let you know.”
“Any time,” Lansing repeated.
“Another victim,” Ramses said, as they rode off, trailed by Jumana and Jamil. “Or two.”
“Now don’t start behaving like Father. Not every man I meet falls in love with me.”
“Kuentz did, though. Didn’t he?”
He tried to speak lightly, but the attempt was not a success. Nefret glanced at him in surprise. “Darling, it was years ago! You were off on one of your solitary excursions, trying to avoid me, and he was . . . well, he was very attentive and rather attractive and . . . I told you about him.”
“I’d forgotten until Lansing mentioned his name.”
“I told you about all of them,” Nefret said. “Which is more than you’ve done. You know everything about my past affairs, if they can be called that, but you’ve never talked about yours, and I’d be willing to bet they were a lot more interesting than mine! There was that girl in Chicago, and Christabel Pankhurst, to mention only two, and I’ve always wondered what went on between you and Enid Fraser, and—”
“Men don’t discuss such things,” Ramses said self-consciously.
“It wouldn’t be gentlemanly, would it?”
“Are you trying to start a quarrel?”
“I’m ready whenever you are!”
She was absolutely right; he was in no position to criticize her past behavior, or even ask about it. He said so, adding, “We’ll talk about it another time.”
“Ha,” said Nefret. “Where are we going now?”
“Deir el Medina. It’s the first specific piece of information we’ve had. If one of the shifty beggars was digging there, Kuentz will be able to tell us where.”
When they reached the site of the workmen’s village, there was no sign of life. The mud-brick walls of the simple houses stood in regular alignment. Only a small part of the site had been cleared. Perhaps Kuentz was investigating the tombs that lay in the slopes of a shallow bay near the ruins. Some of the entrances gaped open, black against the pale sandstone of the cliff.
On the chance that the excavator was stretched out somewhere in the shade, taking a nap, Ramses called out. Initially there was no response. They were about to turn back when a voice hailed them, and a man came scrambling down the slope. He was wearing a galabeeyah and turban, and as