The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [102]
“If you are going to blather on about cats I am going to my study,” Emerson grunted.
“I assure you, Emerson, I have more serious topics in mind,” I told him. “But allow me to remind you that you were the one who complained the other day about conversation unsuitable for the tea table.”
“On that occasion we were discussing mutilated bodies and hideous wounds,” Emerson retorted, animation warming his tanned, well-formed features. “And murder cults. You were the one who brought up that absurd idea!”
“It has not been disproved. The crocodile god—”
“Has nothing to do with anything! Yussuf Mahmud—”
“Crocodiles!” Sir Edward exclaimed. He took a sandwich from the plate Fatima offered and gave her a smiling nod. “Forgive me for interrupting, sir, but I presume you are referring to the body drawn from the river last week. Do you believe that that bizarre incident is related to your present difficulties?”
“Not at all,” said Emerson. “Mrs. Emerson is always getting off the track.”
I would have pointed out the injustice of the charge had my mouth not been full of tomato sandwich. Before I could swallow, Ramses said coolly, “An interesting suggestion, Sir Edward. How much do you know about our presenter—difficulties?”
“Only what has occurred since my arrival in Luxor” was the prompt reply. “Far be it from me to inquire into matters of a private nature, but I would be better able to serve you if I were made cognizant of the relevant facts.”
“The difficulty,” I admitted, “is in knowing what facts are relevant. However, certain earlier incidents are almost certainly part of the business, and I agree you are entitled to hear of them.”
I waited for an objection, but there was none, though Emerson scowled and Ramses looked particularly blank. I therefore proceeded to narrate the adventure of the three comrades and the Book of the Dead.
“Good God!” Sir Edward exclaimed. “You went to el Was’a, Miss Forth?”
Nefret banged her cup into her saucer with almost as much force as Emerson would have employed when in a similar state of indignation. “You may as well get one thing straight, Sir Edward, if you are to join our company. I am an adult, independent woman, and I won’t allow any man, including you, to wrap me in cotton wool.”
He apologized, fulsomely and at length, and at Nefret’s request Emerson went and got the papyrus. Sir Edward studied it with the fascinated attention of a true scholar.
“Astonishing,” he breathed. “What are you going to do with it?”
Ramses, who was standing guard over the scroll, replied, “It will go to a museum eventually, but not until after I have copied and translated it.”
“It appears to be in excellent condition.” Sir Edward reached out his hand. Ramses slid the lid over the box.
“It will not remain in that condition if it is handled repeatedly.”
I resumed my narrative. When I had finished, Sir Edward said, “As I once mentioned, Mrs. Emerson, your narrative style is remarkably vivacious. You believe, then, that the papyrus is the object of the attentions you have received?”
“It is one possibility,” said Ramses.
“Yes, quite. What are your plans, then? For I feel sure you don’t mean to sit idly by until something else happens.”
“There is not a great deal we can do,” said Ramses, who had obviously appointed himself spokesman. “Layla is the only person we know about—the only one who isn’t dead, that is—and we have not yet succeeded in tracing her. She is not in Gurneh. Abdullah and his people conducted a house-to-house search, and I assure you, they were thorough.”
“Have you questioned her former—er—associates?”
He looked apologetically at Nefret, who said, “Prostitutes, you mean.”
“Er—yes.”
“We have already investigated that group,” said Ramses.
“We?” Sir Edward repeated, raising one eyebrow.
“We!” I exclaimed. “What have you done? Ramses, I strictly forbade you and David to . . . Where did you go—and how, if a mere mother may ask, did you know where to go?”
“Now, Peabody, calm yourself,” Emerson began.
“Emerson, how could you allow them