The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [141]
A thrill of anticipation ran through me. Was this another attempt at abduction? It hardly seemed likely, in such a crowded place, but the doorway was in a far corner and hidden by scaffolding.
Emerson stepped into view from behind an adjoining pillar. “Where the devil do you think you are going, Peabody?”
“Ah,” said my new acquaintance, releasing my arm. “It is your husband. A pleasure to see you again, Professor. I was just asking Mrs. Emerson if you would do me the pleasure of dining with me one evening.”
“Most unlikely,” said Emerson, looking her up and down. “But if you will give me your card I will let you know.”
She produced it, after fumbling in her capacious handbag and then—her purpose achieved, as she believed—returned to her group.
“Hmmm,” said Emerson, fingering the little piece of pasteboard.
“Where are the others?” I asked, hoping, though not really expecting, to avoid a lecture.
“There.” Emerson gestured. “Curse you, Peabody, if you are going to go on doing this sort of thing I will lock you up.”
“What could possibly happen here, with a hundred tourists around? She is only a harmless bore.”
“No doubt.” Emerson glanced at the card. “Mrs. Louisa Ferncliffe. Heatherby Hall, Bastington on Stoke.”
“Nouveau riche,” I said with a little sniff. “Her accent was quite common. We met her at Cyrus’s the other evening.”
“I didn’t.”
I took his arm and we started toward the others. “Things have been tediously quiet of late, Emerson.”
“Nothing is likely to happen if we all stay together, as we have done the past few days.”
Accompanied as it was by a steely blue glare, this sounded like a threat. It was also, I feared, a depressing statement of fact. How were we to find our deadly enemy unless we gave him a chance to get at us?
We lunched at the Karnak Hotel. The beautiful view across the river, the excellent food, and the valiant attempts of some of us to carry on a cheerful conversation did not have much effect on the general gloom. The hours were passing; too few of them remained. Our dear visitors would not return to the West Bank but would go directly to the train station in time to catch the evening express; their luggage had been packed and would be brought to them there. From time to time Lia’s eyes filled with tears and she turned her head, pretending to admire the view so that she could wipe them away. She had wanted to go to Gurneh to say good-bye to Abdullah and Daoud, but I had not thought that advisable.
By the time we finished luncheon the afternoon was well advanced. Sir Edward had been especially kind, devoting himself to Evelyn and trying to amuse her with reminiscences of the wonderful days in Tetisheri’s tomb. The reminders were not as consoling as he hoped. It was during that season that David had come into our lives; I knew Evelyn was remembering the abused, love-starved child who had won her heart—and whose heart she was now helping to break.
I believe we were all relieved when the time for departure finally arrived. We had wandered through the shops; Walter had showered gifts on his daughter: an embroidered robe, a necklace of gold and lapis beads, trinkets and souvenirs of all kinds. She received them graciously but without enthusiasm. She had behaved admirably. Not until we reached the station and saw who awaited us there did she give way.
Abdullah looked magnificent. He wore his finest robes, of white silk trimmed with gold, and his snowiest turban. His face, framed by the white of beard and turban, had the dignity of a pharaoh’s. Daoud was also wearing his best, his long kaftan of striped silk and cotton, his girdle a colored Kashmir scarf. His face was not at all dignified.
Abdullah held out his hand and addressed Walter. “May God keep thee and thine in the shelter of his care, Effendi. May it be good until our next meeting.”
Walter took the old man’s hand and wrung it vigorously. He did not speak. I don’t believe he could.
Abdullah addressed Evelyn and Lia in the formal words of farewell. Then it was Daoud