The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [154]
There was, I thought, a decided note of criticism in his voice. “What else can we do?” I demanded. “We are walking about blindfolded, with no notion as to where our opponents are hiding. And there is one positive aspect: she has one less ally now.”
“You notified the police?” Emerson asked.
Ramses nodded. “They will collect him eventually, I suppose. If the jackals and the buzzards leave anything.”
“Horrible,” David murmured.
“Yes, it is, rather,” Ramses agreed. “But I doubt they would be able to identify him in any case. He was not a local man, or I would have recognized him on the occasion of our first meeting.”
A gloomy silence fell. Then Emerson said in a meditative voice, “I think I may just run over to the Valley for a while.”
“Emerson!” I exclaimed. “How can you think of such a thing?”
“Well, curse it, Peabody, there is nothing we can do about the other business, is there? Maspero arrives tomorrow, and the tomb—”
“If you attempt to leave this house I will—I will—”
“What?” Emerson asked interestedly.
Mercifully the sight of an approaching rider provided the necessary distraction. “Here is Sir Edward,” I said. “He will tell us what has been happening.”
Sir Edward was pleased to do so. At Emerson’s insistence he described the day’s activities in excruciating detail. “Well,” said my husband grudgingly, “it appears we will at least have a complete photographic record. How much longer—”
“For pity’s sake, Emerson, leave off interrogating the poor man,” I said. “He hasn’t had an opportunity to drink his tea.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Sir Edward accepted a sandwich from the tray Fatima offered and nodded his thanks. “I don’t want to monopolize the conversation. How was your day?”
So the story of our little adventure had to come out. Sir Edward appeared shocked. “I do beg, ma’am,” he said, “that you will take more care. The old injured-animal trick—”
“I will lecture my wife if lectures are required,” Emerson said, scowling fiercely.
“Will you be here for dinner this evening, Sir Edward?” I inquired.
“Yes, ma’am. I won’t be going out this evening. That is . . . You have no other engagements, do you?”
“I had thought,” Emerson began.
“You are not going to the Valley, Emerson.”
Sir Edward choked on his tea. After wiping his chin with his serviette he exclaimed earnestly, “Please, sir, I beg you won’t think of it. It will be dark soon, and the danger—”
“He is right, Emerson,” I said, with a nod of appreciation at Sir Edward. His concern was so sincere I regretted having been suspicious of him. “We will spend a quiet domestic evening here. You have not kept up your excavation diary as you usually do, and I have a number of notes to be set in order.”
“And I,” said Sir Edward, “will give David a hand with his photographing of the papyrus. If he will allow me, that is.”
David started. He had been in a brown study, and I knew what the subject of it must be. He replied with his usual gentle courtesy that he would be very glad of assistance, and that he had rather fallen behind.
“If you have time, I would like to ask you about some of the objects in the burial chamber, Professor,” Sir Edward added. “I was struck by the fact that the inscriptions on the coffin appear to have been altered. Can you tell me . . .”
That sufficed to get Emerson’s attention, and that of Ramses as well. Led by Sir Edward’s intelligent questions, the two of them talked nothing but tomb throughout dinner. I put in a word or two, and Nefret added her opinions when she could make herself heard. It was a most fascinating discussion, but I will spare the general Reader the details, which are related elsewhere.*
The only one who did not participate was David. He spoke very little as a rule, because he was too polite to interrupt, and that is sometimes the only way to join in our conversations; but formerly his smiling attention had betokened his interest. Now he sat like the skeleton at the feast, picking at his food.