The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [190]
Amusement replaced Emerson’s rising ire; his sapphire blue eyes sparkled. Being completely without social snobbery himself, he is much diverted by Gargery’s demonstrations thereof. “I suppose a ‘person’ without a calling card does not deserve to be offered a chair, but the dining room? Aren’t you afraid he will make off with the plates?”
“Bob is outside the dining room door, sir.”
“Good Gad. He must be a villainous looking ‘person.’ You have whetted my curiosity, Gargery. Show him—no, I had better go to him, since he seems anxious to keep his identity a secret.”
I went with Emerson, of course. He made a few feeble objections, which I brushed aside.
The dining room is not one of the most attractive apartments in the house. Low-ceilinged and limited as to windows, it has a somber air which is increased by the heavy, time-darkened Jacobean furniture and the mummy masks adorning the panelled walls. Hands clasped behind him, our visitor was examining one of these masks. Instead of the sinister individual Gargery had led me to expect, I saw a stooped, grayhaired man. His garments were shabby and his boots scuffed, but he looked respectable enough. And Emerson knew him.
“Renfrew! What the devil do you mean by this theatrical behavior? Why didn’t you—”
“Hushhhhh!” The fellow put his finger to his lips. “I have my reasons, which you will approve when you hear them. Get rid of your butler. Is this your wife? Don’t introduce me, I have no patience with such stuff. No use trying to get rid of her, I suppose, you’d tell her anyhow. That’s up to you. Sit down, Mrs. Emerson, if you like. I will stand. I will not take refreshment. There is a train at noon I mean to catch. I can’t waste any more time on this business. Wasted too much already. Wouldn’t have done it except as a courtesy to you. Now.”
The words came in short staccato bursts, with scarcely a pause for breath, and although he did not misplace his aitches or commit a grammatical error, there were traces of East London in his accent. His clothing and his boots were in need of brushing, and even his face looked as if it were covered with a thin film of dust. One expected to see cobwebs festooning his ears. But the pale gray eyes under his dark gray brows were as sharp as knife points. I could see why Gargery had mislabelled him, but I did not commit the same error. Emerson had told me about him. A self made, self-educated man, a misogynist and recluse, he collected Chinese and Egyptian antiquities, Persian miniatures and anything else that suited his eccentric fancy.
Emerson nodded. “Get to it, then. Some new purchase you want me to authenticate for you?”
Renfrew grinned. His teeth were the same grayish brown color as his skin. “That’s why I like you, Emerson. You don’t beat around the bush either. Here.”
Reaching into his pocket, he tossed an object carelessly onto the table, where it landed with a solid thunk!
It was a scarab, one of the largest I had ever seen, formed of the greenish blue faience (a glassy paste) commonly used in ancient times. The back was rounded like the carapace of the beetle, with the stylized shapes of head and limbs.
The small scarabs were popular amulets, worn by the living and the dead to insure good luck. The larger varieties, like the famous “marriage scarab” of Amenhotep III, were often used to record important events. This was obviously of the second type; when Emerson picked it up and turned it over, I saw rows of raised hieroglyphs covering the flat base.
“What does it say?” I asked.
Emerson fingered the cleft in his chin, as was his habit when perplexed or pensive. “As near as I can make out, this is an account of the circumnavigation of Africa in year twelve of Senusert III.”
“What! This is a historical document of unique importance, Emerson.”
“Hmmm,” said Emerson. “Well, Renfrew?”
“Well, sir.” Renfrew showed his stained teeth again. “I am going to let you have it at the price I paid. There will be no additional charge for my silence.”
“Silence?