The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [58]
“You didn’t recognize him?” Ramses asked, ignoring the implied reproof.
“I didn’t get a good look at him, it was dark, and he had a scarf wound round his head. It might have been Yussuf Mahmud; his height and build were the same.”
“An ordinary thief,” David began.
“No,” Ramses said. “Sneak thieves don’t carry knives, or use them—especially on the family of the dread Father of Curses. He went straight for the papyrus. That’s another interesting point. How did he know Nefret had it? No proper gentleman would leave such a potentially dangerous object in the hands of a poor little weak woman.”
“Ha,” said Nefret.
“Ha indeed. Nefret, are you sure you didn’t tell anyone? Or let slip . . . No, of course not.”
“Damn right.”
She might have let something slip, though, without being aware of it—to a man who asked the right questions. She’d been seeing a lot of Sir Edward the past few days . . .
He knew better than to hint at that theory. “Get some rest, Nefret. We’ll have a look round in the morning.”
“I’ll wipe up the blood,” David offered. “We don’t want Aunt Amelia to see it, do we.”
“Don’t bother,” Ramses said. “I cannot imagine why Mother is not already on the scene—she usually is—but she’ll certainly notice the door being off its hinges and Nefret favoring her arm, and . . . And we’ve no right to keep silent, not now.”
“Oh dear,” Nefret murmured. “The Professor is going to roar.”
“Undoubtedly. And Mother will lecture. On the whole, I prefer Father’s roars.”
“We’ll confess tomorrow, then.” Nefret stood up. “Good night.”
She waved away David’s supporting arm and followed them to the door. “Ramses,” she said.
“Yes?”
“How did you get here so quickly? I didn’t cry out until he cut my arm, and you must have been already outside my door.”
“Something woke me. Perhaps he made a sound climbing in the window.”
A window on the opposite wall of her room, with a mudbrick partition between. Luckily she didn’t notice the illogic of that. “I’m sorry if I was rude,” she said.
“No more than usual.”
“Thank you for being there when I needed you, my boy.” She put an affectionate hand on his arm and smiled at him. Ramses stepped back.
“Not at all.”
“Don’t be angry. I said I was sorry.”
“I’m not angry. Good night, Nefret.”
Leaving David to deal with the damaged door, he strode toward the back gate and went out. It would have been more in keeping with the Byronic tradition to pace back and forth under her window—groaning and clutching his brow—but he didn’t want to risk disturbing footprints or other clues; so he sat down with his back against the wall of the house and hugged his knees for warmth, and damned himself for a sentimental fool. The intruder, whoever he had been, would not return that night, and the air was cold. There was no point in going to bed, though. He wouldn’t sleep.
Sometime later he became aware of movement. The moon had set, but the stars were bright. A form emerged from the shadows. It moved with a swagger, ears pricked and tail swinging. Seeing him, it stopped several feet away and stared at him.
Ramses stared back.
Some of the Egyptians believed he could communicate with animals. It required no extrasensory perception to know where Horus had been and what he had been doing. He had been doing it every night since they arrived in Luxor. Having a vile temper, a well-muscled, well-fed body, and an ego the size of a lion’s, he had no difficulty in running off rivals for the affections of the local female felines. The cat Bastet would never have allowed an intruder to get within six feet of Nefret, but this selfish, single-minded beast had been too busy satisfying his appetites to guard her.
He had a feeling Horus knew exactly what he was thinking, and that Horus didn’t give a damn. After a long, silent, supercilious survey, the cat proceeded on his way. He sprang onto Nefret’s windowsill