The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [89]
“Why did you not tell me? This would not have happened if you had taken me into your confidence.”
“Now, see here, Abdullah,” Emerson began.
“I understand. I am too old. Too old and stupid. I will go sit in the sun with the other senile old men and—”
“You were in our confidence, Abdullah,” I interrupted. “You knew as much as we did. We were not expecting anything like this either.”
“Ah.” Abdullah sat down on the stairs and scratched his ear. “Then I forgive you, Sitt. Now what shall we do?”
“It appears to me that you are already doing it,” said Ramses, glancing at the open door of the room on our left. It had once been comfortably furnished, with rugs and tables, a wide divan and several armchairs of European style, and a large cupboard or wardrobe against the far wall. The shutters had been flung open and sunlight streaming through the windows illumined a scene of utter chaos—rugs rolled up and thrown aside, cushions scattered across the floor, chairs overturned.
“We are searching for clues,” Abdullah explained.
“Trampling them underfoot, most likely,” said Emerson. “Where is Selim? I told him to . . . Oh, good Gad!”
A resounding crash from above indicated Selim’s presence. Ramses slipped past Abdullah and hurried up the stairs, with the rest of us following.
Selim was not alone. Two of his brothers and one of his second cousins once removed were rampaging through the rooms on the first floor, “searching for clues,” one presumed. Emerson’s roar stopped but did not at all disconcert them; they gathered round, all talking at once as they tried to tell him what they had done.
I left Emerson patiently explaining the principles of searching suspected premises, and joined Ramses, who stood looking into one of the rooms.
It was a woman’s bedchamber. The furnishings were an odd mixture of local and imported luxury—Oriental rugs of silken beauty, a toilet table draped with muslin, carved chests, and vessels of fine china behind a screen. I deduced that Selim and his crew had not had time to demolish this room, but there was evidence of a hasty search. One of the chests stood open; its contents spilled out in a flood of rainbow-hued fabric. The bedsheet was crumpled and dusty.
“This is where you were confined?” I asked.
“Yes.” Ramses crossed to the bed. He picked up a piece of white cotton, which I had not seen because it was the same color as the sheet, examined it, and dropped it onto the floor. I did not need to ask what it was.
A search of the room produced nothing except a few lengths of rope, knotted and cut—and Ramses’s boots, which had been kicked under the bed. I was glad to get them back, for he had only the two pair, and boots are expensive.
Nefret and I investigated the chests. They contained women’s clothing, some Egyptian, some European—including a nightdress of transparent silk permeated with a scent that made Nefret wrinkle her nose.
“She must bathe in the cursed stuff,” she muttered.
“She took everything of value with her,” said Emerson, who had overturned the mattress and bedsprings. “There is no jewelry, no money. And no papers.”
Nefret tossed the nightdress back into the chest. “She left all her clothing, though.”
“There wasn’t time to pack a trunk,” said Ramses. “Nor would she have dared return to get her things. She said others were coming soon.”
Katherine sat down on a hassock. “If she carried away only what she could put in a smallish bundle, she will have to replenish her wardrobe. We should inquire at the markets and shops.”
“I was about to make that suggestion,” said a voice in pure cultivated English.
He stood watching us from the doorway, clad in well-cut tweeds and gleaming boots, his hat in his hand, his fair hair as smooth as if he had just passed his brushes over it.
“Sir Edward!” I cried. “What are you doing here?”
“I have been here for some time, Mrs. Emerson. Good morning to you all,” he added with a pleasant smile.
“Daoud was not supposed to admit anyone,” Ramses said.
“Daoud did not include