The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [110]
“It isn’t difficult to be quicker than that cat,” said Ramses. “If he gets any fatter we’ll have to hire him his own donkey cart.” He caught his father’s critical eye and sobered. “Mrs. Vandergelt, you must think we are utter fools.”
“I think,” Katherine said, “that you have all been preoccupied by your affection for David and Abdullah. You have been so intent on the business of the forgeries that you are unable to see anything else.”
“There was the burglary at Amarna House,” I said.
Cyrus shook his head. “You can’t connect that with the attacks on you here, Amelia. Its purpose was obviously to retrieve the scarab. If Ramses hadn’t interfered, they’d have left without inflicting a scratch on anybody.”
“Curse it!” I exclaimed. “Katherine, you have knocked the bottom out of all my theories. I had eliminated several of our suspects because they had alibis for one or another of the attacks. Howard was in the Delta, Geoffrey was on top—er—that is, he was with me when the unseen marksman fired his last shots. They are cleared of wanting to drive us away from the site, but not of being the forger. We must start all over again!”
Fatima appeared to announce that dinner was served. We made our way to the dining room and Emerson said, “It’s high time we got David here. Curse it, he’s been dawdling around Crete too long.”
“You know that if we had so much as hinted at danger to any one of us they would have been on the next boat,” I said. “What did Lia say in her last letter, Nefret?”
“She accused me of hiding something from her,” Nefret said glumly. “Don’t stare at me in that critical fashion, Aunt Amelia, I haven’t given anything away—and believe me, it’s been damned—excuse me!—very difficult, chattering cheerfully about things that don’t matter and trying to avoid mentioning anything that might rouse her suspicions!”
“Speaking of the burglary at Amarna House,” I began.
“We were not speaking of it,” said Emerson. Fatima removed his empty soup bowl and he said amiably, “Excellent soup, Fatima.”
“We were speaking of it earlier,” I said, determined not to let him distract me. “I keep meaning to ask, and I keep forgetting—so many other things have happened—the soup was excellent, Fatima. Tell Mahmud.”
“Yes, Sitt Hakim. Thank you.”
“The burglary,” Cyrus said. “I’m durned glad you brought that up, Amelia, because I have also been curious about it. Why did the fellow take such a risk to get the scarab back? Obviously there was nothing about it that gave you a clue to his identity, or you wouldn’t still be in the dark.”
The rest of us looked expectantly at Ramses. He did not appreciate the attention. “I don’t know the answer,” he said shortly.
“It is a pity we didn’t photograph the confounded thing,” I mused. “But of course we did not anticipate losing it so soon. Do you have a copy of your translation here, Ramses?”
“I didn’t write it down, Mother.” Eyebrows drawn together, he took up his knife and began sawing at the portion of roast chicken with which he had been served. It was a trifle tough. Egyptian chickens often are.
“You just read it off the way you’d read English, I guess,” said Cyrus, with a wry smile and a shake of his head.
“Yes, sir. However,” said Ramses, after an appreciable pause, “I did make a copy of the hieroglyphic inscription. Would you care to see it?”
“Who, me?” Cyrus laughed. “No point in that, I can’t read more than a few words.”
“I would like to see it,” I said. “Why didn’t you mention you had a copy?”
“No one asked me,” said Ramses.
Nefret threw a dinner roll at him.
“Let’s have a look at it, then,” said Emerson, as Ramses caught the roll and politely handed it back to Nefret.
“Now?” Ramses asked.
“When we have finished eating,” I said. “If you and Nefret will stop playing childish games—and in the presence of guests, too!—we will be done all the sooner.”
“I beg your pardon, Aunt Amelia,” Nefret murmured. She gave Ramses a sidelong grin, however, and his thin lips turned up a bit in response.