The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [19]
“You’ve already gone on record,” Ramses said. “Several times and at length. Look here, Nefret, I don’t agree with it either. I tried to convince Mother and Father that we ought to tell David at once, and failing that, confront Esdaile with the truth. But you know how they are.”
“Still trying to protect us and David.” She sighed. “It is so dear of them, and so infuriating!”
“They aren’t as bad as they once were.”
“No. Once they wouldn’t have told you about the scarab. All right, we’ll try it their way, but I’m damned if I know how you are going to extract any useful information without admitting it wasn’t David who sold him the thing.”
“We’ll see.”
The shop was pretentious and the merchandise was overpriced, and the proprietor fawned on them like Uriah Heep at his most unctuous. Having members of the “distinguished family of Egyptologists” patronize his establishment was an honor he had never dared expect. It was well known that “the Professor” disapproved of dealers. Of course he was not like other dealers. The firm’s reputation for integrity had never been questioned …
Extracting the information they wanted without giving away their real purpose was a delicate and prolonged business. While examining practically every object in the shop, Ramses managed to extract a description of the man from whom Esdaile had purchased the scarab. It was vague in the extreme, since Ramses didn’t dare inquire about such details as height and hair color; as a close friend of Mr. Todros, he might reasonably be expected to know them already. Finally Esdaile offered them a sizable reduction on a string of amethyst and gold beads Nefret had admired—“as a token of goodwill, my dear young friends”—and Ramses felt it would be expedient to buy it.
“Have you found a customer for Mr. Todros’s scarab?” he asked, counting out banknotes.
“And the other antiquities.” Esdaile smirked and rubbed his hands. “They were unusually fine, as you know.”
Nefret’s mouth opened. Ramses jabbed his elbow into her ribs. “The others, yes,” he murmured, realizing he ought to have anticipated this. “I hope they went to collectors who would appreciate them.”
“Yes, indeed.” Esdaile hesitated, but only for a moment. “Professional etiquette prevents me from mentioning names, of course. He is, however, an old acquaintance of your father’s, and I don’t doubt he has already—”
“Who?” Nefret barked, and then produced a particularly sickening smile as Esdaile stared at her in surprise.
“I shouldn’t … But the ushebtis will soon be placed on exhibit.”
Ramses said weakly, “In the British Museum?”
“There, I felt certain you knew already. Yes, it was Mr. Budge himself who bought them. He doesn’t often buy from British dealers, you know, gets most of what he wants directly from the Egyptians, but I always let him know when I acquire something unusual, and when I told him the provenance of the ushebtis, he assured me he just could not resist.”
Ramses stared at the dealer. He knew he must appear particularly feeble-witted. “Provenance,” he repeated.
“Yes, from the collection of your friend’s grandfather. The old man was your foreman, was he not? As Mr. Budge said, who would have better sources than the longtime reis of the distinguished Professor Emerson? Mr. Budge was so pleased, he was chuckling quite merrily when he left. He … Why, Miss Forth, what is wrong? Are you feeling faint? Here—a chair—”
Ramses wrapped his arm tightly round Nefret’s rigid shoulders. “Fresh air,” he said. “She gets these spells. That’s all she needs, a breath of fresh air.”
He snatched up the parcel Esdaile had made of the necklace, shoved it in his pocket, got a firmer, two-handed grip on his speechless “sister,” and led her out. He had to drag her round the next corner and into the recessed entry of a building before he dared loosen his grasp.
“Did you think I was going to faint?” she demanded, eyes flashing.
“You? I thought you were going to fly at Esdaile shouting denials. The fat would have been in the fire then.”
“I wouldn’t have done anything so stupid. But to accuse a man