The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [22]
“That eliminates Jack,” Ramses said.
She let out a melodious whoop of laughter. “Now who’s a bigot?”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Ramses protested. “I only meant the American accent is—er—distinctive.”
“Not if it’s heavily overlaid with a fake Egyptian accent,” Nefret said triumphantly. “Five, he knows a lot about us—David’s name and general appearance, and his relationship with the family, the same for Abdullah. That confirms the assumption that he is an Egyptologist, and very probably one with whom we are acquainted.”
“He could have got that information from the newspapers. Mother and Father have been prominently featured, especially by their friend O’Connell.”
“Curse it, Ramses, we have to start somewhere! If you are going to disagree with every damned point I make—”
“All right, all right. You may well be correct on all those points. I can’t take Reynolds seriously, though. For one thing, there’s the little matter of motive. The Reynoldses must have private means. Archaeologists living on their salaries don’t stop at the Savoy.”
“We don’t know the motive,” Nefret argued. “It could be something strange and perverse. Don’t laugh! People do have irrational motives.”
“Indubitably.”
“What did you think of Maude?”
“I thought you were extremely rude to her.”
“I was, wasn’t I?” Nefret chuckled. “If you want to know, she was rather rude to David last year. She didn’t exactly treat him like a servant, but she came close. We haven’t a lot in common, Maudie and I; Jack was the one who kept thrusting us at one another. He has the devil of a time believing women are interested in anything except clothes and flirting.”
“You do hold grudges, don’t you?”
“Where my friends are concerned, yes. Did you notice how she jumped when I mentioned Esdaile’s?”
“She did not jump. That was me. I thought we’d agreed not to mention the forgeries.”
“In connection with David. I didn’t mention him. Anyhow, if the Reynoldses are innocent, as you believe, what I said won’t mean a cursed thing to them.”
The children were late returning. I hoped for a private chat with them about their discoveries, but I was forced to wait, for dinner had already been announced, and a few whispered words from Ramses indicated they had a great deal to tell us. Fortunately our guests retired early, as they were accustomed to do. It was some minutes before eleven P.M. when Emerson and I crept out of our room and made our way to that of Ramses.
Though she had attained the dignified status of housekeeper, Rose still insisted on cleaning Ramses’s room with her own hands. It was a hopeless task; ten minutes after she had left, all the flat surfaces were again strewn with cast-off articles of clothing, books and papers, and the various objects featured in Ramses’s current research. I will give him credit; he had made some attempt to tidy up, and a cheery fire burned under the Adam mantelpiece.
Nefret was sitting cross-legged on the hearthrug, with Horus sprawled across her lap. Horus was the largest and least affable of our current crop of cats, and Nefret’s fondness for him was unaccountable to me. He did seem to return it, in his surly fashion, but she was the only one whose caresses he accepted. He tolerated Emerson and me, disliked David, and detested Ramses, who returned the compliment.
“I feel like a cursed spy,” Emerson grumbled, flinging himself into an armchair. “I am still of the opinion that we ought to take Selim, at least, into our confidence. He is a sharp young chap, and has had a long acquaintance with forgers.”
“Hmmm,” I said. “Nefret, that is a very pretty necklace. A new purchase, I presume?”
“Ramses bought it for me.”
My son was also sitting on the floor, his back against a bookcase, and the kitten on his lap. It had taken to following him about like a puppy. I suspected its devotion was not entirely altruistic, for several of Ramses’s coats had developed suspicious greasy stains inside the pockets, and all our cats are extremely fond of chicken. I raised no objection, for I