The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [65]
“It is agreed, then,” said Emerson. “Just try and keep out of trouble till then, eh, Peabody?”
“I cannot imagine why you are directing your warnings at me, Emerson. We must all take care.”
“Hmph,” said Emerson. “No more visits to the suk, is that understood?”
“Why the suk?” I demanded. “It was not in the suk that I was attacked. You only want to keep me from shopping. I haven’t purchased all my Christmas presents yet, and there is—”
“Enough!” Emerson exclaimed, clutching at his hair. “If you must go I will go with you, and Ramses, in some loathsome ensemble or other, and Daoud and the entire crew. Stop arguing and come to dinner.”
“Our guest has not yet arrived, Emerson.”
“Guest? What guest? Devil take it, Peabody—”
“Karl,” I said, cutting into Emerson’s complaint with the skill of long practice. “I asked him this morning. He should be along soon.”
“Since we are confiding in all and sundry, do you propose to tell von Bork about the forgeries too?” Emerson inquired.
“I thought I might mention the subject of forgeries in general,” I admitted. “Just to observe his reaction.”
“Oh, well, that should settle the matter,” said Emerson. “The moment you pronounce the word he will drop his fork, turn pale, and confess.”
It would not have surprised me greatly if Karl had done just that—supposing he was guilty, I mean. In my estimation he was too timid and too much in awe of me to be a good criminal. Either he was innocent or he had become more hardened than I supposed, because my introduction of the subject failed to induce any of the reactions Emerson had described. Karl was interested, however, and treated us to a long lecture on some of the forgers he had known and some of the methods they employed.
After he had bade us good night we gathered round the fountain for a final cup of coffee, and Emerson remarked sarcastically, “So much for your latest scheme, Peabody. It didn’t work, did it?”
“Oh, Emerson, don’t be silly. I did not suppose Karl would break down and confess. He does know quite a lot about faking antiquities, though, doesn’t he?”
With the arrival of guests imminent and the social activities attendant upon the season unavoidable, Emerson was all the more determined to get as much work out of us as he could. I had only been teasing Emerson a little when I said I had not finished my shopping. Most of it was done, and archaeological fever was rising in my bosom. It was with beating heart and spirits aflame with anticipation that I stood one morning by the newly exposed stairs and prepared to descend into the substructure of my pyramid.
Emerson refused to allow it.
“Confound it, Peabody,” was how he began. He went on for a considerable time.
We had quite a large audience. Nefret and Ramses were there, of course, and our men. We were still discussing the matter when we were joined by Maude and Jack Reynolds.
I was not surprised to see Jack, since he had been assiduous in his attentions to us, turning up almost every day and proving—as even Emerson grudgingly admitted—to be of considerable assistance. I was not surprised to see Maude, either. She was becoming something of a nuisance—to me, at any rate. Whether Ramses felt the same I was not prepared to say. He had not appeared to encourage her, but it was always difficult to know what Ramses was thinking, much less doing.
Dimpling, Maude joined him and Nefret, who had removed themselves to a discreet distance while Emerson and I chatted. Selim had done the same. He was humming under his breath and shuffling his feet. I thought I observed a familiar rhythm: one two three, one two three …
Jack was not so tactful as Selim. “You folks arguing again?” he inquired with a broad toothy smile.
“We are not arguing,” I explained.
“Yes, we are,” said Emerson. “I ought to know better. She always gets her way. Very well, Peabody, you can come with me this time. Only control your exuberance, if you please, and don’t push me into the shaft or trample me underfoot trying to get ahead.”
“You will have your little joke, Emerson,” I said.