The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [86]
“What makes you think the message is from Wardani?” Emerson demanded. “Aslimi was one of the dealers we questioned about the forger.”
“Why would Aslimi be so roundabout? Wardani promised to let me know if he found out anything; he would have to do it indirectly, and this is unlikely to rouse suspicion: a harmless visit to the suk, in broad daylight.”
“And it’s even less likely to arouse suspicion if I am with Ramses,” Nefret added.
Emerson gave in, but he insisted they take two of the men with them. Ramses didn’t object to that; the Egyptians weren’t as conspicuous as his father and he could order them to stay at a distance.
“Try to be back before your mother notices your absence,” Emerson said with a sigh. “If she should ask I will tell her where you have gone—as I may have mentioned before, absolute candor between husband and wife is the only possible basis for a successful marriage, but—”
“We understand.” Nefret kissed him on the cheek and danced away—to get her hat, as she claimed.
“Look after her,” Emerson muttered.
“Yes, sir.”
Nefret looked particularly demure in a flower-trimmed hat and long linen coat, spotless white gloves, and a pair of frivolous bow-trimmed slippers. As they walked along the dusty tree-lined road toward the station, she slipped her hand through his arm and moved closer. He shortened his steps to match hers.
“Thank you, my boy.”
“What for?”
“For letting me come along. Without so much as an argument!”
“Just don’t use that knife unless you must.” “Knife? What knife?”
He turned his head and looked down at her. Nefret grinned. “Yes, sir. How would you define ‘must’?”
Ramses pretended to ponder the question. “When I’m bleeding to death at your feet and someone has both hands round your neck.”
“Oh, all right. I can manage that.”
He kept a wary eye out and a hard grip on her arm as they made their way through the crowded streets of the suk. Hassan and Sayid had been told to stay well behind and not enter the shop. Aslimi was engaged with a customer, to whom he was trying to sell a flagrantly fraudulent amulet. He started violently and turned pale when he saw them. That wasn’t evidence of anything in particular except that Aslimi was a miserable little coward and a rotten conspirator.
The poor devil was so petrified, Ramses had to carry on both sides of the conversation. “That object you found … Ah, in your office? We’ll just go back and wait till you’ve finished with this gentleman. Take all the time you like. We’re in no hurry.”
Wardani was sitting at Aslimi’s desk with his feet on a chair. Rising, he bowed to Nefret and nodded at Ramses. “Bolt the door, please. Welcome, Miss Forth. I had not expected you, but it is a pleasure to meet you at last.”
“You were listening at the door,” Ramses said, drawing the bolt.
“Looking through the keyhole,” Wardani corrected, with a flash of white teeth. He was wearing European clothing and steel-rimmed eyeglasses; beard and hair were a dusty gray. He examined Nefret with an interest that verged on insolence, but did not quite go over the line, and waved her to a chair. “Please sit down, Miss Forth. It was clever of you to bring her, my friend; I should have suggested it myself. No gentleman would allow a lady to accompany him if he anticipated violence.”
Nefret settled herself in the chair with a thump. “I can be just as violent as Ramses, Mr. Wardani, and it was I who insisted on accompanying him. You have news for us?”
“The best of news, which is that there is none,” Wardani said. He took out a heavy silver cigarette case and offered it to Ramses, who had taken up a position behind Nefret’s chair. It would not have occurred to him to offer it to a woman. Ramses watched, with considerable amusement, as Nefret plucked a cigarette from the case. “Thank you,” she said.
“Not at all,” said Wardani, recovering with admirable aplomb. “You will