The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [103]
“Well, mebbe so,” Cyrus conceded. “But you four should have left word with someone. You knew we’d be worried.”
Ramses began, “I’m very—”
“Sorry be damned,” said his father gruffly. “For all you knew, there was not a moment to lose. Ramses, my boy—er—thank you. Again.”
Ramses’s thin brown face broke into a smile. “It wasn’t me, Father, it was Daoud and Jumana. Sherlock Holmes couldn’t have done better.”
Daoud beamed. “Who is Sherlock Holmes?” he asked.
“The greatest detective who ever lived,” Ramses replied. None of us laughed, for fear of hurting Daoud’s feelings, but Ramses directed another smile at me. “Except for Mother.”
Then we could laugh. I joined in as heartily as the others, my heart swelling with affection.
“Sennia, it is long past your bedtime,” I said. “Off you go.”
She had to give everyone a good-night kiss and of course she had to have the last word. “The Great Cat of Re would have found you.”
“Ha,” I said, but I said it under my breath. The kitten had grown very fat and lazy. Curled up on Ramses’s lap, it resembled a shapeless bundle of spotted gray fur.
After Sennia had gone I took another cucumber sandwich. I was ravenous, for the peas and the foie gras that had preceded them had done very little to assuage the hunger resulting from long hours of strenuous manual labor.
“Let us now,” I said, “discuss what we have learned. It has not been wasted effort, though we did let Jamil get away from us.”
“I haven’t learned a blamed thing except that you two are incorrigible,” Cyrus grumbled.
“Not at all, Cyrus. First, there is the interesting matter of Jamil’s costume. He was not wearing Jumana’s clothes. They would have been far too small for him. He cannot have purchased them because . . . Need I explain my reasoning?”
“No,” Katherine said. “Aside from the question of how he could pay for them, I can’t see him going into one of the shops and trying on blouses and skirts.”
“That is right. We will leave that matter for the moment. I think I know the answer, and it can easily be proved. The second clue . . . Ramses, at one time you were able to recall the entire contents of a crowded storeroom some hours after you had seen it. Do you remember what was in Jamil’s hideout?”
“Rugs, several jars . . . I guess I wasn’t paying attention. Sorry, Mother.”
“Quite understandable, my dear,” I said. His impulsive embrace had touched me deeply, even if it had hurt my back. To see my imperturbable son forget all else in the joy of finding his parents alive and well assured me that his affection was sincere and profound.
“Fortunately I had ample time to inspect the place,” I went on. “It was well stocked, but the most interesting items were the tins of food. European food—peas and beans and cabbage, beef, even a tin of foie gras. Someone supplied him with those delicacies, or with the money to purchase them. No, Jumana, I know it wasn’t you.”
I knew because I had been careful to keep all the cash in the house under lock and key. Trust is a beautiful thing, but when someone has done you an injury, you are a fool if you give him the chance to do you another.
“It is beginning to look as if he has found another tomb,” Ramses said thoughtfully. “It’s the only way he could lay his hands on that much money, by selling some of the artifacts. Mother, what did you do with that cosmetic jar you bought in Cairo? I’d like to have a closer look at it.”
“Wait until after dinner,” I said, rising with a suppressed groan. Those long hours on hands and knees in the passage, pulling the rubble out, had taken their toll on my back, and ruined a good pair of leather gloves.
The Vandergelts stayed, of course. Wild horses could not have dragged Cyrus away, and nothing made Fatima happier than having more people to feed.