The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [155]
“How absurd military persons are,” I remarked, after Cartright had marched stiffly out and Selim had slammed the door.
“Don’t underestimate him,” Ramses said softly.
“I don’t,” said Emerson. “He was trying to find out how long we mean to remain here. Perhaps I ought to have come up with an excuse for staying on, but I couldn’t think of one offhand; this isn’t the place one would choose for a holiday, and there are no archaeological remains of any interest.”
“Good Gad,” I exclaimed indignantly. “Do you think he is still suspicious of us? How insulting!”
Ramses laughed and rose, taking my empty glass from my hand. “You ought to consider it a compliment, Mother. ‘Suspicious’ is perhaps too strong a word, but a good intelligence officer doesn’t take chances with people whose behavior is, shall we say, unpredictable. It poses a bit of a problem. If we don’t start making arrangements to leave within the next day or two, he will assume we’re planning something underhanded and place us under surveillance. That’s what I would do.”
“Quite,” Emerson agreed. “Damnation! It doesn’t give us much time. Let us hope my—er—Sethos makes his move soon. Since you are on your feet, Ramses, another whiskey here, if you please. How long till dinner, Selim? That refreshing little episode has given me quite an appetite.”
“I do not know, Emerson. I have been at the door all afternoon, and the cook—”
“Yes, yes, my boy, that is quite all right. See what you can do to hurry him up, eh? You need not stand guard, we won’t have any more visitors tonight.”
In that he was mistaken. Not long after Selim had taken himself off, the aged doorman shuffled in to announce that another merchant had called. He had a carpet for sale, a very fine carpet, a silk carpet, a—
“Tell him to go away,” said Emerson. “We don’t want any carpets.”
The man bowed and wandered out. He was too late and too ineffectual to intercept the seller of carpets, however. The fellow had followed him.
He was a tall man with a grizzled beard and a squint. The roll of carpet was slung over his shoulder. Taking hold of the door, he shut it in the doorkeeper’s face, lowered the rug to the floor, seized one end, and heaved.
A rich tapestry of crimson and azure and gold unrolled, and from the end rolled a human form—a female form, wearing a rather tasteless and very crumpled frock of bright pink silk. Coughing and choking, it raised dirty hands to its eyes and rubbed them.
“Christ Almighty,” said my son in a strangled voice.
I was too thunderstruck to object to this expletive, and the others were equally stupefied. Naturally I was the first to recover. I looked from the girl, who seemed to be suffering nothing worse than the effects of being bundled up in a rug smelling of camel, to the merchant, who stood with hands on hips staring at me.
“Back again, are you?” I inquired unnecessarily.
“Not from the dead this time,” said Sethos. “I have brought you a little gift.”
“In a rug?”
“It worked for Cleopatra,” said my brother-in-law. The unfortunate female sneezed violently. Automatically I handed her a handkerchief.
“I’m leaving her in your care for a few days,” Sethos went on. “Make certain no one gets to her.”
Without further ado, he turned and strode toward the door. Emerson made a leap for him, caught him by the arm and spun him round, so vigorously that he staggered.
“Not so fast. You have a lot of explaining to do.”
Instead of trying to free himself from the hand that gripped his shoulder, Sethos stared at Emerson’s left sleeve, which had fallen back, exposing the cast.
“How did that happen?” he asked.
“An encounter with a tomb robber in Luxor,” Emerson replied. “One of yours?”
“At present I have no business arrangements in Luxor. It’s like you,” he added in exasperation, “to go dashing into a war zone with a broken arm. Just sit tight for a