The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [139]
Walter’s lips parted. ‘And furthermore,’ I went on, ‘there were two groups of men in the tomb that first night. Emerson himself said one group evicted the other at gunpoint. Now pay attention, Walter, I admit this next part is a bit complicated. The only member of the second group – the one not run by Riccetti – whom we can certainly identify is Abd el Hamed.’
‘Certainly?’ Walter repeated. He sounded rather dazed.
‘Surely I need not recapitulate the steps of deductive logic that led me to that conclusion?’
‘No, I think I would prefer that you did not, Amelia. Er – you won’t object if I ask David a few questions?’
I looked round for the boy. He had not returned to his former place, but sat cross-legged beside Evelyn’s chair. Either he had known more English than he had admitted, or he had picked it up quickly, for he understood what Walter had said. He looked up at Evelyn. Her hand rested for a moment on his curly black head, and she said, ‘It is all right, David. Answer him, if you will, please.’
‘Hmph,’ said Walter. ‘Well, then, David. Who was the man who hurt your master’s hands?’
David had not expected that question – to be honest, it was one I had not thought of asking – but he replied readily, ‘It was before I came to him, sir. But they say he steal – stealed – from the Mudir.’
‘Mudir?’ Walter repeated. ‘The Governor of the Province?’
‘No, sir. The Governor of Antikas.’
‘Do you know his name?’
‘No, sir. He was a great man, the antika sellers of Luxor were in fear of him.’
‘Riccetti,’ I said firmly.
‘So it would seem.’ Walter adjusted his eyeglasses. ‘Has this man, this Mudir, come back, David?’
‘They say yes.’
‘Who is “they”?’
‘Don’t confuse him, Walter,’ I interrupted. ‘He is learning proper grammar. Who are they, David?’
Rephrasing the question did not lessen the boy’s confusion. He gestured. ‘Men. All men in the village. And Abd el Hamed says . . .’ He looked up at Evelyn. ‘I do not say those words. It is not polite.’
‘Abd el Hamed cursed him?’ Walter was unable to repress a smile.
‘Cursed.’ David nodded vigorously.
‘Good,’ said Walter. ‘You are a great help, David. Did you ever see this Mudir? Did he come to the village or to the house of Abd el Hamed?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Did any strange man come to the house to talk in private with Abd el Hamed, or to buy antiquities? A foreign man?’
David hesitated. ‘Foreign men, yes. The reverend sir from Luxor, the fat Inglizi from the museum, the man from Cairo who took the royal mummies away.’
Despite his limited English vocabulary, he had labelled the individuals in question accurately enough for identification. ‘Chauncey Murch, Budge and Emile Brugsch,’ I said. ‘They all deal – more or less openly – in antiquities. Hmmmm. You don’t suppose Mr Budge –’
‘No,’ Walter said. His voice was a trifle uneven – with anger, I supposed. ‘Amelia, you and Radcliffe really must get over suspecting Mr Budge of every crime in the calendar. He is entirely unscrupulous in his methods of acquiring antiquities, but even you cannot suppose an official of the British Museum would resort to murder and assault.’
‘I suppose not,’ I said regretfully. ‘He is English, after all.’
‘Quite,’ said Walter. ‘David, I do not ask about men who are known and who came openly to buy from your master. Was there a man who came in secret, his face hidden?’
After a moment, the boy shook his head.
‘If he came in secret he would make certain no one saw him,’ I said impatiently. ‘Negative evidence is not conclusive, Walter.’
‘Certainly.