The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [148]
‘No, Aunt Amelia, I dressed in my own room. Don’t you remember?’
‘Yes, of course.’
She set her candle on the table and I gave the room a quick but thorough inspection. There was nothing out of place and nowhere to hide – only the curtain hung across the corner where her washstand was placed. I drew it casually aside.
‘Is something wrong?’ She stood by the bed, watching me.
‘No. You don’t mind being alone, do you? If you would like me to sleep here . . .’
‘That is a very generous offer, dear Aunt Amelia.’ She spoke sweetly and gravely. ‘No such sacrifice is necessary; I am perfectly comfortable in my mind. Good night. Sleep well.’
I withdrew in some little confusion. Had I heard a hidden meaning in several of those phrases?
I feared I had.
After an hour or so I convinced Emerson to stop working. Naturally I did not mention the odd sense of foreboding that had prompted me to search Nefret’s room, but I did ask whether one of the men would be on guard that night.
‘Do you suppose I would neglect that precaution?’ Emerson asked. ‘Ibrahim will make a circuit of the cabins every ten minutes and be on the alert for the slightest sound. I believe it to be needless; the tomb is as secure as I can make it, and Riccetti is not so rash as to play his old games with me. Better safe than sorry, however, as you would say, Peabody.’
‘I would not say anything so trite, my dear. Thank you for putting my mind at ease.’
‘Have I done so? Then let us turn our attention to other matters.’
I slept soundly that night. To have Emerson safe with me again, to know that the tomb had been secured and our loyal man was on guard outside – these considerations and others must have been responsible for the failure of the sixth sense that normally warns me of danger. The room was dim with dawn light when I was rudely aroused by the door bursting open. Even Emerson, who is usually slow to recover himself in the morning, sat bolt upright.
Nefret stood in the doorway.
‘Ramses is gone!’ she cried. ‘They are both gone – and so is the cat Bastet!’
XIII
Humour Is an Excellent Method of Keeping a Tight Rein on Unproductive Displays of Emotion
AFTER Emerson had rained vehement reproaches on poor Ibrahim (and then apologized, since at that point in time it was premature to assume he had been at fault), I insisted that we calm down and apply intelligence to the matter. Emerson’s curses had awakened Walter and Evelyn, and we gathered in Ramses’ room.
‘He must have gone of his own free will,’ I said. ‘There is no sign of a struggle.’
‘How can you tell?’ Emerson demanded.
‘It is a little difficult,’ I admitted. ‘His room generally does look as if a violent struggle had taken place there. However, nothing has been overturned or broken. Kidnappers could not carry both boys off without something being overturned.’
Emerson’s initial frenzy had been succeeded by the icy rage that rendered him so formidable. ‘They could carry one boy off, though,’ he said coolly. ‘With the aid of a little chloroform – and that of the other boy.’
‘No, Emerson!’ Evelyn cried. ‘David would not betray his friends!’
‘That has yet to be determined,’ Emerson said in the same quiet voice. ‘If Ramses had gone voluntarily, he should be back by now. He would have left a note if he expected to be delayed beyond the time when his absence would be discovered. You are certain you did not overlook such a message?’
I did nothing to stop him when he began looking, in the same places I had already searched. How well I understood the need for action of any kind, however futile! He even opened the box labelled with an emphatic ‘PRIVATE! PLEASE DO NOT INTRUDE!’ I had never investigated the contents of that box, not only because I feel that even children are entitled to their little secrets, but because I assumed it contained disgusting treasures such as dried bones and bits of mummy.
When Emerson straightened, he was holding something. He stood quite still, turning it in his hands.
The little alabaster head was finished, or near enough. Emerson looked at Nefret and