The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [152]
I was waiting on the bank when Emerson and Walter returned. Evelyn and Nefret were with me; they were still trying to persuade me to change my mind. ‘You cannot go,’ I said. ‘Riccetti’s letter was most emphatic about that. Only Emerson and I.’
Emerson flung himself out of the saddle and took the note from me. He scanned the message in a single comprehensive glance and allowed Walter to take it from him.
‘Hmph,’ he said. ‘Are you ready, Peabody?’
‘Good God, Radcliffe, you don’t mean to take her with you?’ Walter cried.
‘It is her right,’ Emerson said quietly.
‘This may be a trap! Even if Riccetti is holding Ramses –’
‘I am in something of a hurry, Walter,’ Emerson said. ‘Please excuse me.’
Daoud had the boat ready. As soon as we were on board he pushed off. Emerson took out his pipe.
‘Obviously,’ I said, ‘you learned nothing in Gurneh.’
‘I would not say that.’ Emerson went about filling the pipe with precise, controlled movements. ‘Abd el Hamed has gone to earth again. This time no one seems to know where he has got to.’
‘Not even his wives?’
‘None of them,’ said Emerson, with a faint smile and a glance at me.
This was not the time to pursue that particular matter. I tabled it for future discussion.
‘His disappearance may have nothing to do with that of Ramses,’ Emerson continued. ‘But I would like to ask the bastard a few questions. Abdullah is still looking for him; he may have better luck than I, and he is as keen on the scent as either of us could be. What have you to report, my dear? For I do not suppose you have been idle all morning.’
I told him of O’Connell and Sir Edward’s plan to inquire in Luxor. ‘Have you removed Sir Edward from your list of suspects, then?’ he inquired.
‘No, but I can’t see that he presents any threat to Kevin. If he is a member of the gang – either gang, any gang – he will make sure Kevin doesn’t learn anything of importance. It did occur to me that that was why he offered to go along – to head Kevin off.’
‘Suppositions, guesses and theories.’ Emerson’s fist clenched. ‘If we only had something solid to go on!’
‘The message is solid enough,’ I said. ‘Riccetti is too canny to admit in writing that he holds Ramses prisoner, but his suggestion that we join him to discuss a certain missing object of great importance can have no other meaning.’
My voice was not as steady as I would have liked. Emerson put his arm around me. ‘Peabody, my darling, you can be certain Ramses is safe and sound. Riccetti is too good a businessman to damage valuable merchandise.’
‘You know what he wants in exchange, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
Neither of us spoke again until we reached the East Bank. Riccetti had said there would be someone waiting to lead us to him. I think I would have identified the guide even if he had not, of course, immediately identified us. Though he wore a galabeeyah and turban, he was not Egyptian. His physiognomy and complexion were those of a Greek or Italian or Turk. He spoke only two words, in accented Arabic.
‘Follow me.’
I had assumed the rendezvous would not be at one of the hotels, for in that case there would have been no need for a guide; and I did not suppose Riccetti would take the risk of bringing us to the house where he was staying. Sure enough, our destination was a cafe, a coffeehouse less than a quarter mile from the river. Our guide opened the door and stood back, waving us in with a burlesqued bow and an anticipatory smile.
As soon as we were inside the room I moved slightly to the right, so that I would not impede any pugilistic gesture Emerson might make. (Though he is equally capable with either hand, he prefers the right.) My own right hand was in my pocket, fingering my little pistol; my parasol was in my left hand. I sincerely hoped that not all the patrons of the place were in Riccetti’s employ. Every table was occupied. I calculated the odds at roughly twenty to one.
It was difficult to make out details, for the place was poorly lit and the air was thick with the smoke of tobacco and hashish. There appeared to