The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [24]
He is not a patient man, however. His next question: ‘What matters?’ was too blunt; it produced only a faint smile and a shrug.
Emerson tried again. ‘He called himself Saleh. What is his real name?’
‘Leopold Abdullah Shelmadine. His father was English. He was employed as a clerk in the Interior Ministry.’
Emerson was silent. He had not expected such a direct response. Before he could comment, Riccetti continued, ‘You can obtain his address at that office, but it would be a waste of your time to go looking for him. He did not return to his house last night, nor has he been seen since he entered the hotel.’
‘Good heavens, Emerson,’ I exclaimed. ‘Is not this confirmation of . . .’
Emerson turned on me, his eyes blazing. ‘Amelia, I beg that you will keep out of this. Can’t you see that he is trying to trick you into an unguarded statement?’
‘I?’ I cried indignantly. ‘If he knows of me he should know such a device would never succeed.’
‘Quite,’ said Emerson, baring his teeth in such a way that I decided it would be wiser to refrain from further comment at that time.
‘Quite,’ Riccetti repeated. ‘Your husband does both of us an injustice, Mrs Emerson. I have given him more information than he has given me, and I will add one more word of friendly warning before I take my leave.’ He lifted his arms; the men crouching behind him leaped up and raised him to his feet. ‘Be on your guard, my friends. There are those who would prevent you from carrying out your plans and others who would help you if they could. Be sure, before you act, that you know one from the other. Good day, Mrs Emerson; it has been an honour to meet you. Farewell, Emerson – until we meet again.’
Leaning on his servants, he waddled towards the stairs.
We watched in silence until the top of the gold turban had sunk out of sight. Then Emerson led me to the rail. The litter must have been on board the boat, though I had not observed it; now it moved slowly down the gangplank, the grey silk curtains tightly closed, the muscular arms of the men who carried it straining to hold it level. Not until it had reached the bank and moved away did Emerson speak.
‘He must have wanted something very badly to go to all that effort. I wonder if he obtained it.’
‘He wanted to know what had happened to Mr Saleh – Mr Shelmadine, rather.’ Emerson nodded, and I went on, ‘It was not necessary for you to silence me so peremptorily, my dear. I was well aware of what Riccetti was doing, and would never have betrayed anything of importance.’
‘Ha,’ said Emerson. Feet thudded up the stairs and he turned to address his son and heir. ‘Devil take it, Ramses, I told you to stay in the saloon.’
‘With all respect, sir, you did not. You told me, if memory serves, and I believe it does, to accompany Nefret to that chamber, which I did, and since I had the distinct impression that you meant her to remain there, though that command was not specifically expressed either, I remained as well, since she gave every indication of leaving – which,’ Ramses concluded, with a gasp and a start, ‘she has done.’
Nefret, whose golden head was visible below him on the stairs, must have given him a sharp shove, producing the gasp and the start. He maintained his position, however, arms extended to prevent her from advancing any farther.
‘Go back down,’ Emerson said.
‘But Father, that gentleman –’ he started again, and Nefret made a loud comment in Nubian. I recognized only Ramses’ name, but entertained no illusions as to the import of the speech.
‘Hell and damnation,’ shouted Emerson. ‘Curse it, I came here to show your dear mama the surprise I designed for her, and show her I will – every confounded cupboard, every cursed corner and every bloody nail in every wall! Get yourselves back down those stairs, both of you, or I will – I will –’