The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [53]
‘I am familiar,’ said Emerson modestly, ‘with every tomb in Egypt and its decorative reliefs. That fragment is unknown to me.’
The claim was dogmatic enough to verge on arrogance. Coming from Emerson it carried conviction, but not necessarily proof of his conclusion.
‘But Tetisheri’s tomb?’ I persisted. ‘I was under the impression that queens’ tombs of this period were not decorated.’
‘No queens’ tombs of this period have been found,’ Emerson retorted somewhat acrimoniously. ‘We don’t know whether or how they were decorated. If you will accept my conclusion for the moment, I will explain my reasoning when we have an opportunity to examine the fragment more closely.’
‘Certainly, my dear. I would never dream of questioning your expertise.’
‘Hmph,’ said Emerson. ‘We are on the right track, Peabody, I have no doubt of it. The next step is to – er – persuade Abd el Hamed to tell me which of the local looters brought the piece to him.’
‘And then we will – er – persuade the looter to lead us to the tomb. Oh, Emerson!’
‘It may not be so simple, Peabody.’
‘No,’ I agreed. ‘For there are at least two groups of criminals after our tomb. One wishes to assist us, the other –’
‘Amelia.’ The little boat had come gently to rest against the bank, but Emerson did not rise. Turning, he took my hands in his and bent over me. I had the distinct impression, even before he spoke, that he was not about to make a romantic gesture.
‘I know what you are thinking, Peabody. Don’t say it. Don’t even think it.’
‘I had no intention of saying anything of the sort, Emerson. I know how the mere mention of that man’s name maddens you –’
‘What name?’ Emerson’s shout echoed across the quiet night. ‘We never knew his name, only a collection of aliases – several of them invented by you. Master Criminal indeed!’
‘His men called him the Master, Emerson, you cannot deny that.’
‘I am not denying anything,’ Emerson declared untruthfully. ‘Devil take it, Peabody, I knew you were thinking of Sethos when you started to quote that absurd statement of Riccetti’s. Assist us, indeed! No one is going to assist us! Riccetti was lying, and Sethos is dead. Why do you persist in romanticizing that rascal? He came to your rescue only because he wanted you for himself, the contemptible swine! He did his damnedest to exterminate me. Amelia, will you please stop thrashing around like that? You are not paying attention.’
‘You are shouting, Emerson. And squeezing my hands quite painfully.’
His grip relaxed. Raising my hands to his lips, he kissed each finger in turn. ‘Forgive me, my dear. I admit I have felt an occasional trifling, fleeting touch of jealousy of that . . .’ He glanced over his shoulder at Abdullah. ‘What are you grinning about, Abdullah?’
‘I am not grinning, Father of Curses. It is the light.’
‘Oh. And,’ Emerson resumed, ‘I wondered for a time whether he really was dead.’
‘We saw him die, Emerson.’
‘I wouldn’t put it past him to survive solely in order to annoy ME,’ Emerson declared. ‘However, Riccetti’s reappearance proves that Sethos’ organization is leaderless. The vultures are gathering.’
‘How extraordinary, Emerson! The exact same metaphor occurred to me only the other evening.’
‘That does not surprise me in the least.’
‘Then you admit that Riccetti may not be the only villain who is trying to take over the illegal antiquities trade? That Mr Shelmadine was a rival of Riccetti’s and was foully murdered in order to prevent him from disclosing information?’
‘Confound it, Peabody, will you stop that? I admit nothing of the sort. I haven’t the ghost of an idea why Shelmadine called on us, and neither have you, and I have not the strength to hear the sort of theories you are likely to propose.’
There was a brief silence.
‘Are you feeling well, Peabody?’ Emerson inquired. ‘You failed to interrupt me.’
‘Our discussion had reached an impasse,’ I said. ‘We have not enough information to reach a conclusion – except that there are obviously two different groups of criminals involved. One wishes to assist