The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [90]
As I had expected, this speech roused Emerson to fury, which, in my experience, is easier to deal with than sulking. ‘You are entirely too damned fond of curious coincidences, Amelia! He may have been here for weeks. As for the mystic import of hippopotami, I can only suppose that translating fairy tales has gone to your head. Why the devil . . .’
And so on. The discussion kept him quite animated and happy for the duration of the voyage. I leaned against his shoulder and enjoyed the view.
Riccetti had asked us to dine with him at the Luxor. He was already there when we arrived, the focus of all eyes. Except for the waiters in their tarbooshes and red slippers, the dining salon of the Luxor might have been located in any English hotel, with its damask tablecloths and serviettes, crystal glasses and fine china, and patrons wearing conventional European evening dress. Riccetti stood out in that setting like a buzzard in a cage of sparrows. The presence of the two guards, motionless as statues behind him, lent a particularly exotic touch. He had been given one of the best tables, in a corner near the windows, and when he saw us he raised an arm in greeting. The staring eyes swung towards us as if moved by a single spring.
Lecturing me had put Emerson into a (relatively) amiable mood. He allowed Riccetti to complete his apology to me for his failure to rise (‘The infirmities of age, Mrs Emerson’) before planting his elbows on the table and remarking, ‘Let us get to the point, Riccetti. I have no intention of breaking bread with you or allowing my wife to remain in your presence for any longer than I must. Amelia, don’t touch that wine!’
‘But my friends,’ Riccetti exclaimed. ‘How can I drink a toast to your success if you will not join me in a glass?’
‘So you know we have located the tomb,’ I said.
‘All Luxor knows. It came as no surprise to me, of course. I had the greatest confidence in your abilities.’
‘You did not ask us here to congratulate us,’ Emerson snapped. ‘What are you after?’
‘Now, Emerson,’ I said, ‘I am in complete agreement with you about prolonging this interview unnecessarily, but you are not asking the right questions. Signor Riccetti will only ramble on about renewing old acquaintances and the pleasure of our company. Let me handle this. Signor, how long have you been in Luxor?’
Riccetti had listened with interest. Now he displayed all his saurian teeth in a wide satirical grin. ‘I would not be lying, Mrs Emerson, if I claimed that I greatly enjoy the pleasure of your company. How can I refuse to play a little game of question and answer with so charming a lady? I arrived here eight days ago, on the Cook’s steamer the Ramses. I found the name particularly symbolic.’
‘And what have you . . . No, that is not specific enough. Have you spoken with Ali Murad?’
‘I visited his shop on Tuesday last. I always visit the antiquities dealers, in the hope of augmenting my little collection.’
‘You have a collection of antiquities?’
‘A few modest odds and ends. Someday, if you will do me the honour, I would like to show it to you.’
Emerson began, ‘I will be damned –’
‘Hush, Emerson. I admit I wandered from the subject. I will return to it. Do you know, signor, that Mr Shelmadine is dead?’
Riccetti bared a few more teeth. ‘My dear Mrs Emerson, it was I who took the liberty of informing you of that fact – or rather, of sending you the clipping from the Cairo newspaper. I was certain your quick wits would arrive at the inevitable conclusion.’
‘Did you murder him?’
Riccetti appeared to be enjoying himself immensely. His jaws gaped wider, displaying an astonishing collection of dentures. ‘No, Mrs Emerson, I did not.’
I tried another tack. ‘Since you have been in Luxor have you visited Abd el Hamed?’
‘Alas,’ said Riccetti with a hypocritical sigh. ‘I have been unable to visit my old friend