The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [91]
‘Was it your men who left the statue of the hippopotamus goddess in the tomb?’
Riccetti’s eyes widened and I thought for a moment that I had caught him off guard. Then he broke into a bellow of laughter. Every glass on the table quivered, and every head in the dining salon turned.
Riccetti laughed till tears filled his eyes. Wiping them on a napkin, he gasped, ‘Ah, bravissima! Che donna prodigiosa! Emerson, old friend, she is superb. I congratulate you.’
‘Another such reference to my wife,’ said Emerson between his teeth, ‘and I will knock you out of your chair.’
‘Mille pardone! I misunderstood. The British sense of humour has always been a mystery to me.’ He was not laughing now.
‘Let me understand your question, Mrs Emerson. You seem to be suggesting that someone has – shall we say, inserted? – an object into the tomb in recent days. I assure you it was not I. The farthest thing from my mind is to interfere with your work.’
‘Oh, balderdash!’ Emerson burst out. ‘I know your real reason for coming to Luxor, Riccetti. You intend to reestablish your control over the antiquities market here. You lost it ten years ago to another, more skillful player. He is gone now, and the position is again open. I am uncertain as to whether you have competitors, or who they may be; frankly, I don’t give a damn. I will crush anyone, including you, who attempts to harm my family and friends, or who interferes with my work.’
Riccetti’s teeth had vanished behind tightened lips. They parted only enough to articulate the words. ‘How many friends do you have, Father of Curses?’
‘Oh, good Gad,’ said Emerson. ‘I haven’t the time to exchange enigmatic innuendoes with you. If you have anything sensible to say . . . I thought not. Come along, Amelia.’
When we reached the street Emerson shook himself vigorously. ‘Being in that villain’s presence always makes me feel as if I were covered with crawling insects,’ he remarked. ‘What do you say we drop by Rohrmoser’s for a glass of beer and some supper? I am feeling a trifle peckish.’
VIII
No Innocent Person Can Lead a Life So Free of Harmless Vice
A week later we were all on the platform when the night train from Cairo drew into the station. Even Emerson had taken time from his work.
Evelyn was one of the first off the train. She was pale and thin, with dark stains of weariness under her eyes, but there was an indefinable change in her manner that made me hope the longed-for recovery had begun. I realized she had not received any of the encouraging messages I had sent, for after a quick glance at me she ran to Ramses and embraced him.
‘Thank God! You are better, Ramses? You are recovered?’
‘Yes, Aunt Evelyn,’ said Ramses. ‘Fortunately the knife missed all the vital organs and the doctor Mother consulted, contrary to her usual custom, proved to be competent. I lost a considerable quantity of blood, but thanks in part to the consumption of several gallons of chicken soup –’
‘Knife?’ Evelyn adjusted her hat, which had been knocked askew by the impetuosity of her embrace. ‘Good heavens! Were you wounded, then? I was under the impression that you had been taken ill.’
‘Er, hmph,’ said Emerson. ‘Never mind Ramses, he is back to normal, as you can see. You look done in, my dear Evelyn; let us go straight to the hotel. Where is the rest of your luggage?’
There was no more, only their hand luggage. They had not taken the time to pack a trunk or to rest along the way, pausing only long enough to await the next method of transportation available. With Evelyn’s arm around me – supporting me, as she believed – I felt a pang of guilt, but only a little one. Emerson’s methods were unorthodox, but they appeared to have been efficacious.
By the time we reached the hotel, Walter was questioning Emerson about the tomb. I tried to persuade Evelyn to lie down but she would not, claiming the pleasure of the reunion with those she loved and the relief of finding her worst fears groundless had restored her; so we settled down in the sitting room of their