The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [102]
“I agree, Emerson. And the thieves have not finished, so there may be other tombs—”
“Point number two,” Emerson said loudly. “Abd el Atti’s association with the Master…with the gang. His death, the presence of his renegade son here at Mazghunah, the latter’s murder, support this connection. Do you agree?”
“Since it was I who first put forth that theory, I do agree.”
“Humph,” said Emerson. “But from here on, Peabody, we are adrift in a sea of conjecture. What possible interest could these villains have in an innocent party like ours? Their aim cannot be to silence us; neither of us saw anything that would identify the murderer of Abd el Atti—”
“We may have observed a clue without recognizing its significance.”
“The fact remains, Peabody, that no attacks have been made on our persons. It seems clear that these people are looking for something we have in our possession—or that they believe we have in our possession.”
“I believe you have hit it, Emerson,” I exclaimed. “We know we have nothing of value; the mummy portrait was attractive, but not worth a great deal, and the papyrus fragments are completely worthless. Do you suppose something else was missing from the shop—sold, hidden away, or stolen by a third party—and that the gang attributes its loss to us?”
“It is a plausible theory,” Emerson admitted. “I have a fairly clear memory of the objects that were scattered around the shop that night. It is a pity you did not get into the back room on your first visit; we might then compare inventories.”
“I didn’t but Ramses did. Shall we ask him?”
“I hate to involve the lad in this dirty business, Amelia. I waited until he had retired before discussing it.”
“Emerson, you underestimate Ramses. In the past weeks he has been taken in custody by the police, half-stifled in a sheet, and buried in the sand; he has stolen a lion and examined a body in an unpleasant state of disrepair, without turning a hair.”
Emerson demurred no longer. Detective fever burned as bright in his manly chest as it did in my bosom. I felt sure Ramses was not in bed, and the slit of light under his door proved me correct.
Emerson knocked. After a moment the door opened and Ramses’ tousled head appeared. He was in his nightgown, but his lamp was alight and there was a heap of papers on the table that served as his desk. The Coptic grammar was open.
Emerson explained his idea. Ramses nodded. “I believe I can supply de information, Papa. Shall we retire to de parlor?”
At my suggestion Ramses put on his dressing gown and one of his slippers. The other was nowhere to be found, and I was glad I had kept one pair in reserve. After Emerson had detached the lion cub from his bootlace we retired to the parlor, with Bastet following. Emerson took up his pen. Ramses closed his eyes and began.
“A heart scarab of blue faience, with a prayer to Osiris; a tray of mixed beads, cylindrical; a piece of linen approximately ten centimeters by forty, wit’ a hieratic docket reading ‘Year twenty, day four of the inundation…. ’”
I picked up my mending. We had obviously underestimated Ramses’ powers of visual recall.
His voice droned on. “Fragments of a coffin of de Roman period, consisting of de foot and portions of de upper back; anodder coffin, Twenty-First Dynasty, belonging to Isebaket, priestess of Hathor….”
It was a good twenty minutes later before he stopped talking and opened his eyes. “Dat is all I can recall, Papa.”
“Very good, my boy. You are certain there were no pieces of jewelry, aside from cheap beads?”
“Small objects of value would be in de locked cupboards, Papa. I did not attempt to open dem, since Mama had forbidden me to touch anyt’ing.”
“And because such an act would have been illegal, immoral, and unprincipled,” I suggested.
“Yes, Mama.”
“It is a pity you didn’t, though,”