The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [71]
“I am glad you realize that. We cannot always be bringing animals back from Egypt. The cat Bastet…Good heavens, what about the cat? She won’t tolerate this infantile intruder for a moment.”
“She likes it,” said Ramses.
The cat Bastet lay atop the packing case Ramses used as a cupboard. Paws folded beneath her smooth breast, she watched the antics of the cub with what appeared to be an expression of benevolent interest.
“Well, well,” said Emerson, getting to his feet. “We will think of something, Ramses.”
“I have already t’ought, Papa. I am going to give it to Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Walter. Dere is ample space for a menagerie at Chalfont, conducted on de latest scientific principles, and wit’ a veterinarian in constant attendance—”
“That is the most appalling suggestion I have ever heard,” I exclaimed. “Ramses, I am thoroughly disaffected with you. Consider yourself confined to your room until further notice. No—that won’t do. You must repair some small part of the havoc you have wrought. Go immediately and fetch Selim.”
Ramses ran for the door. I sank into a chair. It was the first time—though certainly not the last—that I began to have serious doubts as to my capability of carrying out the task I had so unthinkingly assumed. I have dealt with murderers, thieves and brigands of all kinds; but I suspected Ramses might be too much even for me.
These doubts soon passed, naturally, as I attacked the immediate problems with my habitual efficiency. After lecturing Selim and painting iodine on his scratches—his face resembled that of a Red Indian ready for the warpath when I finished—I set one of the men to building a cage, another to the task of constructing a heavy wooden screen for Ramses’ window, and a third to the village to purchase a goat of the proper gender and lactiferous condition. Emerson protested the decimation of his work force, but not with his usual vehemence; and when I escorted Ramses into the parlor and sat him down on a footstool, Emerson took a chair next to mine with an expression of unusual gravity on his face.
I confess my own heart was lightened when Ramses declared, with a wholly convincing show of candor, that he knew nothing of the theft of the baroness’s antiquities.
“I would not take dat rubbishy mummy case,” he exclaimed. “I am deeply hurt, Mama, dat you should t’ink me capable of such ignorance.”
I exchanged glances with Emerson. The relieved twinkle in his fine blue eyes brought a reluctant answering smile to my lips. “You observe he is not offended that we questioned his honesty, only his intelligence,” I said.
“Stealing is wrong,” said Ramses virtuously. “It says so in de Scripture.”
“Accept my apologies for doubting you, my son,” said Emerson. “You know, you might have pointed out that you lacked the strength to handle the object in question, even with Selim’s help.”
“Oh, dat would not have been a sufficient defense, Papa. Dere are met’ods of dealing wit’ dat difficulty.” And his face took on such a look of portentous calculation, I felt a shudder run through me.
Emerson said hastily, “Never mind, Ramses. Did you observe any suspicious activities at the dahabeeyah last night? Other than your own, that is.”
Ramses had nothing useful to offer on this subject. His visit to the baroness’s boat had taken place shortly after midnight, and he was reasonably certain that at that time the break-in had not taken place. The watchman had been sound asleep and snoring. Upon being questioned further, Ramses admitted that one of the crewmen had awakened. “I had de misfortune of treading upon his hand.” A finger to the lips and a coin dropped into the abused hand had kept the grinning witness quiet.
“And I know which one of the men it was,” growled Emerson. “He was laughing behind his hand the whole time I was questioning him about burglars. Curse it, Ramses….”
“I am very hungry, Mama,” Ramses remarked. “May I go and see if de cook has luncheon ready?”
I acquiesced, for I wished to talk to Emerson