The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [90]
“He and a hundred thousand other Egyptians,” said Kriticas, with his silent laugh. “Now, Mrs. Emerson, this papyrus is particularly fine. I have a buyer for it, but if you want it…”
I bought the papyrus, after considerable bargaining. The transaction put Kriticas in a good humor and lowered his guard; and that was when I struck! “Is this papyrus one of the spoils of the Master, by any chance?”
I used the siim issaagha word. Kriticas’ eyelids flickered. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Emerson?”
“You know the argot as well as I,” I said. “Never mind, Mr. Kriticas. You have your own reasons for remaining silent, but remember, Emerson and I are your friends. If you ever need our help you have only to ask.”
The dignified Greek pursed his lips. “Did you say the same to Abd el Atti?” he asked.
iv
I took luncheon at Shepheard’s. Emerson would have considered this a waste of time, but Emerson would have been mistaken. The hotel is the center of social life in Cairo, and I hoped to hear news about a number of individuals in whose activities I was interested. This proved to be the case. Mr. Baehler caught sight of me and—upon observing I was alone—joined me for an aperitif, and filled me in on the gossip. After he had gone I was taking coffee on the terrace when I caught sight of a familiar face. He pretended not to see me, but I rose and waved my parasol. “Prince Kalenischeff! Your highness!”
He affected great surprise at seeing me and was persuaded to take a seat at my table. “I thought you never left the side of your distinguished husband,” he said.
“I am equally surprised to see you, your highness. I trust nothing is amiss at Dahshoor?”
This sample of the inanity of our conversation will suffice, I believe. I let him talk, waiting for the opportunity to insinuate a subtle but significant question. I did not notice that he was gradually oozing closer and closer until something touched my foot.
“I was in the Khan el Khaleel this morning,” I said, moving my foot away.
“What a coincidence. So was I,” said Kalenischeff. “It is a pity we did not meet earlier. I might have had the pleasure of offering you luncheon.”
This time it was not a foot but a hand that, under cover of the tablecloth, made contact with one of my extremities. Again I moved away; again the chair of Prince Kalenischeff inched closer. “I have a charming little pied-à-terre here in Cairo,” he went on, leering at me through his monocle. “Since we are too late for luncheon—what about tea?”
Hand and foot together intruded upon my person.
I will go to considerable lengths in my quest for truth and justice, but there are limits. I had left my useful chatelaine and its tools at home, but my trusty parasol was at my side. Raising it, I brought the steel tip down on the prince’s foot.
Kalenischeff’s monocle dropped from his eye and his mouth opened wide, but he did not scream aloud. I rose. “Good day, your highness. I will miss my train if I stay any longer.”
All in all it had been a most productive day. I could hardly wait to tell Emerson of my discoveries. (The encounter with Kalenischeff would have to be edited, or Emerson would rush off to Dahshoor and commit various violent indignities upon the prince’s person.) The most important discovery was that the man we knew as Hamid was really Abd el Atti’s renegade son. But was Hamid guilty of the dastardly sin of patricide? At first the idea pleased me, but the more I thought about it, the more my enthusiasm cooled. I could visualize a quarrel—angry words—blows struck in the heat of passion. But I could not visualize Hamid, who was not notably muscular, making the perverse and terrible effort of hanging his father’s huge body from the roof of the shop. In fact, this was one of the more curious aspects of the case. Why would anyone, muscular or not, make that effort? The most superficial examination would show that Abd el Atti had not committed suicide.
I amused myself during the train journey speculating on these matters. The sun had not yet set when I reached the house. I expected Emerson