The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [95]
Emerson’s interest was growing, but he tried to hide it. “There it is again, Peabody—your weakness for young persons of pleasant appearance. Miss Charity herself may be the Master Criminal. There certainly is no less likely suspect.”
“Oh, I don’t deny she may be criminally involved, Emerson. She is almost too good to be true—a caricature of a pious young American lady. Or Brother David may be the head of the gang, with Ezekiel as his dupe or his confederate. However, I consider Prince Kalenischeff to be just as suspicious. His reputation is none of the best. His title is questionable, his source of income unknown. And Slavs, in my opinion, are very unstable persons.”
“And Germans, Peabody?”
“Bismarck, Emerson—I remind you of Bismarck. And the Kaiser has been extremely rude to his grandmama.”
“A palpable hit, Peabody.” Emerson rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I confess the idea of the baroness being a Master Criminal delights me. However, she is probably in Luxor by now. A successful leader of criminals should supervise her henchmen more closely.”
“Ah, but she is not at Luxor,” I cried triumphantly. “I spent the afternoon at Shepheard’s, catching up on the news. The baroness’s dahabeeyah went aground at Minieh, two days after she left Dahshoor. She returned to Cairo by train and is now staying at that new hotel near the pyramids—Mena House. Giza is only two hours from Dahshoor by donkey, less by train.”
“The theft of her antiquities was a blind, then, to remove suspicion from her?”
“Possible but not probable; she was not under suspicion at that time—at least not by us. I consider it more likely that the theft was an act of rebellion by Hamid. If, that is, the baroness is the Master Criminal.”
“And who is your archaeologist suspect? Surely not our distinguished neighbor.”
“What better disguise could a Master Criminal adopt? An archaeologist has the most legitimate of excuses for excavation, and the best possible means of learning of new discoveries. As inspector general, M. de Morgan can control all other excavators, heading them away from sites that promise to yield valuable objects. He worked at Dahshoor, where there are Twelfth Dynasty tombs, last spring; and last summer we first heard of the Twelfth Dynasty pectoral appearing on the market.”
Emerson’s face took on a far-off look; his brilliant blue eyes softened. Then he shook his head. “No, Peabody. We must not be led astray by wishful thinking. There must be some other way of getting de Morgan to give us Dahshoor besides putting him in prison. Your suggestion of a criminal archaeologist has intriguing aspects, however. And de Morgan is not the only excavator of my acquaintance who has displayed weakness of character.”
“I do not for a moment believe that Mr. Petrie is the Master Criminal, Emerson.”
“Humph,” said Emerson.
Though we discussed suspects a while longer, we could add nothing to the list I had made. Emerson’s suggestions—the Reverend Sayce, Chauncy Murch, the Protestant missionary at Luxor, and M. Maspero, distinguished former head of the Antiquities Department—were too ridiculous to be considered. As I pointed out to him, theories are one thing, wild improvisation is quite another. I hoped that the morrow’s projected visit to Dahshoor would enable us to learn more. Kalenischeff was still there, purportedly assisting de Morgan, and I promised myself another interview with that gentleman.
It was rather late before we got to sleep, and although my famous instinct brought me instantly alert at the sound of a soft scratching at the window, I was not quite as wide-awake as I ought to have been. I was about to strike with my parasol at the dark bulk looming at the open window when I recognized the voice repeating my name.
“Abdullah?” I replied. “Is it you?”
“Come out, Sitt Hakim. Something is happening.”
It took only a moment to throw on