The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [99]
But the sinister Russian was not to be caught so easily. His arched brows lifted infinitesimally. “Abd el Atti? The name is familiar, but…Was he by chance an antiquities dealer?”
“Was, your highness; your use of the past tense is correct. Abd el Atti is no more.”
“Ah yes, it comes back to me now. I believe I heard of his death when I was last in Cairo.”
“He was murdered!”
“Indeed?” The prince fixed his monocle more firmly in his eyesocket. “I fear I share M. de Morgan’s disinterest in the affairs of the natives.”
I realized it would be more difficult than I had thought to trick Kalenischeff into a damaging admission. He was an accomplished liar. Also, I found myself increasingly distracted as the conversation went on. I soon realized what the problem was. Once again detective fever warred with my passion for archaeology. It was not hard to keep the latter within reasonable bounds when the distraction consisted of decadent Roman mummies and scraps of pottery; but in the shadow of a pyramid—not any pyramid, but one of the most majestic giants in all of Egypt—other interests were subdued, as the brilliance of the sun dims the light of a lamp. My breathing became quick and shallow, my face burned. When finally de Morgan patted his lips daintily with his napkin and offered us coffee I said, as casually as I could, “Thank you, monsieur, but I believe I will go into the pyramid instead.”
“Into the pyramid?” De Morgan paused in the act of rising, his eyes wide with astonishment. “Madame, you cannot be serious.”
“Mrs. Emerson never jokes about pyramids,” said my husband.
“Certainly not,” I agreed.
“But, madame…The passages are dark, dirty, hot….”
“They are open, I believe? Perring and Vyse explored them over sixty years ago.”
“Yes, certainly, but…There are bats, madame.”
“Bats do not bodder my mudder,” said Ramses.
“Pardon?” said de Morgan, quite at a loss.
“Bats do not bother me,” I translated. “Nor do any of the other difficulties you mentioned.”
“If you are determined, madame, I will of course send one of my men along with a torch,” de Morgan said doubtfully. “Professor—you do not object?”
Emerson folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. “I never object to any of Mrs. Emerson’s schemes. It would be a waste of time and energy.”
De Morgan said, “Humph,” in almost Emerson’s tone. “Very well, madame, if you insist. You may take your son with you as guide,” he added, with a sidelong glance at Ramses. “He is quite familiar with the interior of that particular pyramid.”
Emerson swallowed the wrong way and burst into a fit of coughing. I looked at Ramses, who looked back at me with a face as enigmatic as that of the great Sphinx. “You have explored the Bent Pyramid, Ramses?” I asked, in a very quiet voice.
“But of a certainty, madame,” said de Morgan. “My men were some time searching for the little…fellow. Fortunately one of them saw him enter, otherwise we might not have found him in time to save him.”
“As I endeavored to explain, monsieur, I was not in need of rescue,” said Ramses. “I could have retraced my steps at any time, and had every intention of doing so once my research was completed.”
I felt certain this statement was correct. Ramses had an uncanny sense of direction and as many lives as a cat is reputed to have—though by now, I imagined, he had used up several of them.
I said, “I should have known. One day when you returned home and took a bath without being told to do so—”
“De odor of bat droppings is extremely pervasive,” Ramses said.
“Did I not forbid you to explore the interiors of pyramids?”
“No, Mama, I am certain you never uttered dat specific prohibition. Had you done so, I would of course—”
“Never mind. Since you know the way, you may as well come with me.”
We left the others at table and sought the entrance, with one of de Morgan’s men in attendance. I was extremely vexed with Ramses. I could not punish him for disobeying me, since it had not occurred to me to forbid him to explore pyramids.