The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [108]
“He is in need of it,” Nefret said.
Sethos uncrossed his legs. “I’m not so sure, Nefret. We encountered the young man on our way to the dock, and his manner and conversation were those of a completely normal, very alert person. He even made a few little jokes about being under suspicion. A clever man can feign dementia, and it’s a legitimate legal defense.”
“I don’t believe it,” Nefret said stubbornly. “That is—I suppose you are right, but I don’t believe it applies to Adrian.”
Fatima poked her head out the door. “Dinner is served. Maaman says he cannot put it back any longer.”
“Is he crying?” Emerson demanded.
“Yes, Father of Curses.”
“Damnation. We’re coming, Fatima.”
While the others were taking their places, I had a quiet word with Nefret. “Ramses told you the truth, Nefret. Nothing of—er—nothing happened.”
“I know.” She put her arm round my waist; her blue eyes were clear and bright. “I just like to stir him up now and then. He’s absolutely irresistible when he loses his temper.”
She laughed and gave me a little squeeze.
“That’s all right, then,” I said, relieved. “I remember once when Emerson—”
“Peabody!” Emerson said loudly. “What are you gossiping about? Sit down, if you please.”
Over dinner I requested that Ramses and Sethos go into more detail about their conversations with the Pethericks. There was certainly food for thought in several of the statements that had been made.
“So Ayyid is having Adrian followed,” I said. “That is extremely—”
“Interesting,” growled Emerson. (The soup was quite salty.) “What you mean, Peabody, is that you are vexed because Ayyid hasn’t consulted you.”
“No, but I am a trifle surprised that Miss Petherick has not applied to ME for assistance.” Nefret gave Ramses a certain look, and realizing I had revived a delicate subject, I hurried on. “Or to a solicitor. British justice is British justice, and Adrian cannot be detained indefinitely.”
“I told her that,” Ramses said. He put his soupspoon down.
“Is it not good?” Fatima asked anxiously.
“It’s fine. I’m not hungry for lentil soup, that’s all.”
“Ayyid is only after one thing,” Sethos said. “Or rather, two things that are interrelated. He wants to be the one to catch the perpetrator—it would be quite a feather in his fez—and he wants to make sure one of his own people isn’t made the scapegoat.”
“That’s nonsense,” David said. “No Egyptian would dare kill a foreigner. The penalties are too severe.”
“You know that and I know that, and Ayyid knows that,” Sethos retorted. “He also knows that accusing an Egyptian would be the easiest way out of the mess for the British. We’ve had a number of chats on the subject.”
“What?” I cried. “You and the inspector? When?”
“On several occasions,” Sethos said with an infuriating smile. “He thinks I’m an agent of British intelligence.”
“You are,” David said blankly. He jumped. Someone must have kicked him in the ankle. I would have done so had I been closer to him.
“Not the one he thinks I am,” Sethos said.
“Who,” I demanded, “is Anthony Bissinghurst?”
“He’s me,” Sethos said. “Or rather, I am he.”
“One of your numerous personae?”
“It’s one I use when I require official support,” Sethos explained. “‘Tony’ is a bona fide member of the Interior Department, well known to the authorities.”
“Good Gad,” Emerson muttered. “So what has Ayyid told you?”
“He’s set his sights on Adrian, right enough. I understand why. There isn’t anybody else.”
“What about Harriet?” I inquired.
“Come now, Peabody,” Emerson exclaimed. “It can’t have been she.”
“Why not? Because she is a woman? I am surprised you should still suffer from prejudice against my gender, Emerson, in view of the fact that we have encountered more than one female antagonist. Harriet is, in my opinion, a much more likely suspect than her brother. Unlike him, she detested her stepmother, and she is tall enough and strong enough to pass for a man.”
“I wondered if you would think of that,” Sethos murmured.
“You did, of course.”
“Certainly. You cannot accuse me, Amelia dear, of