The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [109]
Before retiring that night, I made one of my little lists.
I waited until Emerson had had his coffee next morning before I produced my list. “In my opinion,” I said, “we have been negligent in failing to follow up certain of the inquiries we launched some time ago and in exploring other avenues.”
Emerson snatched the paper from my hand. “Good Gad, Peabody, you’ve outdone yourself this time. I see that under ‘Suspects’ you have listed Sir Malcolm, Lidman, Karnovsky, Harriet, Adrian, and Mr. Salt, the manager of the Winter Palace! Why not Cyrus, or Winlock?”
“Because we are well acquainted with them, of course. The others are new to Luxor. Mr. Salt took over the management only a few months ago. How do we know he is not a homicidal maniac who was, perhaps, cheated by Mr. or Mrs. Petherick?”
“Anybody can be a homicidal maniac,” Emerson said with more passion than accuracy. “There are times when I feel myself leaning in that direction. Really, Peabody!”
“If you will look at the second column of my list, you will see that I have suggested several practical lines of investigation.”
“Hmph,” said Emerson, scanning the paper again. “We can’t check on the backgrounds of all these people; for all we know, any guest in the hotel could harbor a grudge against Mrs. Petherick.” He started to close his fist on my list, caught my eye, and handed it back to me. “I haven’t time for this nonsense. Let us go.”
“Where?” I inquired acerbically. “KV55, Deir el Medina, or the West Valley? You can’t seem to make up your mind.”
“I know precisely what I am doing,” Emerson retorted. “Come, if you are coming.”
When Emerson and I are having one of our friendly discussions we are seldom interrupted. Now David ventured to speak.
“Do you want me to bring the cameras, Professor?”
“Certainly. Be quick, if you please.”
He strode out, followed by Nefret, David, and, after a moment, by Ramses.
“I may as well go along,” I said to Sethos. “What about you?”
Sethos smiled at Fatima, who was trying to refill his cup. “No, thank you, Fatima. Your coffee tempts me to remain, but duty calls. The Professor has questioned my abilities and impugned my talents.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” I asked. Fatima, who had even less idea than I, nodded and beamed.
“He thinks I missed something while I was loot——er—investigating that tomb,” Sethos said. “I want to be on hand when he admits I didn’t.”
We joined the others in the stable. Ramses very kindly offered me Risha, but I declined in favor of one of the stallion’s granddaughters, a pretty little mare called Amber. As Sethos had guessed, Emerson led the procession to the East Valley and Tomb 55.
I hadn’t been there for several days, and I was impressed at the progress the men had made. Most of the burial chamber had been cleared. Only one corner, and the niche that had contained the beautiful canopic jars, remained to be examined.
The morning’s work was as unproductive as our earlier excavations. The far corner contained the same sort of miscellany we had already found: pottery fragments, one of them bearing a red-and-black floral design, an unshaped lump of yellow quartzite, and a few faience beads. The last of these having been recorded and removed, Emerson stood with hands on hips surveying the now empty chamber.
“No hidden rooms,” said Sethos in a studiously neutral voice.
“I didn’t expect there would be,” said Emerson.
“Not even a hole in the wall.”
Emerson shot him a hateful look. “There’s still the canopic niche.”
“Shall we start on it?” Ramses asked.
“Er—not today.” Emerson took out his watch. “Good Gad, it is later than I thought. Don’t you want to get back to your bits of papyrus, my boy?”
“Whatever you say, Father.”
“I’m off to Luxor,” Sethos announced.
Emerson muttered something that might have been “Good riddance,” and headed back toward the entrance, leaving David and Nefret to pack up the cameras. My brother-in-law gallantly offered me an arm.
“It’s odd, you know,” he said.
“What is?”
“Emerson’s behavior. He’s been digging