The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [117]
I kept watching for Sethos, but the day wore on without a sign of him. What could he be doing all this time? Our suspicions of Lidman were based on very slight evidence, after all. One couldn’t really say that he had fled; he had left the Castle openly, as he had every right to do.
Thanks to Cyrus’s habit of closing down at a reasonable hour, we got home earlier than was the case when Emerson was in charge. I took advantage of the opportunity to have a leisurely bath and to wash my hair. By the time I had concluded this somewhat delicate operation (the coloring had a tendency to run when wet), Emerson and Nefret were on the veranda waiting for tea. Just outside the door, rolling in the dust, were the children, the dog, and my brother-in-law.
“Come in here at once,” I ordered. “No, not you, Amira. David John and Carla, you will have to wash your hands again. Go to Fatima.”
“It’s only sand,” Sethos said, dusting off his hands. “Not a germ in the lot.”
“There are plenty of germs on the dog.”
“Oh, very well.”
He was back almost at once. “What took you so long?” I asked. “What did you find out?”
“Not a great deal. None of the boatmen recalled having taken Lidman across the river, but I went to Luxor anyhow. He didn’t go back to the Luxor Hotel or to any of the others, nor has he been seen at the railway station. The steamboat offices also denied any knowledge of him. The trouble is,” Sethos added, rising to hold the door for Fatima and the tea tray, “Lidman isn’t a very memorable individual. Medium height; undistinguished features; a tendency toward embonpoint, but that characteristic is shared by most of the male tourists. He may still be on the West Bank, but I’ll be confounded if I can think where.”
Fatima looked up at him. “Is it Mr. Lidman, the gentleman who was sick, of whom you speak? He was here this morning.”
“Here?” Emerson shouted. “When?”
“This morning.” Fatima knew from his tone that something was amiss; she began twisting her hands together. “He was looking for you. He waited for a while and then went away.”
“Hell and damnation!” Emerson jumped to his feet.
“Have I done something wrong?” Fatima asked anxiously. “He had been here before, he works for Mr. Vandergelt—”
“It’s all right, Fatima,” Sethos said.
Emerson had disappeared into the house. We all dashed after him, followed by the children, who had reappeared looking very pink and scrubbed. One look was enough to disclose the ugly truth. The bottom drawer of Emerson’s desk had been broken open. The painted box and the statuette were gone.
“Watch your language, Emerson,” I implored. “The children!”
David John shook his head. “If you will forgive me for saying so, Grandpapa, I told you that was not a secure hiding place.”
FROM MANUSCRIPT H
* * *
Ramses enjoyed the relative peace and quiet of Luxor, but there was something about Cairo…Not a breath of fresh air, since it was far from fresh, but a sense of bustle and excitement. They walked along the river, past the museum. There were plenty of tourists and the usual foreign officials and a number of motorcars, but these intrusive modern elements were submerged by the teeming masses and the cacophonous sounds of the real Cairo—men in turbans and galabeeyahs, veiled women, camels moaning, donkeys braying, dogs barking.
“Would you rather be here than in Luxor?” Ramses asked.
“I’d rather be at home with Lia and the children. But there’s something about Cairo…”
Their progress was slowed by encounters with old acquaintances. “Beggars and revolutionaries and policemen,” Ramses remarked, after they had detached themselves from one of the latter. “Don’t we have any respectable friends?”
“Not unless you consider Egyptologists respectable.”
The Pethericks were not known at the Semiramis Hotel. In order to save time they took a cab back into the center of town