The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [122]
And he was after something—a return favor. It didn’t take him long to get round to it.
“So what about the famous statue?” he asked. “The Professor wired me asking if I knew anything about it. Had to tell him I didn’t.”
“And you would have known if it had been on the market before last year?” Ramses kept his voice neutral. He wasn’t criticizing, he was only asking for information.
“Obviously I didn’t,” Carter said somewhat defensively. “I—er—assist many of the major museums, you know, in addition to private collectors like Lord Carnarvon. If I’d known of anything so remarkable I’d have—er—entered into negotiations.”
“Such negotiations are often conducted in secret, though,” Ramses said.
“That’s the devil of it,” Carter said, finishing his whiskey and beckoning the waiter. “I believe I may claim I am noted for my discretion, but”—another bark of laughter—“so are some of my competitors. Describe it for me, will you? The newspaper accounts can’t be trusted.”
Ramses glanced at David, who shrugged. There was no reason why they shouldn’t be candid with Carter, since so many other people had seen the object. He described the statuette in detail and watched Carter’s eyes take on a hard glitter.
“It’s absolutely unique,” Ramses finished. “And in superb condition.”
“I suppose you’ve already had offers for it,” Carter said, trying to sound casual. “I know Cyrus Vandergelt is a friend of yours.”
“It isn’t ours to dispose of,” Ramses said.
“I thought Mrs. Petherick had—”
“Given it to Father? He wouldn’t accept a gift so valuable, even if he had the right to do so. We don’t know who the legal owner is, now that Mrs. Petherick is dead.”
“I see. You’re sure…But you couldn’t be mistaken about its authenticity. You’d be willing to testify to that?”
“Father would probably give his expert opinion if he were asked.”
“I see,” Carter repeated. “Well, I must go now. Don’t want to keep his lordship waiting. I expect I’ll be seeing you all shortly—and the statue.”
“When are you coming to Luxor?” David asked.
“Oh…” Carter gestured with his cigarette holder. “Shortly. Another week or so, I expect. Give my regards to the family.”
“He’ll be busy for another week ‘negotiating’ with dealers,” David said, after Carter had gone. “Would you care to wager a small sum that Lord Dinwhistle is not in the market for unique antiquities?”
“Not twopence. One can’t blame Carter.”
“You never blame anyone for anything short of mayhem. I wonder if the Professor realizes that he got permission to work in the Valley because Carter thinks it will soften him up. He wants the statuette for Carnarvon.”
Ramses called the waiter and paid for their whiskeys. “Father is even more duplicitous than Carter. He’ll take full advantage and admit no obligation.”
The sun was setting in a dusty haze. Across the way the lights of the Ezbekieh twinkled in the twilight.
“Why don’t we dine here, or at the Savoy?” David suggested.
“Because the food isn’t as good as Bassam’s, and I am not going to behave like a timid tourist. No,” he said, as David raised his hand to hail a cab. “We’ll walk.”
“Down the dark streets and narrow alleyways. You’re hoping he’ll try again, aren’t you?”
“If he does, we’ll be ready for him. We haven’t had much luck tracing him.”
It wasn’t the first time they had strolled the byways of the old city keeping a wary eye out for attack. The ambience was certainly conducive to justifiable paranoia. There were few lights and the balconies of the tall houses overhung the streets, casting shadows even in the daytime.
“Ah, the fond memories,” David said, as they crossed a small plaza with a central fountain. “Isn’t this where you ended up after you escaped from the lady dressed like Hathor?”
“No, that’s farther on. This is where Mother whacked Selim over the head when she mistook him for a spy.”
Bassam had heard they were in Cairo and was expecting them. “But where else