The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [124]
“Another missed opportunity.”
“We learned one thing,” David said. “He has a gun.”
“Must you always look on the bright side? I took Adrian’s away from him, you know.”
“He could easily get another. If one looks respectable and has the money, shopkeepers don’t ask for identification. Not even a visiting card.”
“Visiting card…Oh, good God!” He smacked his forehead with the flat of his hand.
“Don’t hit yourself on the head, it damages the brain.” David recited one of his mother’s admonitions.
“I’ve done it too often, I guess. Why didn’t I think of that before?”
“Think of what?” David asked patiently. The cab circled the Ezbekieh and pulled up in front of Shepheard’s. It was still early; the terrace was filled, and flower-and souvenir-sellers milled around at the foot of the stairs, vying with one another to see who could yell loudest.
“They wouldn’t have to register under their own names,” Ramses said. “They wouldn’t need passports, not the lordly English.”
David was silent for a moment while this sank in. “Oh, hell. Does that mean we have to start all over again? You don’t know what they look like or what name they might have used.”
“I think I do, though.” Ramses tossed the driver a coin and jumped out of the cab. David was slow to follow. He was still favoring his bad leg. Ramses said, “We’ll wait till morning. I’m too tired to go on tonight.”
Sethos went across to Luxor with us and then announced his intention of returning to the railway station instead of accompanying us to the zabtiyeh.
“There’s been only one train since midday and it’s a local, with no first-class carriages,” he explained. “He’d have stood out like a sore thumb if he had caught that one. I’ll wait for the evening trains.”
“You’ll miss dinner,” I said.
Sethos made a face. “I’ll have time for a bite at the Station Hotel. A single bite is about all I’ll be able to stomach, but my beloved Fatima will leave something in the larder for me. Good luck.”
Inspector Ayyid was not at the zabtiyeh. He had gone home for dinner, his assistant informed us. Goodness knows he had every right to do so, but I shared Emerson’s sense of urgency, which led him to swear and ask for Ayyid’s address.
Torn between his orders from his superior and the looming presence of Emerson, the assistant did not hesitate long. “I am not supposed to do that, Father of Curses, but I know he will not object if it is you who ask.”
The inspector had a flat in a new group of buildings behind Luxor Temple. The door was answered by an elderly lady wearing black, who screeched and retreated at the sight of Emerson.
“What did I do?” Emerson demanded in a hurt voice. “I was just about to address her respectfully.”
“Your mere presence is enough to frighten the timid, my dear,” I replied. “Ah, Inspector Ayyid. Our profound apologies for disturbing you and the lady…your mother? Yes. I assure you we would not have intruded had not the matter been urgent. Please go on with your dinner.”
“I was not eating,” said Ayyid, as courtesy demanded. “Come in.”
The small sitting room was neat enough to meet even Fatima’s standards, and comfortably furnished with a mixture of European and Egyptian furniture. At Ayyid’s insistence we seated ourselves in a pair of matching armchairs upholstered in purple plush and accepted his offer of tea. It would have been rude not to do so—even ruder than our uninvited visit. Ayyid’s mother had got over the first shock of Emerson and kept peeping round the door at him.
“We will not keep you long,” I promised, and launched into the reason for our visit.
“Papyrus?” Ayyid’s eyebrows lifted. “You want me to arrest a man who stole scraps of papyrus?”
“They are valuable antiquities,” Emerson began. “Er—that is—oh, what the devil. We may as well tell him the truth, eh, Peabody?”
It was a clever move on Emerson’s part, I must say. Ayyid was clearly flattered at being taken into our confidence, and he was in complete agreement with our reasons for not wishing the truth to be more