The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [126]
“A somewhat sweeping generalization, Peabody,” said Emerson, rubbing his chin. “But I think you are on the right track.”
Up he got again. “It is an extensive area,” I pointed out. “Why not leave the search to Selim and our other fellows?”
“I can’t sit still and do nothing,” Emerson said forcibly.
“Wait,” said Selim the detective, raising a finger just as Sherlock Holmes might have done. “I have thought of something. It would help if we had a photograph of the man.”
“That is a very good thought, Selim,” Nefret said. “I can’t recall seeing a likeness of him in any of the films we have printed so far, but a number of the plates we took in the West Valley haven’t yet been developed.”
It was agreed that she and Selim should get at the job immediately, while the rest of us started the search. It was, in my opinion, a comparatively futile enterprise, but my dear Emerson was too perturbed to sit still. Obviously I could not let him go dashing off without me to protect him. I made sure I had all my accoutrements, including my parasol and my little pistol.
We were about to leave when Cyrus, Jumana, and Bertie rode up. “Where are you off to?” Cyrus asked. “Not planning to work today, are you?”
“No,” said Emerson.
“Me neither,” Cyrus admitted. “We were talking last night, after we left you folks, and Jumana came up with a real bright idea. Where could this fella go, she asked, that he wouldn’t be spotted right away? Assuming he stayed on this side of the river, that is.”
“We asked ourselves the same question,” I said. “I presume you reached the same conclusion—that he is likely to have found a hiding place in the cliffs? We were about to begin searching there.”
“It’s a large stretch of territory,” Cyrus said. “Suppose we take one section and you another. What about Selim and Daoud? And—er—”
“Anthony,” I said. I couldn’t blame Cyrus for forgetting the name; Sethos had so many of them. “He’s gone back to the railway station. We sent Daoud to Gurneh; his web of informants are on the lookout and will report to him if they discover anything. Selim is helping Nefret develop some photographs, in the hope that they may contain an image of Mr. Lidman.”
“It would sure help to have a picture of him,” Cyrus agreed. “So how shall we go about this? We need a plan.”
I had, of course, already given some thought to this. It was agreed that Emerson and I would begin at Deir el Bahri and work our way south toward Deir el Medina, while the other three covered the area of the Asasif and the long stretch of cliffs of Drah Abu’l Naga that ended at the road to the Valley of the Kings. Ours was the longest and most difficult path, but we were the more experienced.
I had observed Jumana’s disappointment when I anticipated her deductions, so as we rode side by side toward Deir el Bahri I took the opportunity for a cheering chat. “I am counting on you, Jumana, to guide the others. You know the area better than they.”
“Yes, Sitt Hakim!” Her face lit up. “You can count on me! I will miss nothing!”
I had a word with Bertie, too. “Don’t allow her to bully you, Bertie. Disagree with her. Sneer, if you like.”
“Oh, no, ma’am, I couldn’t do that. She’s so much more intelligent than I am.”
Ah, well, I thought, I have done my best. Some persons cannot be helped.
As usual the road to Deir el Bahri was encumbered with carriages and donkeys carrying tourists to that popular site. Emerson and I left our horses with Jamad, who had accompanied us and who was to ride with them to Deir el Medina, where we would eventually meet him. We were further delayed by the Metropolitan Museum people, who were working at the Eleventh Dynasty temple south of Hatshepsut’s monument, and who wanted us to stop and chat. Their men had informed them of Lidman’s flight.
“We heard he stole some of the papyri from Deir el Medina,” Mr. Winlock remarked. “The