The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [39]
4. Tomb 55, the mysterious sepulchre located by Mr. Theodore Davis’s workers in 1907. In my opinion this was the most likely theory. As Emerson had pointed out, the objects in the tomb were a miscellaneous mixture belonging to various members of the Amarna royal family. Supervision of the excavation had been extremely lax. Fifteen years had elapsed since the discovery of KV55. It takes a while to market such unique objects, and the negotiations are often secret. Had Mr. Petherick not died, the statuette might not have surfaced for another fifteen or twenty years—after “the heat was off,” to employ a slang phrase.
Having arrived at this depressing conclusion, which pointed the finger of blame at one for whom I had come to feel a certain esteem, I put my list aside and returned to my contemplation of the scene. Before long the proceedings were enlivened by Ramses, who came into sight around the corner of the house propelling before him an individual in riding kit and an oversized pith helmet, whom I identified as the same journalist who had tried to bribe Hassan. Ramses had him by the collar. Upon reaching the road, he gave the fellow a shove that sent him staggering away, and then came onto the veranda.
“Caught him sneaking round the back of our house,” he explained. “Peering in the windows.”
“What effrontery!” I exclaimed. “I hope he did not frighten the children.”
“Quite the contrary,” Ramses said grimly. “He and Carla were having quite a nice chat. She explained, rather indignantly, that she saw no harm in talking with him, since she had not accepted any of the sweets he offered her.”
“Thank goodness we seem to have driven that point home. And that the windows are barred.”
“Insufficient, I fear. I’m going to turn the dog loose.”
“Won’t it run away?”
“Not a chance. It keeps trying to sneak into the house. The Great Cat of Re has made it clear that the house is his domain. It’s given him a new interest in life. He stands guard at the door.”
“What are we going to do about this?” I demanded, indicating the guardhouse. Most of the tourists had departed as midday approached, but there were still a few people hanging about. “I refuse to be beleaguered in my own house.”
“Be patient for another day,” Ramses pleaded. “Father will be here tomorrow morning and presumably he will have more information. There’s nothing you can do just now except provide copy for the newspapers.”
I had to acknowledge the justice of this, but I was relieved and delighted to see a familiar form approaching. Two of them, to be precise—Cyrus Vandergelt mounted on his placid mare.
“I had hoped to see you before this,” I said, greeting him at the door.
“We’ve been besieged,” Cyrus explained, as Jamad led the horse to the stables. “The town is full of journalists. Apparently the darned women spread the story of the accursed statue before she left England, and some newspapers sent reporters to Egypt after her.”
“You will stay for luncheon, won’t you?” I asked.
“I was hoping you’d ask. Cat sends her best; she refused to run the gauntlet. I left Bertie to guard the gates. A couple of the rascals tried to climb over them.”
We had a pleasant luncheon of cold meats and salads, while Cyrus told us the latest news. He had also been visited by Inspector Ayyid.
“Asked me a lot of questions,” Cyrus said. “I got to feeling like a suspect.”
“He doesn’t suspect you,” Ramses said slowly. “He’s fixed on Adrian Petherick. The questions he asked us today made that clear.”
“Good Gad,” I exclaimed. “I hadn’t thought about it, but I believe you are right. The man who tried to enter the house wore European clothing, and young Mr. Petherick has demonstrated a certain degree of mental instability.”
“He’s not responsible,” Ramses said heatedly. He caught my inquiring eye and went on,