The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [54]
“I’ll go and tell him the coast is clear,” Emerson said. “I expect he could do with a whiskey and soda. I certainly could.”
Ramses rose, lifting Carla onto his shoulder. “It’s time the children got ready for bed. Come along, David John.”
“Before you go, I want a word with Carla,” I said. “Young lady, did you really try to bite the gentleman?”
“He patted me on my head, Grandmama.”
“That is no excuse.”
“I haven’t bited anyone for a long time,” Carla protested. “I don’t like that man. He has a mean face.”
“Decidedly,” said David John. “Though I would prefer the word ‘sly.’ He is up to no good.”
Ramses carried his opinionated children away and Fatima emerged from the house to clear away the tea things and bring the drinks tray. She avoided looking at me, but I couldn’t help noticing her secretive little smile. When Emerson and Sethos joined us she didn’t bat an eye, though the latter’s hair was black—very black—and so was the dashing cavalry style mustache that veiled his mouth. The distinctive clothing of Sir Malcolm had been replaced by an ordinary lounge suit.
“Whiskey?” Emerson asked.
“Excellent idea. That was a close one. I thought the bas——the fellow was still in London. Where are the kiddies?”
“Gone to bed,” I said. “We were fortunate they never got a look at you as Sir Malcolm. They didn’t take to him.”
“Carla tried to bite him,” Nefret said.
“Good girl. I must find a little present for her.”
“I won’t have such behavior encouraged,” I said sternly. “Don’t you want to know why Sir Malcolm called on us?”
“He’s after the statuette, of course.” Sethos took a refreshing sip and relaxed. “All collectors are a trifle insane, but Sir Malcolm is one of the maddest. There are some nasty rumors about how he acquired certain of his artifacts, and they say he doesn’t take kindly to losing.”
“But he is known as a philanthropist and supporter of worthy causes,” I protested.
“That’s his public side. He’d have sucked the breath out of Petherick personally if he could have gained possession of the statue that way.”
Fatima had lit the lamps. The flames flickered as the lamps swayed gently in the night breeze, and shadows gathered, as if darkness were hungry for the light.
“The statue has that effect,” I mused. “‘Obsession’ is not too strong a word, at least for some persons.”
“Not for me,” said Emerson. “I want to know where the confounded thing came from and how it—” He whirled round. Whiskey splashed. “Damnation! Don’t sneak up on a fellow like that, Ramses.”
“Sorry, sir.” Ramses closed the door behind him.
“He doesn’t do it on purpose,” Nefret said indignantly.
“I know, I know. I apologize, my boy. Help yourself to the whiskey—and you just might give me a touch more.
“Sir Malcolm did give us one bit of useful information,” Emerson went on. “Petherick purchased the statue from Aslanian in London. I shall wire Walter tomorrow and tell him to go round and interrogate Aslanian. The trail goes farther back, of course.”
“Don’t bother Walter,” Sethos said. “I doubt he can get anything out of Aslanian; the man is an old hand at this sort of thing, and Walter doesn’t have your forceful personality.”
“True.” Emerson nodded glumly, and Sethos went on, “I’ll get in touch with some of my people.”
“Who will break into the shop and look through Aslanian’s records?” Ramses suggested. “I thought you’d retired from the—er—profession.”
Sethos said, “I could do with another glass, if you would be so good, Ramses.”
FROM MANUSCRIPT H
* * *
Emerson sent them all to bed immediately after dinner. He wanted to get an early start next morning. “I intend to finish Section twenty-three tomorrow,” he announced.
Ramses would have sworn it was impossible, had he not known his father so well. It turned out to be impossible, even for Emerson; late in the day, when they had almost finished clearing the last of the houses in Section 23, the men came across a layer of debris littered with scraps of pottery and papyri. Cursing, Emerson conceded that a proper excavation would take longer than he had planned. It was a weary, grubby