The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [57]
“Hmph,” said Emerson. “My sole interest in the statuette is in where it was found. We are still in the dark as to that.”
“I wonder if I might see it,” Katchenovsky said hesitantly. “I am by no means an authority, but one never knows what a new observer may notice.”
“Have we time?” I asked Nefret.
“Yes, I think so. I wouldn’t mind having another look myself.”
“I’ll get it.” Emerson put his glass down and went into the house.
He was back almost at once, wild-eyed and fuming. “It’s gone! The damn thing is gone!”
FROM MANUSCRIPT H
* * *
No one bothered to ask whether he was certain. The statuette had been in a locked drawer in Emerson’s desk. A single look would have been enough.
Emerson drew a deep breath and gained command of himself. “Peabody,” he said.
“Good Gad, Emerson, are you accusing me?”
“It would be just like you to decide the hiding place wasn’t secure enough.”
His wife gave him a look that should have raised blisters. “To be honest, I thought your desk was not secure. It is one of the first places a thief would look, and that lock can be easily broken. However, I would never have moved it without telling you. How can you think that of me?”
“Then who did take it?” Emerson shouted.
All eyes went to the unfortunate Russian. Katchenovsky huddled in the chair and burst into passionate denials.
“It can’t have been he,” Ramses broke in.
“He was in the house, in the storage room next to my study,” Emerson said.
“And with me the entire time. I left the room once, to get a book from your study. I was gone less than three minutes, and Mr. Katchenovsky did not accompany me.”
“Thank you,” Katchenovsky gasped. “Thank you. It is true, I did not—”
“Oh, very well,” Emerson said.
The ensuing silence was heavy with suspicion. Ramses tried not to look at his uncle. It wouldn’t have surprised him to learn that Sethos had been unable to resist a piece so unique. Yet such a blatant theft was unlike him; he must have known he’d be the first to be suspected. After a long moment Sethos said, “It wasn’t me either. Amelia—you believe me, don’t you?”
She roused herself from a brown study. “As a matter of fact, I do. Are the children in bed yet?”
“They are supposed to be,” Ramses said wryly. “But I wouldn’t bank on it.”
His mother rose. “Come along with me, all of you. Yes, Mr. Katchenovsky, you too. You have been accused, you have the right to learn the truth.”
“What are you suggesting?” Emerson demanded. “Those dear little innocent children—”
“Do not leap to conclusions, Emerson, just come.”
They followed the tree-lined curving path between the two houses. The gardener had lit the lamps; pools of light painted the clumps of flowers in the beds along the way, and leaves rustled like the soft murmur of running water. As they neared the house, a dark form leaped at them, baying like an infernal hound. Katchenovsky got behind Ramses.
“Go away, Amira,” Ramses said, shoving at the dog.
The children were in bed, but naturally they were not asleep. Ramses heard the maidservant’s soft Arabic. She was telling them a bedtime story. Both children were bilingual, having spoken both languages from infancy.
“And when the good mother snake found that her children were gone, taken as pets by the bad little boys of the house, she became very angry and spat her venom into the water jar, so that all who drank of it would surely die.”
Ramses put out his arm to stop the others. “Let her finish the story, or they won’t ever drink water again.”
It was a very moral tale. Luckily for the household of the bad little boys, their father was a saint who knew the resident snake was benevolent, a protector of the house. When he saw his sons playing with the poor little snakes he scolded them. “In the name of the Prophet, release your victims at once!”
As soon as the little snakes, unharmed, returned to their mother, she was ashamed and thought how she could avert the damage she had done. She coiled herself round the water jar and squeezed until it broke into nine and ninety pieces, spilling the poisoned water harmlessly