The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [64]
“I will just have a cheerful little chat with him,” she announced.
“So will I,” said Emerson. “Good Gad, can’t have the fellow lying about for days. Where have you put him, Nefret?”
She had given Lidman one of the guest rooms in their house. The whole family trailed along, even Sethos, though Ramses tried to dissuade him.
“If you wake the children, there’ll be hell to pay.”
“I will be as silent as a little mouse,” said his uncle.
Lidman was wearing one of Emerson’s nightshirts, since Ramses’s pajamas wouldn’t button around his waist. Propped on pillows, he looked up from the book he was reading, his eyes widening in alarm. Ramses couldn’t blame him; the combined family gave the impression that this was an inquisitorial delegation rather than a call on a sick friend.
“Better, are you?” Emerson inquired, in what he presumably thought was an encouraging tone.
His wife had gone to the bedside. Lidman shrank back as she felt his forehead. “Nice and cool,” she announced. “Have you taken your medicine, Mr. Lidman?”
“Yes, madam. I am better. Oh, yes, much better. You are very kind.”
“Breakfast at six,” said Emerson. “Then off to the Valley, eh?”
“That depends,” Nefret said. “We’re right down the hall, Mr. Lidman. Don’t hesitate to call out if you need anything.” She added pointedly, “Good night.”
Sethos was one of the last to leave. “I believe we met several years ago, in Cairo, Herr Lidman. At the shop of Zaki Gabra, wasn’t it?”
“I am sorry,” Lidman said. “I do not remember.”
That wasn’t surprising, Ramses thought, since Sethos had probably been someone else at the time—if the meeting had actually taken place. He said good night and followed his uncle out.
“Was that a test?” he asked softly.
“If it was, he passed. Admitting to an acquaintance that never existed is a sure sign of guilt.”
“What do you suspect him of?”
“Like your dear mother, I suspect everyone of everything.”
“I’ll escort you past Amira,” Ramses said, following him along the corridor.
“No need. I spent part of the afternoon getting to know the dog. She adores me.”
“That’s no compliment. She adores everyone she’s ever met.”
“Think about that,” Sethos said, and went on his way.
It wasn’t the dog that wakened Ramses. He was on his feet and out of bed before he realized what had. Emerson’s voice was noted for its carrying qualities, and he was employing it freely. Ramses hurried down the hallway toward the children’s room. For a wonder they were both sleeping quietly. There was nothing at the window. On the way back he ran into Nefret—literally—caught her round the waist, and reported, “They’re all right. Stay here.”
He didn’t waste time putting on his boots; his feet were as hardened as those of an Egyptian. Most of the lamps along the pathway to the main house had burned out, but as he ran on he saw the dim light of a torch ahead. His mother held it.
“Ah, there you are,” she said. “This contraption needs a new battery.”
His father was bent over a dark form sprawled on the paving stones. Somehow Ramses wasn’t surprised to recognize Lidman’s round pale face and portly form.
“Wake up, damn it,” Emerson said, shaking the fallen man. “Peabody, stick those smelling salts under his nose.”
“I fear I neglected to bring them” was the calm reply; but by the time she finished the sentence, Lidman’s eyes were open.
“What happened?” he gasped. “Where has it gone?”
“Where has what gone?” Emerson demanded. Lidman’s head rolled back and forth.
“Stop shaking him, Father,” Ramses said.
“Oh, yes.”
Emerson let go. Lidman’s head hit the ground with a thump. “Sorry,” Emerson said. “Answer me, Lidman. What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”
Emerson’s methods were brutal but effective. Lidman raised clenched fists, crossing them over his chest. “It was at the window. I was afraid for the children. I went out, and saw it running toward your house. I caught hold of it, and then…I remember nothing more.”
“Damnation,” Emerson said. “‘It’?”
Something protruded from one of Lidman’s clenched