The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog - Elizabeth Peters [112]
“Can’t say I do,” Cyrus replied, raising his eyebrows. “Sounds more like a character out of a dime novel. But— hey, wait a minute. I did hear that name once from Jacques de Morgan, the former Director of Antiquities. He’d imbibed rather freely of the flowing bowl that evening; he also claimed your son had been possessed by an afreet, so when he started babbling about master criminals I kind of stopped listening.”
“Sethos is no afreet, though he shares certain of their characteristics,” I said. “For years he controlled the illegal antiquities market in Egypt. Nameless except for his noms de guerre, a master of disguise whose true face no one has seen, a veritable genius of crime …”
“Oh, really,” said Cyrus.
“Yes, really. He is without a doubt the most formidable of our old adversaries, and logic would deem him the most likely suspect. He is well-versed in Egyptology. He commands a large criminal organization. His intellect is superior and poetic; the quest for the Lost Oasis is precisely the sort of thing that would fire his imagination. And he has a—a particular grudge against my husband.”
“Not only the most likely suspect,” Cyrus said slowly, “but ahead of the rest of the field by ten furlongs.”
“I hope not, for our chance of finding him is almost nil. The others we may track down, but not Sethos. Furthermore …”
“Yes?”
“It is irrelevant,” I murmured. “At least Emerson would say it was, and perhaps he would be right. I don’t want Emerson to see this list, Cyrus.”
“Not much point, if he doesn’t remember any of them. It’s just between you and me, Amelia.” Cyrus’s face reflected his pleasure in being able to assist me. “We will get the authorities on the trail of these ladies and gents. Might as well go straight to the top; if you will give me a copy of your list I will telegraph the British Consul-General, Sir Evelyn Baring, with whom I am slightly acquainted. He is the most powerful man in Egypt, and—”
“I know him well, Cyrus. He was a friend of my father’s and has always been most obliging. I have already written him a letter; that mode of communication seemed best, since the situation is complex enough to require some explanation. Selim or Ali can catch the train tomorrow and deliver the letter by hand.”
“As usual, you are right square on top of the business, my dear. But I hope you don’t object if I make a few inquiries of my own?”
“You are very kind.”
“That’s what a pal is for,” Cyrus declared.
I accepted his invitation to take a turn about the deck. The night was calm and peaceful; the brilliant stars of Egypt blazed overhead. But though I strove to open my senses to a scene that had never before failed to inspire and soothe me— though my companion’s steps were slowed to match mine and his sympathetic silence answered to my mood—the attempt was a failure. How could I lose myself in the magic of the night when another than Emerson walked at my side? It was not long before I declared my intention of retiring and bade Cyrus an affectionate good night.
On the way to my room I stopped at Emerson’s door, thinking he might be in need of some medication to help him sleep. Apparently he was not. There was no answer to my knock.
I hesitated, cursing the bizarre circumstances that prevented me from following the dictates of duty and affection. I feared to venture in without his permission, yet I could not leave without assuring myself he was not in a swoon or in pain his fortitude would not allow him to express.
Eavesdropping is a contemptible act to which I would never stoop. The fringes of my shawl somehow got caught in the door hinge. The fringe was very long and silky, and it took some time to untangle it without breaking the threads. As I worked at it I listened for the sounds of snores or groans. There was only silence.
Something pushed against my knee. I let out a muted exclamation of surprise and turned to see the cat Anubis