The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog - Elizabeth Peters [134]
Cyrus had already gestured his men to take up positions on either side of the little structure, where they could see in all directions. “I’ll stand,” he said curtly.
“You remember Mr. Vandergelt, of course,” I said to Kevin, taking the seat he had offered.
“Ah, I thought he looked familiar. It has been a good many years, and I didn’t know him at first without his goatee. How do you do, sir?” He started to offer his hand; Cyrus’s frosty stare made him think better of it. “And how’s the professor?” Kevin went on, squatting at my feet. “Fully recovered, I hope, from his—er—accident?”
“I give you credit, Kevin,” I said. “You don’t beat around the bush. It was no accident, as you well know. ‘The curse of the ancient gods of Egypt’ was how you put it, I believe. Surely your readers must be tiring of curses.”
“Och—I mean, oh, no, ma’am. Readers never tire of mystery and sensationalism. You and I know better, to be sure, and I’d be glad to set them straight if I had the facts.”
He continued to nurse his arm. I knew full well that Kevin would have considered a broken arm, much less one that was slightly bruised, as a fair exchange for the story he wanted, so I was unmoved by his look of hurt reproach.
“You will be the first to have the facts, I promise, as soon as they can be made public.”
The reprehensible young man gave a crow of delight. “Aha! So there are facts as yet unknown. Never mind denying it, Mrs. Emerson, and don’t be chewing on that pretty lip of yours; one particular fact, which cannot fail to capture the imagination of the reading public, is already known to me, for I spent several enlightening days in Cairo conversing with mutual friends.”
It is an old trick of journalists and other villains to pretend to knowledge in order to trick the victim into an admission of it. I laughed lightly. “You are referring, I suppose, to the incident at the ball. That was a silly joke—”
“Let’s not fence, Mrs. E. I am referring to the professor’s loss of memory.”
“Curse it,” I exclaimed. “The few who knew were sworn to secrecy. Which—”
“Now you know I can’t be giving away my sources.” He had me now, and he knew it. His wide smile had the impertinent good humor of a wretched little Irish brownie.
In fact I had a good idea as to who had “spilled the beans,” to use an American colloquialism. The only mutual friend of mine and Kevin’s who knew the truth was Karl von Bork. Kevin’s acquaintance with other archaeologists was superficial and for the most part antagonistic. Kevin had known Karl since the old days at Baskerville House, when Karl had won the girl they both wanted; and no doubt it had given Kevin a great deal of satisfaction to trick the intelligent but unworldly German into giving away more than he meant to.
Cyrus, who had listened in silence, now spoke. “It’s getting late, Amelia. Send him away or let me knock him over the head. My fellows can hold him prisoner here till you decide—”
“Now let’s not be losing our tempers,” Kevin exclaimed, his eyes widening. “Mrs. Emerson, ma’am, you’d never allow—”
“When the stakes are so high, I might not only allow but encourage such a solution. I would hate to have Cyrus risk a lawsuit and a good deal of unpleasant publicity for my—for the sake of friendship; but I would commit acts even more contemptible to prevent this news from being made public. I wish I could appeal to your honor, but I fear you have none; I wish I could trust your word, but I cannot.”
With an air of finality, I rose to my feet. Cyrus raised the rifle to his shoulder.
“He isn’t going to shoot you,” I explained, as Kevin gave a bleat of alarm. “At least I don’t think he is. Cyrus, tell your men to treat him as gently as possible. I will come by now and then, Kevin, to see how you are getting on.”
Kevin then proved himself the man I had always—despite some evidence to the contrary—believed him to be. He laughed. Considering the circumstances, it was a fairly convincing imitation of insouciant mirth.
“You