Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [101]
“Mr. Carter has returned, then?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. He went from the station to the dahabeeyah of the Breasted professor.”
“So that is why they refused my invitation to tea,” I said thoughtfully. “Howard must have written Breasted telling him about the tomb and offering him a chance to participate—and warning him about us.”
“I forbid you to repeat the invitation,” said Emerson fiercely.
“I am not accustomed to putting myself forward, Emerson.”
“I have noticed that, Peabody.”
“When will Carter reopen the tomb?” I inquired.
Daoud knew, of course. “Tomorrow, it is said. Callender Effendi has already begun removing the fill.”
“Well, I don’t give a curse,” Emerson declared.
Sabir’s boat was waiting at the riverfront; he had decorated it with fresh flowers and the ornate hangings usually reserved for festivals, and several other members of the family had accompanied him. Another round of salutations followed; the family thought highly of David, who was related to most of them, and they hadn’t seen him for some time. The celebration continued until we reached the house.
By the time the newcomers had been welcomed by the household staff and the dog, Emerson was stamping with impatience. “Enough!” he shouted. “Fatima, stop fussing over Sennia and get luncheon started. By Gad, it has taken us two hours to get here from Luxor. Ridiculous. I haven’t had a chance to talk with David. My boy, you won’t believe what Howard Carter—”
“Later,” I cut in. “They will want to tidy up and rest.”
“I don’t want to rest,” Sennia said. “I want to see my rooms, and the Great Cat of Re.”
She didn’t seem to be at all worried about Gargery’s melodramatic story. We had made light of it, and as I knew from my study of juvenile psychology (and years of painful experience), young persons are inclined to dismiss anything that does not affect them directly.
“Take Gargery with you,” I ordered.
“But, madam, I haven’t told the Professor about—”
“Later! Get along with you, Gargery. David John, will you lend him your strong arm? Charla, see if you can find the cat. He is probably hiding under some article of furniture.”
David John gravely extended a slender arm, and Gargery had tact enough to take it. It was amazing how much quieter it was with the four of them no longer present. Fatima had gone off with the children, so it was Kareem who brought the coffee tray. I managed to catch hold of it before he spilled much, and we settled down to a comfortable chat.
“That was a painless way of removing the children, Mother,” Ramses said, laughing.
“I believe I can claim to have a good understanding of juvenile psychol—juvenile human nature.”
“The old rascal seems to have held up well,” Emerson said. “What was he talking about?”
“In a nutshell,” said Ramses, “he disappeared from the hotel where we had told him to stay, and turned up at the railway station barely in time to catch the express.”
“He’s becoming senile,” Emerson said, scowling darkly. “Curse it! We’ll have to watch over him as we would a child.”
That certainly was the explanation that leaped to mind. Gargery’s tale sounded even more improbable when it was reduced to bare statements, which Ramses proceeded to do. “He said he’d been lured away by a false message, thrust into a carriage, and been held prisoner by two desperadoes. He was able to get away from them and made it to the station in the nick of time.”
“What nonsense!” Emerson exclaimed. “He invented the story to excuse his lapse of memory and make himself look like a hero.”
“That’s possible,” David said. “We have only his word.”
“Quite,” said Emerson triumphantly. “What would have been the point of abducting him and then letting