Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [102]
It was easy for Emerson to doubt Gargery’s tale. He hadn’t been there. I had. Certain of the details were probably untrue, such as his escape from several armed men, but it was unlikely that he had suffered a temporary lapse of memory and recovered from it just in time to reach the station before the train departed.
Sethos finished his coffee and rose. “I’m sure David will find that fascinating. Ramses, may I have a word with you?”
He gestured toward the door. Ramses followed him into the house. I followed Ramses, leaving Emerson complaining to David about Howard Carter, the tomb, and the motorcar.
As I had expected, Sethos led the way to Ramses’s workroom. “We must have a council of war,” I announced.
“Ah, Amelia,” said Sethos, attempting to appear surprised at my presence. “Do sit down. I presume you do not agree with Emerson that Gargery wandered off in a fit of senile dementia?”
I waved my hand in dismissal. “Like so many of the others, this event was alarming but not really dangerous. I am becoming weary of these demonstrations. It is time we took action instead of reacting to the acts of others.”
“As a general theory, it has a great deal to recommend it,” said Sethos. “What do you propose we do?”
“Return the message,” Ramses said.
“It certainly goes against the grain to do so,” I murmured. “And we dare not assume that it will satisfy their demands. Our vigilance must be increased, particularly with regard to the more vulnerable members of the family.”
“So you think they took Gargery simply to prove that they could?” Sethos asked.
“If they want to ensure our silence, they will need a hostage,” Ramses said. “Someone they think we value more than Gargery. In their eyes he is ‘only’ a servant. But then why bother demanding the return of the original message when they must have known we would have made copies?”
I sniffed. “Distraction and confusion. Putting us off our guard. Forcing us to waste time looking for a clue that doesn’t exist. Who knows? At least we agree on one thing—we, all of us, must take extra care. I shall warn Cyrus to look after his family.”
Leaning against the table, arms folded, Sethos shifted from one foot to the other. “What about Margaret?”
“She’s been warned,” Ramses said. “She’ll have to take her chances.”
“Now, my dear, you mustn’t be so harsh,” I said. “Perhaps I ought to have another little chat with Margaret.”
“Invite her to tea,” Sethos said sarcastically.
“I shall.”
I did—but not at the house. Instead I suggested neutral ground, at one of the hotels. She accepted by return messenger.
The next item in my (constantly) revised list of Things to Do involved Selim, so I was pleased to find him on the veranda with David and Emerson, who had invited him to luncheon. They were all smoking and drinking coffee and talking about Tutankhamon. It took me a while to cut into the conversation; in fact, I had to interrupt Emerson in order to do so.
“Have you told Selim about what happened to Gargery?” I asked.
Cut off in mid-lecture, Emerson did not immediately catch my meaning. “What about him?”
I proceeded to tell Selim, who stroked his beard and looked bewildered. “I do not understand, Sitt Hakim. What does it mean?”
“It means that from now on any one of us may be in similar danger. I want extra guards round the house. I want the children watched closely at all times, by one of our own men.”
Emerson’s mouth had opened in protest when I began—for this meant the diminution of his work force—but when the children were mentioned he looked alarmed.
“Between Elia and the dog—” he began.
“Amira hasn’t proved to be a very efficient watchdog, and Elia, though devoted, is the twins’ nurserymaid, not a bodyguard.”
“Hmph,” said Emerson. “Good thinking, Peabody. See to it, will you, Selim?”
“Yes, Emerson. Though I do not believe any man in Egypt would harm a child, especially a child of the family of the Father of Curses. The men of Gurneh would track him down and tear him to pieces.”
His quiet, even voice held more conviction than shouts and curses.