Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [113]
Slumped in an armchair with his legs stretched out and his hands folded on his waist, Sethos said, “Farhat. What was he intending to blow up?”
I had revised my initial theory after hearing Ramses’s description of the bomb. “You, perhaps,” I said. “That sort of device is more characteristic of revolutionaries than tomb robbers.”
Sethos let out a snort of derision, and Ramses said, “Farhat was no revolutionary, nor, in my opinion, was he likely to have been hired by such persons. However, I think someone other than Farhat constructed that bomb.”
“Sir Malcolm was in the Valley today,” I said. “I saw him looking on. He has acquired a new dragoman. The other fellow must have had enough of him.”
“He’s always in the Valley,” said Emerson. “You only want to make him guilty of something, Peabody. What good would it do him to have a bomb tossed into the entrance of Tutankhamon’s tomb?”
“It might risk damage to the antiquities,” I admitted.
“Or block the entrance,” Ramses said. “I agree with Mother’s original suggestion. This smacks of politics, not theft.”
“Dinner is served,” said Fatima, in the doorway.
As we filed in, she plucked at my sleeve. “Is he in danger, Sitt? Was the bomb meant for him?”
“We don’t know, Fatima. We must trust to God.”
Her worried face brightened. “Yes, Sitt, it is true. Allah would not let harm come to such a good man. I have placed charms in his room.”
Sethos may have overheard the exchange. He was an accomplished eavesdropper. Fatima served the soup course, and he said, almost casually, “I’ve been having second thoughts about the other business. Has it occurred to any of you that the mad pursuit and furious attacks don’t really amount to much? No one has been killed or seriously injured, except for the old holy man, whose death might not have been intended. We agree, do we not, that Farhat’s—er—accident had nothing to do with us?”
He had used almost the same words I had used when discussing the business with Ramses earlier—with Sethos as the suspect. “Then what was the point of it all?” I asked.
Sethos finished his soup before replying. “I don’t know. But it may be that our fears of violence were groundless. Take the cases one by one. Ramses and Emerson were never in serious danger; the fire was easily extinguished and there were other means of egress. The old man might have passed away from sheer terror while being searched. Nadji was left relatively unharmed after they realized he wasn’t me, and Gargery was delivered unscathed to the station in time to catch the train.”
I didn’t want to worry Fatima—she seemed to be more concerned about him than about the rest of us!—but I was curious to see what other facile explanations he could come up with. “You were shot at and wounded,” I pointed out. “And someone tried to push you under a train.”
“Oh, that was a long time ago. An initial burst of enthusiasm, let us say. The point is that no one else has been threatened, and I don’t believe they will be. Certainly not the children. Anyone who knows your lot knows you would tear the Middle East apart if either was harmed.”
He looked round the table, awaiting an objection. None was offered. Oh, well done, I thought. He is good at this sort of thing. Even Ramses looked impressed by the argument; Nefret’s blue eyes smiled, and David nodded slowly, as if in agreeement.
“So,” said Sethos breezily, “the logical conclusion is that our ‘friends’ know we haven’t deciphered the message, since we would have acted upon it. They have decided, correctly, that we can’t decipher it or we would have done so by now.”
“You aren’t suggesting that we relax our guard, are you?” Emerson asked.
“Not at all. All I’m suggesting is that we avoid stirring up trouble, and hope they will do the same. What’s this? Ah, Maaman’s famous stuffed lamb. Thank you, Fatima. I trust your concerns are relieved.”
“Oh, yes. So long as you wear the charm.”
“Wear? Charm?” Ramses asked.
I had not observed the thin silk cord round Sethos’s neck. Feeling