Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [117]
“Considering that he is the head of the government’s chemical department, and has had considerable experience in dealing with fragile antiquities, I expect he does,” Ramses said. “But you will of course mention it to him.”
“Naturally,” I said.
“Callender has the steel gate up,” Ramses said, in a further attempt to console Emerson, who replied with a growl.
“I don’t see Howard,” I remarked. “Didn’t he come today?”
“There he is,” Nefret said, pointing. “He must have been examining the scene of the…accident.”
His face set in a frown, Howard approached us, pushing past various persons who tried to address him. I fully expected he would ignore us as well; instead he stopped, and after a moment removed his hat.
“I understand you were present last evening when the incident occurred,” he said, after the slightest of nods.
“That is right,” I said.
“One of the ibn Simsahs, I am told?”
“That is right.”
“And this man is here at your invitation?” He gestured at Mr. Aziz, who had followed him at a little distance.
“He is here because a violent death occurred and he is chief inspector of the Luxor police,” I said, poking my husband to keep him quiet.
“Yes, quite. Well, the body has been removed, and I see no reason for him to remain. He refuses to obey my orders,” Howard went on, with a hard stare at Aziz. “Perhaps he will listen to you.”
“Confound it, Carter, you have not the authority to give him orders,” Emerson burst out. “If you would only employ a little tact—”
I poked Emerson harder, and he broke off with a pained grunt. He was in the right, but for Emerson to lecture someone else about tact was, to say the least, inappropriate.
“We will speak to the inspector,” I said. “Are you sure you don’t want some of his men to remain on guard?”
“No,” said Howard shortly. Grudgingly he added, “Er—thank you.”
“Mr. Carter,” said a too-familiar voice. “A question, if I may?”
Howard made a growling sound reminiscent of Emerson at his best, and trotted down the slope into the pit. I turned to Kevin O’Connell.
“Put your hat on,” I said. “Your nose is peeling. No luck?”
“Not for meself nor for any of me kind,” said the irrepressible O’Connell in his best—or worst—brogue. He sighed and rubbed his itching nose. “Nor would the worthy officer of the law tell me anything of interest. I’ll just have to go for the curse.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” I demanded, observing that Ramses and Nefret were conversing with Aziz. The inspector’s face was a trifle flushed and he was gesticulating emphatically.
“Oh, ’twill make a pretty tale,” O’Connell crooned. “First the demise of Carter’s golden bird, at the hands—er—jaws—of a royal cobra; now the mysterious death of a native—his name doesn’t matter—on the day the tomb is reopened and the pharaoh’s treasures are about to be removed from his last resting place by the impious hands of foreign infidels.”
I waited for him to go on, but after one look at Emerson’s darkening countenance and Sennia’s round black eyes he decided not to mention specific curses against specific persons. “A pack of nonsense,” I said.
“That is what such stories are, Mrs. E. Meaningless facts and a great deal of imagination. I ought to know, I’ve written several of them.”
“I like stories about curses,” said Sennia, looking very businesslike in her neat coat and skirt. “But they are nonsense, Mr. O’Connell.”
“Go away, Kevin,” I said.
Naturally Kevin did nothing of the sort. Remaining at a safe distance from Emerson, he followed us to the spot where Aziz and my children were chatting.
“Were you here all night?” I asked, observing that Aziz’s cheeks were dark with stubble. Like most Moslems he was bearded, but he was always meticulous about shaving the areas that weren’t part of the beard.
“As was my duty, madam. Mr. Carter has informed me that I and my men are no longer wanted.”
“Nor am I, it seems,” Nefret said pleasantly. “Mr. Aziz has removed poor Farhat’s remains to the zabtiyeh, and he believes there is no need for an additional examination.”
“The cause of