Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [141]
“We have not been able to locate him,” Emerson said. He and I were pacing up and down the length of the drawing room, avoiding each other with the skill of long practice.
Obviously we could not explain to Kevin why we did not believe Margaret had left of her own free will. None of the boatmen recalled having taken her across the river, so she must have been abducted while still on the West Bank. The carriage driver had vanished as well. Selim, who knew everyone on this side of the river, had gone at once to the fellow’s house, only to discover that he had never returned home.
As I crossed paths with Emerson, he said out of the corner of his mouth, “Get rid of him, Peabody.”
Kevin heard him, as did everyone else in the drawing room. Placing his empty glass on the table, he rose with great dignity. “I can take a hint, Professor.”
“Never known you to do so before,” Emerson retorted.
Kevin took himself off, meaning, I supposed, to pursue his own inquiries. If Margaret was on the track of an interesting story, Kevin would be on her track.
We knew better, of course. David and Ramses had gone off to search the riverbank and locate the few boatmen we had not been able to question thus far. Sethos was with them. He had been the first to propose we search for Margaret.
“So much for the promises of our adversaries,” I said bitterly. “We relaxed our guard, and now they have struck.”
“O’Connell may have it right,” Emerson muttered. “Perhaps she learned something from us that night that sent her haring off in pursuit of an exclusive.”
“Nonsense. She had nothing with her except the clothes she was wearing and a small evening bag. The driver’s disappearance is highly significant. He was in cahoots with the kidnappers—or he was murdered to prevent him from talking.”
“Do sit down, Mother,” Nefret begged, as Emerson and I swerved round each other. “You are wearing yourself out. If the people you suspect have abducted Margaret, they won’t harm her. This is only their way of ensuring that we remain silent.”
She went herself to the sideboard and poured a soupçon of whiskey. I took the glass and sank into a chair.
“We would remain silent in any case, since we do not know what they plan,” I said. “However, vain regrets and vague surmises are of no use to us now. Let us remain calm and consider what we do know.”
“Not much,” said Emerson.
“For one thing, we can now be certain that our adversaries are aware of Sethos’s true identity. Had they not known Margaret was his wife, they would not have taken her.”
“He was in considerable distress,” Nefret said. “There were actually tears in his eyes.” Her own eyes were soft with sympathy, blue as turquoise.
“A pity he didn’t demonstrate his feelings for her before it was too late,” Emerson said.
“Let us hope and pray it is not too late,” I said.
David and Ramses returned to report that they had discovered no trace of Margaret or the driver. That was good news, in a negative sense; I had been haunted by images of a limp body washed up on the shore. The carriage, which had been hired from a firm located in Luxor, was found abandoned some distance from the ferry landing.
“It seems we have come to a dead end,” I said. “Where is Sethos?”
“He went off by himself, saying he had an idea he meant to pursue.” Ramses declined his father’s offer of whiskey, saying he would wait for tea. “It occurred to me that he might intend to offer an exchange of hostages. Himself for Margaret.”
“It is the least he can do,” Emerson grunted. “Good Gad, any man who gave a curse about his wife would do the same.”
“He knows how to communicate with them,” I said. “Assuming, that is, they can still be reached through the address he once had. Oh dear. I can’t see that an exchange would leave us any better off.”
Ramses put a comforting hand on my shoulder. “I don’t believe there is any