Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [158]
“They told me they would hold Ramses for two or three days. I assumed that that too was a lie; the time would have been extended, day by day. But now…” He shrugged helplessly.
“They may move their schedule up,” I agreed. “We dare not delay. Someone must go to Cairo at once. I am the obvious—”
“Not you,” said several people simultaneously.
“And not David,” Ramses said. He smiled at his friend. “He is burning to make a full confession, but I’m not going to allow that. We’ll keep him out of this if we can. I’m the obvious person, Mother. Russell trusts me.”
“Very well,” I said. “Now as for the other conspiracy—”
Fatima came running in. “Mr. Vandergelt is here,” she announced. “And—”
She was pushed rudely aside by Sir William Portmanteau. Father Christmas was gone; hair and beard bristling, eyes wild, face livid, he reminded me irresistibly of the drawings of the enraged Nome King in Mr. Baum’s charming books.
“Where is she?” he demanded. “What have you done with her? You and your native henchmen…” He started toward Daoud, who backed off in alarm. In his estimation Sir William had gone mad, and madmen, as everyone knew, could not be assaulted since they were protected by God.
“Sorry about this, Amelia,” said Cyrus, trying to restrain his guest. “I couldn’t stop him. He’s kind of upset.”
“So I see. Sit down and be quiet, Sir William!”
I did not shout; I employed the tone of voice I have learned to use on recalcitrant persons. Sir William of course did as I ordered. He was seriously out of breath anyhow.
“I take it you are referring to Suzanne,” I continued. “Don’t tell me she has gone missing.”
Emerson groaned. “No, don’t tell us. Not another one!”
Nefret’s gentle touch and professional firmness succeeded in calming Sir William. She stood by him, her fingers on his pulse, while Cyrus explained.
Suzanne had returned from Abydos with her grandfather the previous evening. No one disturbed her that morning, since she had appeared to be very tired. When one of the maidservants finally ventured into her room she found no sign of its occupant. No one took alarm at first; it was some time before a search of the house and grounds determined that the girl was not on the premises.
“And she’s not the only one,” Cyrus said. “Nadji’s gone too.”
The name roused Sir William from his quiescent state. Pulling his hand from that of Nefret, he cried passionately, “He has carried her off against her will!”
“What for?” Emerson asked in bewilderment.
“For ransom! Or,” Sir William groaned, “for…for a reason I dare not contemplate. You know how these people are! Lusting after white women…”
“Balderdash!” Emerson shouted, his face almost as red as that of Sir William. “You evil-minded old—”
“Now, Emerson,” I said. “We don’t need two infuriated men shouting at each other.”
“She would never have left me of her own accord, without so much as a note of explanation,” Sir William insisted. “We were going back to England together, she and I.”
Nefret pushed him back into the chair from which he was struggling to rise. “You will have a seizure or a heart attack if you go on this way,” she said firmly. “That won’t help Suzanne, will it?”
I had never doubted that Sir William cared deeply for his granddaughter. It did him no credit, really, since he regarded her as part of himself—his property, so to speak—and he had no interest in anything other than himself and his property. Nefret’s appeal had the effect of calming him, and a sip or two of brandy, supplied by Emerson, was also helpful. Directed by me, Cyrus was able to continue his explanation.
“Cat searched her room and determined that she had packed a suitcase—toilet articles, jewelry, and a few clothes. How she left the house and the grounds unobserved we don’t know. The gateman hadn’t seen her.”
“What about Nadji?” I asked.
“Same thing,” Cyrus said, glancing at Sir William. “Clothes and personal belongings taken, no one saw him leave. We looked everywhere, questioned the boatmen and the local folks;