Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [164]
“Oh, Lord.” Russell’s mustache drooped. “Not that bas—Not him. Those people in intelligence think they are above the law. He won’t talk to me.”
“He’ll talk to me.” Ramses rose. “Let’s go, Nefret.”
“I’ll supply you with an escort,” Russell said. “And I strongly suggest that you get out of Cairo as soon as you can.”
Emerson was almost as difficult to deal with as was Sethos. Had he possessed an aeroplane or a winged horse, he would have set off at once. There was nothing we could do but wait for the evening express. Earlier trains were locals, which arrived in Cairo no sooner.
I did not point out the obvious, since he knew it as well as I. Ramses and Nefret had arrived in Cairo that morning. If an attack was to be made upon them, it might already have occurred.
They had promised to telegraph after they spoke with Thomas Russell. I sent Hassan to the telegraph office to make sure a message would be sent on the moment it arrived. The long day wore on with no news, and Emerson’s control finally cracked.
“I don’t think I can face tea with the children,” he muttered.
“You must. They must not suspect anything is amiss. We cannot leave for several more hours. Go and tidy up.”
“Damned if I will.”
I had not the heart to insist. He had planted himself at the door of the veranda whence he could watch the road that led to the river.
I went to see Sethos. I had to wake Daoud, who was asleep across the threshold; as he explained, his prisoner was not inclined to conversation, so he had been bored. Sethos was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at his folded hands. He looked up with a haggard face. “Any news?”
“I will inform you at once if we hear. If we do not…Emerson and I are leaving for Cairo shortly.”
“Let me go with you.”
“Emerson would never permit that, and I must say I share his doubts.”
“I can resolve them if I am allowed to have a few words with Smith. Please, Amelia!”
“I will have a few words to say to—”
Sethos leaped up. “Is that Emerson’s voice?”
There was no mistaking it. I ran with winged feet to the veranda. Emerson had ripped open a telegram and was waving it like a banner.
“It’s all right, Peabody. They are all right. They are coming home!”
“God be praised,” Daoud exclaimed.
Sethos snatched the telegram from Emerson before I could do so. He was considerate enough to read it aloud. “‘All is well. Stay in Luxor. Taking train tonight.’”
“Ramses’s telegraphic style is beginning to resemble Emerson’s,” I said, too relieved to scold Sethos. “Only nine words.”
“Ten,” said Sethos. “He added ‘Love.’”
Needless to say, we were all on hand to meet the train next morning—all of us except Sethos. “Ramses may or may not have obtained information that may or may not clear Sethos of deliberately misleading us” was Emerson’s comment. “He will be confined until we know, one way or the other.”
As we had hoped, Ramses and Nefret were on the train. After the first cries of welcome and fond embraces were over, Ramses hoisted Charla onto his shoulder and I said to Nefret, “How did you get that cut on your cheek? Have you any other injuries? Has Ramses?”
“No, Mother.” She put her arm round me. “I’ll explain later. If ever there was a time for one of your councils of war, this is it. We have a great deal to tell you.”
“And we,” I began, “have…Good Gad. Who is that?”
In fact I knew perfectly well who it was. Pointed nose, narrowed eyes, thin mouth…None other than Bracegirdle-Boisdragon, alias Mr. Smith.
The thin lips stretched into Smith’s best effort at a smile. Removing his hat, he said, “Good morning, Mrs. Emerson.”
“Good morning be damned,” Emerson exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“He came with us,” Ramses said. “At my insistence.”
“I came,” said Mr. Smith, “because I owe you an explanation.”
“Damn right,” said Emerson.
“Damn right,” shouted