Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [170]
“He would say, as do I, that you were wasting your time,” said Sethos, emerging from the house. He had the smug, self-satisfied look of a cat who has cream on its whiskers. I deduced he had been with Margaret. Settling himself comfortably in a chair, he steepled his fingers and peered owlishly at me. “What did you do that for?”
I explained. “Ah,” said Sethos. “Very nice. You were willing to humiliate yourself in order to help David. I trust you didn’t ask Carter directly?”
“Good Gad, no. I would have worked up to that gradually. Ah well, I did my best.”
“Quite,” said Sethos. “Is tea ready?”
He made something of a pig of himself, pretending to squabble with Charla over the iced biscuits. Afterward he and Margaret went across to Luxor, to dine à deux at the hotel.
“I’ll keep her out of mischief,” he assured me, twirling his mustache.
“Not if I encounter O’Donnell,” said Margaret. “He has got ahead of me, and I won’t let him rub it in.”
Next day was the last. David, Sennia, and Gargery were to catch the train the day after, on the start of their long journey home. We had invited our closest friends to tea that afternoon, to say good-bye. When I asked how they wanted to spend the morning, Sennia voted for a final visit to King Tut, as she had taken to calling him. David’s eager face expressed his sentiments, and Gargery took it for granted that he would come along. Even Emerson condescended to join the party. He had given up on the motorcar for the time being. The part I had removed, with Nefret’s assistance, proved to be essential to its operation.
Margaret was the last to join us in the stable, where the horses were being saddled. She had added a bright scarf and a selection of silver bracelets to her khaki trouser suit, and I detected a trace of artificial coloring on her cheeks. “Where is—er—Anthony?” I asked.
“Gone off on his own. Which am I to ride?”
“This donkey,” said Emerson, hoisting her unceremoniously onto the saddle.
“I prefer a horse to a donkey,” Margaret said with a mutinous look.
“I will keep you company,” I promised. “You and I and Gargery and Sennia. Won’t that be nice?”
After a somewhat dusty ride, we found the donkey park crowded with animals, sand carts, and two-horse carriages. We had made an early start, knowing the crush would increase as the day went on.
We arrived just in time to see a spectacular object carried out of the tomb—the glorious gilded throne Rex Engelbach had described. Mr. Mace walked beside it, his face furrowed with the anxious look of a father watching his child’s first steps. I assumed that he had taken preliminary steps to stabilize some of the ornamentation, but still it was a touchy operation, and when he came back from the conservation tomb, smiling with relief, I called out a hearty congratulation.
A lull ensued before the next artifact appeared. There was a great deal of activity, however; importunate persons argued with the guards, trying to get past them, and people ran in and out with messages, including several telegrams. Tourists photographed every moving object; journalists wandered up and down, looking for someone to interview. One of them recognized Sennia and would have interrogated her—heaven knows what about—had Emerson not intervened.
I had brought refreshments, and was about to gather my group and retire for a quick luncheon when the appearance of Howard roused a great stir in the watchers. Ignoring the questions shouted at him by various persons, he stood with hands on hips, looking round. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I thought, and waved my parasol in greeting.
No one was more astonished than I when Howard gestured me to approach, rather in the manner of a potentate condescending to a petitioner. Deciding that I was in no position to resent this, I made my way past the guards and joined Howard. He showed the strains of the past days; there were deep lines in his face and his eyes were shadowed.
“It seems to be going well,” I said in a friendly manner.
“Yes, quite. No problems