Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [76]
Cyrus nodded. His pale blue eyes were fixed on Sethos, and his expression was not friendly. “They took poor Nadji for you. I thought so. What’s in the blamed document?”
“That’s the trouble,” Sethos said. “It’s in code. I couldn’t read it.”
“So you came here, with a bunch of thugs at your heels.” Cyrus took the glass Emerson handed him. “A low-down trick to play on friends.”
“He was ill with malaria,” Ramses said, wondering why the hell he was defending his uncle. “And they, whoever they are, would have come looking for him here in any case.”
His mother had been waiting for an opening. “Ramses is correct, Cyrus. These people know Sethos’s true identity, and that means they know who his friends are. And,” she added portentously, “who his wife is.”
“Good Lord,” Cyrus exclaimed. “She’d be the perfect hostage, wouldn’t she? Where is the lady?”
As if drawn by a magnet, all eyes turned toward Ramses’s mother. She cleared her throat. “In a safe place, Cyrus. I saw her this morning—”
“She’s here?” Cyrus was accustomed to the Emersons’ unorthodox habits, but this obviously took him aback. “Where? How? When did she—”
“Please, Cyrus, allow me to continue. Some of the others haven’t heard about my interview with Margaret either, so if you will permit me…”
Emerson let out a pained groan and emptied his glass. “This may take a while, Cyrus. You know Peabody’s narrative style. Have another whiskey.”
“Allow me.” Sethos, who hadn’t been offered one, went to the table and helped himself as well as Cyrus. “How is my beloved spouse, Amelia?”
“Perfectly comfortable and in a very bad temper.”
“With me?” Sethos inquired.
“With everyone, especially you. However, she has agreed to remain where she is so long as I keep her informed about the excavation of Tutankhamon’s tomb.”
“So that’s what brought her here,” Sethos muttered.
“You expected it, didn’t you? When have you ever known Margaret to miss an important story? She knows Kevin is in Luxor, and is counting on us to provide her with exclusive information.”
“Hmph,” said Emerson. “She’s due to be disappointed, then. We haven’t any exclusive information.”
“That is what I hope to obtain tomorrow,” said his wife smoothly. “Cyrus and I, Nefret and Ramses—”
“Here they come,” Ramses interrupted. The others had heard them too; only a deaf person could have failed to do so: the dog’s ecstatic barking, the shouts of the children, and mingling with them, Suzanne’s high-pitched laughter.
“Never mind the dam—the darned tomb,” Cyrus said quickly. “What are you gonna do to get out of this mess?”
“If you have any suggestions I would be happy to hear them,” said Emerson.
“Get an expert to read that message,” said Cyrus. “If I understand you rightly, that’s what those fellows are trying to prevent.”
Emerson’s jaw dropped. It was such an obvious solution, none of them had thought of it—except Ramses. Painfully aware of his own lack of expertise, he had known better than to propose it; his mother and father would have scoffed at the idea that the family couldn’t handle anything, up to and including murder, without outside help.
But there were a number of objections to the idea. Experts on codes weren’t numerous, and most of the ones he knew worked for the Department. If his hypothesis was correct, even an expert couldn’t read the message without knowing which book was referred to.
The twins burst in, demanding their tea and offering to share the biscuits with Suzanne. They had taken a fancy to her, which rather surprised their father. After an unfortunate incident a few years earlier, Charla had developed a suspicion of pretty yellow-haired ladies. Suzanne must have put herself out to win them over. Laughing, she allowed them to lead her to a chair and David John brought out his chess set.
“Let Mam’selle have her tea,” his grandmother said sternly. “She may not wish to play chess.”
“Oh, but I promised I would. I am sure he will win.” She rounded her eyes at David John, who stared like a hypnotized rabbit. Unlike his sister, he had a weakness for pretty