Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [90]
“You aren’t going to see that woman, are you?” Emerson demanded.
“No, my dear. With guests coming and our trip to Cairo, I must make a few lists.”
Sethos was still in an evil mood. Even Fatima’s blandishments aroused only a few forced smiles and automatic compliments. He went off with Ramses, thus confirming certain suspicions of mine. I gave them time to settle down, and then went to the workroom. Both rose hastily to their feet and Sethos reached for an object on the table in front of them.
“Don’t bother trying to hide it,” I said, taking one of the vacated chairs. “I thought you had given up on the mystery message. What prompted you to return to it now?”
Ramses and his uncle exchanged glances. “I told you we hadn’t a prayer of keeping it from her,” the former said.
“You did.” Sethos took the other chair, leaving Ramses standing. Then they both spoke at once.
By interrupting from time to time to get them back on track, I got a coherent statement. In my opinion the latest development cast no light whatsoever upon the matter, and I said so.
“This business becomes more illogical every day. You have, I presume, tested the document to see if there is a hidden message?”
“I’ve tried most of the common reagents,” Ramses said, delicately lifting the document. “Heat, lemon juice, several other chemicals. Nothing.”
“We mustn’t return it until we are absolutely sure.”
Sethos leaned back. “See here, Amelia, I’m fed up with the whole affair. Let them have their precious document back. It has nothing to do with us.”
“I’m inclined to agree,” Ramses said. Sethos put on a look of mock astonishment.
“Despite the fact that it may mean danger to a party or parties unknown?” I asked.
“We don’t know that,” Ramses argued. “Diplomats get the wind up over the most idiotic things. If a government falls, or a top official is disgraced, why should we care? We’ve done everything we can and taken risks in the process. If this will end the matter—”
“We don’t know that either,” I retorted. “Their demand for its return may be a trick.” I directed a stern look at my brother-in-law. “Were you planning to go round to the address they gave you and watch to see who picked up your response?”
“Not on your life,” Sethos said promptly. “It isn’t in a very nice neighborhood.”
“Well, then, I suggest we wait a day or two. I expect to see Mr. Smith when I am in Cairo. Can you stall them that long?”
Sethos stroked his mustache. “I can but try.”
“Tell them we are considering their offer and are inclined to accept it, but we need a few more days.”
“You needn’t dictate my response, Amelia,” said Sethos, with a flash of temper.
“I will leave it to you, then.” I rose and straightened my skirt. “Continue your research, Ramses. I will have a look at the cursed thing myself later.”
Ramses’s eyebrows drew together. “With all respect, Mother, what do you expect to learn that I cannot?”
I gave him an affectionate pat on the shoulder. “One never knows, my dear. One never knows.”
After collecting my parasol and my belt of tools, I ordered Jamad to saddle my gentle little mare. It was a pleasant day for a canter, with a bright sun and a hint of freshness in the air, but my thoughts kept wandering to the news Sethos had given me. Peculiar indeed, I thought, as Eva gave way to a cart loaded with sugarcane. The whole business was inexplicable. I could make no sense of it.
When I reached the West Valley, Emerson was talking with Daoud, who had arrived just before me. He at once addressed me, wishing to be the one to deliver his news.
“The dahabeeyah of the Breasted professor and his family is at Luxor.”
“How nice,” I said, glancing at Emerson’s scowling countenance. “I will send a little note inviting them to tea this afternoon.”
“You do so against my wishes,” said Emerson, sticking out his chin.
“Yes, yes, my dear, I understand. Run along now and look for tombs.”
The objects I carry on my belt include pen and paper. I seated myself on a nice flat rock and inscribed a brief message, which I handed to Daoud.
“Have