Lord of the Silent: A Novel of Suspense (23 page)

FROM MANUSCRIPT H Margaret Minton did not respond to Nefret's note inviting her for dinner. They were lingering over a rather late breakfast when their messenger returned with the information that the Sitt had left the hotel early that morning and that the concierge had no idea when she would return. Gossiping, as was customary, he had asked several questions and learned a few more facts: she had taken a picnic basket and hired one of the dragomen, so it seemed likely ... "That she had planned a long excursion," Ramses interrupted impatiently. "Which of the dragomen?" "Sayid." Their informant chuckled. "He won out over the others who wanted to go with her by saying he was a trusted friend of yours, Brother of Demons, who had helped you to capture many thieves and murderers." "Sayid." Ramses ran agitated fingers through his hair. "Good God, the fellow has to be a hundred years old, and he's still the biggest coward in Luxor. If she gets in trouble he'll be about as much use as Jumana." "Less. Why should she get herself in trouble, though?" "Because she's a busybody and a journalist and a woman of dangerous self-confidence. And she dined with Kuentz last night." "I think you are needlessly concerned. Anyhow, there's nothing we can do about it." The messenger, who was squatting on the floor listening interestedly, volunteered, "They were coming to the west bank." Ramses handed over the expected baksheesh and the man left. Jamil and Jumana had arrived by then; as they descended the stairs, Ramses said, "Did you write the parents?" "Yes." She glanced at him from under her lashes. "I sent the letter off this morning." "What did you tell them?" "The bare facts." "You didn't mention him, did you?" "No. But I still disagree." Their first step that morning was at the Vandergelts' house, to make sure all was in readiness for the travelers. The steward-or majordomo, as he preferred to be called-was a Belgian who had been in Cyrus's service most of his life. Though the Vandergelts had not been in residence often of late, Albert prided himself on keeping the place immaculate and ready for occupancy at a moment's notice. Nefret assured him they would meet the Vandergelts at the station and bring them home. "All right, that's done," she said, as they headed down the track away from the house. "I suppose now you want to look up Alain." "How did you know?" "I know practically everything about you," his wife murmured. "And I intend to find out the rest of it before I'm done. There's Christabel Pankhurst and Dollie Bellingham and Layla and the girl in Chicago and Sylvia Gorst-" "I never had anything to do with Sylvia-can't stand the woman-never could." "Well, I thought she was probably lying," Nefret said calmly. "We'll talk about it later." Not if I can help it, Ramses thought. He was fairly sure he couldn't, though. Kuentz was at work, supervising a small crew excavating one of the workmen's houses. He came running toward them and took Nefret's hands, cradling them in his furry paws. "I heard. Horrible! Dreadful! My poor girl!" Nefret managed to free her hands. "I've almost certainly seen more corpses than you have, Alain. Your concern is needless." "But I feel responsible. Did you find the worthless tomb, then?" "No," Ramses said. The man even had hair on the palms of his hands. "Perhaps my directions were not clear enough. Believe me, though, the place is not worth your trouble." "We didn't come about that," Nefret said. "We were curious about what you told Miss Minton last night." "It was a curious conversation," Kuentz said with a grin. "Come and join me in my humble quarters and I'll have Mahmud make tea." They were humble enough, only a small tent pitched against a slope, with a camp stove and a few other minimal comforts. "Is this where you stay?" Nefret asked, accepting the single stool. "Part of the time. I rent a room at Hussein Ali's hotel-if you can call it that. I keep my clothes and notes there, and it is possible to have a bath, if one doesn't mind curious onlookers and an occasional dead fish in the water. The tub's in the courtyard." Her look of disgust made him shout with laughter. "It's not so bad. Not the way you people live, but it has a certain charm." "I'm sure it does," said Ramses, who had lived under even less comfortable circumstances when he was engaged in certain of his undercover jobs. "We tried to reach Miss Minton this morning but were told she had gone off for the day. D'you have any idea where?" His brusque tone sobered Kuentz. "She didn't say anything to me. No reason why she should. Hold on, though . . . She was very curious about the German House. In fact, all she'd talk about was the illegal antiquities game. Said she was thinking of doing a series of feature stories about some of the more notorious players-the Rassuls, that Italian fellow your parents rounded up a few years back-what was his name?-and Sethos, of course." It was always startling to hear that name, but it wasn't really surprising; the Emersons had tried for years to enlist the aid of the police and the Service des Antiquites in tracking down "the Master Criminal." Those who had doubted his very existence to begin with had changed their minds after certain of Sethos's activities became public. He had once written a letter to a London newspaper explaining, with the greatest politeness, that he was sorry to have offended Mrs. Emerson by robbing a well-known politician while she was picketing his house. "I told her what I knew," Kuentz went on. "She'd bought me a very good dinner and a quantity of excellent wine. She kept prodding me for more details, so I finally pointed out that you and your family knew more about the subject than I." "Not that much," Ramses said. "Our encounters with Sethos and Riccetti are public knowledge." "Riccetti! That was the name. I wasn't here at the time, but I heard about it. And about Sethos. Some of the stories rather strain one's credulity. Is it true that he was after the Dahshur treasure, and would have got to it before de Morgan if you hadn't stopped him?" "The story has undoubtedly been exaggerated," Ramses said. Kuentz let out a whoop of laughter. "Not as much as Margaret will exaggerate it. Whatever happened to the fellow anyhow? Could he be the one behind the latest outbreak of thefts?" "He's dead," Ramses said. He rose to his feet. "We mustn't keep you any longer." They had to remove Jumana from the edge of the dig, where she sat scribbling in her notebook, to the barely contained indignation of the workers. The ruins of the former German expedition house were behind the Ramesseum. The local people had rummaged through them, removing anything that was salvageable; all that was left was a pile of blackened ashes. "I hadn't realized they had done such a thorough job of it," Nefret said. "Complete destruction," Ramses agreed. "One can't help wondering why. Carter and Kuentz, if it was they, acted without authority-illegally, in fact." "I expect Margaret will make a dramatic tale of it." "Yes. There's no sense hanging about here. Let's go on." Minton had been on the west bank. Several of the people Ramses questioned had seen her with Sayid, and helpfully pointed them in various directions, none of which led to anything. Finally Nefret said, "This is a waste of time. If you're all that determined to locate her, she'll be at the hotel this evening. Shall I tell Maaman we are dining out?" However, when they reached the Winter Palace, they discovered that the Sitt had not returned. Ramses tugged fretfully at his tie. He hated wearing evening dress almost as much as his father did. "Where could she have gone?" "Led on a wild-goose chase by Sayid, perhaps," Nefret said. She didn't share his concern; she knew the amiable willingness of Luxor guides to supply anything the client asked for. In a fair imitation of Sayid's whine, she went on, "You look for tomb robber, Sitt? Yes, I know many tomb robber! I take you to see them, you give me baksheesh!" Ramses's tight lips relaxed into an unwilling smile. "So you think she's sitting in Sayid's house drinking vile tea, while he parades half the population of Gurneh past her?" "Each of them with a more lurid story," Nefret agreed. "Stop fussing, darling, and let's have dinner. If she's not back by the time we finish . . . well, we'll worry about that later." The elegant dining salon was only half full, though it was Saturday. Most of the guests were Americans, with a scattering of other nationalities, including a few British officials. Luxor was a popular weekend excursion for the archaeologically inclined and for those who were bored with the routine of Cairo life. The service at the Winter Palace was so good as to be mildly annoying; waiters, wine steward, and innumerable flunkies hemmed them round. Ramses handed the ornate gilded wine list back to the maitre d'. "There are no German wines on the list, but I feel certain you have them. A Riesling will suit, 1911 or '12." "You're being deliberately provocative, aren't you?" Nefret demanded. "Yes. I despise the politicizing of harmless ideas and people and objects." Nefret snatched up her evening bag in time to save it from a sprinkle of water. One of the underwriters had been too quick or too clumsy filling her water glass. He received a low-voiced reprimand from his superior and cringed away. "Malesh," Nefret said impatiently. "Leave the fellow alone, he did no harm." An hour later they were finishing their dinner and there had been no sign of Margaret. Nefret picked up her bag. "I'm going to freshen up," she announced. "I'll stop by the desk first and ask about Margaret." She hadn't been worried-not really-but she was relieved to hear that Miss Minton had returned and gone directly to her room, after collecting her messages. "She looked very tired," the concierge volunteered. "And-er- warm. Do you want that I should ring her room?" "No, that's all right. Thank you." The tactful euphemisms conveyed a picture of a woman staggering with exhaustion, sweat-stained, and grubby. Sayid must have led her a merry dance. Grinning, Nefret went on her way. Square in the middle of the marble-floored passage that led to the Ladies' Parlor was a kneeling figure-a woman, black-robed and veiled. She wrung out a cloth into the pail beside her and went back to scrubbing the floor. One of the "ladies" ahead of Nefret, bejeweled and befurred, drew her satin skirts aside. "One would suppose the management would not allow these filthy females in the place until after the guests have retired." The scrubwoman crouched lower and rubbed even harder. She might not have understood the words, but the tone of contempt was unmistakable. Nefret said, "One of your elegant friends probably threw up. You are quite right, though; the management should have left it. Wouldn't that have been nice for you?" Voice and stare sent the two "ladies" scuttling off. Nefret reached into her evening bag and took out a few coins. "Thank you, but I really cannot accept baksheesh," said a voice from around the level of her knees. The "scrubwoman" stood up and took her hand. "Let's get out of this, there will be more of them." Three other women entered the corridor. The scrubwoman dropped Nefret's hand and scuttled past them, head bowed. Nefret staggered after her . . . him. By the time she joined him, in a pillared niche nearby, he had removed the robe and veil and might have been an ordinary guest of the hotel, clad in well-cut evening clothes, wearing a look of bland superiority and displaying a set of large protruding teeth. It was his hands that gave him away; she'd observed them earlier, fumbling with the pitcher of water. "You were the waiter! Hell and damnation!" "Not the waiter, only his clumsy assistant. I've been working here for almost a week. I had expected you would come round before this. Do sit down, won't you?" Nefret sank onto the velvet-cushioned bench. "You left your bucket." "And there it will remain. Let's hope someone falls over it. I was forced to that role because it's so damned difficult to get you alone." "You couldn't have known we would come tonight." "You sent Margaret a message this morning; I thought it likely that when she didn't respond you would come looking for her." "How did you know?" Nefret gasped. "Oh, I've been on duty for hours. We oppressed members of the working class put in long days, but we are lazy beggars, who are unable to resist stopping to gossip. I saw her go off with Sayid and later I recognized your crewman, who obligingly told me to whom he had delivered the note. I had, of course, made my preparations in advance. It's quite easy to change roles, when you've had as much practice as I." He waggled his teeth at her. Amusement won out over outrage; she started to laugh. Sethos put his hand over her mouth. "No uncontrolled hilarity, if you please; it might attract attention. Listen carefully, Nefret. I want you and Ramses out of Luxor. Get him back to Cairo. You're the only one who can do it." "Why?" "God, you're as bad as Amelia. All I can-all I will-tell you is that he's in danger here." "From whom? Not you!" "Thank you for your skepticism. No, not me. Let me think how to put this. I discovered, when I tried to rebuild my old organization, that someone had got in ahead of me." "Someone like Riccetti?" "It's a lucrative business," Sethos said, somewhat evasively. "There are always enterprising souls ready to take advantage of a vacancy. How many bodies have to fall on you before you get the point?" Nefret said slowly, "You heard about what happened yesterday." "Everyone's heard about it. If you two go on prying you'll be hurt." Nefret put her hand on his sleeve. "What about you? Won't you please reconsider what you're doing? It's a dangerous game, and the other players are dangerous men. Surely you've enough put by to retire permanently." She spoke quickly and earnestly, trying to hold his eyes with hers, using the little tricks every woman knows to convince him of her sincerity and her interest. She thought his face softened for a moment, but then he laughed and said lightly, "Into the bosom of the family? I can't really see Radcliffe being pleased at the prospect. Besides, he'd want me to give up my ill-gotten gains." "So would Mother." "They couldn't make me do it, though," Sethos said, with a toothy smile. "Prettily done, Nefret. You're a charming creature, but don't waste your charm on me. I've a little present for you." He took it from his inside breast pocket-a bag of colorful cotton, clumsily stitched together, with a drawstring of thin cord. Even before she took it and felt the weight, she knew what it was. "I've heard he won't carry a gun," Sethos said. "I hope you don't share his sentiments." "I share them. But I'll do anything that will keep him safe." "Just like a woman. Your principles always yield to expediency. Do you know how to use it?" "Yes." "Good. I'm in dead earnest, Nefret. Get him