Lord of the Silent: A Novel of Suspense (42 page)

the direst of suspicions. "You seem to have it all worked out anyhow. "I hadn't been in Luxor for two days when I began hearing rumors about a great discovery. One hears such things frequently, of course; usually the rumors are false. The rumors about the return of the Master were more serious, and when I recognized one of my former hirelings I decided I had better move cautiously in reestablishing contact with my old organization. As you know, I wasn't cautious enough." He paused to light a cigarette. "Continue, if you please," I said. "Do you really want to hear all these tedious details?" He blew out a cloud of smoke. "No," said Emerson. "I want to get back to the shrine." "I believe I can summarize the main points," I said. "You wondered why, if the impostor meant to take over the antiquities business, he hadn't stolen anything. We know the reason now, of course; the magnitude of the find was such that he did not want to attract the attention of the authorities until he had made arrangements to remove and dispose of the statue. Suspecting something of the sort, you decided to challenge him-a typically reckless and ill-considered move, I might add-by carrying out several daring thefts. Was destroying the German House another such challenge?" "In part. The locals avoided the place; they had been told it was haunted or cursed or something of the sort. That in itself suggested someone was using it, so I searched the place. He hadn't left anything incriminatory, not even a codebook, but the wireless was there. So I decided I might as well blow the bloody place up, cut his line of communication, and remove one of his hideaways. "At this point I still didn't know whether I was dealing with one man or two, but when I was notified of Asad's death I felt certain the two were one. As you yourself so cogently remarked, only a man who knew of Ramses's role last winter would have realized that Asad might constitute a danger to him. We will never know for certain unless Kuentz decides to confide in us, but I expect Kuentz ran across Asad on one of his trips to Kharga, and heard his heated remarks on the subject of British oppression and the martyrdom of his beloved leader; which gave Kuentz the bright idea of turning him loose and encouraging him to seek revenge on a traitor. It was not such a bad scheme. All it cost Kuentz was a few pounds and a little time, and if it had succeeded it would have put Ramses out of commission, and seriously distracted the rest of you. He wanted to keep you away from Luxor, for the reasons you have indicated. "What he failed to understand was that Asad's heart . . ." The corners of his mouth turned up in a particularly offensive smile. "His heart, shall we say, wasn't in it. Kuentz had arranged to meet Asad in Cairo, promising aid and comfort for the cause. When they met, Kuentz discovered that Asad had not only failed to kill or incapacitate Ramses, but that he was riddled with guilt and remorse. There was a reasonable chance he would go to his-er-friend and confess. So Kuentz killed him." "My reasoning exactly," I said. "Quite," said Sethos, nodding gravely in acknowledgment. "To sum it up, the Germans and Turks had planted a number of agents in various trouble spots, awaiting der Tag, and archaeology provides excellent cover. If my quarry was an Egyptologist who had come across a startling discovery in the course of his normal activities, a discovery rich enough to seduce him from his duty-well, that would account for what had happened." "Good enough," said Emerson, bounding to his feet. Ordinarily he enjoys participating in our little deductive sessions, but archaeological fever had overcome him. "So you will take steps to get Kuentz off our hands?" "I will wire Cairo today," was the reply. "Just write out the telegram," I said. "You use some sort of code, I suppose. I will send it when I go to Luxor this afternoon. I have a great deal of shopping to do before-" I have seldom heard such language, even from Emerson. Nor did Emerson object, as he usually did, to bad language from anyone except himself. I waited until Sethos had worn out his store of invective, and then said, "You aren't fit to go anywhere yet. Nefret, perhaps you had better take his temperature." Sethos gave his brother a look like that of a caged animal. Emerson shook his head. "It's no use," he said gruffly. "She always gets her way. Anyhow, you aren't-you ought not-er-we cannot allow you to-" "Disappear again into loneliness, danger, and despair," I said. "Not with Christmas only two days off." Sethos covered his face with his hands. "Get me pen and paper." FROM MANUSCRIPT H The tree was bright with candles and hung with the little ornaments which David had made all those years ago and which had become a treasured part of their holiday celebration. Leaning against her husband, Nefret was so tired she couldn't have moved if her life depended on it. Her mother-in-law had had them all working round the clock to get things ready, and when she wasn't after Nefret to help with wrapping gifts and hanging decorations, Emerson was demanding photographs, sketches, and plans. There was one moment Nefret would never forget, when she stood in the underground chamber with Selim and the cameras, and realized she was still clutching the wreath she had been making when Emerson dragged her away from the Castle. After they had finished taking photographs, she laid it at the feet of the god. It had been worth it. Sennia was beside herself, fluttering from person to person like a ruffled white butterfly, tearing the wrappings off her gifts, shrieking with pleasure. A letter from Rose had arrived that morning, with the news that Seshat had had her kittens-four of them, all healthy and handsome and brindled like their parents-and Sennia was still puzzling over how to allocate them. One for herself, of course (Nefret wondered how Horus would react to that!), and one for Ramses; but should the others go to Gargery, or "the Professor," or Daoud, or Mr. Amherst, who was clearly in need of appreciation and affection, or Bertie? Bertie sat by his mother, holding her hand-or perhaps she was holding his hand, to prevent him from joining Jumana, who was sitting next to Emerson, her foot on a hassock, fluttering her lashes and talking nonstop. Emerson listened with an indulgent smile, but his eyes, like Nefret's, wandered round the room, lingering longest on the face of his wife. Wearing a gown of her favorite crimson, she was bustling about, managing everything and everyone-persuading Gargery to rewrap his replica of Abu Simbel, which had an unforeseen tendency to shed sand all over the carpet, pausing for a moment to chat with Amherst and give him an encouraging pat on the back, helping Fatima pick up the ribbons and paper Sennia had scattered. She looked very handsome, her cheeks flushed and her hair twisted into a coil atop her head. (Nefret had certain suspicions about the unrelieved black of that handsome head of hair, but she would never have expressed them.) All the Egyptologists Cyrus could collect were there, as well as several friends from Luxor. Marjorie Fisher and Cathy Flynn had not brought their cats, who were usually honored visitors; Horus was roaming free, at Sennia's insistence, and since he regarded all male felines as potential rivals and all females as potential prey Coco and Bes had been forced to miss the festivities. "The family" had sent their representatives-Daoud and Selim, Fatima and Kadija and Basima, graciously sharing in a festival that was not their own-though Daoud had remarked, in that innocently shrewd way of his, "The Lord Issa is one of the great prophets. Why should we not honor his birth?" The occasion was certainly ecumenical. In the center of the room, on a plinth, sat Amon-Re, candlelight streaking his face and crown with gold. Emerson had been unwilling to leave him unguarded any longer and clearing the shrine had proved to be a disappointingly simple business. There had been nothing in the chamber but the god and his offering vessels-no papyri, no final plea scratched on an ostracon or on the walls. Perhaps it had not been necessary. He heard the prayers of the silent, and no one deserved his mercy more than the devoted priests who had saved him from the invaders. Remembering her mother-in-law's account of Abdullah's enigmatic words, Nefret shivered a little. He had spoken of Amon ... I mustn't be superstitious and sentimental, she told herself firmly. One look at Sethos was enough to dispel such fancies. She could not exactly call him a skeleton at the feast, but he bore no perceptible resemblance to Father Christmas, even with the beard he had insisted upon wearing. Bolt upright, in a particularly uncomfortable armchair, he watched the proceedings with a singular absence of expression. He did not look at Margaret, or she at him, though she was seated not far away. Catching Nefret's wandering eye, his lips curled in acknowledgment of the absurdity of his presence: the prodigal son, the black sheep. Not even her formidable mother-in-law, she thought, could bring that sheep back into the fold. "What will happen to those two?" she asked. "What two?" Ramses had been watching Sennia, when he wasn't looking at her. "Oh. The mind boggles. Aunt Margaret? God save us! He does care for her, though. If you had seen his face the other day-" "I knew before that," Nefret said smugly. "Because he behaved so abominably to her?" "He was falling in love with her and he didn't want to," Nefret explained. "Women are such nuisances, aren't they? Always hanging about demanding attention and complaining, and getting themselves captured." " 'White hands cling to the tightened rein,'" her husband agreed solemnly." 'Slipping the spur from the booted heel-'" "Poetry!" Nefret said scornfully. She pulled his head down and kissed him. He responded without self-consciousness or restraint, and when they broke apart and saw that his mother was-of course!-watching them with an approving smile, he grinned at her and held Nefret closer. "Kipling had never met you or Mother," he remarked, raising her hand to his face. "He wouldn't have written such rubbish if he had." "She's gesturing at us," Nefret said, as his lips explored her palm and fingers. "I think she wants us to sing carols. Couldn't we slip away?" "Away from Mother, when she's in a sentimental mood? Not bloody likely. Contain yourself a little longer, you shameless woman." "I am entirely without shame," Nefret murmured. "But I don't think I can control myself if she tries to make the Master Criminal join in a rousing chorus of 'Deck the Halls'! Surely not even she would expect ..." She did expect it, and he was too cowed to protest. Or perhaps, Nefret thought, there was another reason. She was surprised to find that he knew all the words. Sethos was gone next morning, and so was Margaret. Despite Emerson's indignant complaints, Nefret suspected he had collaborated in his brother's disappearance. It would have been difficult for the pair to get away without help from someone. The beard and Ramses's best suit were missing too. The only thing they found in Sethos's room was a small parcel, addressed to Nefret. It contained a bracelet of linked carnelian plaques, exquisitely carved with the figures of a king and queen enthroned. "Amenhotep the Third and Queen Tiy," Ramses said, breathing hard. "He lied about that, too! He did find her jewelry." "Good of him to share," his mother said coolly. He had left nothing for her.

"What do you suppose he's done with the rest of the jewelry?" Emerson asked. We were in our room, collecting the articles we would need that day. I buckled my belt of tools round my waist. "He will sell them to a wealthy collector-he has built up quite a clientele, I imagine-or a well-funded museum. Some of those institutions have no scruples about purchasing stolen artifacts." "Hmph," Emerson agreed. He gave me a sidelong look. "I was somewhat surprised that he-er-neglected to give you anything." "It was a typically oblique and a typically graceful gesture, my dear. An acknowledgment of his altered feelings for me-and you- and his commitment to another lady." "Hmmm," said Emerson. "You really think she-" "Temporary commitment, perhaps I should say. How long the- er-arrangement will last one cannot predict, but she is a very determined woman and he is no longer an impetuous youth. It is time he settled down." "I doubt he would agree, Peabody. Confound it, he as good as admitted he has not abandoned the antiquities game. Are we to be on opposite sides again?" "He did add a certain spice to our lives, Emerson, admit it." Emerson passed his hand over his mouth. "I will admit he was the only adversary worthy of our steel." "You have forgiven him, then?" "Oh, bah, forgive . . ." Emerson no longer attempted to conceal his smile. "I suppose I can hardly blame him for having the good taste to admire you. And he hasn't tried to murder me for years! I wish he would turn to a line of work that doesn't interfere with mine, but I can even put up with that, unless . . ." "Unless what, Emerson?" "Unless he has the damned audacity to die again!"

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