Part 3 (1/2)
”A man of his general description took the morning express to Cairo. It isn't conclusive,” Ramses added quickly. ”You know how obliging Egyptians are about supplying the information they think you want to hear. None of them remembered the portmanteau or that gaudy stickpin he usually wears.”
A dismal silence fell. ”It looks bad,” Cyrus muttered. ”Now what do we do?”
Everyone looked at me. It was most gratifying. ”Have luncheon,” I said, and led the party into the dining salon.
We were well known to the management of that excellent hostelry and had no difficulty in getting a table. Over a bottle of wine and a meal Cyrus hardly touched, we put our heads together. Cyrus's first idea, that we should wire the Cairo police immediately, seemed the obvious course; but I felt bound to point out its weakness.
”If Martinelli has learned anything from his former master, who was, as we all know, a master of disguise-”
”Yes, we do know,” grunted Emerson. ”Pray do not go off on a long-winded and wholly unnecessary lecture, Peabody. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d may have altered his appearance, but we must at least make the attempt.” He bit savagely into a roll.
I took advantage of his tirade to finish my soup. I always say there is no sense in allowing worry to affect one's appet.i.te.
”I agree,” said Ramses. ”We are fortunate in being well acquainted with the a.s.sistant commandant of the police. Russell will act on our request without the necessity for explanations.”
”What if he finds the jewelry?” Cyrus demanded.
”Then we will have it back,” I replied. ”No, Emerson, do not you go off on a long-winded and wholly unnecessary lecture. Russell owes us a great deal-at least he owes Ramses a great deal, for his services to the police and the military during the war-and we may be able to get out of this without Sethos's name being mentioned. That is supposing Russell is able to apprehend Martinelli, which I consider to be unlikely.”
Emerson had wolfed his food down at a great rate. Now he pushed his plate away and rose. ”I will go to the telegraph office.”
”How many telegrams do you mean to send?” I inquired.
He stood looking down at me. ”Two. Perhaps three.”
I sighed. ”I suppose we must. Do you have the addresses?”
Emerson nodded brusquely and turned away.
”Hmm.” Cyrus stroked his goatee. ”Who're the other telegrams going to?”
”You can probably guess,” Nefret said.
”Reckon I can. Shall we retire to the terrace for coffee and some confidential conversation?”
It was a bright, warm day. The twin terraces of the Winter Palace, reached by a pair of handsome curved stairs, were high enough above the road so that the clouds of dust kicked up by feet and hooves did not reach us, and the noonday sun sparkled on the river. Tourists were returning from their morning trips. Cyrus took out his cheroot case, and after asking our permission, lighted one. Wine and tobacco had calmed him, and his habitual keen intelligence was once again in the fore. In a way I was sorry for that. For years we had put Cyrus off about certain matters, some personal, some professional. Our responsibility for his present dilemma made it impossible, in my opinion, to keep the truth from him. Anyhow, we would have enough trouble keeping track of the lies we would have to invent for Russell and/or Lacau.
”So you've kept in touch with your old pal the Master Criminal?” Cyrus inquired. ”You even know his current address. Where the devil is he?”
”I'm not sure where he is at this moment,” I admitted. ”He has a house in Cornwall and a flat in London, but he travels a great deal.”
”I'll just bet he does,” Cyrus said. ”All right so far, Amelia. Now-who the devil is he?”
I looked at my children, who were seated side by side, their fingers entwined. Ramses's eyebrows tilted up in amused inquiry. ”Are you asking for our advice, Mother? A penny for our thoughts?”
”I'll give you mine for nothing,” Nefret declared. ”We can trust Cyrus completely, and I for one am tired of secrets. I move we tell him everything.”
”Quickly, before Father comes back,” Ramses added.
Since I was of the same mind, I did so. Cyrus was only too familiar with Sethos's former criminal activities, since he had been involved in several of our encounters with our old adversary. He had not heard of Sethos's courageous and dangerous exploits as a British secret agent, but-he claimed-it came as no surprise to him. I explained that I could not go into detail, since Sethos's activities, and those of Ramses, were covered by the Official Secrets Act.
”That's all right,” Cyrus said. ”I don't need to know the details, I saw some of the results. Back in 1915, when Ramses ended up in bed for a week, just after the first Turkish attack on the Ca.n.a.l had failed, I began to wonder how he got those particular injuries. Not from falling off a cliff, not him! David was hurt even worse; he was in on it too, wasn't he? I kept my mouth shut, since it wasn't any of my business. Then there was that interesting episode the following year, when Sethos suddenly turned up out of nowhere and helped catch a German spy. But even if he and Ramses were in cahoots in that job, it doesn't explain why you are so intimate with the fellow now.”
”No,” I admitted.
”There's Father,” said Ramses, who had been watching for him. ”Get it out, Mother.”
I didn't want Emerson sputtering and arguing either, so I said in a rush, ”Sethos is Emerson's half-brother. Illegitimate, I regret to say, but no less kin and in recent years no less kind. Hmmm. That doesn't sound quite right . . .”
”I get the idea,” Cyrus said in a strangled voice. ”Holy Jehoshaphat, Amelia! I won't say I didn't suspect there was some relations.h.i.+p, but-”
”I will of course inform Emerson that you have been made aware of the situation,” I said hastily, for Emerson was mounting the stairs two at a time. ”But he is easier to deal with if he is presented with a fait accompli. Otherwise he wastes time arguing and going into long-winded-”
”Mother!” Ramses said loudly.
”Quite. Not a word to anyone else, Cyrus. Except to Katherine, of course. I trust her discretion as I trust yours.”
”Never,” Cyrus a.s.sured me.
Bertie had said very little. He seldom got a chance to say anything, for he was too well-bred to interrupt and too modest to differ with the admittedly dogmatic statements to which the rest of us are somewhat p.r.o.ne. His ingenuous countenance was a study in astonishment, but he found voice enough to express his sentiments.
”I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your confidence, ma'am.”
”You have earned it, Bertie,” I said warmly. ”And I know I can depend on you to keep the information strictly to yourself.”
”Of course. You have my word.”
”Word about what?” Emerson demanded, looming over me.
”Never mind, my dear,” I replied. ”Do you want coffee?”
”No. We had better be getting back. There is nothing more we can do until we receive answers to our messages. I have work to do.”
”Your article? Quite right, Emerson.”
Emerson rubbed the attractive dimple (or cleft, as he prefers to call it) in his chin. ”Oh. That article. There's no hurry, Peabody. I thought I might go to the site this afternoon for a few minutes. Nefret, the light will be perfect for photographs.”
”I'm sorry, Father.” Nefret's smile was warm, but she spoke firmly. ”I promised the twins I would take them to visit Selim this afternoon, to play with his children. I can't disappoint them.”
”Oh. No, you mustn't disappoint them. Ramses-”
”Emerson, you know their visit to Selim is a Friday-afternoon custom,” I said. ”Ramses looks forward to his time with Selim and with the children. In any case, you must finish that article before we leave for Cairo to meet the family. You don't want it hanging over your head once they are here.”
”When are you leaving?” Cyrus asked.
”We are taking the train Sunday evening.” I gathered my belongings-handbag, gloves, parasol-and rose. ”By that time we ought to have heard from Mr. Russell, and possibly from . . . someone else. One way or another, whatever the results of our initial inquiries, we will continue to pursue them in Cairo.”
I took Emerson's arm and we started down the curving staircase. ”Quite a crowd in Luxor this season,” I remarked. ”It is nice to see things getting back to normal. Oh-there is Marjorie. Stop a minute, Emerson, she is waving at us.”