Part 53 (1/2)

”Never mind,” I said. ”He is not here. Where the devil has he got to now?”

There was a brief, uncomfortable silence. Glances were exchanged.

”Not to worry, ma'am,” Charles said. ”Abdullah has gone with him.”

I put my gla.s.s carefully down on the table before I spoke. ”Gone,” I said. ”Where?”

All eyes, including mine, were fixed on Charles. He was saved from his difficulty by the advent of Emerson himself. As usual, he left the door open. Glancing at me, he remarked, ”A hair of the dog, MISS Peabody?” before heading for the table and pouring a stiff whiskey and soda for himself.

Several replies came to my mind. Dismissing them all as unnecessarily provocative and unproductive of information, I said, ”What luck?”

Emerson turned, leaning against the table with his gla.s.s in his hand. His expression roused the direst of suspicions. I knew that look well- the brilliance of those sapphire-blue eyes, the tilt of his brows, the little quirk at the corner of his mouth. ”Smug” is perhaps the wrong word. It always suggests, at least to me, a certain primness which could never under any circ.u.mstances apply to Emerson. ”Self-satisfied”

is closer the mark.

”Luck?” he repeated. ”I suppose you would call it that,- I prefer to think of it as the result of experience and training. I have found another boundary stela. I thought there must be another one along the northern perimeter. It is in sad condition, so it behooves us to copy the inscription as soon as possible.”

Charles choked on his sherry. ”I beg your pardon,” he gasped, pressing a serviette to his lips.

”Quite all right,” said Emerson genially. ”Contain your delight, Charles, I promise you will be the first to have a go at it.”

”Thank you, sir,” said Charles.

”I cannot imagine what is wrong with me,” I exclaimed, pressing my hands to my throbbing head. ”Ordinarily I can follow Emerson's train of thought, even when it is incomprehensible to normal people, but I am at a loss to understand him now. He is up to something- but what?”

I was not talking to myself, but to Cyrus. He had insisted on taking me back to my room immediately after dinner. Since there were no other volunteers I accepted his offer, for I was not feeling quite up to par.

He did not reply at once, being preoccupied with the difficulty of opening the door while both hands were supporting me.

”Allow me,” I said, reaching for the k.n.o.b.

Cyrus's efficient steward had tidied the room and left a lamp burning. It was not until Cyrus was about to lower me onto the bed that I saw something that brought a cry to my lips. ”Curse it! Someone has been going through my papers!”

Cyrus gazed around the room. Being a man, he saw nothing out of place ”The steward . . .” he began.

”He would have no excuse for opening the box in which I keep letters and personal doc.u.ments. See, there is a corner of paper protruding; I hope you do not believe I would be so untidy! Hand me the box, will you please?”

It was a metal container of the sort solicitors employ, I had not locked it, since the only papers it presently contained were the letters I had received and my notes on ”The Tale of the Doomed Prince ” The rubbings I had made in the royal tomb and my excavation notes were in another portfolio.

Quickly I sifted through the pile of papers. ”There is no doubt about it,” I said grimly. ”He did not even bother to replace them in the same order. Either he is criminally inexperienced, or he did not care whether I detected his efforts.”

”Is anything missing?” Cyrus asked.

”Not from here. Er- Cyrus, would you mind turning your back for a moment?”

He gave me a hurt, quizzical look, but at once complied. The rustling of the bedclothes must have driven him wild with curiosity, his shoulders kept twitching. Like the gentleman he was, he remained motionless until I bade him turn around.

”Even more curious,” I said, frowning. ”Nothing at all is missing. One would have supposed . . .”

”That a trained thief would look first under the mattress?” Cyrus inquired, eyebrows raised. ”I won't ask what you've got there, Amelia, but you sure could find a better hiding place. Never mind, doesn't the fact that your treasure, whatever it is, has not been taken suggest that it was only a curious servant who searched your papers?”

”It suggests to me that the searcher's motive is even more sinister than I could suppose, since I am unable to determine what it is.”