The Serpent on the Crown, page 29
‘It was your fault I didn’t fall flat on the road under the motorcar.’
He got to his feet. The onlookers who had gathered to offer assistance and advice dispersed. It was a common enough occurrence, and one that often ended more dramatically.
‘Somebody shoved me,’ Ramses said.
‘I thought so. You aren’t that clumsy. You didn’t see who it was?’
‘I was too busy trying to stay on my feet. And you –’
‘I was too busy trying to keep you from falling forward.’
‘People were jostling one another. It might have been an accident.’ Ramses brushed grit and scraps of cabbage leaves off his palms. He had landed on hands and knees after David swung him back on to the pavement.
‘Another accident?’ David raised his eyebrows. ‘It looks as if you were right about Adrian Petherick and I was wrong. We know he’s in Cairo –’
‘We don’t, not for certain.’
‘How many people are there in the city who have it in for you?’
‘Quite a few, I should think.’
‘You did cut rather a wide swathe during the War,’ David admitted.
‘So did you.’
‘That was a long time ago. Most of them have got over their grudges by now. No, my brother, it looks more and more like Adrian.’
Ramses’ dishevelled appearance raised a few eyebrows as they crossed Shepheard’s terrace, and one stylishly dressed woman was heard to say, ‘I’m surprised they allow riffraff like that in the hotel. And isn’t the other man . . .’
When they asked for their keys, the clerk handed them several messages. Ramses looked through them as the lift took them up to the second floor.
‘Fancy that,’ he said. ‘This is from M. Lacau, summoning us rather peremptorily to his office tomorrow morning. I hope he hasn’t changed his mind about allowing Father in the Valley.’
‘The Professor will ignore him anyhow,’ David said with a grin. ‘Who’s that one from?’
‘Sylvia. The woman couldn’t take a hint if you hit her over the head with it. And this one is from Annabelle, Sylvia’s chief rival in the gossip game.’
He crumpled the letters and shoved them in his pocket. ‘One of your former lady friends, wasn’t she?’ David asked.
‘Good God, no. I spent hours hiding behind various objects in order to avoid her.’
The suffragi on duty in the corridor hissed in surprise at the sight of Ramses. ‘What happened to you, Brother of Demons?’
‘I fell.’ Ramses inserted his key in the door. ‘Was anyone looking for me while I was out, Ahmed?’
‘No, Brother of Demons. Shall I take your clothes to be cleaned and mended?’
A look in the shaving mirror told Ramses the man’s concern and the criticism of the people on the terrace had been justified. There was a rip at the shoulder of his coat, where the sleeve had been pulled loose by David’s desperate grip, and since he had been in too much of a hurry to shave that morning, his beard darkened his cheeks. He took the letters from his pocket and realized there was one he hadn’t read.
‘Carter,’ he said, after perusing it. ‘You were right. Our presence is known. Here, hand these clothes out the door to Ahmed, will you?’
A quick bath and a shave and the only other suit he had brought with him restored him to respectability. When David was ready they walked down the stairs, between the statues of the voluptuous Nubian maidens that were among the famed sights of Shepheard’s. The maidens had been photographed, fondled, and even carried off by visitors.
‘What did Carter have to say?’ David asked.
‘Wants to see us. Anytime. Didn’t say why.’
‘He must want to see you very badly,’ David said. Sitting in the lobby, a cigarette in his mouth and his nose in a book, was Howard Carter.
‘They told me you’d come in a short time ago,’ he explained, after shaking hands with both of them. ‘I didn’t want to intrude.’
Ramses had known Carter since his early days, when he was working as an artist and draftsman, and later, when he was appointed inspector for Upper Egypt, and later than that, after he had lost the post and had been reduced to dealing in antiquities and selling his paintings to tourists. Now that Lord Carnarvon was his patron, he looked more prosperous. His face was fuller and his moustache less exuberant. There were new lines around his mouth, though. Carnarvon was said to be a generous employer and amiable man, but having one’s livelihood depend on the whim of a dilettante must not be conducive to peace of mind. Carter had no private means and not much formal education. Many of his peers considered him brash and ill-mannered. Emerson despised him for continuing to deal in antiquities, but Ramses couldn’t blame the man for hanging on to a sure source of income.
‘We’re on our way to the Khan and Bassam’s,’ he explained. ‘Care to join us?’
‘ ’Fraid I can’t this evening. I have an engagement with Lord and Lady Dinwhistle. I’ve time for a drink or two, if that would suit you.’
They made their way to the Long Bar. Since the War the rules about admitting women had been relaxed – Nefret had been one of the first to ignore them – and the tables were all taken. They found a relatively quiet corner where they could stand and talk. Ramses waited for Carter to start the conversation. He thought he knew where it would end.
‘We’ve been hearing some tall tales about you people,’ Carter began. ‘Murder, robbery, assault –’
‘Same old thing,’ David said.
Carter gave a bark of laughter. ‘Quite. Quite. Any discoveries in KV55?’
‘Not so far. We didn’t expect anything, really. It was good of you to allow us to excavate the place.’
Carter inserted a cigarette into an ornate holder. ‘I couldn’t refuse Professor Emerson such a small favour, I owe him too much. Good to me – very – your parents – in past years. Not that I was really worried about illegal excavations in the Valley,’ he added.
In other words, Ramses thought to himself, your father can get away with more than most people, so long as he doesn’t push me too far. The young man who had been so humbly grateful for encouragement and support from those he considered his social superiors had gained confidence.
And he was after something – a return favour. It didn’t take him long to get round to it.
‘So what about the famous statue?’ he asked. ‘The Professor wired me asking if I knew anything about it. Had to tell him I didn’t.’
‘And you would have known if it had been on the market before last year?’ Ramses kept his voice neutral. He wasn’t criticizing, he was only asking for information.
‘Obviously I didn’t,’ Carter said somewhat defensively. ‘I – er – assist many of the major museums, you know, in addition to private collectors like Lord Carnarvon. If I’d known of anything so remarkable I’d have – er – entered into negotiations.’
‘Such negotiations are often conducted in secret, though,’ Ramses said.
‘That’s the devil of it,’ Carter said, finishing his whisky and beckoning the waiter. ‘I believe I may claim I am noted for my discretion, but’ – another bark of laughter – ‘so are some of my competitors. Describe it for me, will you? The newspaper accounts can’t be trusted.’
Ramses glanced at David, who shrugged. There was no reason why they shouldn’t be candid with Carter, since so many other people had seen the object. He described the statuette in detail and watched Carter’s eyes take on a hard glitter.
‘It’s absolutely unique,’ Ramses finished. ‘And in superb condition.’
‘I suppose you’ve already had offers for it,’ Carter said, trying to sound casual. ‘I know Cyrus Vandergelt is a friend of yours.’
‘It isn’t ours to dispose of,’ Ramses said.
‘I thought Mrs Petherick had –’
‘Given it to Father? He wouldn’t accept a gift so valuable, even if he had the right to do so. We don’t know who the legal owner is, now that Mrs Petherick is dead.’
‘I see. You’re sure . . . But you couldn’t be mistaken about its authenticity. You’d be willing to testify to that?’
‘Father would probably give his expert opinion if he were asked.’
‘I see,’ Carter repeated. ‘Well, I must go now. Don’t want to keep his lordship waiting. I expect I’ll be seeing you all shortly – and the statue.’
‘When are you coming to Luxor?’ David asked.
‘Oh . . .’ Carter gestured with his cigarette holder. ‘Shortly. Another week or so, I expect. Give my regards to the family.’
‘He’ll be busy for another week “negotiating” with dealers,’ David said, after Carter had gone. ‘Would you care to wager a small sum that Lord Dinwhistle is not in the market for unique antiquities?’
‘Not twopence. One can’t blame Carter.’
‘You never blame anyone for anything short of mayhem. I wonder if the Professor realizes that he got permission to work in the Valley because Carter thinks it will soften him up. He wants the statuette for Carnarvon.’
Ramses called the waiter and paid for their whiskys. ‘Father is even more duplicitous than Carter. He’ll take full advantage and admit no obligation.’
The sun was setting in a dusty haze. Across the way the lights of the Ezbekieh twinkled in the twilight.
‘Why don’t we dine here, or at the Savoy?’ David suggested.
‘Because the food isn’t as good as Bassam’s, and I am not going to behave like a timid tourist. No,’ he said, as David raised his hand to hail a cab. ‘We’ll walk.’
‘Down the dark streets and narrow alleyways. You’re hoping he’ll try again, aren’t you?’
‘If he does, we’ll be ready for him. We haven’t had much luck tracing him.’
It wasn’t the first time they had strolled the byways of the old city keeping a wary eye out for attack. The ambience was certainly conducive to justifiable paranoia. There were few lights and the balconies of the tall houses overhung the streets, casting shadows even in the daytime.
‘Ah, the fond memories,’ David said, as they crossed a small plaza with a central fountain. ‘Isn’t this where you ended up after you escaped from the lady dressed like Hathor?’
‘No, that’s farther on. This is where Mother whacked Selim over the head when she mistook him for a spy.’
Bassam had heard they were in Cairo and was expecting them. ‘But where else would you dine?’ he demanded. ‘I have prepared for you bamiyeh and lamb cooked with spices and fresh cucumbers and tomatoes in oil.’
‘So I see,’ said David, glancing at Bassam’s apron. Bassam had grown stout on his own cooking, but he was still capable of throwing a rowdy patron out the door.
He joined them for coffee and asked what brought them to Cairo. ‘Has the black afrit come here?’
‘You know about that, do you?’ Ramses said.
‘Yes, to be sure. It seems,’ said Bassam, ‘that the Father of Curses did not cast it off after all.’
Emerson’s reputation was obviously in jeopardy. Suppressing a smile, Ramses said, ‘That was only a – er – preliminary attempt. Sometimes, with a spirit so powerful, even the Father of Curses has to try more than once.’
‘Hmmm.’ Bassam scratched his beard. ‘That is so. He will perform another ceremony, then.’
Ramses let that statement stand. He didn’t bother to ask about the Pethericks; this was not the sort of place they would visit. The talk soon turned to politics. Bassam knew they were in sympathy with the cause of independence, so he spoke freely and passionately. His comments gave Ramses a new insight into the situation. If Bassam, a peaceable man and a successful merchant, felt so strongly about the subject, the mobs of Cairo could easily be incited to violence. There would be unrest in Egypt for years to come.
By the time they left the restaurant, the street outside was deserted except for a slow-moving donkey and its rider. Ramses stopped long enough to inform the fellow, in his most courtly Arabic, that beating a tired beast violated the laws of the Prophet and that he was about to discover whether beating a driver made him move faster.
‘I did not see you, Brother of Demons,’ the driver faltered. ‘I hear and obey.’
Beyond the lights from the restaurant the familiar street, hardly wider than a path, was dark as pitch. David fell back a step or two.
The attack did not come from behind. Ramses was the first to hear the sound – not the regular pad of bare feet, but a faint, surreptitious rustle as of cloth rubbing against a harder surface. He broke into a run. The shot whistled past his side and David cried out. Cursing, Ramses whirled round, ran full tilt into David, and caught hold of his sagging body.
‘Where are you hit?’
‘Not hit. My damned leg gave way when I started to run. Don’t worry about me, go after him. Be careful!’
Ramses followed his advice, staying close to the walls on his right. The pursuit was almost certainly futile. He had caught a glimpse of a dark figure disappearing around a sharp curve in the street before he turned back. No hero, that one. Ramses’ rapid advance had caught him by surprise and spoiled his aim.
And if he hadn’t run away he might have picked both of them off with a second and third shot.
He could hear David hobbling behind him and quickened his pace. Rounding the curve, he saw ahead the lights of the Place de Bab el-Louk. The plaza was deserted except for two cabs hoping for passengers. No fleeing fugitive, no lurking shadows.
He waited for David to catch him up, keeping an eye on the arcade across the plaza for signs of movement.
‘No sign of him,’ he said. He did not inquire about David’s leg. The grisly wound David had received during the War would slow him for the rest of his life, but he didn’t acknowledge weakness or appreciate solicitude.
‘He’s not very gung ho,’ David said. ‘If he’d gone on shooting he stood a good chance of hitting one of us.’
‘Well, I was coming at him at a good pace,’ Ramses said fairly. ‘If he had waited to fire again, and missed again, I might have caught him.’
‘Did you get a look at him?’
‘I’ll give you three guesses what I saw.’
‘A shadowy figure robed in black,’ David recited in a singsong voice. ‘That disguise is rather wasted on us.’
‘But it’s totally concealing and easily obtained. Almost half the women in this country still wear the tob or the habara.’
One of the cabdrivers looked hopefully in their direction. Ramses waved him to them and looked the other way while David climbed in. The carriage was an open victoria and the horse was setting a good pace. Ramses leaned back with a sigh.
‘Another missed opportunity.’
‘We learned one thing,’ David said. ‘He has a gun.’
‘Must you always look on the bright side? I took Adrian’s away from him, you know.’
‘He could easily get another. If one looks respectable and has the money, shopkeepers don’t ask for identification. Not even a visiting card.’
‘Visiting card . . . Oh, good God!’ He smacked his forehead with the flat of his hand.
‘Don’t hit yourself on the head, it damages the brain.’ David recited one of his mother’s admonitions.
‘I’ve done it too often, I guess. Why didn’t I think of that before?’
‘Think of what?’ David asked patiently. The cab circled the Ezbekieh and pulled up in front of Shepheard’s. It was still early; the terrace was filled, and flower- and souvenir-sellers milled around at the foot of the stairs, vying with one another to see who could yell loudest.
‘They wouldn’t have to register under their own names,’ Ramses said. ‘They wouldn’t need passports, not the lordly English.’
David was silent for a moment while this sank in. ‘Oh, hell. Does that mean we have to start all over again? You don’t know what they look like or what name they might have used.’
‘I think I do, though.’ Ramses tossed the driver a coin and jumped out of the cab. David was slow to follow. He was still favouring his bad leg. Ramses said, ‘We’ll wait till morning. I’m too tired to go on tonight.’
Sethos went across to Luxor with us and then announced his intention of returning to the railway station instead of accompanying us to the zabtiyeh.
‘There’s been only one train since midday and it’s a local, with no first-class carriages,’ he explained. ‘He’d have stood out like a sore thumb if he had caught that one. I’ll wait for the evening trains.’
‘You’ll miss dinner,’ I said.
Sethos made a face. ‘I’ll have time for a bite at the Station Hotel. A single bite is about all I’ll be able to stomach, but my beloved Fatima will leave something in the larder for me. Good luck.’
Inspector Ayyid was not at the zabtiyeh. He had gone home for dinner, his assistant informed us. Goodness knows he had every right to do so, but I shared Emerson’s sense of urgency, which led him to swear and ask for Ayyid’s address.
Torn between his orders from his superior and the looming presence of Emerson, the assistant did not hesitate long. ‘I am not supposed to do that, Father of Curses, but I know he will not object if it is you who ask.’
The inspector had a flat in a new group of buildings behind Luxor Temple. The door was answered by an elderly lady wearing black, who screeched and retreated at the sight of Emerson.
‘What did I do?’ Emerson demanded in a hurt voice. ‘I was just about to address her respectfully.’
‘Your mere presence is enough to frighten the timid, my dear,’ I replied. ‘Ah, Inspector Ayyid. Our profound apologies for disturbing you and the lady . . . your mother? Yes. I assure you we would not have intruded had not the matter been urgent. Please go on with your dinner.’
‘I was not eating,’ said Ayyid, as courtesy demanded. ‘Come in.’
The small sitting room was neat enough to meet even Fatima’s standards, and comfortably furnished with a mixture of European and Egyptian furniture. At Ayyid’s insistence we seated ourselves in a pair of matching armchairs upholstered in purple plush and accepted his offer of tea. It would have been rude not to do so – even ruder than our uninvited visit. Ayyid’s mother had got over the first shock of Emerson and kept peeping round the door at him.
