The Serpent on the Crown, page 34
‘Murder takes precedence over excavation,’ I said. ‘You needn’t pretend, Emerson, I know you too well. Your strong sense of duty demanded that you avenge Mrs Petherick and now you have done so.’
‘Hmph,’ said Emerson, and urged his horse ahead.
When we unwrapped the statuette we found that a few more bits of the inlaid collar had fallen out. Thanks to our care, they had been preserved and could be replaced.
‘It’s a pity about the uraeus serpent,’ Cyrus said.
Daoud rumbled in agreement. ‘We should try to find it,’ he declared.
‘I’m afraid that’s a lost cause, Daoud,’ Ramses said. ‘We can’t sift every tomb in Egypt.’
With the statuette as a centrepiece, we sat down to a sumptuous meal, served by Cyrus’ aging but devoted majordomo, Albert. At Cyrus’ direction he opened several bottles of champagne, and we toasted our success and, as Cyrus put it, the triumphant conclusion of another investigation.
‘I don’t know how you do it, Amelia,’ he declared.
‘She had Daffinger’s confession,’ said Emerson.
‘It sounds to me,’ said Ramses, toying with his glass, ‘as if he confessed to everything except sinking the Titanic. Mother, are you sure you didn’t – I don’t quite know how to say this –’
‘Put words in the mouth of a dying man?’ I finished the sentence with perfect good humour.
‘Unconsciously, of course,’ Ramses said quickly.
Emerson twitched. He had become somewhat sensitive to any mention of the unconscious.
‘He was not as coherent as my account suggested,’ I admitted. ‘Especially towards the end. However, I already had reason to suspect him.’
I took a folded paper from my pocket. Emerson groaned, Cyrus chuckled, Sethos grinned broadly, and Daoud put his fork down, prepared to give me his full attention.
‘Another of your little lists?’ Sethos inquired.
‘Clues,’ I said. ‘There are three of them. The Clue of the White Petals, the Clue of Generosity, and the Clue of Excessive Erudition.’
‘I get the first one,’ Cyrus said eagerly. ‘The flower petals meant that she was killed by someone who knew her well – who cared for her, even.’
I nodded approvingly.
‘Generosity,’ Ramses said thoughtfully. ‘I presume that refers to Mrs Petherick’s handing the statue over to us.’
‘Precisely,’ I said. ‘We assumed her motive was to involve us in the publicity she was courting, but she could accomplish that without actually giving it into our hands. I asked myself whether her real motive was fear. A potential thief would transfer his attentions to us and leave her alone.’
‘I say,’ Bertie exclaimed. ‘This is as good as a Sherlock Holmes story. But so far all you’ve proved is that she was afraid of someone. What about the third clue?’
‘That one pointed directly to Lidman-Daffinger,’ I said. ‘Aside from the coincidence of his turning up when he did, his familiarity with Egyptology was of a highly suspect nature. He knew a great deal about matters that could have been learned from others – in person or from books – but he always found an excuse to avoid actual field excavation.’
‘Whenever anyone asked him a question he couldn’t answer, he started lecturing,’ Ramses said in some chagrin. ‘I ought to have spotted that.’
‘It was far from conclusive,’ I said. ‘There were other suspicious circumstances, though. His illness was feigned; Nefret was unable to find anything seriously wrong with him. It accomplished two purposes: getting him out of a job he couldn’t do, and admitting him to this house. He was in a perfect position to feed the dog a sleeping potion and make another attempt at searching for the statue.’
‘It seems so obvious now,’ Bertie said ingenuously.
It always does, afterwards. I caught Ramses’ sceptical eye and smiled pleasantly at him. ‘We had better be getting home. Poor Mr Anderson must be in quite a state by now.’
‘Poor Mr Anderson, bah,’ said Emerson.
Hassan had taken his instructions seriously. Mr Anderson was seated on a very hard chair, his eyes fixed on Hassan, who stood over him fingering his knife.
‘Please,’ Anderson gurgled. ‘Tell this man to back off. He threatened me!’
‘Well done, Hassan,’ said Emerson. ‘You can go now.’
Hassan did so, and Anderson let out a long breath of relief. He took off his hat, not so much as a token of courtesy but in order to push his damp hair back from his face. ‘That was intimidation,’ he declared. ‘I could sue.’
‘O’Connell would be proud of you,’ Emerson said, taking a comfortable chair. ‘You are as resilient as he. But he ought to have mentioned that threats get you nowhere with us. You’re damned lucky to get away without a sound thrashing.’
‘All I wanted –’
‘Yes, yes. An exclusive story. Well, you’ve got it. I’m sure you can make a lurid tale of this morning’s events even without photographs.’
‘Would you care for something to drink, Mr Anderson?’ I asked. ‘You look very warm.’
Anderson’s wary eyes moved from Emerson to me and back to Emerson. ‘What do I have to do?’
‘Say “please,” Mr Anderson.’
Fatima was peeping out the door. At my gesture, she came out with a pitcher of lemonade and we each had a glass. Mr Anderson had two.
‘Now,’ I said, taking a paper from my pocket, ‘a few questions before you go.’
This time my little list consisted of what I had labelled ‘Untoward Events.’ ‘We have accounted for all but a few,’ I explained. ‘I want to know which you are responsible for. The first attempt to break into the house?’
‘I did that,’ Anderson admitted. ‘But I only wanted –’
‘Blowing up the guardhouse?’
‘No! No, I never did that.’
‘Luring Ramses out into the hills and attacking him?’
‘What?’ His consternation appeared to be genuine. ‘I never attacked anybody, Mrs Emerson. That’s the God’s truth!’
‘He’s too much of a coward,’ Emerson declared. ‘Like his mentor.’
I went through the list, item by item, and then I said, ‘Very well, Mr Anderson, I am satisfied. For the moment.’
‘Then I can go?’ He put down his empty glass and jumped up.
‘One little reminder,’ said Emerson, grinning broadly. ‘You have confessed, before witnesses, to breaking and entering.’ Anderson’s lips parted, and Emerson amended his accusation. ‘Entering, then. I could have you arrested for that, and I will if you cause us any more trouble.’
Anderson was so glad to get away he didn’t even ask for the loan of a horse. As he ran down the road towards the landing I called, ‘Give my regards to Kevin, Mr Anderson.’
‘That takes care of that,’ Emerson declared, rubbing his hands together. ‘Now we can get back to work.’
‘I like the way you coolly dismiss murder, theft and violent assaults,’ Nefret said, perching on the arm of his chair and patting his hand. ‘Where do we go first, Father?’
‘I have it all worked out,’ Emerson said. ‘Deir el Medina tomorrow. I want to see what Selim has been up to.’
‘Then we finish with KV55?’ David asked.
‘Er – hmm.’ Emerson looked shifty. ‘Not yet. No, not yet. We will put in a few days at Deir el Medina. I think it’s time we closed down the dig there, as soon as I’ve made certain everything is in order for the French. Isn’t tea ready? Where are the children?’
I had been going through the post basket. I looked up from the letter I was reading. ‘Dear me, M. Lacau sounds somewhat put out with you, Ramses. Did you break an appointment with him while you were in Cairo?’
‘There was no appointment, only a somewhat brusque summons,’ Ramses said. ‘I had more urgent matters on my mind.’
‘I will just drop him a little note explaining the situation,’ I offered.
‘The devil with Lacau,’ Emerson said. ‘Who does he think he is, ordering us about?’
‘The director of the Antiquities Service, that is who,’ I reminded my husband. ‘There are a few other loose ends to be tied up as well. We have the statue back and we know who the legal owner is, but we must inform the authorities about what we have discovered. I doubt they are aware of Mrs – of Magda’s first marriage. I must also get off a telegram to Harriet, giving her the good news. She will be glad of the money; the small inheritance she received from her mother was expended on her trip to Egypt, and Adrian’s care will probably be expensive. And Inspector Ayyid must be told that we know the identity of the murderer.’
‘I thought you did that this morning,’ Emerson said.
‘I dropped a few little hints, but we must make an official report, and give Ayyid a copy of Daffinger’s confession. I promised we would do that today or tomorrow. I had hoped we would be able to report that the statue had been recovered, and as you see, my optimism was justified.’
Sethos’ silence was as provocative as speech. ‘Thanks to you,’ I said, nodding at him.
‘We’d have found it sooner or later,’ Emerson said.
‘Don’t be a dog in the manger, Emerson. Say thank you.’
‘Not at all.’ Sethos waved a languid hand. ‘I trust that now you are willing to concede that my reformation is sincere, although I wouldn’t mind an apology for your suspicions. You did suspect me, didn’t you?’
I said, ‘I fear your past conduct could not help but inspire a certain doubt – not about the murder of Mrs Petherick but about several of the attempts to steal the statue. Lidman-Daffinger’s suspicious behaviour on the occasion of the dog that did not bark in the night-time rested solely on your word and you had as much opportunity as he to drug Amira.’
‘I wasn’t even here when the first attempt at robbery occurred,’ Sethos protested. ‘Or the second.’
‘I don’t doubt that we had more than one would-be thief at work,’ I said. ‘However, for what it is worth, I apologize.’
‘I too.’ Emerson sounded as if the words had been wrenched out of him.
‘Good heavens.’ Sethos clapped a hand to his heart. ‘I hope the shock won’t be too much for me.’
Emerson declared we might as well go to Luxor and get the official part of the business over with. Sethos offered to accompany us. I declined the offer.
Our business was expeditiously concluded, as was our interview with Ayyid. I had taken the liberty of adding a few remarks to Daffinger’s confession, praising the work of the police and the dedication of the inspector.
Ayyid read the final sentence aloud. ‘“Had he not immediately acted to prevent the suspect’s escape, the man might have been able to leave Luxor and lose himself, with his ill-gotten gains, in the teeming slums of Cairo.” Very – er – eloquently put, Mrs Emerson. Thank you.’
‘You didn’t tell him about that bastard Anderson,’ said Emerson, as we strolled arm in arm towards the riverbank and our waiting boat.
‘I am holding it over Anderson’s head,’ I replied. ‘That method is more effective with journalists.’
Emerson helped me into the boat and took his place beside me. ‘We’re in no hurry,’ he informed Sabir. ‘Take your time, eh?’
Moonlight made a shimmering path across the dark water. Emerson glanced at Sabir, who had tactfully turned his back, and put an arm round me. ‘Good to be alone at last,’ he declared. ‘That bas— that – er – Hissinhurst was always on our heels.’
‘Bissinghurst,’ I corrected. ‘You mustn’t let him get on your nerves, Emerson, “he only does it to annoy because he knows it teases.” ’
I had expected the romantic ambience would keep Emerson occupied, but he had something on his mind.
‘Why were you and Ramses exchanging those meaningful glances?’
‘When did we do that?’
‘Off and on all day. Don’t equivocate, Peabody.’
‘Never, my dear.’ I moved a little closer to him. ‘Ramses isn’t satisfied that Daffinger’s confession solved all the unexplained incidents.’
‘You said yourself that there were dozens of people after the statuette.’
‘A slight exaggeration, my dear. To be honest, I would love to find Sir Malcolm guilty of something, but I fear he is too cautious to break, or even bend, the law. However, the points that bother Ramses are the incidents directed at him, here and in Cairo. Daffinger couldn’t have been responsible for the latter, since he never left Luxor.’
‘It was the Petherick boy,’ Emerson said flatly.
‘So I assume. Ramses doesn’t want to believe it.’
‘He’s too damned softhearted,’ Emerson said in a fond grumble. ‘I pity young Petherick – he’s another casualty of that filthy, unnecessary war – but he can’t be held blameless because of his misfortune. I wonder what will become of the girl.’
‘Harriet? You rather liked her, didn’t you?’
‘I admire her spunk. And her loyalty.’
‘I fear she is another casualty of the War. She will spend the rest of her life taking care of Adrian, with no chance for her own happiness. I wonder if I ought not make a quick trip to Cairo –’
‘Now there I draw the line, Peabody.’ Emerson gathered me into a close embrace. ‘You cannot take all the troubles of the world on your shoulders. I need you here. Tomorrow –’
‘We go to Deir el Medina. And Ramses gets back to work on his papyri.’
‘Oh,’ said Emerson. ‘Hmmm. It will help distract him, I suppose.’
‘I do wish you would take more interest in his work, Emerson. He seems to be quite excited about some of the fragments we found this year.’
‘I don’t mean to denigrate his work,’ Emerson said guiltily. ‘It is of first-rate importance. You think I haven’t been complimentary enough? Very well, my dear, I will try to make it up to him.’
He meant it most sincerely, as he proceeded to demonstrate at dinner. His unexpected interest so astonished Ramses that at first he replied only in monosyllables.
‘Tell us more, my boy,’ Emerson urged, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. ‘Consciousness of personal sin, you say?’
Ramses hadn’t said that; I had, when I explained his theory to Emerson. He couldn’t avoid the question, though, and as he went on, enthusiasm overcame his modesty.
‘I think the concept appears much earlier than Professor Breasted believed,’ he explained. ‘There is one fragment in particular – quite a large one – that from the handwriting would seem to be Eighteenth Dynasty. I haven’t had a chance to translate it as yet, but the words “crime” and “forgiveness” appear several times.’
‘Then it’s time you did,’ Emerson declared. ‘Get your friend Katchevsky back, why don’t you?’
‘Katchenovsky,’ Ramses said patiently. ‘I’m sure he is waiting to hear from me. Thank you, Father.’
‘Not at all, not at all.’ Emerson looked at me for approval. I nodded and Emerson beamed. ‘Tell me more, my boy.’
Our morning’s work at Deir el Medina went smoothly. We had borrowed Bertie, who began a final plan, and Emerson’s praise made Selim glow with pride. The only one of our crew who appeared somewhat sulky was Daoud.
‘We did nothing to help,’ he said. ‘All by yourselves you found the evil man and what he had stolen. We did nothing.’
‘You protected the house and brought us the dog,’ Ramses offered.
Daoud’s large face wrinkled. ‘The dog did nothing.’
‘There was no need,’ I said, realizing that his distress was genuine. ‘It was the magic of the Father of Curses that prevailed – er – eventually.’
‘Ah,’ said Daoud. ‘Eventually means –’
‘That the magic took a little longer than usual to work,’ Ramses explained.
‘Ah.’ Daoud thought it over. ‘Yes. The black afrit was very strong.’
‘The black afrit has gone for good,’ I said. ‘It will not return.’
‘Inshallah,’ said Daoud.
Fatima was preparing the tea tray when we got back to the house. ‘You are early,’ she said accusingly.
‘We are in no hurry,’ I said. ‘Where is Ramses?’
‘With his friend. They have been working.’
‘I will tell them tea will be ready soon.’
When I approached the workroom I heard their voices. I stood still and listened, my heart pounding.
From Manuscript H
Katchenovsky had been slow to respond to Ramses’ message. Ramses had been working on the papyri for some time before he arrived, full of apologies and questions. Ramses answered the latter somewhat abstractedly. The suspicion that had entered his mind seemed absurd. The Russian looked and behaved as he always had, eager and humble. He took the text Ramses handed him and began transcribing it. Ramses watched him for a while. Then he selected another piece of papyrus.
‘You translated this, didn’t you?’
Katchenovsky looked up. When he saw what Ramses was holding, he got quickly to his feet and backed off a few steps. Ramses’ heart sank. He had been almost certain, but he had hoped he was wrong.
‘I know you did,’ Ramses said. ‘It wasn’t in quite the same position where I put it originally.’
Katchenovsky raised both hands, as if in protest, and then shoved them into his pockets. ‘Why deny it? Your memory is faultless. I read it, yes.’
‘A remarkable document,’ Ramses said, scanning the crabbed lines. ‘It would make your reputation if it were published.’
‘It’s worth more than that, and you know it,’ the Russian said. ‘One might look at it as a treasure map. There are some people who would give a great deal to have the information it contains.’
Ramses straightened and turned to face the other man. Katchenovsky had taken a pistol from his pocket. Ramses recognized it as the one that had belonged to Adrian Petherick. He had hidden it at the back of a shelf in the workroom, high above the reach of small hands. He’d meant to dispose of it eventually and had never got round to doing so. Serves me right, he thought, noting that Katchenovsky held the gun like a man who had had experience with such weapons.
