Read Online The Falcon at the Portal: An Amelia Peabody Mystery by Elizabeth Peters - Free Book Online

At Esdaile's. Do you know the place? This necklace is authentic, but be on your guard if you shop there; we—er—acquired something recently that was a very well-made fake."
    "Why'd you buy it then?" Jack asked.
    "We have our reasons," Nefret said mysteriously.
    Ramses decided it was time to change the subject.
Darkness had fallen before they left the Savoy. One of the attendants brought the car round and lighted the lamps. Nefret slid into the driver's seat while Ramses was handing out tips.
"Well?" she demanded, inserting the vehicle into the stream of evening traffic along the Strand.
Ramses opened his eyes. She had never actually hit anything, but watching her perform the maneuver was a nerve-racking experience.
    "Well what? Nefret, that omnibus—"
    "He sees me."
    "Now what are you doing?"
    "Putting on my driving helmet. My hair's blowing all around."
    "I noticed that. Why don't you change places with me? Assuming that regalia of yours takes both hands, and so does steering."
    She made a face at him, but did as he asked, coming to a dead stop in the middle of the roadway. She drove like an Egyptian— and David, who was Egyptian, drove like a cautious little old lady. So much for stereotypes, Ramses thought, hurrying round the car as frustrated drivers of various vehicles hooted and yelled at them.
    "What did you think of the Reynoldses?" she asked, tucking her hair under her cap.
    "Surely you don't suspect him of being our forger?"
    "I suspect everyone. Let me sum up what we know about the wretch so far." She turned toward him and began counting on her fingers. "First, he's a trained Egyptologist; you said yourself no amateur could concoct that text. Two, he's a relative newcomer to the field—"
"Possible but not certain. Esdaile bought the objects this past April, but we don't know that others weren't sold earlier."
"It's a reasonable assumption," Nefret said firmly. "Three, he's young—no wrinkled old man could pass for David. Four, he speaks English like a native, to quote Mr. Esdaile—"
    "That eliminates Jack," Ramses said.
She let out a melodious whoop of laughter. "Now who's a bigot?"
"I didn't mean it that way," Ramses protested. "I only meant the American accent is—er—distinctive."
"Not if it's heavily overlaid with a fake Egyptian accent," Nefret said triumphantly. "Five, he knows a lot about us—David's name and general appearance, and his relationship with the family, the same for Abdullah. That confirms the assumption that he is an Egyptologist, and very probably one with whom we are acquainted."
"He could have got that information from the newspapers. Mother and Father have been prominently featured, especially by their friend O'Connell."
"Curse it, Ramses, we have to start somewhere! If you are going to disagree with every damned point I make—"
"All right, all right. You may well be correct on all those points. I can't take Reynolds seriously, though. For one thing, there's the little matter of motive. The Reynoldses must have private means. Archaeologists living on their salaries don't stop at the Savoy."
"We don't know the motive," Nefret argued. "It could be something strange and perverse. Don't laugh! People do have irrational motives."
    "Indubitably."
    "What did you think of Maude?"
    "I thought you were extremely rude to her."
    "I was, wasn't I?" Nefret chuckled. "If you want to know, she was rather rude to David last year. She didn't exactly treat him like a servant, but she came close. We haven't a lot in common, Maudie and I; Jack was the one who kept thrusting us at one another. He has the devil of a time believing women are interested in anything except clothes and flirting."
    "You do hold grudges, don't you?"
"Where my friends are concerned, yes. Did you notice how she jumped when I mentioned Esdaile's?"
"She did not jump. That was me. I thought we'd agreed not to mention the forgeries."
"In connection with David. I didn't mention him. Anyhow, if the Reynoldses are innocent, as you