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

believe, what I said won't mean a cursed thing to them."
                                                                
The children were late returning. I hoped for a private chat with them about their discoveries, but I was forced to wait, for dinner had already been announced, and a few whispered words from Ramses indicated they had a great deal to tell us. Fortunately our guests retired early, as they were accustomed to do. It was some minutes before eleven P.M. when Emerson and I crept out of our room and made our way to that of Ramses.
Though she had attained the dignified status of housekeeper, Rose still insisted on cleaning Ramses's room with her own hands. It was a hopeless task; ten minutes after she had left, all the flat surfaces were again strewn with cast-off articles of clothing, books and papers, and the various objects featured in Ramses's current research. I will give him credit; he had made some attempt to tidy up, and a cheery fire burned under the Adam mantelpiece.
Nefret was sitting cross-legged on the hearthrug, with Horus sprawled across her lap. Horus was the largest and least affable of our current crop of cats, and Nefret's fondness for him was unaccountable to me. He did seem to return it, in his surly fashion, but she was the only one whose caresses he accepted. He tolerated Emerson and me, disliked David, and detested Ramses, who returned the compliment.
    "I feel like a cursed spy," Emerson grumbled, flinging himself into an armchair. "I am still of the opinion that we ought to take Selim, at least, into our confidence. He is a sharp young chap, and has had a long acquaintance with forgers."
    "Hmmm," I said. "Nefret, that is a very pretty necklace. A new purchase, I presume?"
    "Ramses bought it for me."
My son was also sitting on the floor, his back against a bookcase, and the kitten on his lap. It had taken to following him about like a puppy. I suspected its devotion was not entirely altruistic, for several of Ramses's coats had developed suspicious greasy stains inside the pockets, and all our cats are extremely fond of chicken. I raised no objection, for I was pleased to see Ramses develop an attachment to one of the cats; he had been devoted to our dear departed Bastet, the progenitrix of the tribe, and had steadfastly refused to replace her with another. Bastet had traveled back and forth with us to Egypt, as Horus did now; but Ramses had concluded that the kitten was still too young to go out this year.
Glancing at me and then at his father, he said, "The beads are genuine, but they have been restrung—probably not in the original order. I felt it advisable to purchase something, Father, in order to conceal—"
    "Yes, yes," Emerson grunted. "Well?"
Ramses repeated the description he had winkled (his word) out of the dealer. Emerson groaned. "Curse it! I had hoped the resemblance wouldn't be so close."
"It was really quite vague, Father. Fine-looking young chap; not as dark-skinned as most Egyptians (I wonder how many Egyptians he's encountered?); about my height and build."
"The turban was a mistake," Nefret said. "David never wears one."
"People expect Egyptians to wear a turban or a fez," Ramses said, stroking the kitten. "It's part of the costume. And a turban can be used to conceal one's actual height."
    "There is more, isn't there?" I asked. "Out with it, Ramses."
    As the tale unfolded, I found it difficult to restrain my outrage. When Abdullah and I first met, he had viewed me with deep suspicion and a certain amount of resentment. Not only had I, a mere woman, dared to express my opinions aloud but I had come between him and the man he admired above all others. Our strange friendship had developed and deepened over the years, and even before his heroic death he had earned my sincere regard. Abdullah's professional standards had been as high as those of any European archaeologist—aye, and a good deal higher than