The Golden One Read Free Page B

piastres.’
    Emerson’s other brother. Strictly speaking, he was a half brother, the son of Emerson’s father and a lady who had had the misfortune not to be married to that
gentleman. Only recently had we discovered the true identity of the man who had been for many years our most formidable opponent, a master of disguise and the head of a ring of criminals that
specialized in tomb robbing and antiquities fraud; and the additional, equally astonishing fact that Sethos, as he chose to be called, was one of Britain’s most valued secret agents. These
revelations had forced us to reevaluate a relationship that had been marked by considerable acrimony. As I pointed out to Emerson, one cannot wholly despise a man who has risked his life for us and
for his country.
    I made the point again as my seething spouse spun round and round in a vain attempt to locate the insolent beggar. Ramses and Nefret hastened to us, demanding to know what had happened. A few
brief sentences of explanation sufficed; they were only too well acquainted with Sethos’s skill at disguise and bizarre sense of humour. Ramses’s enigmatic countenance remained unmoved
except for a faint line between his brows, but Nefret’s dimples were very much in evidence. She had a certain weakness for the man. Most women did, and Sethos was not above exploiting it for
his own advantage.
    There was nothing to be done about locating him in that mob, so, with the assistance of the children, I forced Emerson into a carriage and persuaded him to delay discussion of the matter until
we had got ourselves settled into the hotel.
    Although he was anxious to get on to Luxor, Emerson had agreed to spend a few days in Cairo catching up on the news. Press censorship was so strict, we had only the faintest idea of what had
been going on in our part of the world. We were staying at Shepheard’s; and it was with a sense of agreeable nostalgia that I found myself once again in the ambience that had provided the
prelude to so many remarkable experiences. The villain Vincey (and his cat) searching our luggage in the bedroom; the Master Criminal, aka Sethos, aka (had I but known) my brother-in-law, slipping
a sleeping potion into my wine in the dining salon . . .
    ‘What’s he up to now?’ Emerson demanded, as the servants carried in our bags and the manager advanced to welcome us.
    ‘Do stop shouting, Emerson,’ I implored. ‘Wait until we are in private.’
    We had been given our old rooms on the third floor. By the time we had got everyone settled in and I had convinced Sennia that she must have an early supper with Basima instead of joining us for
dinner, the sky was darkening and the lights of Cairo were twinkling through the dusk. The private discussion I had promised Emerson would have to wait a little longer; Gargery was not to be got
rid of. Fully recovered and officious as usual, he was determined to carry out the duties of a valet. Emerson did not employ a valet, nor should the Reader suppose that under ordinary circumstances
we would have taken a servant as useless as a butler with us to an archaeological dig. Gargery was something more and perhaps something less than a butler, however; he had taken part in several of
our criminal investigations and had proved himself ready and willing to employ any methods he deemed necessary to protect us – and most particularly, Sennia.
    I completed my toilette and retired to the sitting room, where I found that the sufragi had delivered a number of messages and letters. I glanced through them, entertained by the growls and
curses coming from the dressing room. Finally Emerson emerged, looking sullen but very handsome in black tie, and after admiring his handiwork and requesting my approval, Gargery retired.
    Emerson said, ‘Now, Peabody, curse it – ’
    ‘No, my dear, not now. We will want to hear what the children have to say about this.’
    Nefret and Ramses were late in joining us in the dining salon, so I