The Golden One: A Novel of Suspense by Elizabeth Peters Read Free Book Online Page B

have stopped, but Emerson hustled her on past, and the gentleman, encumbered by the large menu and even larger napkin, was not quick enough to intercept us. “Curse it,” said my spouse, “who are those people? No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.” After returning Sennia to Basima, who had taken refuge from Horus in the servants’ dining hall, I settled down with a nice book — but I kept an eye on Emerson. I can always tell when he is up to something. Sure enough, after pretending to read for fifteen minutes, he got up and declared his intention of taking a little stroll. “Don’t disturb yourself, my dear,” he said. “You look very comfortable.” And out he went, without giving me time to reply. I waited a quarter of an hour before closing my book. A further delay ensued when I attempted to get out of my evening frock, which buttoned down the back; however, I was not in a hurry. I knew where Emerson was going, and I fancied it would take him a while to get there. After squirming out of the garment I assumed my working costume of trousers, boots, and amply pocketed coat, took up my parasol, left the hotel, and hailed a cab. I assumed Emerson would have gone on foot and kept a sharp eye out for that unmistakable form, but there was no sign of him. When we reached the Khan el Khalili I told the driver to wait and plunged into the narrow lanes of the suk. Aslimi was not happy to see me. He informed me that he was about to close. I informed him that I had no objection, entered the shop, and took a chair. Aslimi waddled about, closing and locking the shutters, before he seated himself in a huge armchair of Empire style, its arms and legs ornately gilded, and stared hopelessly at me. “I told you all I know, Sitt. What do you want now?” “Are you expecting someone, Aslimi?” “No, Sitt, I swear.” “I am. He will be here soon, I expect.” We sat in silence. The sweat began to pour down Aslimi’s face. It shone like polished amber. I was about to offer him my handkerchief when there was a soft sound from behind the closed door at the back of the shop. Aslimi kept his most valuable antiquities in the back room, which opened onto a narrow slit of a passage next to the shop. His eyes opened so wide I could see the whites all round the dark pupils. For an instant cowardice struggled with greed. Greed won out; with a grunt he heaved himself to his feet. By the time he accomplished this feat, I had burst through the door, parasol in hand. Facing me was the intruder. There was enough light from the open door behind me to show his tall, heavyset form and his black beard and mustache. It was the man Aslimi had described that afternoon! The seller of stolen antiquities had returned! Aslimi screamed and thudded to the floor in a dead faint. I twisted the handle of my parasol, releasing the sword blade concealed therein. “Stop where you are!” I exclaimed in Arabic. With a sudden sweep of his arm, the man knocked the blade aside and seized me in a bruising grip. 2
    “How many times have I told you not to attack an opponent with that damned parasol?” Emerson demanded. “I did not attack you. You attacked me!” Emerson handed me into the cab and got in beside me. He was still wearing the beard and clothing he had borrowed from Ramses’s collection of disguises. “It was self-defense, Peabody. I can never predict what you are likely to do when you are in one of your combative moods. You didn’t recognize me, did you?” “I certainly would not have gone on the attack without provocation,” I retorted. “Come, Peabody, be a sport. Admit you didn’t know me.” “I knew you the moment you took hold of me.” “I should hope so!” He put his arm round me, which I permitted; but when his face approached mine I turned my head. “That is a very prickly beard, Emerson.” “Well, curse it, I can’t just peel it off; this adhesive won’t come loose unless it is soaked in water.” Emerson was still in a