The Mummy Case by Elizabeth Peters Read Free Book Online Page A

for the best wares were obtained from illegal excavations. Abd el Atti's reputation was middle-of-the-road—worse than some merchants, not so bad as others—which meant he might have the kind of papyrus I wanted for Walter.
    The mastaba before the shop was unoccupied. I looked within. The room was dimly lit and crowded with merchandise. Most of the remaining space was filled by Abd el Atti himself. He was almost as short as I and almost as wide as he was tall. Before affluence got the better of his figure he must have beena handsome fellow, with soft brown eyes and regular features. He was still something of a dandy. His outer robe was of salmon-pink cashmere and he wore a huge green turban, perhaps in order to increase his stature. From behind, which was how I saw him, the effect was that of a large orange balloon surmounted by a cabbage.
    His body very nearly concealed the other man, who stood just inside the curtained doorway at the rear of the shop. I saw only the latter's face, and a most sinister countenance it was— almost as dark as a Nubian's, shaped into lines and pouches of sagging flesh that suggested dissipation rather than age. When he saw me, his lips drew back in a snarl under his ragged black mustaches, and he interrupted Abd el Atti with a harsh warning. "Gaft —ha'at iggaft..."—followed by another comment of which I caught only a few words.
    Turning with a serpentine swiftness surprising in a man of his bulk, Abd el Atti cut the other short with a peremptory gesture. His brown face shone greasily with perspiration. "It is the Sitt Hakim," he said. "Wife to Emerson. You honor my house, Sitt."
    Since I knew who I was, and Abd el Atti knew who I was, I could only assume that the identifying statement was aimed at the other man. It was not an introduction, for upon hearing it the creature vanished, so suddenly and smoothly that the curtain scarcely swayed. A warning, then? I had no doubt of it. When he greeted me, Abd el Atti had spoken ordinary Arabic. The whispered remarks I had overheard had been in another kind of speech.
    Abd el Atti bowed, or tried to; he did not bend easily. "Be welcome, honored lady. And this young nobleman—who can he be but the son of the great Emerson! How handsome he is, and how great the intelligence that shines in his eyes."
    This was a deadly insult, for one does not praise a child for fear of attracting the envy of malicious demons. I knew Abd el Atti must be badly rattled to make such a mistake.
    Ramses said not a word, only bowed in response. The cat—
    I observed with a touch of uneasiness—was nowhere to be seen.
    "But come," Abd el Atti went on, "sit on the mastaba; we will drink coffee; you will tell me how I may serve you."
    I let him nudge me out of the shop. He squatted beside me on the mastaba and clapped his hands to summon a servant. Under his salmon robe he wore a long vest of striped Syrian silk, bound with a sash stiff with pearls and gold thread. He paid no attention to Ramses, who remained inside the shop. Hands clasped ostentatiously behind his back in compliance with my instructions, Ramses appeared to be studying the merchandise on display. I decided to let him remain where he was. Even if he broke something, it would not matter; most of the objects were forgeries.
    Abd el Atti and I drank coffee and exchanged insincere compliments for a while. Then he said, apropos of nothing in particular, "I hope the speech of that vile beggar did not offend you. He was trying to sell me some antiquities. However, I suspected they were stolen, and as you and my great good friend Emerson know, I do not deal with dishonest people."
    I nodded agreeably. I knew he was lying and he knew I knew; we were playing the time-honored game of mercantile duplicity, in which both parties profess the most noble sentiments while each plans to cheat the other as thoroughly as possible.
    Abd el Atti smiled. His countenance was trained in imperturbability, but I knew the old wretch