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

well; his remark was not an apology, but an implicit question. He was desperately anxious to learn whether I had understood those whispered words.
    Many trades and professions, especially criminal trades, develop private languages in order that the members may speak among themselves without being understood by outsiders. The thieves' cant of seventeenth-century London is one example of such an argot, as it is called. Abd el Atti and his companion had employed the siim issaagha, the argot of the gold- and silver-sellers of Cairo. It is based on ancient Hebrew, a language I had studied with my late father. In fact, they had spoken so rapidly and so softly, I had only comprehended a few words.
    Abd el Atti had said, "The Master will eat our hearts if..." Then the other man had warned him to watch what he said, since a stranger had entered.
    I had no intention of admitting that I was familiar with the siim issaagha. Let the old man wonder and worry.
    He was worried. Instead of /ahddling (gossiping) for the prescribed length of time, he abruptly got down to business, asking what I wanted.
    "It is for the brother of Emerson that I come," I explained. "He studies the ancient language of Egypt, and I promised I would bring him papyri."
    Abd el Atti sat like a glittering statue, his hands rock-steady; but a strange livid hue overspread his face. The harmless word "papyri" had wrought that remarkable change; could it be, I wondered, that a cache of these objects had been found? I saw myself exposing the criminal ring, arresting the criminals, carrying back basketfuls of papyri to Walter.
    Abd el Atti cleared his throat. "It grieves me that I cannot assist one whom I would wish to honor. Alas, alas, I have no papyri."
    Well, I had expected that. Abd el Atti never had the object one wanted, and if my suspicions were correct (as I felt sure they were) he had pressing reasons for refusing to admit that he possessed those particular objects. I did not doubt, however, that cupidity would eventually overcome his caution. He had to market his loot to someone; why not to me?
    So I proceeded to the next stage of the negotiations, which usually ended with Abd el Atti suddenly remembering that he had heard of such a thing—not that he made a habit of dealing with thieves, but as a favor to an old friend he might be willingto act as middleman__But to my surprise Abd el Atti remainedfirm. He offered me other antiquities, but not papyri.
    Finally I said, "It is a pity, my friend. I will have to go to another dealer. I regret this; I would rather have bought from you." And I made as if to rise.
    This was the last stage in the maneuvering and usually broughtthe desired result. An expression of agony crossed Abd el Atti's rotund face, but he shook his head. "I also regret, honored Sitt. But I have no papyri."
    His fat body filled the narrow doorway of the shop. Over his shoulder there appeared a strange appendage, like a third arm— a small, thin arm clothed in brown tweed. Ramses' voice piped, "Mama, may I speak now?"
    Abd el Atti made a frantic grab for the object Ramses was holding. He missed. Before he could try again, a heavy weight landed on his shoulder, tipping him backward. He let out a shriek and began beating the air with ringed brown hands. Bas-tet leaped again, onto the mastaba next to me, and Ramses squeezed through the space the cat had cleared for him. He was still holding the scrap of papyrus.
    I took it from him. "Where did you find this?" I asked, in English.
    "In de room behind de curtain," said Ramses. He squatted beside me, crossing his legs in Egyptian style. Gesturing at Bas-tet, he added, "I was looking for de cat Bastet. You told me not to let her wander off."
    Abd el Atti levered himself to an upright position. I expected he would be angry—and indeed he had some reason to be— but the look he gave the great brindled cat and the small boy held a touch of superstitious terror. I saw his hand move in a quick gesture—the old