The Golden One Read Online Free

took advantage of the interlude to see if there was anyone present from whom I could extract useful information. Pickings, as
Emerson remarked, appeared to be slim. Many of our fellow archaeologists had left Egypt for war duties. I had hoped to see Howard Carter, who led a peripatetic existence, running back and forth
between Luxor, where he excavated in a rather random manner, and Cairo, where he carried out certain mysterious activities on behalf of the War Office. However, he was not there.
    There was one familiar face among those present – one I would rather not have seen. He was looking directly at me, and I was not quick enough to avoid meeting his eyes; the thin lips
compressed between a pointed nose and chin parted in a smile and he rose to his feet.
    ‘Curse it!’ said Emerson. ‘It’s that bastard Smith.’
    ‘That is only his nom d’espionnage, Emerson.’
    ‘His what?’
    ‘You know what I mean. I thought it a rather clever term.’
    Emerson’s expression indicated that he did not agree. ‘His name is Boisgirdle-Bracedragon,’ I added. ‘Or is it Bracegirdle-Boisdragon? The reason I have difficulty in
remembering is, of course, because I dislike the fellow so thoroughly. It is a well-known psychological – ’
    ‘Don’t talk psychology to me, Peabody. It is a damned ridiculous name in any case. If we must refer to him at all, Smith is good enough. He isn’t going to have the infernal
gall to speak to us, is he?’
    If Smith had intended to do so, Emerson’s concentrated scowl made him think better of it. He sank back into his chair. I kept an unobtrusive eye on him, though, and when Ramses and Nefret
joined us a few minutes later, he again rose, and this time, he bowed in our direction.
    Ramses misses very little, and this overture would have been difficult to overlook. His bland expression did not change, but Nefret let out a muffled swearword. She looked very beautiful in her
favourite cornflower blue, with pearls and sapphires as her ornaments and her gold-red hair coiled into a coronet around her head; but her pretty face had assumed a scowl almost as forbidding as
that of Emerson.
    ‘What’s he doing here?’ she demanded.
    ‘One must suppose he is dining,’ said Ramses coolly.
    ‘Here?’
    Nefret had a point. Shepheard’s was no longer the hotel favoured by the smart set of Cairo. ‘Smith’ was a member of that group of silly women and pompous officials, the
majority of whom were probably unaware of his intelligence activities, believing him to be an official of the Department of Public Works. He was dining alone that evening.
    It would not have been difficult for interested parties to learn the date of our arrival and the name of the hotel where we had booked rooms. Some of those interested parties were in London, and
I did not doubt that their particular interest was in my son. At the behest of his superiors, Smith had tried once before to recruit Ramses for a dangerous mission. Would he try again? Or –
the idea had just occurred to me – did his presence have something to do with the reappearance of Emerson’s brother? Sethos had been connected in some way with the group Smith directed,
whatever it may have been. Secretiveness is second nature to such persons; they may and do claim it is necessary, but in my opinion they revel in being mysterious.
    I did not mention this conjecture to Emerson, for that would have inflamed his temper even more.
    ‘The devil with Smith,’ he declared. ‘What I want to know is – confound it, young man, what are you doing?’
    ‘Serving the next course,’ I said, as the youth fumbled with the plates. ‘That is his job, Emerson. Stop terrorizing him.’
    ‘Oh. Well. Sorry, my boy,’ he added, addressing the waiter, who went pale with horror.
    I groaned. ‘And don’t apologize to him!’
    It has proved impossible to train Emerson in the proper ways of dealing with servants. He treats prince and peasant, basket carrier and