work.”
“You sure you wouldn't like me to take you away from all this?” I asked.
“What are you talking about?”
“I told you: I've got a little business proposition to make,” I said.
“Listen, mister,” she said, putting her hands on her hips, “I may not be the most expensive girl in Cairo, but on the other hand you've already admitted that you don't have a penny to your name. What do you intend to pay me with?”
“One-third,” I said smiling.
“One-third of what?” she demanded.
“One-third of the stock, of course.”
“What stock are you talking about?” she said.
“The stock in our little company,” I replied. “Think it over. It's nice, safe, indoor work, and you can keep on your feet.”
“Just what kind of scam do you have going?” she asked suddenly, with just a trace of professional curiosity.
“That's a word I am unfamiliar with,” I said, “but I have the distinct impression that if I understood it I would be very sorry that I had opened my heart to you, Miss ... ah, I didn't quite catch your name?”
“Rosepetal,” she said. “Rosepetal Schultz. And no snickering.”
“The thought never crossed my mind,” I replied. “And I am the Right Reverend Doctor Lucifer Jones, pastor of the Tabernacle of Saint Luke.”
“Really?” she said dubiously. “You're not just some religious nut who's going to dress me up like a nun and then make vile suggestions?”
“Of course not!” I said. “This is strictly business. Let us proceed to our corporate headquarters on the Avenue of the Pharaohs, where I shall introduce you to our silent partner.”
“We have a silent partner?” asked Rosepetal.
“Not at the moment,” I admitted. “But by tonight he will be.”
We kept walking, talking about this and that and the next thing, and before too long we arrived at the store just as Friday was returning with his purchases.
“Well, hello!” he said, his face lighting up.
“Friday, this is Rosepetal, our new partner,” I told him.
“I don't know what Lucifer has in mind for you, but I'm all for it!” he enthused. Then he turned to me. “What do you want me to do with all this stuff I bought?”
“Start painting signs,” I said.
“What kind of signs?” he asked.
“Oh, signs that tell all and sundry that the mummy of ... Rosepetal, name a Pharaoh.”
“How about Tutankhamen?” she suggested.
“No. He's been used,” I said. “Try a different one.”
“Amenophis III is the only other one I know,” she said. “Although I suppose there must have been an Amenophis I and II.”
I turned back to Friday. “Have the signs say that the mummy of Amenophis III will be on display from six in the evening until midnight at, oh, three shillings per customer.”
“I'll have to get a paintbrush,” said Friday.
“Do that,” I said. “And buy yourself a big dinner. Charge it to the company. And Friday...”
He stopped in the doorway. “Yes?”
“I wouldn't drink too much coffee if I were you,” I said.
“Lucifer,” he said, “I hope you don't think that I'm going to let you wrap me up as a mummy!”
“Perish the thought,” I said reassuringly.
He stared long and hard at me again and then left.
“If he's not going to be the mummy, who is?” asked Rosepetal.
“Who says he's not going to be the mummy?”
“But you told him....” she began.
“I told him not to think about it,” I replied. “Good advice, too: It would only depress him. And now, if you'll excuse me for an hour or so, I have to do a little shopping. Why don't you make yourself at home and sort of tidy things up a bit?”
Within the next hour I had bought a dilapidated wooden coffin and a batch of gold foil paper and had them both sent right to the store. I picked up a couple of things for Rosepetal and then returned. Friday had finished painting the signs, and was already at work coating the coffin with the gold foil. I had Rosepetal help me hang the signs, and then we settled
“You sure you wouldn't like me to take you away from all this?” I asked.
“What are you talking about?”
“I told you: I've got a little business proposition to make,” I said.
“Listen, mister,” she said, putting her hands on her hips, “I may not be the most expensive girl in Cairo, but on the other hand you've already admitted that you don't have a penny to your name. What do you intend to pay me with?”
“One-third,” I said smiling.
“One-third of what?” she demanded.
“One-third of the stock, of course.”
“What stock are you talking about?” she said.
“The stock in our little company,” I replied. “Think it over. It's nice, safe, indoor work, and you can keep on your feet.”
“Just what kind of scam do you have going?” she asked suddenly, with just a trace of professional curiosity.
“That's a word I am unfamiliar with,” I said, “but I have the distinct impression that if I understood it I would be very sorry that I had opened my heart to you, Miss ... ah, I didn't quite catch your name?”
“Rosepetal,” she said. “Rosepetal Schultz. And no snickering.”
“The thought never crossed my mind,” I replied. “And I am the Right Reverend Doctor Lucifer Jones, pastor of the Tabernacle of Saint Luke.”
“Really?” she said dubiously. “You're not just some religious nut who's going to dress me up like a nun and then make vile suggestions?”
“Of course not!” I said. “This is strictly business. Let us proceed to our corporate headquarters on the Avenue of the Pharaohs, where I shall introduce you to our silent partner.”
“We have a silent partner?” asked Rosepetal.
“Not at the moment,” I admitted. “But by tonight he will be.”
We kept walking, talking about this and that and the next thing, and before too long we arrived at the store just as Friday was returning with his purchases.
“Well, hello!” he said, his face lighting up.
“Friday, this is Rosepetal, our new partner,” I told him.
“I don't know what Lucifer has in mind for you, but I'm all for it!” he enthused. Then he turned to me. “What do you want me to do with all this stuff I bought?”
“Start painting signs,” I said.
“What kind of signs?” he asked.
“Oh, signs that tell all and sundry that the mummy of ... Rosepetal, name a Pharaoh.”
“How about Tutankhamen?” she suggested.
“No. He's been used,” I said. “Try a different one.”
“Amenophis III is the only other one I know,” she said. “Although I suppose there must have been an Amenophis I and II.”
I turned back to Friday. “Have the signs say that the mummy of Amenophis III will be on display from six in the evening until midnight at, oh, three shillings per customer.”
“I'll have to get a paintbrush,” said Friday.
“Do that,” I said. “And buy yourself a big dinner. Charge it to the company. And Friday...”
He stopped in the doorway. “Yes?”
“I wouldn't drink too much coffee if I were you,” I said.
“Lucifer,” he said, “I hope you don't think that I'm going to let you wrap me up as a mummy!”
“Perish the thought,” I said reassuringly.
He stared long and hard at me again and then left.
“If he's not going to be the mummy, who is?” asked Rosepetal.
“Who says he's not going to be the mummy?”
“But you told him....” she began.
“I told him not to think about it,” I replied. “Good advice, too: It would only depress him. And now, if you'll excuse me for an hour or so, I have to do a little shopping. Why don't you make yourself at home and sort of tidy things up a bit?”
Within the next hour I had bought a dilapidated wooden coffin and a batch of gold foil paper and had them both sent right to the store. I picked up a couple of things for Rosepetal and then returned. Friday had finished painting the signs, and was already at work coating the coffin with the gold foil. I had Rosepetal help me hang the signs, and then we settled
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