Lord of the Silent: A Novel of Suspense by Elizabeth Peters

us. "Miss Minton, isn't it?" "I'm so flattered you remember me, Professor." She gave him her hand. Emerson let it go as soon as he decently could, but the blunt manners he exhibits toward other men are softened by his hopeless sentimentality about women. He finds it very difficult to be rude to them. "Are you joining us for luncheon?" he asked. "No, no, I wouldn't dream of intruding," said Miss Minton. She glanced at me. "But if it wouldn't be too much trouble ... A glass of water, perhaps, before I go on my way? The air is so dry here." It was a request one could hardly refuse. Forcing a smile, I led the way to the shelter. We had taken Sennia with us that day, as it was a school holiday. She and Gargery were investigating the picnic basket Fatima had prepared while Nefret looked on and Ramses discussed with Sennia the relative merits of tomato versus cheese sandwiches. "What a charming domestic group!" Miss Minton exclaimed, her keen dark eyes taking in every detail, from Sennia's dusty black curls to Nefret's working costume of trousers and boots and sweat-stained shirt. "Please, let us not be formal; I am certain I can identify everyone except-" "Miss Minton," I said, with malice aforethought. "You remember our butler, Gargery." I failed to embarrass her. The corners of her rather wide mouth turned up. "I remember him very well. He gave me a memorable tongue-lashing one afternoon when he found me loitering near the library, a room outside the sphere of my regular duties. How are you, Gargery?" "Quite well, miss-madam-er-miss. Thank you." "And this must be the young Mrs. Emerson," said Miss Minton, offering her hand to Nefret. "I have heard so much about you." "I have heard a great deal about you too, Miss Minton." "You don't know me," said Sennia. "My name is Sennia. Are you a friend of ours?" Miss Minton gave her a sickeningly sweet smile. I could see she had had very little to do with children. "Why, yes, my dear. I have known your-er-family for a long time." Miss Minton then turned a stare like a searchlight on Ramses, who had risen to his feet. He was decently covered, at least, but the casual clothing he wore on the dig set off his frame to best advantage. "You know my son, of course," I said. "I remember him very well, but I would not have recognized him. What a difference a few years can make!" "More than a few years, I think," said Ramses. "Are you in Egypt on a journalistic assignment, Miss Minton, or for pleasure?" "A little of both." I filled a glass with water and pushed it into Miss Minton's hand. "So it is the truth you are after?" I inquired ironically. "As always, Mrs. Emerson." She sipped daintily at the liquid. "Thank you. Most refreshing. What I would really like, of course, is to make my way to the fighting lines." "There's not much going on in the Sinai just now," Ramses said. "I was thinking of the western front." Her lips twisted ironically. "The western front of Egypt, that is. The Senussi have crossed the border and we haven't enough men to drive them back. I'd like to see some action." "No, you would not," Emerson said. "Anyhow, you haven't a prayer of getting to Mersa Matruh. If you tried it on your own you'd be turned back before you left the Delta, and the War Office would never allow a woman into a fighting zone." "They aren't allowing any journalists into that area," Miss Minton said, her eyes flashing. "There are only four correspondents who have a War Office license; needless to say, I am not one of them. Ah, well. They will be evacuating the rest of the poor devils from Gallipoli before long; I am hoping to interview some of them. It is an open secret that the campaign was fatally mismanaged from the start. The inadequacy of medical care is a scandal the War Office is attempting to conceal." I glanced warningly at Nefret. There was no need; though her intent expression indicated her interest in and agreement with Miss Minton's statement, she remained silent. The dear girl had learned