The Falcon at the Portal: An Amelia Peabody Mystery by Elizabeth Peters Page A

claim that was not true?"
I decided not to mention the examples that came to mind. "I was not questioning your word, only your—er—interpretation of what M. Maspero may have said. He is French, you know."
"But Reisner is not," said Emerson triumphantly and undeniably. "A blunt, straightforward chap, like all Americans. He was at Zawaiet el 'Aryan for a time last year, but he's got too much on his plate already, what with his concession in the Sudan and his work at Samaria, not to mention Giza. It was he who persuaded Maspero to let us have Zawaiet el 'Aryan."
    "Kind of him," I murmured. Mr. Reisner was a friend and an admirable scholar, but if he had been present I might have lost my temper with him. His plate was indeed filled, with several of the most delectable sites in the Middle East. He was handing us the crumbs.
    Well aware of my feelings, Emerson said, "The site is only a few miles south of Giza, you know, so a house there would be convenient."
    "I am so glad you agree," I said sweetly. "After we have lunched with Miss Reynolds and her brother, we will have a look at the place she mentioned. I will tell Fatima to press your good tweed suit, and you can wear that pretty sapphire-blue necktie I gave you last Christmas. The one you keep misplacing."
    The dimple (or cleft, as he prefers to call it) in Emerson's prominent chin quivered. "I neglected to pack that particular object of apparel, Peabody."
    "I thought you might, so I packed it for you."
    For a moment Emerson's temper hung in the balance. Then a twinkle replaced the glare. "Very well, Peabody. A compromise, eh? I will not appear in public in that damned tie, but I will go to luncheon and I will have a quick look at the damned house— on the Wednesday. Tomorrow we will visit the site."
    "Tomorrow we have an engagement with Miss Reynolds, Emerson."
After a while Nefret said she was going to retire and fled from the room, carrying Horus. Finding he could not get a word in, Ramses soon followed suit, leaving me and Emerson to thrash it out. It ended as I had known it would, with Emerson apologizing for calling me an unreasonable bully of a woman, and demonstrating that in one area at least he was master in his own house. His attentions are particularly irresistible when he is in that irritated frame of mind.
Before we retired Emerson set fire to the sapphire-blue necktie and threw the blazing remains overboard.
At one time it had taken over an hour to reach the pyramids from the center of Cairo. Slow and dusty the trip may have been; but I have fond memories of jogging along in an open victoria, crossing the bridge over a river as yet uncontaminated by Mr. Cook's tourist steamers, and following the road that led past shady palms and green fields to the pyramid plateau. Now motorcars and cycles mingled perilously with donkeys and camels and carriages, and an electric tram carried passengers from the end of the Great Nile Bridge to the Mena House Hotel, near the pyramids. The suburb of Giza—not to be confused with the village of the same name—had become fashionable in recent years and was growing rapidly. As Emerson is frequently heard to remark, not all modern conveniences are improvements on the old ways.
    The house the Reynoldses had taken was one of the new villas, with a view of the river and the Zoological Gardens. We were not the only guests; Miss Maude had invited several of what I must call the younger generation of Egyptologists. I felt certain this was meant as a delicate attention to Emerson, whose boredom with ordinary social engagements was well known. From what I had heard, Miss Maude's usual "set" consisted of the sort of people we took pains not to know—frivolous young women and supercilious young officials.
    We were acquainted with most of the other guests—Jack Reynolds, of course, and another of Reisner's assistants, Geoffrey Godwin; Rex Engelbach and Ernst Wallenstein, a shy new member of the German Giza expedition, who was so paralyzed