wanted an object which was not in stock, and they promised to procure it for her and deliver it to the hotel. They had a card with her name on it.”
“My name,” I added helpfully.
Eyeing Ashraf closely, Schmidt added, “We discussed whether or not to notify the police, and concluded it was only fair to consult you first, since you were the last known person to see her alive.”
Ashraf’s jaw dropped. “What are you implying?”
“I state a fact,” Schmidt said. “Which in duty bound I will feel obliged to mention to the police. You are the only one of us who can give them a description of the woman.”
You had to admire Ashraf’s nerve. Schmidt’s one-two punch had shaken him badly, but he wasn’t stupid enough to start spouting denials. We gave him time to think it over. After a long interval he straightened and looked up at Schmidt.
“Very well, Herr Doktor, the police must be kept out of this for the time being.”
“That,” said Schmidt, “is your opinion. We have invited it but the final decision is mine—ours, I should say.”
He could have the first person singular, as far as I was concerned. So far he had played it brilliantly. John couldn’t have done better.
“You do not deny,” Schmidt went on, “that the severed member most probably belonged to the woman you met at Karnak?”
“Don’t interrogate me as if I were a suspect,” Ashraf said with a flash of temper. “I don’t deny it is possible —likely, even. However, I bear no responsibility for her death. I don’t know who she was or where she went. I was struck unconscious, remember? You had better question the man who hit me.”
“It wasn’t John,” I snapped.
“You would say that, of course,” Ashraf said, giving me a sympathetic look.
I saw the same look on a couple of other faces, and lost the remains of my temper.
“Oh, for God’s sake, haven’t any of you heard of wigs and hair coloring, and hats and turbans? John of all people knows how light, even dim light, shines on fair hair. If he was there, and I suspect he was, he’d be wearing some sort of disguise.”
“Ah,” said Schmidt, stroking his mustache and nodding.
“He was there, however, you believe?” Ashraf pounced. “Then he could have overheard her betrayal. Or learned of it later from one of his confederates.”
“Or got the information from a Ouija board,” I said. Schmidt and I exchanged meaningful glances. We were on the same wavelength, good ol’ Schmidt and I, perhaps because we were the only ones who weren’t obsessed with the well-being of Tutankhamon.
“Okay,” I said. “We’ll try it your way, Ashraf. It’s your decision whether or not to come clean to the Ministry. But from this moment on, you let us in on every move you make and every thought you think. You mucked up good and proper when you tried to go it alone.”
“They will be in touch again,” Schmidt added. “To designate when and where you are to hand over the ransom. You will notify us immediately of this.”
Ashraf’s sour expression showed how little he liked being ordered around. He had no choice but to agree, however. His last faint hope rested with us. I couldn’t blame him for finding that idea depressing.
When he got up to leave I offered him the box. He backed away, hands raised in rejection. “It’s yours,” I said firmly. “Anyhow, you are better able than we to find a secure hiding place. The hotel personnel are in and out of this room all the time.”
He agreed, after I had replaced the box in its original bag, and went out carrying it at arm’s length the way I remove the remains of the unlucky small animals Caesar occasionally manages to catch. Fortunately he’s not very good at it.
It was amazing what a relief it was to have that box out of the room; it had permeated the air like poison gas. Schmidt mentioned the room service, and we agreed we might be able to force down a morsel or two. Saida got out her list again. Before she and Schmidt could start on it, I said, “Hey, Schmidt, can I borrow your cell phone?”
“What is wrong with yours?”
“It’s dead. I guess I forgot to plug in the battery.” I’m usually a comfortable liar, but Schmidt’s innocent blue eyes made me plunge into unnecessary explanations. “I just want to call Karl and find out how Caesar is doing. I’ll pay you back.”
“
T he next problem was how to get away without Schmidt. I considered a number of ideas, none of them very nice and a few downright dangerous. Getting Schmidt drunk was not nice, and it had drawbacks. He was inclined to challenge people to duels, and once he passed out it was impossible to rouse him for hours. I pondered the problem as I picked at my food—turned out I wasn’t very hungry after all—and was still pondering when he said casually, “I am going out for a while. Stay here and lock the door.”
“Going where?” I demanded.
Schmidt chuckled. No cherub in a Boucher painting could have looked more innocent. “I wish to shop.”
“What for?”
“A galabiya and a scarf. In case I need to disguise myself.”
The explanation made perfect sense, if you knew Schmidt as I knew Schmidt, and it suited my plans perfectly. “And,” Schmidt went on, “I will get one of each for you too. The shops in the arcade are open late. I will not be long. Feisal and Saida will come with me.”
If I hadn’t been so anxious to carry out my own scheme, I might have realized he was babbling unnecessarily, just as I had. Saida indicated her willingness to participate, and off they went.
I had told her I would call her back. She was waiting for the call.
Unlike some heroines, I am not the girl to trot out onto the dark streets of a strange city in order to meet with an individual whose motives are open to question. The lobby of the Old Winter Palace is quite large, with groupings of chairs and sofas scattered here and there. I selected the grouping farthest from the door and the elevators and sat down, holding a book up in front of my face and peering over the top of it. She wasn’t long. I recognized her as soon as she came through the door, although her hair was a cascade of auburn tresses and she was made up like a Hollywood celebrity. Lipstick enlarged her narrow lips and she had on so much mascara and eyeliner, she looked as if she’d been punched in both eyes.
The guard at the security desk gave her elegant handbag only a cursory search and waved her on through. She’d spotted me by then and came straight toward me.
“It’s a delightful old hotel, isn’t it?” she said.
“We don’t have time for small talk, Suzi. Schmidt is on the loose and due back before long.”
Her lips stretched into a half-smile. “Fair enough. What do you want?”
“I want to know everything you know. Candor goes against the grain with you people, but you ought to realize we have the same end in mind.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Okay, I’ll tell you what I want. The damned mummy retrieved, and the perps caught before they can do any more damage.”
“Seems reasonable,” Suzi murmured.
“Your turn.”
She took a small hand mirror from her purse and pretended to inspect her makeup. “I don’t want you or Anton harmed. I’m very fond of him, you know.”
I thought of several caustic comments, but stuck doggedly to the subject. “What do you want most? Don’t tell me your priorities are identical to mine.”
“Frankly,” said Suzi, manipulating the mirror, “I don’t give a damn about the mummy. They can smash it to pieces for all I care. The people who pulled off the heist are small-fry, hired thugs. I don’t give a damn about them either. I want the man in charge.”
“John? Why? Forgive my rudeness, but you seem a trifle obsessive about him.”
She put down the mirror and looked me straight in the eye. “I spotted him on the cruise, but I couldn’t be
