Free The Laughter of Dead Kings by Elizabeth Peters Page A

case.
    “Which?” Alan leaned over the case. “Oh, that. I’d forgot you were an authority on antique jewelry. Would you like to have a closer look?”
    He fished out a bunch of keys, unlocked the case, and placed the pendant carefully on my outstretched palm. It was silver filigree set with roughly cut turquoise, with loops at the top so that it could be hung on a chain or cord.
    “Turkoman,” I said. “It’s not that old; late nineteenth century, probably.”
    “Show-off,” Alan said agreeably. He replaced the piece and locked the case again. “Darling, since you and the boss are here, would you mind if I popped out for a coffee?”
    “Not if you bring one back for me.”
    He waved his way out. The office door remained uncompromisingly closed.
    I amused myself by wandering around the showroom. Some of the objects on display had been there as long as I could remember: a study in black chalk of an elephant, purportedly by Rembrandt (I had my doubts), a stunning Entombment of Christ in walnut polished to satiny smoothness (fifteenth-century German), and a bronze Chinese ceremonial vessel of some sort (not my field). One newobject occupied a pedestal in the center of the room. I was gaping at it when John emerged from the office.
    “Where on earth did you get this?” I asked.
    “Do I detect a note of accusation in your voice?” After a quick but comprehensive survey of the showroom, he came to stand beside me. “It’s been in the family for years. I am reduced, tragically, to selling off our treasures.”
    It was a treasure—a small alabaster head, with the distinctive elongated cranium of an Amarna princess. Eighteenth Dynasty Egypt is not my period either, but artifacts of that quality are memorable; they don’t come on the market often. The lips were delicately tinted and the musculature of the face sketched in by an expert hand.
    “How many years has it been in the family? Four?”
    “Your skepticism cuts me to the quick. It was purchased in Egypt quite legitimately in 1892. I have the original bill of sale, and several dated documents describing it.”
    I turned to meet his placid blue gaze. “So you do have family jewels.”
    “A few. Where—”
    “And they aren’t in the attic or your hankie drawer.”
    “No. Do stop asking irrelevant questions. I want to talk to you before Alan comes back. Where is he, by the way?”
    “Gone for coffee.”
    “That usually takes quite a while. Still, I will be brief. Amid the plethora of trivia that constitutes my correspondence, there were a few interesting items.”
    “From your former business associates?”
    “One or two. Indicating, in the most tactful fashion, that they were presently at loose ends and would be pleased to act as middlemen in any transactions that might be pending.”
    “Competitors of Bernardo? Or Monsignor Anonymous?”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Don’t try that icy stare on me. You didn’t go all the way to Rome to ask about thefts from a place like the Vatican, and you didn’t hand over that wad of money for information about relics. Why can’t you tell me the truth?”
    “I paid you the compliment of assuming you would prefer to work it out for yourself.” He put a long arm round my shoulders and leaned toward me.
    “Don’t try that either.” I turned my head away. John planted a kiss on my cheek and removed his arm.
    “Assuming that you are on the level, which I am prepared to do for the time being,” I began.
    “How can you doubt me?” John asked in hurt tones.
    “Easily. Assuming that, I presume you are attempting to work out which organizations are capable of pulling off a job like the one in question. In the process you are weeding out people like Bernardo, who wouldn’t have tried to cut themselves in if they were already in, so to speak. May I add that your method of eliminating such individuals strikes me as somewhat hazardous?”
    John shrugged. “Not really. Persons of that ilk don’t take drastic