Free The Golden One by Elizabeth Peters Page A

occupied. Musa went to the small inconspicuous door Ramses remembered from earlier visits. The police had barricaded it with heavy boards, but someone had removed most of
the nails; Musa pulled the planks aside and climbed through the opening.
    The house that had once been alive with music and the other colourful accompaniments of a contemptible trade was dark, deserted, and dusty. The windows had been boarded up, the rich furnishings
removed or left to moulder. There was a little light, streaking through cracks in the boards. When they reached the room in which el-Gharbi had held court, Ramses made out a massive shape squatting
on the ruined cushions. Nefret sat next to him. A ray of sunlight sparked in her hair.
    ‘Sorry,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I did it again.’
    Ramses got the words out through lips unsteady with relief. ‘Not your fault this time. Another black mark against you, el-Gharbi. What do you mean by this?’
    ‘But, my dear young friend, what choice had I?’ The voice was the well-remembered high-pitched whine, but as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Ramses saw that the procurer was dressed
in a ragged galabeeyah instead of his elegant white robes. He didn’t appear to have lost any weight, though. Shifting uncomfortably, he went on, ‘You would not come to the camp. You
would not have come to me here – so I invited your lovely wife. We have been having a most enjoyable conversation. Sit down, won’t you? I regret I cannot offer you tea –
’
    ‘What do you want?’ Ramses interrupted.
    ‘Why, the pleasure of seeing you and your lovely – ’
    ‘I don’t have time for this,’ Ramses said rather loudly. ‘You cannot keep us here against our will, you know.’
    ‘Alas, it is true.’ The procurer sighed. ‘I do not have the manpower I once had.’
    ‘What is your point, then?’
    ‘You won’t sit down? Oh, very well. It is the camp, you see. It is no place for a person of refinement like myself.’ A shudder of distaste ran through the huge body. ‘I
want out.’
    ‘You are out,’ Ramses said, unwilling amusement replacing his annoyance. El-Gharbi was unconquerable.
    ‘Only for a few hours. If I am not there tonight when they make the rounds, that rude person Harvey will turn out every police officer in Cairo to look for me. I do not intend to spend the
rest of my life running away from the police, it is too uncomfortable.’
    ‘Yes, I suppose it would be. Can you give me one good reason why I should intercede on your behalf, even if I were able?’
    ‘But my dear young friend, surely the many favours I have done for you – ’
    ‘And I have done several for you. If the score is not even, the debt is on your side.’
    ‘I was afraid you would see it that way. What of future favours, then? I am at your command.’
    ‘There is nothing I want from you. Nefret, let’s go. The parents will be getting anxious.’
    ‘Yes, of course.’ She rose. ‘Good-bye, Mr el-Gharbi.’
    She used the English words, possibly because the Arabic terms of farewell invoked a blessing or an expression of goodwill. El-Gharbi didn’t miss the implications. He chuckled richly.
    ‘Maassalameh, honoured lady. And to you, my beautiful young friend. Remember what I have said. The time may come . . .’
    ‘I hope to God it won’t come,’ Ramses muttered, as they left the room. ‘Nefret, are you all right?’
    ‘Musa was very polite. No damage, darling, except . . .’ She scratched her arm. ‘Let’s hurry. I expect Father is frantic by this time, and I’m being devoured by
fleas.’
    ‘That makes two of us.’
    ‘My poor darling. What you suffer for me!’
    The narrow back door was still unbarred. Ramses did not bother replacing the boards.
    Taking the coward’s way out, he sent a servant to the dining salon to announce their return, and they went straight to their room and the adjoining bath chamber. When he emerged, wearing
only a towel, his father was sitting in an armchair, pipe in