Free The Camelot Caper by Elizabeth Peters Page B

one of his books.
    Still, his basic idea had been sound: it was likely that the villains were watching his apartment. His departure from it had involved two old pals, a back entrance, and a suitcase lowered, by rope, from an upper window. The last, surely, was pure joie de vivre , as was David’s refusal to leave the hotel—now their hotel—for dinner. Grudgingly, she revised the last judgment; when David gave up eating, he had to have a good reason. He had consumed six tomato-and-egg sandwiches, and three bottles of beer, but this had obviously only taken the edge off his appetite.
    Carp as she would, the plan had justified itself by its results. She had not seen hide nor hair—including the hair of the mustache—of the man who might be Cousin John. Or again he might not be….
    She was awakened by David’s announcing a stop for coffee.
    â€œYou do sleep a lot,” he commented.
    â€œBut not at night.”
    Over their elevenses which, in David’s case, amounted to a substantial meal, he studied her so critically that she brushed nervously at a recalcitrant curl on her cheek.
    â€œSmudges?”
    â€œNo, I was just wondering whether you owned any garment that was halfway unobtrusive. Is that one of those strange American garments that glow in the dark?”
    â€œCertainly not. It’s a nice cheery pink forgloomy days. Heaven knows this climate demands something cheerful.”
    â€œOh, it’s becoming to you,” David admitted reluctantly. “The way that silly cap sits on top of your hair…But a rain hat is supposed to keep the rain off, isn’t it?”
    â€œI have naturally curly hair,” Jessica said.
    â€œBeauty does not compensate for stupidity. When we reach Salisbury we shall buy for you a nice nondescript raincoat.”
    â€œDavid, do you think they can possibly catch up with us?”
    â€œFrankly, I can’t imagine how. But I believe in taking all possible precautions. We’ve only seen two men; for all we know, they may have a regiment on tap.”
    â€œThat’s a cheerful thought…. Are you going to eat all those muffins?”
    â€œI have eaten all of them,” said David, popping the last one neatly into his mouth. “Ready?”
    It was appreciably warmer when they returned to the car, and as they drove on a few bold rays of sunlight tried to peer through the clouds. The countryside, dripping as it was, had a beauty that grew on Jessica. The sheep were furry bundles against the rich green grass; they seemed to be quite undisturbed by the damp, and Jess cooed over the romping lambs. In thegray atmosphere the bright yellow blooms of gorse looked luminous, like little lamps along the road.
    â€œI’ve got a new version,” David said suddenly. “Are you plotting, are you scheming, Cousin John…”
    â€œThat’s the worst one yet.” Jess couldn’t help smiling. “You know, the more I think about it, the more preposterous it seems. How could that—that awful man be my cousin?”
    â€œWell, we’ve got to call him something,” David pointed out reasonably. “‘Cousin John’ has an air of distinction, a personal touch, which appeals to me. What about the other lad? Any other relatives? Hey, now, I’ve got it—he’s Aunt What’s-er-name in disguise.”
    â€œAunt Guinevere, of course! I should have recognized her immediately.”
    The car swerved dangerously before David returned his eyes to the road and his hands to the wheel.
    â€œAs my most recent hero, an American private eye, is fond of remarking—you’ve got to be kidding.”
    â€œI was, you must have known…. Oh, you mean her name? Guinevere? I never told you my father’s full name, did I?”
    â€œLancelot? Agrivaine?”
    â€œNot quite that bad, but bad enough. Gawain.”
    â€œPoor devil,” David said feelingly. “Who was the