“I’m only joking,” she said. “Icanbe funny at times.”
I looked at her. “Isadora, I don’t know how to tell you this except to just say it: that wasn’t funny.”
She smiled demurely. “Maybe not to you.”
“Have you seen the others?” I asked.
“I’ve been here this whole time,” she said. “Guarding the door.”
“And Farida? Whit?”
“Assuming Whit hasn’t absconded with the artifacts and abandoned us, he ought to be waiting for us at the meeting spot. Hopefully with Farida.”
Farida looked nervously upward, hazy light bleeding red against the bruised sky. “Whereishe?”
We were standing in the meeting spot looking on as the attendees left the building, a steady, quiet stream. We had been the first to leave, quickly walking to the shadowy street corner that opened into the narrow alley. The attendees dispersed in every direction. I looked for Whit, but I didn’t see him in the crowd.
“I hate to say this,” Isadora said, “but your husband is an unreliable thief who—”
“Who what?”
We spun to face the alley. Whit stood with his hands in his pockets, an inscrutable look stamped across his face. “Go on,” he said. “I can’t wait to hear the rest of it.”
“How did you get onstage?” Isadora asked. “Actually, let’s begin withwhyyou were onstage.”
Whit motioned for us to follow him. “We ought to return to the hotel.”
Exhaustion sucked me down like mud, and my steps were slow and faltering. I had been up for nearly a full day and was feeling the effects of little sleep. Farida kept yawning, and even Isadora looked a little bedraggled. Her neat hair had escaped the confines of the tight bun at the crown of her head, and her hem was finally dirty.
“Farida, did you manage to take pictures of the storage room?” Whit asked.
She nodded, yawning again hugely. “Sorry, yes. But it was mostly just of the crates. They don’t open them until right before they are presented, unfortunately. There was a crowbar, and I managed to pry open only one of them. Inside was a large statue; the top of the head was the only thing visible from its wrapping. I still took a picture, but I’m not sure how helpful it will be. However, I took care to take photographs of each crate. They were sent on from Bulaq.”
“I’m sure whatever pictures you managed to take will be fine. You still took photos of the auction room and everyone attending,” I said.
“Who were all wearing masks,” Isadora said coolly.
“And most of their backs were turned,” Whit muttered.
“What about the auctioneer?” I asked. “That Phillip Barnes fellow. He was facing you.”
Farida seemed cheered by this, and then her face fell. “Maybe, except he was constantly moving, wasn’t he? What if the image is too blurry and he’s hard to identify?”
“We’ll worry about that when the time comes,” I said. “You might have captured him perfectly.”
We made the same few turns, and finally Shepheard’s came into view. The familiar front steps gave me a warm, pleasant feeling. Ever since I left Argentina, this was the closest place to a home that I had. Cairo was beginning to wake up, and the street soon filled with all the usual morning bustle. Two donkey carts rumbled across our path, while vendors started calling out their various wares for sell. Someone was selling freshly brewed coffee at a small cart near the hotel entrance, and Whit looked at it longingly but must have decided he was too tired to drink it.
He had remained mostly silent for a long stretch of the walk, and my curiosity was making my head spin. “Whit,” I said. “Are you going to make us ask you again? What were you doing onstage?”
“I replaced the poor fellow who was charged with moving the artifacts on and off the stage,” he said. “In doing so, when I grabbed hold of the asp and returned it to the room where everything else was kept, I was able to learn where the payment ought to go for it.” He dipped his hand into his pocket and held up a small scrap of paper. “I wrote down the address.”
I frowned. “I have it on good authority that it’s fake.”
We had reached the stairs, but at my words, Whit stopped abruptly. “I’d like to talk to you alone,” he said. “Please.”
The others paused, halfway up. Isadora was watching Whit warily, and when her gaze flickered to mine, there was a question in them. I gave her a slight nod. My sister’s face darkened, but she followed Farida inside.
“On whose authority?” Whit asked.
