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He could not see the figure outside. But he knew who it was. And he was on his feet before the tap came again. He went into the back corridor, and to a rear door and opened it on the back alleyway.
In a rain-spattered coat, his shirt open and unbuttoned halfway down the front, Ramses the Great stood waiting for him. Samir stepped out into the darkness. The rain had left a sheen on the stone walls, and on the pavement. But nothing seemed to shimmer quite like this tall, commanding figure before him.
"What can I do for you, sire?" Samir asked. "What service can I render?"
"I want to come in, honest one," Ramses said. "If you will permit, I would like to see the relics of my ancestors and of my children."
A lovely tremor passed through Samir at these words. He felt tears springing to his eyes. He could not have explained this bittersweet happiness to anyone.
"Gladly, sire," he said. "Let me be your guide. It is a great privilege."
Elliott saw the lights in Randolph's library. He parked his car at the kerb, right beside the old mews, climbed out and somehow managed to get up the steps and ring the bell. Randolph himself, in shirt-sleeves and with the stale smell of wine on his breath, came to answer.
"Good Lord, do you know what time it is?" he asked. He turned and allowed Elliott to follow him back into the library. What a grand affair it was, chock full of all the accoutrements money could buy for such a room, including prints of dogs and horses, and maps which no one ever looked at.
"I'll tell you the truth right off. I'm too tired for anything else," Randolph said. "You've come at a very good time to answer a very important question."
"And what is that?" Elliott said. He watched Randolph settle at his desk, a great monstrous thing of mahogany with heavy carving. There were papers and account books all over the top of it. There were bills in heaps. And a great huge ugly telephone, and leather containers for clips, pens, paper.
"The ancient Romans," Randolph said, sitting back and drinking his wine without a thought to offering Elliott any. "What did they do when they were dishonoured, Elliott? They slit their wrists, did they not? And bled to death gracefully."
Elliott eyed the man, his red eyes, the slight palsy of his hand. Then he put his walking stick to use as he climbed to his feet again. He went to the desk and poured himself a glass of wine from the decanter. He refilled Randolph's glass, and then retreated to his chair again.
Randolph watched all this but appeared to attach no significance to it whatsoever. He rested his elbows on the desk before him, and ran his heavy wrinkled fingers through his grey hair as he stared at the heap of papers.
"If memory serves me right," Elliott said, "Brutus fell on his sword. Mark Antony later tried the same trick, and made a mess of it. He then climbed a rope to Cleopatra's bedchamber. And there managed somehow to kill himself again, or to die finally. She chose the poison of a snake. But yes, to answer your question, Romans did from time to time slit their wrists, that's true. But will you allow me to observe that no amount of money is worth a man's life. And you must stop thinking of this."
Randolph smiled. Elliott tasted the wine. Very good. The Stratfords always drank good wine. Day in and day out, they drank vintages that others saved for momentous occasions.
"Is that so?" Randolph said. "No amount of money. And where am I going to get the amount of money I need to prevent my niece from understanding the full extent of my perfidy?"
The Earl shook his head. "If you take your life,
she will undoubtedly find out everything."
"Yes, and I shall not be there to answer her questions."
"A small point, and not worth the price of your remaining years. You're talking nonsense."
"Am I? She isn't going to marry Alex. You know she isn't. And she wouldn't turn her back on Stratford Shipping even if she did. There's nothing standing between me and the final disaster."
"Oh, yes, there is."
"And what is that?"
"Give it a few days and see if I'm not right. Your niece has herself a new distraction. Her guest from Cairo, Mr. Reginald Ramsey. Alex is miserable about it, of course, but Alex will recover. And this Reginald Ramsey may very well sweep Julie away from Stratford Shipping as well as from my son. And your problems may find a very simple solution. She may forgive you everything."
"I saw that fellow!" Randolph said. "Saw him this morning when Henry made that asinine scene. You don't mean to tell me ..."
"I have a hunch, as Americans say. Julie and this man ..."
"Henry ought to be in that house!"
"Forget it. What you're saying doesn't matter."
"Well, you sound downright cheerful about this! I should have thought you'd be more upset than I am."
"It's unimportant."
