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“What can I say? I live for leisure.”
His mission had been to help negotiate a treaty behind the scenes between Russia and the Ottoman Empire, halting Russian expansion into Greece. His specialty was conflict resolution. Stopping wars before they started... or hastening their demise.
“I suppose that’s where you found the bust of Aphrodite,” said Indy.
He nodded. “I’m donating her to the museum.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Has the raven changed his feathers?”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“As much as I enjoy our little chats I have work to do, so go back to your flask and your bawdy jokes.”
“Don’t let me stop you. I’ll even hold the lamp.”
She eyed him warily. “So you can steal my ideas.”
“So I can enjoy the view as you bend over.”
She rolled her eyes. “Very well, stay if you insist. It’s nothing to me.”
The paper was still down the back of her trousers. She wouldn’t take it out unless he left.
He lifted a lamp and held it over the dark expanse of the stone with its columns of engraved lettering.
“Wait a moment. Hold that lamp closer.” She lifted her magnifying glass and studied the top rows of hieroglyphics.
She traced a line with her fingertip. “What on earth?”
“What’s wrong?” Raven didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. He’d viewed the stone before.
She stared at him with consternation in her eyes. “This isn’t the Rosetta Stone.”
“Of course it is,” he scoffed.
“No, it’s really not.” She traced the hieroglyphics for the name of King Ptolemy with her fingertip, looping around the lasso symbol and over the back of the crouching lion. “This is a forgery. A clever one, but a forgery. Is this even basalt?” She rapped on the stone with her knuckle. “I’d say it’s something much lighter.”
“That’s completely absurd. Why wouldn’t this be the Rosetta Stone?”
“You tell me. All I know is that these,” she traced the hieroglyphics again, “were not carved in ancient Egypt. Also, the French made many lithographs before they surrendered it to General Hutchinson during the Capitulation of Alexandria. There were more traces of black ink on the real stone.”
“It must be the dim lighting, or—”
“I’m afraid it’s true,” said a man’s voice.
Sir Malcolm.
He walked into the room and Indy hastily replaced her tinted spectacles.
“It can’t be true,” Raven said.
“It’s true,” said Malcolm. “The stone has been stolen.”
Chapter 3
“What do you mean, stolen?” asked Raven, perplexed. It wasn’t like Sir Malcolm to withhold such cataclysmic information.
“How can such a heavy slab of basalt disappear?” asked Indy.
