Allison’s lips pruned. “Only that information on guests is completely confidential and no amount of sharp disapproval will change that blasted man’s mind . . .” She trailed off, her mouth dropping open. Then she lunged at the rack of newspapers and yanked up a flimsy paper booklet. “This is Milton! This is that rotten man who owes my family!” She thrust the booklet at Jie—then at me.
I barely had time to see the title, The Exploits and Adventures of Rodney Milton, Greatest Egyptologist of the Century, before she had whipped open the booklet and was scanning the contents.
“Here it is!” she exclaimed. “Saqqara. That was the excavation father invested in.” Clearing her throat, she began to read. “‘Saqqara was a well-known site that had barely been touched before the esteemed Professor Rodney Milton’”—she made a gagging face—“‘excavated the ruins in 1870. With funding from the University of Philadelphia and other donors, Milton bravely explored many pyramids at the site. During his excavations, Milton uncovered an entire necropolis, or city of the dead, where hundreds of catacombs were built to honor ancient Egyptian deities.’” Her eyes snapped to mine as she shoved the booklet into her pocket. “‘Esteemed professor,’ indeed! And how very kind of this book to lump my father under ‘other donors’! Oh, I will find this double-crossing Milton if it’s the last thing I do. And I will get that concierge to talk—”
“Wait!” I snagged her wrist before she could slay the poor man with her words. “Perhaps Oliver has had better luck. Let’s find him first.”
Yet as I turned to go search for him, my gaze landed on two ridiculous-looking girls marching toward the front desk. They were close in age to Allison and me, but their matching red hair and freckles indicated they were sisters.
One was tall and lithe, the other small and plump, much like Mercy and Patience Virtue back in Philadelphia—and with quite the same airs. They stopped imperiously before the concierge.
“We are expecting a delivery from Swan & Edgar,” said the taller, prettier of the two sisters. “When it arrives, please have it sent back.”
“Tell them we will not be needing the dresses,” inserted the plump sister, her expression dramatic and forlorn.
“Your names?” the concierge asked.
“Deborah and Denise Mock.” The taller one’s face flushed with annoyance. “Surely you know us by now. We have been staying here for ages.” With a scathing glare, she spun on her heel and scurried back past us. “Come on, Denise,” she trilled.
Denise hustled after. “Oh, I am still so overcome that Mother will not let us go to the party.”
“Do not speak of it,” Deborah snapped. “I was looking forward to seeing the professor’s latest artifact, and now everyone will be talking of it without us.”
“And here I was,” Denise went on dismally, “so certain that my new rose silk would catch Mr. Chaplin’s eye. . . .”
The girls rounded an urn and slipped from earshot.
And Allison and I exchanged wide-eyed glances—and I knew she thought as I did. It was not so long ago that we behaved like those sisters, and that dresses and bachelors had dominated our conversations too. For all that girls like the Virtue sisters enraged me, I had once been just like them.
“Ladies.”
Jie, Allison, and I jumped. But it was only Oliver behind us. “The professor isn’t here,” he said, sliding to my side. “But he does dine here every week, and the staff knows all about him. Today he is at the Bulaq Museum.”
“Then let us go there,” Allison cried. “Can we afford the carriage fare?”
“Ah, but the cost does not matter.” Oliver opened his hands apologetically. “There is a party tonight, hosted in your professor’s honor. Apparently he has discovered some wondrous artifact, and he intends to unveil it.”
My breath hissed out, for certainly this was the same party the Mock sisters would be missing. . . .
“A party?” Allison snarled, stamping her foot. “Esteemed professor, indeed!”
“Can we try to get in?” Jie asked.
“Doubtful.” Oliver’s eyebrows dipped down. “Security will be very strict. They aren’t letting anyone in without an invitation.”
Allison ground her toe in the tiles, as if they might be Milton’s nose. “So we must wait until after this party to speak to Milton?”
“Or we return tomorrow.”
“We cannot wait,” I inserted. “We have to assume Marcus is on his way to Egypt right now. We have certainly gained some time from the airship, but how much? A full day is already lost because of the Hell Hounds—losing any more is too much risk.” I rubbed at my earlobe, considering our options. Giza was not so far away, so we could hire a carriage . . . though that still would require more money than we currently possessed.
It was then, as I was frowning into space, that Jie nudged me.
“Look.” She dipped her head at two well-dressed gentlemen with large boxes striding toward the concierge. The boxes read SWAN & EDGAR.