The Third Gate Read Online Free PDF Page B

growing infirmity. He made no request for grants; it would appear he sold several of his most prized artifacts to finance the trip. None of these things were in character for Petrie—but strangest of all was his haste . He had always been known for careful, deliberate scholarship. But this trip to Egypt, with North Africa already deep in the throes of war, was the polar opposite of deliberation. It seems to have been frantic—almost desperate.”
    Stone paused to take a sip from the tiny cup of coffee. The air was briefly perfumed with the scent of qahwa sada .
    “Where exactly Petrie went—why he went—was not known. What was known is that he returned to Jerusalem five months later, alone, funds depleted. He would not speak of where he’d been. His air of desperation remained, yet the journey had sorely weakened an already enfeebled body. He died not long afterward in Jerusalem, in 1942, apparently while raising funds for yet another return to Egypt.”
    Stone replaced the cup on its earthenware coaster, then glanced at Logan.
    “None of that is in the historical record,” Logan said. “How did you find this out?”
    “How do I find anything out, Dr. Logan?” Stone spread hishands. “I peer into the dark corners others don’t bother to examine. I search public and private records, hunting for that one lost document accidentally shoved behind the others and forgotten. I read anything and everything I can get my hands on—including, I might add, obscure graduate dissertations.”
    Logan put one hand to his heart, made a mock bow.
    “People talk about the secret of my Midas touch.” Stone uttered these last words contemptuously. “What tripe. There’s no secret beyond plain hard work. The fortune I made from the Spanish Plate Fleet gave me the resources to do things my way: send scholars and investigators to all corners of the world, searching quietly for that tantalizing gap in the historical record, that scrap of ancient rumor, that might prove to be of interest—and, perhaps, more than just of interest .”
    As quickly as it came, the bitterness left Stone’s voice. “In the case of Flinders Petrie, I obtained a battered diary, purchased as part of a lot in an Alexandrian bazaar. The diary had been kept by a research assistant of Petrie’s during his last years in Jerusalem: a young man who wasn’t asked to go along on that final expedition and afterward, in vexation, joined the army. He died in the Battle of the Kasserine Pass. Of course the story described in his diary piqued my interest. What could have possessed Petrie—who cared little for treasure, who had earned a large measure of scholarly fame, not to mention every right to enjoy an old age of ease—to leave the comfort of his home and enter a war zone at almost ninety years of age? It was a mystery.” Stone paused. “But you must understand, Dr. Logan: I have a hundred, two hundred, such mysteries in the vault of my research lab in Kent. Some I discovered myself; others I have paid well to have unearthed. They are all interesting. But my time is finite. I will not commit to a project until I feel confident I have sufficient knowledge to guarantee success.”
    The Midas touch , Logan thought. Aloud, he said, “I take it, then, this research assistant of Petrie’s wasn’t the last word on the subject?”
    Stone smiled again faintly, and, as he returned Logan’s gaze, thestark, appraising look returned to his eyes. “Petrie’s housekeeper. One of my associates learned of her existence, traced her whereabouts, and interviewed her shortly before her death, in a hospice for the aged in Haifa. This was six years ago. She was rambling, semi-lucid. But under gentle questioning, she clearly recalled one particular afternoon in 1941, when Petrie was displaying a portion of his vast collection of antiquities to a guest. It was a guest of no importance, and Petrie entertained in this fashion frequently. In any case, on this particular occasion