Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (151 page)

‘It is good, sitt,’ Selim exclaimed.

‘Because of your injury I felt it necessary to return with you,’ I continued. ‘The blow on the head left you dizzy and confused; if the professor asks you any awkward questions, you can just say you don’t remember.’

The lad’s soft brown eyes shown with admiration. ‘Sitt, you are my mother and my father! You are the kindest and wisest of women!’

‘You know how I hate flattery, Selim. Your praise is unnecessary; just do as I say and everything will work out. Er – you might lean back and try to look faint. There is the hotel, and I see Emerson storming up and down on the terrace.’

Selim drooped and moaned so exquisitely that the sight of him quite distracted Emerson from the scolding he had meant to give me. ‘Good Gad,’ he shouted, peering into the carriage. ‘What has happened?’ Is he dead? Selim, my boy–’

‘I am not dead but I am dying,’ Selim groaned. ‘Honoured Father of Curses, give my respects to my father, to my brothers Ali and Hassan and–’

I jabbed him surreptitiously with my parasol. Selim sat up with a start. ‘Perhaps I am not dying. I think I will recover.’

Emerson climbed into the carriage and slammed the door. ‘To the railroad station,’ he directed the driver.

‘But, Emerson,’ I began. ‘Don’t you want to know–’

‘I do indeed, Peabody. You can tell me as we go. We will just catch the afternoon express if we hurry.’

He plucked off Selim’s turban. The boy gave a dismal yelp, and Emerson said coolly. ‘I recognize your handiwork, Peabody. One-half pennyworth of blood to this intolerable deal of bandages, eh? Tell me all about it, from the beginning.’

The tale was long in the telling, for I had to begin with my meeting with Mr Gregson, and at first Emerson interrupted me every few words. ‘You must be out of your mind, Peabody,’ he bellowed. ‘To follow that fellow into the heart of the old city on the strength of a cock-and-bull story … Who is he, anyway? You don’t even know him!’

I persevered, and by the time we reached the station I had told the modified version of the truth Selim and I had agreed upon. Emerson’s only comment was a gruff ‘Humph.’ Tossing the driver a few coins, he helped Selim out of the carriage with a gentleness his scowling countenance belied, and hurried us toward the train. There was a little altercation when we took Selim with us into a first-class carriage; but Emerson silenced the conductor with a handful of money and a few firm comments, and the other passengers departed, muttering – but not very loudly.

‘Ah,’ said Emerson in a pleased voice. ‘Very good. We have the carriage to ourselves. We can discuss this remarkable story of yours at leisure.’

‘First,’ I said, hoping to distract him, ‘tell me what you learned in the
sûk
.’

He had – if I could believe him – discovered more than I. One acquaintance, whom Emerson chose not to identify by name, claimed he knew the murderer of Kalenischeff. The killer was a professional assassin, for hire by anyone who had the price. It was rumoured that he sometimes carried out assignments for Sethos, but he was not an official member of the gang. The man had left Cairo shortly after Kalenischeff’s death, and no one knew where he was to be found.

‘But,’ said Emerson, his eyes narrowing, ‘I am on his trail, Peabody. Eventually he will return, for Cairo is where he does his business. And when he does, word will be brought to me.’

‘But that may take weeks – months,’ I exclaimed.

‘If you think you can do better, Peabody, you have my permission to try,’ Emerson said. Then he clapped his hand to his mouth. ‘No. No! I did not say that. I meant–’

‘Never mind, my dear Emerson. My comment was not intended as criticism. Only you could have learned as much.’

‘Humph,’ said Emerson. ‘What have you been up to, Peabody? You never flatter me unless you have something to hide.’

‘That is unjust, Emerson. I have often–’

‘Indeed? I cannot remember when–’

‘I have the greatest respect–’

‘You constantly deceive and–’

‘I–’

‘You–’

Selim let out a groan and collapsed against Emerson’s broad shoulder. Taking a flask from my belt, I administered a sip of brandy, and Selim declared he felt much better.

I handed the flask to Emerson, who absently took a drink. ‘Now then, Peabody,’ he said affably. ‘What else did you learn?’

I told him about the safragis and described my visit to Mr Aziz. Emerson shook his head. ‘That was a waste of time, Peabody. I could have told you Aziz was not a member of the organization. He has not the intelligence or the – er – intestinal fortitude.’

‘Precisely what I said to Aziz, Emerson. So it appears we are not much further along.’

‘We have made a start, at any rate. I did not anticipate bringing our inquiries to a successful conclusion in one day.’

‘Quite right, Emerson. You always cut straight to the heart of the matter. And,’ I added hopefully, ‘perhaps during our absence Sethos has done something, such as attacking the compound, which will give us more information.’

A
T
Emerson’s request the train stopped at Dahshoor long enough to let us disembark. We trudged off along the path, Emerson supporting Selim with such vigour that the boy’s feet scarcely touched the ground. After a short time Selim declared breathlessly that he was fully recovered and capable of walking by himself.

‘Good lad,’ said Emerson, with a hearty slap on the back.

Alternately rubbing his back and his head, Selim followed us. ‘He may have saved your life, Amelia,’ said Emerson. ‘You didn’t happen to see the man who attacked him?’

‘It all happened so quickly,’ I said truthfully.

‘The attacker may have been a common thief, you know. We need not see emissaries of Sethos everywhere.’

‘I think you are right, Emerson.’

Before we reached the house we knew something was amiss. The gates were wide open and the place was buzzing like a beehive. The men had gathered in a group, all talking at once. Enid sat in a chair by the door, her face hidden in her hands; Donald paced up and down, patting her shoulder each time he passed her.

‘What the devil,’ Emerson began.

‘It is Ramses, of course,’ I said. ‘I expect he has gone off again.’

As soon as we appeared, the entire assemblage rushed toward us and a dozen voices strove to be the first to tell the news. Emerson bellowed, ‘Silence!’ Silence duly ensued. ‘Well?’ said Emerson, looking at Donald.

‘It is my fault,’ Enid cried. ‘The poor dear little boy wanted to give me a lesson in Egyptian; but I–’ She gave Donald a betraying glance.

‘No, it is my fault,’ Donald said. ‘He was my responsibility; but I–’ He looked at Enid.

Emerson rounded on me and shook a finger under my nose. ‘Now you see, Amelia, what comes of this love nonsense. People afflicted by that illness have no sense of responsibility, no sense of duty–’

‘Be calm, Emerson,’ I implored. ‘Let Donald speak.’

‘He is gone, that is all,’ Donald said, shrugging helplessly. ‘We noted his absence about an hour ago, but precisely how long ago he left I cannot say.’

‘Is he on foot or on donkeyback?’ I inquired.

‘Neither,’ Donald said grimly. ‘The little – er – fellow borrowed a horse – not any horse, but the cherished steed of the mayor, the same one you hired the other day. I say borrow, but I ought to add that the mayor was unaware of the fact. He has threatened to nail Ramses to the door of his house if anything happens to that animal.’

‘He cannot control such a large horse,’ Enid exclaimed, wringing her hands. ‘How he managed to mount and get away without being seen–’

‘Ramses has a knack with animals,’ I said. ‘Never mind that. I assume no one saw him leave and therefore we have no idea as to which direction he took?’

‘That is correct,’ said Donald.

Emerson clapped his hand to his brow. ‘How could he do this? He left no message, no letter?’

‘Oh yes,’ Donald said. ‘He left a letter.’

‘Then why have you not gone after him!’ Emerson cried, snatching the grimy paper Donald held out.

‘Because,’ said Donald, ‘the letter is written in hieroglyphic.’

And indeed it was. I stood on tiptoe and read over Emerson’s shoulder. Ramses’ hieroglyphic hand was extremely elegant, in striking contrast to his English handwriting, which was practically illegible. I doubted, however, that it was for that reason he had chosen to employ the former language.

‘Mazghunah,’ Emerson exclaimed. ‘He has gone to Mazghunah! “For the purpose of speaking with the wabpriest…” That is a rather unorthodox use of the present participle, I must say.’

‘You may be sure Ramses can and will justify the usage if you are foolish enough to ask him,’ I said. ‘Well, Emerson, shall we go after him?’

‘How can you ask, Amelia? Of course we will go after him, and as quickly as we can. When I think of what may have befallen him, alone in the desert – a little child on a horse he cannot handle, pursued by unknown villains … Oh, good Gad!’ Emerson ran toward the stable.

A lurid sunset glorified the west as our patient little donkeys trotted south along the path we knew so well. Emerson was as incapable as I of whipping an animal, but he urged his steed forward with impassioned pleas.

‘So far so good,’ I remarked, in the hope of comforting him. ‘Ramses would have followed this same path; we have not seen his fallen body, so it is probably safe to assume he managed to control the horse.’

‘Oh, curse it,’ was Emerson’s only response.

We entered the village from the north, passing the ruins of the American mission, which had been the scene of some of our most thrilling adventures the year before. It was silent and abandoned; the makeshift steeple of the church had collapsed and the surrounding houses were uninhabited. I had no doubt that the villagers shunned the spot as haunted and accursed.

As we approached the well, we saw a crowd of people. One and all stood in silent fascination, facing the house of the priest, their heads tilted as they listened. Faint and far away, yet distinctly audible, the wavering note rose and fell – the cry of the muezzin reciting the call to prayer. A strange sound in a Christian village, with never a mosque in sight! Most curious of all was the fact that the sound came from inside the house of the priest.

There was a brief, waiting silence. Then the
adan
was repeated, but more loudly, and in a different voice. The first had been tenor, this was a gruff baritone. It broke off after a few words, to be followed immediately by yet a third voice, distinguished by a perceptible lisp. It sounded as if the priest of Dronkeh were entertaining, or interviewing, all the local muezzins.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea before Emerson’s impetuous rush. Without waiting to knock, he flung the door open.

The last rays of the dying sun cut like a flaming sword through the gloom within. They fell full upon the form of Walter ‘Ramses’ Peabody Emerson, seated cross-legged on the divan, his head thrown back, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as from his parted lips came the wailing rise and fall of the call to prayer.

The priest, who had been sitting in the shadow, started up. Ramses – being Ramses – finished all four of the initial statements of the ritual (‘God is most great, et cetera’) before remarking, ‘Good evening, Mama. Good evening, Papa. Did you have a productive day in Cairo?’

Emerson accepted Father Todorus’ offer of a cup of cognac. I declined. I required all my wits to deal with Ramses.

‘May I ask,’ I inquired, taking a seat beside him, ‘what you are doing?’

I hated to ask, for I felt sure he would tell me, at tedious length; but I was so bewildered by the uncanny performance I was not quite myself. It was obvious that not only the last, but
all
the other muezzin calls had come from the scrawny throat of my son. Emerson continued to sip his cognac, his bulging eyes fixed on Ramses’ Adam’s apple.

Ramses cleared his throat. ‘When you and Papa discussed the unfortunate captivity of Father Todorus here, I found myself in complete agreement with your conclusion that he had been imprisoned somewhere within the environs of Cairo. Your further conclusion, that it would not be possible to narrow this down, was one with which I was reluctantly forced to disagree. For in my opinion–’