Lord of the Silent: A Novel of Suspense (10 page)

said Ramses. "Father, would you like a glass of water?" "I would like to-er-hmph. No, thank you, my boy. I suppose," said Emerson, "one of the Abd er Rassuls might have done the job." The men of Gurneh were among the most accomplished tomb robbers in Egypt. One could not help suspecting there was a hereditary factor; their ancestors had been locating and looting tombs since pharaonic times. The Abd er Rassul brothers had had an almost uncanny aptitude for finding hidden burials; the cache of royal mummies had been only one of their discoveries. "That's not really their line of work, though," Nefret said thoughtfully. "The fragments of that statue have been lying about for years. One can't really blame the authorities-such as they are- for failing to guard them. One would need a block and tackle to lift the pieces, wouldn't one?" "Not necessarily," I said. "You have seen our men raise objects even heavier by sheer brute strength and skill. Well, it will be a nice little mystery for you and Ramses to solve, my dear." Nice and safe, I thought to myself. The Gurneh thieves were a wily lot, but none of them was given to violence. We stood on the dock waving good-bye as the men poled the Amelia away from the bank. The great sail caught the wind and swelled. The strength of the northerly winds and the skill of Reis Hassan would carry her upstream, against the current. The steam engine we had installed, at hideous expense and against my wishes, reduced the travel time to little more than a week, but they were in no hurry, and if they followed my advice they would only use the confounded noisy odorous machine when the wind failed. Emerson's arm stole round my waist. "Curse it, Peabody," he said, in a voice gruff with emotion. "Yes, my dear. It has been too long. Shall we plan a voyage of our own, later in the season?" "Why not? We should be able to get the other business settled before too long." "What other business?" Emerson drew my arm through his and we started back toward the house. "Why, the little matter of the weeping assassin. Not a bad title for a thriller," he added musingly. I turned my head and looked up at him. The morning breeze ruffled his hair and the morning light cast his strong features in sharp outline. "Come now, don't pretend you hadn't thought of it," he said. "You always claim you anticipate my intentions and deductions." "I had, of course. I was waiting until Ramses was out of the way before I raised the question with you. He won't like our interfering, you know." "If things work out as I hope, he won't know about it. He's too softhearted by half," said Ramses's father. "Not that I mean any harm to the poor devil. I only want to question him and help him, if he is in need of help." "I would like to help him back into prison," I said. "You are as softhearted as Ramses. How either of you can be so tolerant about a murderous attack-" "I don't think you quite understand the-er-motivation, Peabody." "Explain it to me, then." Emerson drew me behind the shelter of a wall, out of the wind, and took out his pipe. He made quite a long business of filling and lighting it. After puffing meditatively, he said, "No, my dear, I would rather not. There are some subjects a gentleman does not discuss with a lady, and you are still delightfully naive about-er-" "Oh, good Gad!" I cried. "Do you mean that wretched boy is- has-was-" "Not so naive as that, I see," Emerson remarked as if to himself. "I believe so, yes. That assumption goes a long way to explaining Asad's emotional behavior." "But-but-" "My dear girl, don't look so stricken. It is perfectly natural-for some individuals-and perfectly harmless-for most of them. Ramses couldn't help it, if a young man-er-took a fancy to him, any more than he can prevent females from doing the same. He handled the matter very well, I thought. I only hope Asad hasn't cut his throat in a fit of remorse." "Would he do such a thing?" "He might. That is one of the reasons why I am anxious to locate him. And before you condemn him for that rather pathetic attack," Emerson added, "bear in mind that in matters of the heart the female can be deadlier than the male." I certainly could not deny that. I was turning over in my mind various examples, from my personal experience, as we proceeded on our way. Emerson took my hand and hurried me along. He was, as always, anxious to get to the dig. "Not so fast, if you please," I said. "We haven't decided how we are to go about locating this elusive youth. If he had wanted our help he would have sought it by this time." "It will be difficult," Emerson admitted. "But there are certain steps we might take ..." We took the first that same night. Mr. Bassam was delighted to see us. Some form of green vegetable figured prominently in the menu for that evening, and a strong smell of onions filled the room. "Whatever you have," said Emerson, cutting short Bassam's traditional offers of varied food substances, none of which was on hand. We had our usual table, next to the open door of the restaurant. I was not aware of watching that doorway until Emerson kicked me on the ankle and suggested, in what he thinks is a whisper, that I stop being so obvious. After an excellent meal Emerson invited Bassam to join us for coffee and a pipe. The last was a habit I had never acquired, and I wondered, as the men passed the mouthpiece back and forth, how on earth Emerson could ingest so many dubious substances without the slightest alimentary inconvenience. Bassam gave him the opening he wanted by asking after Nefret and Ramses. "They have gone to Luxor, I hear." Emerson glanced at me. If Mr. Bassam knew, so did everyone else in Cairo. The speed with which gossip spreads in that city is astonishing. "Yes," he said. "They told us what a fine dinner they had here. Did you happen to see their friend?" "They were alone," Bassam said, looking puzzled. "Not even the lady cat was with them." "They ran into him just after they left," Emerson explained. "Ramses asked me to look him up, and give him a message, but he seems to have moved. I thought he might be one of your regular customers." "Ah. What is his name?" Emerson had no choice but to give the only name we knew, though it was unlikely the fellow was still using it. Bassam shook his head. The description Emerson proceeded to give struck no chord either. "Eyeglasses, young, a thin beard," Bassam mused, stroking his own bushy appendage fondly. "It could be any one of several who come from time to time. Shall I watch out for him and tell him the Father of Curses wishes to speak with him?" "Tell him the Father of Curses has news for him. Good news, that he will be glad to hear." "Well done, Emerson," I said, after we had taken leave of our host and left the establishment. "I doubt anything will come of it. If Asad learned anything from his temporary leader, he has probably altered his appearance." Nothing came of it that night, though we strolled with snail-like slowness through the dark alleys. We could only hope that the word would spread. It probably would; Emerson's activities were always of consuming interest to the citizens of Cairo. He dropped a few more words the following night, in various coffee shops around the University. "People tend to return to familiar surroundings," he explained. "He was a student at Al-Azhar and knows the area." Nothing came of that visit either, though we sat late in the garden every night and informed Ali that if anyone approached the house in a surreptitious manner he was not to raise the alarm but come quietly to inform us. I suggested, therefore, that we try a more direct approach by informing the police of Asad's reappearance and asking what they knew about him. Emerson was against the idea. "I would rather not have anything more to do with British officialdom, Peabody. Thus far they have left us alone. Why invite their interest?" "What shall we do, then?" "Wait," said Emerson. "Someone is bound to attack you sooner or later, it happens every year. In the meantime, if you can bring yourself to put up with mundane mastabas, we will get on with our work." I forgave him his ill humor, for the work was not progressing as quickly as he had hoped. We had already been shorthanded; with Ramses and Nefret both gone, our workforce had been cut in half. The tomb on which we had just begun was a double mastaba, of a man and wife, its perimeter cluttered up with a hodgepodge of later tombs; it had no fewer than six burial shafts and a chapel with the remains of painted reliefs. One morning I was trying to help Selim with the photography-he wasn't much better at it than I-while the unsifted rubble piled up and Emerson cursed Daoud for not holding the measuring stick level, when a soft voice addressed me. "Mrs. Emerson? Er-good morning? Uh-I hope I am not interrupting you?" I assure the Reader that the interrogation marks are necessary to indicate the indecisive tones. The speaker, who had approached while my eye was fixed to the viewfinder of the camera, was a youngish man of medium height who looked vaguely familiar. I had to take a second look before I recognized him. In my surprise I heard myself also talking in questions. "William? William Amherst? Can it be you?" "Yes, ma'am," said William. (At least he had enough confidence in his own identity to make it a statement instead of a question.) For a number of years William had worked for Cyrus, supervising the latter's excavations in the Valley of the Kings. I had known him well, but my disbelief was understandable. He had been a fine, upstanding young chap, with a ready smile. The man who faced me now stood with shoulders hunched and head bent. His clothing was shabby, his boots had been patched, and the once neatly trimmed mustache drooped raggedly over his mouth. "Well!" I said with somewhat forced heartiness. "How good it is to see you, William, and how kind of you to drop by. We were about to stop for a bite of luncheon. Will you join us?" It was as if I had wound the spring of an automaton. The drooping figure burst into speech. "I wouldn't have come at this time, Mrs. Emerson, but I know the Professor does not like to be interrupted when he is working, and I would not have ventured to call on you at home-" "Why on earth not? Emerson will be delighted to see you too. He is down in a burial shaft. I will call him." "No, ma'am, please! Not until I have told you ... I would rather ask you than the Professor, ma'am. You can explain it to him-if you will be so very good-" "Explain what? Get a grip on yourself, William." He looked so guilty, I couldn't help asking, "Have you committed a crime, or got yourself in trouble with the Service des Antiquites?" "Oh, no, Mrs. Emerson! Nothing of the sort. The truth is ... well, Howard Carter told me you were looking for ... And then I heard that Ramses and Miss Nefret had ... So I thought perhaps ..." I felt as if I were trying to translate a language of which I knew only a few words. Fortunately I am experienced at conundrums. "Are you applying for a position on our staff?" "Uh-yes." "Why?" "Er-" "Our minimum requirements demand that any individual we employ be able to express himself in ordinary English," I said impatiently. "What I am endeavoring to ascertain is why you want a position. The last I heard of you-for I take an interest in my friends, William-was that you had enlisted." "I tried to." He bowed his head. "They wouldn't take me. I have a-a medical condition ..." Delicacy forbade further questioning on that point. I felt sure I now understood how the unfortunate young man had come to his present state. I could have wrung the truth out of him, sentence by sentence, but it seemed simpler to state my conclusions. "You felt disgraced and ashamed," I said. "That is very silly, William, but such a reaction is typical of the male sex. So you decided to drown your shame in drink, abandon a promising career, and wallow in self-pity? Quite characteristic. What reason have I to believe you have reformed?" "None," William said humbly. "But if you will give me a chance, I swear I will prove myself." At that unpropitious moment Emerson's head appeared. He was standing on a ladder, with the rest of his body in the shaft, but the suggestion of decapitation was somewhat uncanny. "Who's that?" he shouted. "Why aren't you working? Isn't it time for luncheon?" "It is," I shouted back. "Come up, Emerson, and greet an old friend." Before he joined us there was only time for me to say softly, "I am inclined to believe you, William, and I will do my best to persuade Emerson. Only straighten up and face him like a man!" Emerson required very little persuasion. He was so frustrated he probably would have hired an ax murderer if that individual had been able to translate Egyptian. Encouraged by a series of surreptitious pokes from me, William managed to speak coherently and look Emerson in the eye. He explained he had a room in a so-called hotel in Giza village. I knew the place, and would not have kenneled a dog there, but I decided I would wait awhile before offering the hospitality of our home to an individual whose habits might not be acceptable. His initial efforts were promising. He turned up smack on time the following morning, washed and shaved and sober, and worked tirelessly and well. I had him to tea; I had him to dinner; he began to put on flesh and gain confidence. Even Sennia approved of him. "He is rather boring," was her verdict. "But nice." After a few more days I proposed that he move into one of the guest chambers. To my surprise he refused, courteously but decidedly. "You have already done so much for me, Mrs. Emerson. I cannot accept additional favors until I have earned them." He was sufficiently at ease with me by then to add, with one of his shy smiles, "It isn't because I spend the evenings drinking, you know." I had already been certain of that; I am well acquainted with the signs of overindulgence. I did not press him, for an individual is entitled to his privacy. Do not suppose, Reader, that the pressure of professional labor had made me lose sight of another objective. The children had been gone for almost a week when I decided Emerson's laissez-faire approach was not going to work. No one had attacked us. It was extremely vexing, so I worked out a few little schemes of my own. I arranged matters so that I could take care of at least two of them on the same day. Efficiency is my strong point, if I may say so; and besides, I did not suppose I could get away from Emerson a second time after he had found out what I had done. I slipped away one afternoon when he was fully occupied with a burial shaft. I knew he would be there for a while, since several interesting bits of mummy had turned up. Naturally I left a message for him at the house, but I expected I would have an hour or two to myself before he tracked me down. The Turf Club was a bastion of British bigotry in the heart of Cairo.