Lord of the Silent: A Novel of Suspense (26 page)

already under attack. I decided to stand on one side of the room, where I would be concealed by the door when it opened. The old woman paid no attention. She was lost in memories of a happier past, when she had cradled a child. It was entirely possible that our attempted ambush was doomed from the start. The villagers, dispersed across the landscape by now, would report the exciting events of the morning to everyone they met. One of them might even take the risk of heading Saleh off and warning him that his plot had failed. If he did not hear of it beforehand, he would certainly realize something was amiss when he found the door unbarred. In my opinion, these possibilities did not justify abandoning our plan. They were possibilities, not certainties, and I felt sure Emerson would agree that we ought not miss even a remote chance of capturing the kidnapper, whom we would force to lead us to the man who had hired him. Was it the same individual who had murdered Asad and attacked us? It hardly seemed likely that we had more than one enemy after us (though I had known it to happen), but try as I might, I had not been able to think of a single underlying motive that would explain all the events. However, a new and intriguing idea had occurred to me after Mohammed's astonishing announcement that afternoon. Could our adversary be a lieutenant of the Master Criminal, bent on revenge for his master's death? Few if any of them could have known of his work for the War Office, and his demise might well have been blamed on us. I had encountered several of these individuals, and since I had nothing better to do, I passed them in review. The sophisticated, charming Sir Edward? The gallant young Frenchman I had known as Rene d'Arcy? The amiable American lad, Charles Holly? Surely not any of them. They had all been perfect gentlemen, even if they were criminals. The only one of Sethos's immediate entourage who might have concocted such a diabolical scheme was dead. There could be no doubt of it, for I had seen her corpse. Of course I had not known all his people personally ... Such speculation got me nowhere, but at least it helped to pass the time. Darkness had fallen. The old woman was asleep; I could see nothing, but I heard her thin whistling breaths. I had prepared myself for a long wait. The sound that shook me out of my half-doze was so unexpected and so uncanny, I almost lost my balance. It was the high-pitched, mournful howling of a dog. The crack of a weapon, pistol or rifle, ended the dog's lament. I waited, holding my breath. What the sound betokened I could not tell; how far away it had been I did not know. But someone was out there in the hills, armed with a modern weapon. Once, in the days of my impetuous youth, I might have rushed out of the hut firing my own little gun. I knew better now. Whatever occurred, I must stick to my post until I was relieved. Grasping my pistol in one hand and my torch in the other, I pointed both at the door and stood ready. I suppose the interval did not last more than half an hour, but I thought I would burst from frustration and worry before I finally heard a voice. "Peabody, it's me. Don't shoot! Is it safe to come in?" My throat was parched, but I managed to croak a response. "Certainly it is safe. Do you suppose I would shoot blindly at an opening door?" "I have known it to happen," said Emerson. The door creaked open and I saw his form outlined against the starlight. He had spoken in his normal tones and his torch was lighted, though he was considerate enough not to shine it directly into my eyes. Stiff with long standing, I stumbled toward him. He removed the pistol from my numbed grasp before he lent me the support of his arm. "What happened?" I demanded. "I heard the dog howl-and the pistol shot." "And you stayed in position? Good girl." He gave me a quick kiss. "Now if you can only get out of the habit of waving that damned gun at people ... You aren't hurt, are you?" "No, but I've been standing in one position for hours! Where is Selim? What happened, curse it?" "Gone to fetch the horses." Emerson shone his torch round the interior of the hut. "Opium," he muttered. "Poor creature. We will have to make arrangements for her tomorrow, Peabody. Her son won't be coming back." "Dead?" "Yes. The dog must have been his; it was lying beside his body. Strange, the loyalty the beasts feel even for masters who abuse and neglect them." After the noisome dark of the hut the night air was as refreshing as cool water against my hot cheeks. I refreshed myself with actual water from my canteen, which I had been unable to do earlier since both my hands were occupied, and while we waited for Selim, Emerson answered my urgent questions. "The tragedy, if you want to call it that, occurred not far from where we had concealed ourselves. As I reconstruct the affair, Saleh was to meet his employer in the hills above the village. The bastard may have meant to take Sennia away with him. He may have wanted proof that Saleh had her before he paid over the rest of the money. However-this is only a guess, but it makes sense-Saleh kept the assignation because he was too greedy to abandon the rest of the reward. His attempt to deceive his employer failed; he was forced to admit he had lost his captive." "Or," I suggested, "the impostor may have heard of our visit. As you yourself pointed out, it would have been a subject of gossip all day, all over the area." "Hmmm." Emerson fingered the dent in his chin. "Yes, that makes even better sense. Saleh hoped his employer was still unaware of the latest turn of events, and believed he could trick him into handing over the money. Or, it may be, he meant to overpower and rob him. The-er-impostor took the risk of meeting Saleh because the risk of leaving him on the loose was even greater; he might have been able to tell us something that would give us a clue as to the identity of the man who had hired him. I expect he meant from the first to kill Saleh, once the deed was done. The dog was the only thing he had not anticipated. It began to howl, and the bastard shot it." "There was no trace of him, I suppose." "No. It took us awhile, in the dark, to find the spot. He had plenty of time to knife Saleh, kill the dog, and make himself scarce." "Foiled again!" I cried, shaking my fists at the dark, unheeding heavens. Had I been allowed to follow proper procedures, I would have returned to the murder scene, searched for clues, and examined the body. This suggestion affected Emerson adversely. He assured me, with considerable vehemence, that he had done the job himself at least as thoroughly as I could have done. I doubted this, but his indignation rose to such a pitch, I deemed it advisable to abandon the idea. "So what clues did you discover?" I inquired, as we rode back toward the house. Nodding graciously at Selim, I included him in the question. However, he was wise enough to remain silent. "Nothing," said Emerson. "Did you suppose he would leave his card?" "No footprints, no scraps of clothing?" "Not even a bit of paper clutched in the stiffening fingers of the corpse," said Emerson, with awful sarcasm. "There was no struggle, not even an argument; the fellow came at Saleh from behind, put one arm round his throat to prevent an outcry, and drove the knife into his body with the other hand." "It is an ingenious reconstruction, Emerson, but how can you be sure?" "Elementary, my dear Peabody. Saleh would not have stood still and silent without making some attempt to defend himself if he had faced a man with a knife. His own knife was still in his belt. Anyhow, that appears to be our friend's approved method. He is as efficient as he is ruthless. One would prefer," said Emerson didactically, "to avoid being spattered with blood. The victim's own body would protect the murderer from that, except for his arm and sleeve." "Have you anything to add, Selim?" I asked. "No, Sitt Hakim. Except that I am sorry he died so quickly." Such proved to be the general consensus. A number of our loyal men were still at the house; in lieu of a fantasia, they had decided to celebrate on a smaller scale. Food and drink (of a nonalcoholic variety) were flowing freely, and in the center of the room, like a monarch on his throne, was Gargery, excessively bandaged and smiling. The beverage in his glass appeared to be beer. As soon as I could make myself heard over the questions and cries of welcome, I said, "I am pleased to observe, Gargery, that your injuries were not as painful as I had believed." "I felt obliged to join in the celebration, madam," said Gargery self-righteously. "These good fellows insisted." "Ha," said Emerson-but he said no more. Gargery's current status as hero still held. I had a feeling it would not hold much longer if he took too much advantage of it. We were both quite hungry, so we sat down on the settee and accepted plates of spiced chicken and stewed lentils, and Emerson told the audience what had happened. Groans of disappointment followed the announcement of Saleh's death. "What shall we do now, Father of Curses?" Hassan asked. "Await my orders," said Emerson. "The Sitt Hakim and I will determine what is to be done." They went willingly after that promise, and Gargery staggered off to bed, leaning on Fatima. Neither of us felt inclined to lend him a hand, since the staggers were somewhat exaggerated. At last we were alone! "What shall we do now, Father of Curses?" I inquired. "I took it for granted that you already had a plan," said my husband. "Whiskey and soda, Peabody?" "Yes, thank you. As a matter of fact, I have been thinking." "Hell and damnation," Emerson said mildly. "Well, my dear?" It had been a rather tiring day, what with one thing and another, but a sip of the genial beverage had the usual inspiring effect. "We must go to Luxor, Emerson." Emerson began muttering to himself. It had once been a habit of his, though he had not done it lately. "Never get accustomed to it. How does she . . . Must?" He sat down with a thump and stared at me. His heavy brows formed a straight line across his manly brow. "I will explain." "Pray do." "One of the unsolved mysteries about this business is Mr. Asad's role. The people who freed him could not possibly have supposed he would succeed in killing Ramses; he hadn't the strength or the skill to do it. I believe the episode was designed to arouse our interest-" "It certainly did that," said Emerson, reaching for his pipe. "Please, Emerson, do not be sarcastic. I am endeavoring to discuss this in a logical manner. I ... Curse it, you have made me lose track of what I was saying. In short, Ramses and we were meant to search for Mr. Asad-here, in Cairo. Is that not what we would have done under normal circumstances? Instead, parental affection overcame our sense of duty and we did precisely the opposite of what our opponent had expected. Sending Ramses to Luxor was a serious error. The succeeding incidents, including Sennia's abduction, were designed to get him back to Cairo." "He will certainly come back when he hears about Sennia," Emerson muttered round the stem of his pipe. "If you had not insisted on keeping the other incidents from him-" "He would have returned before this. I sometimes think the boy has not much confidence in our ability to take care of ourselves." "I cannot imagine how he could have got that impression." "Emerson-" "I beg your pardon, my dear. Well, well. I am not entirely convinced by your reasoning, Peabody, but," said Emerson, in a refreshing burst of candor, "I am always more comfortable in my mind when we are all of us together. Why can't we just tell-er-persuade the children to come home?" "Because the scene of action is in Luxor! I am convinced of it. You were right-" "I was?" Emerson gave me a look of exaggerated astonishment. "Emerson, please don't do that. You were right in suspecting that there is something sinister behind the increase in antiquities theft. It is just like the old days, when Sethos controlled the business. What we learned today proves it: someone is masquerading as the Master. Has it occurred to you that this person may be one of his former lieutenants?" Emerson shook his head. He appeared to be a trifle dazed. "That assumption would explain the attacks on us, you see," I continued. "Revenge for the death of his leader! Furthermore, it would be to the advantage of this individual to keep us away from Luxor. That is why we must go there." "Q.E.D.," muttered Emerson. "I have it all worked out," I assured him. "The school holidays begin shortly. We will stay with Cyrus and Katherine. They will be delighted to have us. You and I and Sennia, Gargery and Fatima and Daoud and Selim and Kadija and-" "Good Gad, Peabody, you can't expect the Vandergelts to take in a mob like that." "-and Basima and-" "The damned cat? Peabody!" "The Castle is a very large house, Emerson, and I expect Daoud and Selim may prefer to stay with their kin in Gurneh. We can be ready to leave day after tomorrow. I will wire Cyrus first thing in the morning. And now, my dear, I believe we should retire. I am a trifle weary and there will be a great deal to do tomorrow." I put my empty glass on the table and stood up. Emerson remained seated. "... like an avalanche," he muttered, staring into space. "Get out of the way . . . only chance . . . nine people and the cat . . ." I sat down again and put my hand over his clenched fists. "We must find the man who is behind this, Emerson. Family honor demands it." "Family what?" Emerson's eyes came back into focus. "The impostor is using your-" Not even in the privacy of our own home did we use that word. I started again. "He is using Sethos's name and besmirching his reputation." "His reputation isn't exactly lily-white, my dear. However . . ." His noble brow furrowed. "It's beginning to add up," he said, as if to himself. "Precisely, Emerson. I am glad you see it my way." "I rather doubt it, Peabody. But we will go to Luxor. Just tell me one thing." He took me by the shoulders and turned me to face him. "Please tell me your decision was not affected by that damned dream about Abdullah, when instead of speaking to you he waved you to follow him." "Why, Emerson," I said. "How could you possibly think that?"

12

FROM MANUSCRIPT H When Ramses and Nefret arrived at the station, the train had just pulled in. They had to push through a throng of people, all waving their arms and shouting with excitement. Ramses was not surprised that the whole town had turned out; Cyrus was well known and well liked and his wife's numerous charitable activities had made her equally popular. It would have been cynical to suspect that they had a selfish motive-the hope that Vandergelt Effendi had returned to resume the excavations that had given employment to so many men of Luxor. No such thought occurred to Cyrus; he was visibly moved as he stood in the open door of the car, clasping the hands thrust out to him and returning the cries of greeting and welcome. Finally Ramses put an end to the demonstration, which was threatening to pour into the compartment, and by dint of shouts and some shoving, cleared a path along the platform to the waiting carriages. Cyrus helped his wife down the steps and handed her over to Ramses before embracing Nefret. She kissed him back with hearty goodwill, and then hurried to offer an arm to Bertie. He didn't need it; Daoud lifted him clean off his feet and lowered him gently to the platform. "I will carry him to the carriage," Daoud announced, holding the young man in a fond grip. "No-please-I'd rather walk. Really. Tell him," Bertie insisted. He was laughing and a trifle flushed. Katherine-and probably Daoud-had muffled him in coats and mufflers and capes, but the bones in his face and in the thin hand that reached for that of Ramses were painfully prominent. Ramses distracted Daoud with a request that he see to the luggage, and put an unobtrusive arm round Bertie's shoulders. "Let's get you to the carriage. It's not far." "Yes, right. It's just the excitement, you know. I'm glad to be here. Been looking forward to it. I hated to leave that little witch Sennia, though. I must warn you, Ramses-I'm in love. Do you think I'm too old for her?" The brief walk to the carriage left him breathless, and he was talking too fast, putting up a valiant pretense at normalcy. "We're all too old for Sennia," Ramses said lightly. "She wears me out, and even Father requires an extra whiskey after a day with her. Can you stick it for a few more minutes? Yusuf considers himself the official representative of the family and wants to welcome you personally. I'll see that he keeps it short." After a whispered conference, Yusuf agreed not to make a speech, which would have been lost on Bertie anyhow, since he had only a few words of Arabic. Several brothers and cousins had to be introduced, however, along with his pride and joy, Jamil. Yusuf launched into an encomium on Jamil's intelligence and beauty and all-round virtue, while Jamil postured and smirked. If Vandergelt Effendi should decide to resume his excavations, there was no one better to serve as his reis. This last was aimed directly at Cyrus, who gave Ramses a knowing grin and a wink. "Make our excuses, Ramses, your Arabic is better than mine." "Yes, sir, certainly. We must go now, Yusuf." "Wait." Bertie caught at his sleeve. "Who's that?" Ramses turned. He hadn't recognized her before; she was wearing European clothing-a divided skirt belted tight around her narrow waist, a neat flannel coat, and a pith helmet that fit much better than the other. It was an old one of Nefret's, he supposed, like the rest of the outfit. Her black hair had been coiled and knotted at the back of her neck. Ramses wondered if Yusuf had seen her, improperly attired and in the middle of a crowd. Maybe not. She had kept in the background until then, and the clothes made quite a difference in her appearance. Catching his eye, she drew herself up to her full five feet and gave him a dazzling smile before melting back into the mob. "Who is she?" Bertie demanded. He had caught only the fringe of the smile, but he looked as if he had been hit over the head with a brick. "You'll meet her later," Nefret said. "That's certain," Ramses muttered. Nefret turned her laugh into a cough, and began issuing orders. "Katherine, you and Cyrus ride with Bertie. We'll catch you up at the ferry landing. Daoud will bring the luggage on later." The carriage drove away. Bertie had twisted round to look back. Lips compressed, Ramses handed his bride into the second carriage. "You gave her the clothes?" "Yes, why not? I got tired of seeing that pathetic old pith helmet slide down over her eyes. She's much tinier than I am, of course, but I showed her how to-" "Did you anticipate this?" "I expected she'd turn up today, if that's what you mean. As for Bertie ... well, Mother told us he needed a new interest, didn't she? I think he may have found it." One of the graceful feluccas took them across the river, to the dock where Cyrus's carriage was waiting. Nefret firmly declined Cyrus's pressing invitation to return with them to the house. "You'll want to settle in and have a little rest. We'll see you this evening." "Come early and stay late," Cyrus said. "We've got a lot to talk about, I reckon." He drew a long breath. "It sure is good to be back." Daoud turned up at the Amelia a short while later, bursting with conversation and questions. They had a good long gossip, mostly about domestic and professional matters. "When are you coming back to Cairo?" Daoud asked, somewhat accusingly. "The Father of Curses will not finish the excavation of the last mastaba until you return, and the Little Bird misses you. She wept very loudly when they said she could not come to Luxor with us." Ramses smiled at that only too accurate adverb, but Nefret said, "You might at least write her a personal message, Ramses. Sit down and do it right now, and Daoud can take it with him. Must you go back tonight, Daoud?" "Oh, yes. The Father of Curses cannot get on without me. I will spend a little time with Yusuf in Gurneh before I take the train. Is there something I can do for you before I go? Letters to carry back? News to tell?" There was plenty of news. The question was, how much to tell Daoud? She had posted her letter the day before, but they probably would not receive it until the following week. "Yes," she said. "There is news. Important news." Ramses looked up from the sheet of paper over which he was frowning. (Why did men find it so difficult to write a chatty, informal note?) "First," she said, "Miss Minton is asking questions of everyone in Luxor about illegal antiquities dealings. Second ..." "Nefret," Ramses said apprehensively. He had mistaken the reason for her hesitation. She frowned back at him. Did he really suppose she would inform the parents of Sethos's reappearance without consulting him? The news about the accident would have to wait too; Daoud would make it sound more alarming than it was. He might even insist on staying in Luxor to watch over them. "Second, there is a letter on the way," she said smoothly. "Third, Mr. Bertie has found a new interest. Her name is Jumana." "Three things," Daoud said happily. "Can you remember them?" "Oh, yes." Daoud was a trifle slow, but there was nothing wrong with his wits, or his memory, and he was delighted to be the bearer of important information. He ticked the points off on his fingers. "The lady Minton is asking about antiquities thieves. A letter is coming. Mr. Bertie has a new interest, Jumana. Who is she?" "Yusuf's daughter. You will meet her this afternoon; she is a very intelligent young woman and we hope to train her as an Egyptologist. I know the Sitt Hakim will want to hear your opinion of the girl." "Ah," Daoud said thoughtfully. "A girl. Hmmm." Nefret waited for the idea to penetrate. Glancing at Ramses, she said impatiently, "Just write a few words. She doesn't really care what you say, she just wants to hear from you." "So," said Daoud. "A girl." His pensive face brightened as the obvious answer occurred to him. "It will be as Allah and the Sitt Hakim decide." "He's got that right," Ramses said, after Daoud had taken an affectionate leave of them. "What a devious woman you are. Daoud will break the news of our intentions to Yusuf, and if poor old Yusuf objects, he will be sat upon by Daoud, who considers Allah and the Sitt Hakim, not necessarily in that order, as infallible." Nefret looked demure. "That had occurred to me." Cyrus's carriage came for them at five. They hadn't expected it to be so early, and Nefret hurried to complete her toilette. She was fastening on her earrings when Ramses came back from the bath chamber. His face fell. He was no more observant about women's clothing than his father, but he could tell the difference between work clothes and an evening frock. "I didn't know we were supposed to. dress. They surely won't force Bertie into a boiled shirt and all the rest." "What were you planning to wear?" "Oh . . ." He looked vaguely around the room. "The usual, I suppose. Clothes." "Wear whatever you like," Nefret said. "It's just the Vandergelts. They won't care." Cyrus had dressed formally; he was a bit of a dandy and had a wardrobe almost as extensive as that of his wife. Being accustomed to the Emersons' habits, he made no comment about Ramses's flannels and the low-heeled, sensible slippers Nefret had substituted for the satin shoes she had intended to wear. They had bundled Bertie up like a mummy and ensconced him in a chair, but he swept the coverings aside and got to his feet when Nefret entered the room. She hastily sat down so that he could do the same. "So what's your family up to now?" Cyrus inquired, while servants passed round the tea-things. "Why do you ask that?" Ramses said. "Did anything happen while you were there?" "Well, no. Not that I know of. But they were sure in a durned hurry to get us out of Cairo." "They were probably afraid you'd try to run off and fight the Senussi," Nefret said. Cyrus enjoyed her teasing, but he remained serious. "Well, I wouldn't mind taking a hand in something. I'm getting kind of bored. Any chance of catching a few tomb robbers?" Katherine murmured protestingly and Nefret laughed. "I'm sorry, Cyrus. There've been a few incidents, but only the sort of thing you might expect, with supervision so lax. Alain Kuentz caught one of the Gurnawis investigating a cliff tomb near Deir el Bahri, but there was nothing in it." "Kuentz is in Luxor? Nice young fellow. We'll have to have him to dinner." Cyrus tugged thoughtfully at his goatee. "Maybe the man he caught knows about more tombs." "Now get that out of your head, Cyrus," his wife said firmly. "I will not have you chasing after thieves. If you're bored, hire some men and find your own tombs." "Are you planning to excavate in Thebes this winter?" Ramses asked. "Been thinking about it," Cyrus admitted. "Question is, where? Carnarvon's got the concession for the Valley ..." They discussed possibilities until dinner was announced and Katherine said, "No more shoptalk this evening, if you please. Bertie and I can't get a word in edgewise while you three are going at it." "Oh, I don't mind," Bertie said quickly. "I'd like to take a hand myself as soon as I'm feeling a bit stronger. Er-was that young woman at the station one of your people, Ramses?" "No. Well-yes, I suppose she is. In a way." Nefret gave him an amused look and explained. "I remember her," Katherine said. "Miss Pinch said she was one of the most capable students she had ever taught, but of course there was no future for the girl. I'm surprised Yusuf hasn't married her off by now." "She's trying to make her own future," Nefret said. "You should have heard her, Katherine, insisting that she could be just as good a reis as Jamil." "She didn't say as good," Ramses corrected. "She said she'd be better. That wouldn't be difficult. Jamil is lazy and disinterested. Don't even think of hiring him, Cyrus." Cyrus grinned. "I could tell by the look on your face what you thought of him. Maybe I'd better hire the girl." "Don't make fun of her," Nefret said, dividing a frown between Cyrus and Ramses. "Why can't she be trained as an Egyptologist, as David was? Would you be willing to help, Katherine?" "Of course she will," Bertie said. "Won't you, Mother? I mean to say, just because she's a girl-" His mother fixed him with a curious stare and he stuttered to a stop. "She was a pretty child," Katherine said. "I expect she's turned into quite an attractive young woman." "She's a stunner," Cyrus said enthusiastically. His wife turned the stare on him. "You saw her?" "I didn't know who she was, but I couldn't help noticing her. Any man would." Nefret decided it would be advisable to change the subject. "How is Anna getting on? I believe Mother said she had finished her V.A.D. training." Before the meal was over Bertie showed signs of fatigue, and Ramses offered to help him upstairs, an offer Bertie accepted. The others had finished dinner and had retired to the drawing room before Ramses came back. He accepted a cup of coffee and responded to Katherine's anxious look with a reassuring smile. "He wanted to talk. Got a few things off his chest, I think." "I'm so glad," Katherine murmured. "Thank you, Ramses." "I didn't do anything. Just listened. And," Ramses went on, "I assured him that it wasn't too late to begin a career in Egyptology." "Really?" Cyrus leaned forward, his eyes bright. "Holy Jehoshaphat, but that's wonderful! D'you think he means it?" "It seems to have given him a new incentive to recover. He was gulping down pills and drinking some noxious brew that's supposed to build him up." "I'll see Yusuf tomorrow," Cyrus declared. "Get a crew together. Do some preliminary surveying. Talk to MacKay about permits. The Valley of the Queens, maybe." Nefret had been watching her husband. He was doing his best to enter into Cyrus's enthusiastic plans, but his eyes were half veiled by lowered lashes and he looked tired. She made their excuses as soon as she could. Cyrus ordered his carriage, but they had gone less than a mile when Ramses ordered the driver to stop and got out of the vehicle. "I feel like walking. Go on, I'll see you in a bit." "I'd like a walk too." He stood looking down at her, his face in shadow, and she added uncertainly, "Unless you'd rather be alone?" "No." He lifted her down and they started off arm in arm. The road was pale in the moonlight. "Was it bad?" "About what you might expect. Mud, pain, vermin, fear, loneliness, disillusionment. You don't want to hear the details. The worst of it was realizing that the enemy weren't demons but men like himself---just as lonely for their homes and families, just as frightened." "I think he'll be all right," Nefret said gently. "I hope so." He laughed, suddenly and unexpectedly. "He's certainly found a new interest in life. Peppered me with ingenuous questions about excavating-as if I couldn't tell what was really on his mind. God help me, I heard myself offering to give him a few lessons in hieroglyphs and Egyptian history." "With Jumana?" "That was definitely