by Anna Lord
“Yes, I heard it from Dr Watson who heard it from Mrs Baxter. She was shopping for assuit tunics when she bumped into the doctor. But don’t worry, we won’t breathe a word. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Oh, me too!” She gave a little shiver. “It will be a night to remember!”
“What is your impression of Professor Mallisham?”
“Impression?” She seemed puzzled by the question. “Do you mean personally or professionally?”
“Both.”
“Well, professionally speaking he hasn’t had any success since he unearthed the tomb of Hierax and that was about twenty years ago. I think he’s a bit puffed-up with self-importance, although I support what he’s doing on Philae. It would be a great tragedy to flood the island and lose the temple forever. Not that I have seen it for myself but the way he describes it, it sounds very beautiful.”
“And personally speaking?”
“Personally speaking, I find old men like the professor who think they are attractive to young women laughable. Hypatia is head-over-heels but she is welcome to him. I sometimes act all coy and gooey-eyed but it is just for fun. I like to see my cousin get all hot and bothered and riled. Heavens knows she has nothing to be jealous for. It is terribly wicked of me, I admit, but it is just my bit of fun. I don’t have much chance for amusement. I am at the beck and call of my cousin’s whims because of my circumstances.”
She stopped suddenly and nothing more was said for several minutes as they gazed at the cloudless azure sky that stretched to infinity.
“Do you mind if I enquire as to your circumstances?”
Daisy’s lips compressed tightly and she was forced to inhale through her nostrils which flared with what appeared to be some sort of long-held hurt. “I guess not. It’s not a secret and I’m not ashamed. It just seems so unfair but that’s life. Life is unfair. There are loads of people worse off than me. I’m not bitter or anything like that, but being with Hypatia day and night can cause one to wallow in self-pity. I try to fight it. Hypatia has it all – beauty, brains, blonde hair, energy, and every advantage – it rankles sometimes.
You see, my father was Uncle Jefferson’s older brother. He stood to inherit the Texas ranch and the family fortune but he married for love – a woman the patriarch didn’t approve of and so he cut him out of the will. My mother was Native American from the Comanche tribe. Both my parents died when I was just eight years old. A tornado swept through our farm. It destroyed pretty much everything. I survived because my mother sheltered me with her body in the barn. A beam came crashing down and struck her head. She died instantly. My father perished trying to save the horses. I was found the next day by one of the neighbours wandering about in a daze. Uncle Jefferson and his new young wife – Hypatia’s mother had died of pneumonia one year beforehand – refused to take me in. I went to live with my maternal grandmother in Wichita. She legally adopted me; that’s when my name changed to Clooney.
When she died nine years later I finally ended up going to live with Uncle Jefferson and Hypatia at the big ranch. His young wife had died in childbirth and he was a widower for the second time so there was no one to object. Besides, Hypatia made a fuss and insisted. That was three years ago. I was seventeen. She thought it would be fun to have a half-caste cousin, a companion who might amuse her, but she soon discovered we don’t really have much in common. I sometimes pretend to like the things she likes but they don’t really interest me.
I am passionate about horses. I want to breed American Quarter Horses. Hypatia flits from one thing to another. She has brains but no staying power. Next year she won’t care about Egyptology and will be mad about something else – becoming an aviatrix, climbing Mont Blanc, agitating for women’s rights, posing as a muse to a penniless artist in Montmartre.”
They were interrupted by the arrival of Gideon Longshanks and the conversation switched to pleasantries. Whenever Daisy looked down at her open book, he made wildly gesticulating overtures with his eyes. Countess V took the hint.
“Oh, Mr Longshanks, I wonder if you would be so good as to help me with the catch on my Morocco jewellery case. It appears to be stuck and my manservant is presently occupied with polishing shoes for Dr Watson and my maid is busy ironing my petticoats. My pearls are in need of polishing for tonight but that will never happen if I cannot open my case.”
“Glad to help out,” he said affably, following her into her cabin. He waited until the door was closed then lowered his voice and talked quickly. “Colonel Hayter has turned into my shadow. He keeps following me around. Every time I look, he is there at my back. I need Dr Watson to distract him. He could pretend to want to reminisce about army days or some such thing. If the colonel doesn’t back-off I swear I will be forced to do something reckless. Plus I want to search his cabin. If Dr Watson could keep him busy after dinner tonight, perhaps with a game of cards, that would be appreciated. I’ll only need about half an hour.”
“I think that can be arranged,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind searching the professor’s room. If you could pretend to be sympathetic about Philae and mouth-off something negative about the three engineers you will win him over in no time. He doesn’t play cards and he doesn’t like to hang about and drink with the men after dinner from what I have seen of him but he might be encouraged to brag about his discovery of the tomb of Hierax the high-priest if you show some interest.”
He nodded in the affirmative. “I could do that before dinner. If you dress early and come down to the saloon for pre-dinner drinks, you can slip out the moment he arrives. I will keep him busy even if it means I have to endure a pompous lecture.”
She pictured the two alpha men together and tried not to laugh. “By the way, I just found out from Daisy that she and Hypatia met the professor in Berlin last year. He was giving a lecture on Egypt. Hypatia hatched the scheme to come to Philae then and there. Mrs Lorna Baxter travelled with them. She was initially hired to organize their grand tour. She stayed on after they returned to America and was instrumental in organizing this Egyptian visit. She travelled widely with her late husband who was a diplomat, and she has been to Egypt before.”
“Hmm, the name Baxter doesn’t jump out at me. Her husband may have been a paper-shuffler rather than a high-ranking diplomat. Middle-Eastern postings are prestigious if they are in Baghdad or Damascus or Cairo but being stuck in Khartoum or Suez is a mug’s game. Some people like to big-note themselves and exaggerate their capabilities, especially if they are looking to be hired by American millionaires. I wonder if a search of her cabin would yield anything of interest?”
“We should probably wait until we reach Luxor. Searching too many rooms at once may arouse suspicion. My maid and manservant could search her cabin while we all make an excursion to the temples.”
“Yes, I’ll go along with that.” He moved to the door and jerked it open then pitched his baritone several decibels higher up the scale. “Yes, those catches can sometimes be tricky. I had a Vuitton valise that was always sticking. It drove me to distraction. Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll leave you to it, Countess.” He made sure to bang the door on his way out, noting that she had once again placed Anubis and Sekhmet on either side of her bed. Courage and Fear. He actually wondered if she had got them the wrong way round.
Lady of Dread. Daughter of Slaughter. She who Mauls.
The female was deadlier than the male as far as he was concerned.
Major Nash emerged to find the Acting High Commissioner waiting patiently for him just outside the Countess’s cabin. It gave him a bit of a start and he immediately wondered if the other had been eavesdropping. The man was leaning negligently against the guard rail and trying to light up a cigarette but his hands were shaking so violently he could hardly get the match to the tip of the gasper. It was quite pathetic and not a little sad to see a man who was once a brave soldier reduced to a stick-thin bundle of nerves.
“Is everything tip-top?” the colonel said with patently false chirp
iness.
Major Nash forced himself to extend some sympathy to the ex-soldier. “Just fine, thank you, Colonel Hayter. Damned nuisance, this breeze off the river.”
“What?” The casual observation seemed to confuse him.
“Lighting a cigarette – it can be a damned nuisance with this Nile breeze. You hardly know it’s there until you try to light up a gasper.”
The colonel turned a ripe shade of watermelon. “Oh, yes, quite, I see what you mean. Yes, yes, it keeps blowing out the lucifer.” His match burnt down and almost barbecued his fingers. Quickly he tossed the spent match overboard and struck another. Of course, that wasn’t really the problem. It was the shaky hands. Colonel Hayter decided to give up. He blew out the match and sent it to join its mate. “Is everything all right with the Countess?”
Major Nash glanced back over his shoulder at the cabin door which was now closed. One might easily draw an inference that he was conducting an illicit liaison, but the fact it was broad daylight quickly poured cold water on the idea. “Yes, just fine. I was helping her with the catch on her Morocco jewellery case. It had jammed. I had a Vuitton valise that had the same problem. It was a lovely looking piece, cost me a pretty penny, but I got rid of it in the end. It drove me to distraction trying to pry it open every time I arrived in a new city late at night and couldn’t get to my pyjamas without a battle.”
The door opened suddenly and the Countess emerged wearing a bobbin lace, afternoon dress with a peplum, a pale blue silk sash and some understated pearls. “Did you hear any news about that Cambridge chap before you boarded, Colonel Hayter?”
“Damned bad business, that. Oh, I beg your pardon, Countess. I meant to say shocking business. It spooks the visitors. No, no news, unfortunately.”
Major Nash acknowledged the Countess with a nod of his head and kept his tone light. “What about the owner of the shop that sold the dodgy artifacts? Any sign of him?”
“I doubt we will find the fellow. The shop was closed, completely boarded up. I’d say the fellow has gone to ground. He will open up in another part of the bazaar by next week. Every second shop in the souk sells dodgy artifacts. The Cambridge chap was stupid to go on his own to confront the dealer, though I don’t think the owner of the shop had anything to do with the death.”
“You don’t?” Major Nash struggled to keep the incredulity out of his intonation.
“No, these fellows are shifty but they are not killers.”
“What do you think happened?” pursued the Countess.
“I think the Cambridge chap had a row with the dealer and wandered about with his head in a bit of a spin. He may have taken a wrong turn, ended up in a part of town he should have avoided, got into a fight over some girl and got himself beaten up. He probably fell down the well by accident.”
“Accident?”
“Yes. That uncovered well was an accident waiting to happen, especially in the dark, and in the state he was in. It’s not surprising he wasn’t looking where he was going.”
“How is that?” asked the major, trying to sound merely curious.
“Oh, the savaging he got at the hands of some over-protective brothers and uncles.”
“Savaging?” pursued the Countess.
Colonel Hayter elaborated without thinking. “His body was a mess. It looked as if there might have been a pack of dogs involved, or maybe he ran into them later as he was wandering about, lost. There are a lot of starving strays that side of the city.”
“Enough said,” reminded the major tactfully, “there is a lady present.”
Colonel Hayter looked slightly abashed.
The Countess was undeterred. “So you think there was a girl involved?”
“Sure to be! Sure to be! There’s always a girl involved. One has to learn to respect the customs of a foreign culture. Some of these university chaps come over here and think they can behave as they like. They drink to excess, get rowdy, and before you know it things get out of hand. When they find themselves in an Egyptian prison, I can tell you, they sober up quick smart. The conditions are medieval. They make Newgate look like Claridges. If you have ever visited the dungeons in…”
Major Nash shot the colonel another warning look before making a great show of checking his fob watch, fumbling to get it out of his pocket. “I think it might be time for afternoon tea. I believe Mrs Baxter said they were going to serve it in the saloon because there is some orange dust in the air. The Khamsin could be on its way.”
Mr Jefferson Lee was in a touchy mood and the target of his angst was Professor Mallisham who had inadvertently or deliberately usurped the position of the nabob. He was seated between Hypatia and Daisy; the former was sugaring his tea, the latter was serving him a sticky baklava. Mr Lee was being forced to occupy an armchair outside the inner circle and his tone was not dripping honey.
“That security man you have hired seems past it,” he barked. “I doubt he could hit the side of a barn. I’m not paying good money for a second rate hack.”
Professor Mallisham deftly balanced a cup of tea on one knee and a cake plate on the other knee. “Don’t let the crusty exterior fool you. Colonel Sebastian Moran is a crack shot. Last week I witnessed him take the head off a cobra with a single bullet. And he is not short on brains either. Moran was educated at Eton and Oxford. Nor is he short on pedigree. His father was Sir Augustus Moran, CB, Minister to Persia.”
Mr Lee turned for support to the trio who entered the saloon together. “Did you hear that, Mr Longshanks? Did you ever cross paths with Sir Augustus Moran?”
“I’m afraid not. He was Minister to Persia before my time but I believe he conducted himself with honour. As for the son, he has published two books – Three Months in the Jungle and Heavy Game of the Western Himalayas. I have read both and they are quite good.”
Mrs Baxter was dispensing the tea.
Colonel Hayter accepted a cup and tried not to spill milky brew down the front of his shirt. “I read them too. Jolly good, they were. Behind the bluff of the big-game hunter is a sharp brain.”
“Big-game hunter?” posed the big American.
“Oh, yes, yes,” continued Colonel Hayter. “He bagged so many tigers in India one started to feel sorry for the other hunters and then for the man-eaters.”
Dr Watson had been sitting quietly up to this point, trying not to betray what he really thought of Moran, but there was no denying the man’s proficiency with a hunting rifle. “I believe he still holds the record for most tigers bagged by an Englishman on the sub-continent. Is that right, Hayter?”
“Right-ho, old chap. No one has bettered his record.”
Major Nash continued to stand by the tea trolley and wait until all the others had been served. “There’s a story, which may be apocryphal, that says Moran shimmied down a drain after a wounded tiger. Men who were there at the time swear it’s true.”
Professor Mallisham licked his sticky fingers then wiped them on his dusty trousers. “I heard that story too. That’s what put me onto Moran in the first place. The man is not short of courage either.”
Dr Watson wasn’t convinced. “Foolhardiness is often mistaken for courage.”
“I disagree,” countered Gideon Longshanks. “Every act of courage involves an element of foolhardiness or recklessness or boldness. It is an impulsive act that goes against self-preservation. It cannot co-exist with rational thought.”
“Mmm,” weighed in the Countess, “I wonder what prompted Moran’s Orpheus adventure. Was it a foolhardy act to bag yet another man-eater or was it an act of extraordinary courage to put the big cat out of its misery?”
Mr Jefferson Lee had come full circle and his opinion altered accordingly. “A man who is unafraid to take the tiger by the tail – hey? That’s my sort of man!”
Professor Mallisham’s cabin was checked by the Countess prior to dinner. Xenia and Fedir stood guard at either end of the promenade deck. In the bottom of his suitcase there were two papyri and a number of hand-drawn facsi
miles.
After dinner, the cabin of Colonel Hayter was checked by Major Nash. A false bottom in the lining of his suitcase revealed a handful of official permits. The fact the permits were hidden confirmed he was by-passing official channels and selling them himself.
8
Luxor
The ancient kingdom of Thebes shimmered in the heat haze like a desert mirage. A string of calashes ferried them from the wharf to the temple complex known as Luxor.
Dr Watson, adhering to his plan to keep an eye on Mrs Baxter, hopped into the same calash and made sure to walk around with her, asking endless questions about the temples, hieroglyphs and gods, of which she had surprisingly considerable knowledge. She seemed glad of the male company.
Hypatia Lee and Daisy Clooney made a threesome with Professor Mallisham. They leapt into the second calash, overtook the first, and left the others for dust. When they arrived at Luxor they hurried to the farthest end of the complex, unlike everyone else who started at the Avenue of Sphinxes and worked their way to the Hall of Houses at the end. It was clear they did not want company.
Mr Longshanks, unable to shake off Colonel Hayter at the wharf, was stuck with his official nanny, however, soon after entering the massive temple he began weaving in and out of the columns, moving left and right, backwards and forwards, frustrating his unwanted shadow. In the Colonnade that joined the Court of Ramses to the Court of Amenhotep, he began playing a game of cat and mouse with his minder until such time as he could give him the slip.
The Countess travelled with their host, Mr Lee, who had managed to ditch the chip on his big broad shoulder. On the first night of their cruise he had instructed Azrafel to keep an eye on the professor to make sure the sand-grubber was not enjoying any late night trysts with Miss Lee. When the steward assured him there were no secret assignations going on, the Texan began to relax and enjoy his Egyptian sojourn. After five days of cruising calmly upriver to Thebes, he was visibly less moody.