by Anna Lord
Unable to face Dr Watson lest he pick up on her agitated state, the Countess made her way to the cabin of Lorna Baxter. She rapped quietly and was invited to enter.
Lorna Baxter had kicked off her shoes and pulled off her stockings. She was sitting on the bed with her legs stretched out, fanning her face with a cheap paper fan on the end of a stick.
“If you don’t mind, Countess Volodymyrovna, I won’t get up. My legs ache and my feet are blistered. Please take a seat. Have you come to speak to me about Mr Lee? I still don’t know how he died. No one seems to know. I think you know but you won’t say either. No one will say. It makes me think it must have been something awful. Those crocodiles were awful. We could have died. All of us. I’m worried. And frightened.” She was rambling on a bit, voicing all the things she never had a chance to say. In her profession, expressing her thoughts freely would have been impossible. “You’re a consulting detective. You and Dr Watson. Someone mentioned it to me. I think it was Colonel Moran. Dr Watson used to partner the great Sherlock Holmes. I hope you can work out what’s going on. Professor Mallisham is dead too. It seems like a dream. Or a nightmare. This should have been a happy trip. Everyone was looking forward to it. I don’t know what will become of me. I’ll be left without a job. I don’t have much put away. My husband died suddenly. He didn’t have anything saved because he wasn’t expecting to die. His prospects were good. His career was just starting to take off. He was undersecretary to the attaché to the Minister of Persia. But then he drowned in the Bosphorus. A ferry sank. I didn’t find out what happened to him for almost a week. I was in Baghdad waiting for him at a hotel. I thought he’d run off and left me for another woman and then I discovered he was dead. I didn’t have the money to settle the account. A stranger paid the bill for me. I was in a daze. I feel a bit the same way now. It seems unreal. I’m sorry for talking too much. You must have some questions you want to ask me or you wouldn’t have come here.”
She stopped talking suddenly and the silence seemed oppressive.
“Yes,” said the Countess, in a bit of a daze herself; her eyes drifting aimlessly from the kilim rug on the floor to the two vivid scarves hanging on the back of a chair, to the fluttering fan, “I came to ask you some questions but I don’t really know where to start. Bear with me if I meander all over the place.” Oh, God! There was that guilt-laden word! Meander! “It’s a ghastly business. As for how Mr Lee and Professor Mallisham died, I cannot say for sure. I would only be guessing. There might be a post mortem.”
“Post mortem?”
“Yes, the surgeon at the construction site will probably perform it. Mr Longshanks has gone to ask if it can be done. It’s the only way of putting everyone’s fears to rest.”
“Yes, yes, Hypatia will want to know. She will start asking questions as soon as she comes to her senses. She will become quite angry if she doesn’t get any answers. She is actually quite strong-willed. And the loss for her will be doubly bad because she was extremely fond of Professor Mallisham but you probably noticed that yourself?”
The Countess nodded; her eyes still meandering listlessly until they came to rest on an item wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. She guessed it was the second item Lorna Baxter had picked up in Ali Pasha’s shop the day Dr Watson bumped into her. It didn’t belong to Mr Lee and here it was, sitting on her desk. It was shaped like a scroll.
“You bought a gift for someone?” The Countess’s voice was gentle and coaxing.
Lorna Baxter followed her gaze; the fan stopped fluttering. “Oh, yes.”
“I see from the way it is wrapped that it is a papyrus scroll from Ali Pasha’s shop.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“A gift for Miss Lee for her birthday?” The Countess improvised a suggestion to see if Lorna Baxter would go along with it.
The fan started to flutter faster when the pale cheeks turned pink. “Not exactly. Please don’t say anything to Miss Lee or Miss Clooney. I purchased it with Mr Lee’s money for myself. The same with the kilim rug. I would have bought the scarves with his money too but you paid for them. I meant to thank you. Please accept my belated thanks.” She took a quick breath. “I buy things occasionally for myself with his money, you see. It’s not really stealing. He’s rich. He can afford it. And, and, I’ve earned it. He touches me sometimes. Not, not roughly, but, well, inappropriately, sometimes on the arm or the leg when we’re together in his private study. The first time it happened I was shocked. But then I forced myself not to overreact. I told myself it might lead to a marriage proposal. But I knew it wouldn’t. Men like Mr Lee don’t marry women like me. They marry women like you. They need to prove to society that they have arrived. They want to be invited to the right parties. A society wife is the best way to gain acceptance. The wife can be poor but she needs to be from the right stock.”
The Countess was impressed by Lorna Baxter’s directness and honesty. She stood up and angled her body toward the desk to pre-empt a negative response. “I won’t mention it to Miss Lee or Miss Clooney. Do you mind if I take a look at the scroll? I was considering buying one for myself when we returned to Cairo.”
“I guess it won’t hurt if you look but please be careful with the wrapping. I want to re-wrap it. I don’t want Miss Lee or Miss Clooney to see it. I don’t want to be accused of theft.”
The Countess nodded as she untied the string and folded back the brown paper. It was an interesting papyrus but nothing special: Two figures in profile, male and female, inside cartouches, with hieroglyphs on the side. “Do you know what it says?”
“Yes, they’re the names of the husband and wife. I fell in love with the white folds on the wife’s robe.”
“Mmm, yes, diaphanous pleats with the slender body underneath. It’s quite sensual.”
“Yes, yes, that’s it exactly! It’s sensual!”
After carefully re-wrapping the scroll, the Countess turned her gaze to the kilim. “What are these symbols in the corners?” She knew very well they were scorpions.
“Scorpions. At least that’s what the trader in the marketplace told me. I was born in November, you see. It’s my zodiac symbol. The zodiac features quite heavily in eastern mysticism. My late husband once told me astrology started with the Babylonians? The rug reminded me of our travels in the Middle East. He was always being posted to one city or another. It was an exciting time.” She sighed wistfully. “Where was Mr Lee’s body found? Miss Clooney told me it was in the Inner Courtyard. She heard it from one of the stretcher bearers.”
The Countess re-took her seat. “Yes, it was inside the main courtyard.”
“And Professor Mallisham too?”
She nodded and thought about how to frame the next question tactfully without putting Lorna Baxter on the defensive. “That was a frightening windstorm we had that night,” she began vaguely. “And coming straight after the incident with the crocodiles, well, it was unnerving. I understand you left the Kiosk with Colonel Moran?”
The fluttering fan suffered a slight pause, hardly noticeable unless you were watching for it. “Yes, that’s right. Everyone was in a state of shock. Someone took me by the hand and led me out of that god-awful place full of dead crocodiles. I just went. I didn’t even look to see who it was. I was thankful later that the colonel seemed to know where he was going. I don’t know how he knew it. We ended up in a temple on the west side. It didn’t have a roof but the walls were sturdy and there were no crocodiles. That’s the first thing I looked for. The wind howled all night. I was terrified. I don’t think I slept a wink. I couldn’t stop shaking. I don’t care what people say. It was reassuring to be with a man who had a rifle.”
The Countess could relate to that blunt confession. Her experience was almost identical. Jim took her by the hand and she went willingly. He seemed to know where he was going too. They took shelter in a temple that was fortunately half-roofed. The roar of the wind was deafening and she was badly shaken after what had already taken place. She didn’t
want to be on her own. She was glad to be in the arms of someone strong, someone who had a gun and who would not hesitate to use it.
“Colonel Moran stayed with you all night?”
The fan fluttered faster. “You think he left me alone in that place while he went and shot Mr Lee and Professor Mallisham? Am I being asked to provide him with an alibi? Is that the term? Well, let me say, if he had gone anywhere I would have gone with him. I was terrified of being left alone.”
“You might have fallen asleep.”
She shook her head adamantly. “No, no, I might have dozed off but only for a few minutes at a time. The wind kept me awake. And my nerves were shot to pieces. He stayed by my side. I could feel him there.”
“All night?”
“Yes, all night. I know what you’re thinking. Everyone else will think the same thing. But I don’t know what I would have done without him. Everyone else seemed to have someone to look out for them or someone to look after. I was on my own. I was grateful to have someone too. Was Mr Lee shot? Was Professor Mallisham shot? Is that how they died?”
“No, that’s not how they died.”
“But you seem to think Colonel Moran killed them?”
“When someone is murdered it is always wise to establish where everyone else was. I just want to establish that Colonel Moran wasn’t wandering around the island.”
“Oh, I see, well, he couldn’t have killed them. Not if they died during the night. He was with me. I will swear to that in a court of law even if reflects badly on me and ruins my chances of decent employment. I understand he has an unsavoury reputation but you have to remember it was Professor Mallisham who hired him in the first place, and I think he hired him because of that reputation. When Colonel Moran started shooting those crocodiles I think everyone was thankful to have him there. I think if you are looking for whoever killed Mr Lee and Professor Mallisham then you need to look for whoever released those crocodiles.”
Lorna Baxter made sense. It was probably a group of native Egyptians, perhaps even men who had spent time in Afghanistan fighting the British. They were most likely working as servants the night of the party and when the others departed they stayed behind.
As the Countess stood up to go, the scarves hanging on the back of the chair slipped to the floor, creating silky puddles on the sandy-coloured kilim – daffodil and fuchsia on puce! “Thank you for being so honest. I will be happy to write you a reference when it comes time for you to seek a new position. I can think of several acquaintances who may be in need of a personal secretary who is willing to travel.”
Lorna Baxter smiled gratefully. “Thank you again for the scarves. You won’t mention…”
“No, I won’t mention the other purchases.” She turned to go then whirled back. “You hired the servants for the party – where did you get them from? Were they from a local village? Or did you hire them in Cairo?”
“Well, that was the problem. I wasn’t sure who to hire so I spoke to the three British engineers one night after dinner. They recommended I use the same family company who supply provisions to the construction camp. They said the men would be happy for the extra work if it paid well, and the women could serve the food. I told them money wasn’t an object. They promised to speak to their foreman. He took care of it all. A man by the name of Sharif.”
17
Sobek
“Sharif organized the servants for the night of the party!”
Excited by what she had discovered, the Countess sought out Dr Watson without delay. He was dozing on a deck chair, the Panama hat over his face to avoid striking up a conversation with anyone who was so inclined. He spoke through his hat.
“You think the foreman might have had something to do with organizing those crocodiles? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Not only the crocodiles, but the murder of Lee and Mallisham! He might even be responsible for the sabotage at the dam! He might be responsible for the secret messages too!”
Dr Watson removed his hat from his face. The expression was dour and the tone paternalistic. “Oh, really, now, you cannot possible link him to that as well. The sabotage I readily concede. The death of Lee and Mallisham I concede reluctantly. But those two incidents bear no relation to what we were asked to look into. As usual we have allowed ourselves to get side-tracked. You just want a neat finish to everything. Well, this isn’t a short story in The Strand Magazine. Things like that don’t happen in real life. Real life is more complicated.”
She was not deterred. “The sabotage of the dam can affect the outcome of the war. Finances for one can affect the finances for the other. And let’s not forget someone tried to kill the advocate for the financier of the dam – Mr Longshanks. Remember when Herr Graf laughed and said Ibn-the-Mad wouldn’t be the first person to feign madness? Well, what if Sharif is feigning helpfulness? As foreman, he is in the thick of all the action and in contact with a vast network of men. Almost everything that has happened can probably be linked back to him: Sabotage of the dam, servants for the party, sneaking men onto the island to commit murder, crocodiles to disrupt and unnerve us, preserving the sacredness of the island, and why not then intercepting military secrets and passing secret messages to the enemy?”
“Intercepting who? Passing on to whom? It’s all very well having a theory but there has to be a basis for it.”
“Hayter.”
“What?”
“Colonel Hayter is in a position to hear military talk or see confidential messages about troop movements. For example, he knows that an infantry regiment of Irish Guards is heading to Khartoum.”
“That’s not a secret. Anyone with a pair of eyes can see that.”
“Yes, granted, but he might then chat to Jim, I mean Colonel Moriarty, and pick up extra information that is confidential.”
“If Jim divulges confidential information then he is a fool and not fit to be leader.”
She noted the smug emphasis he put on the name. “It could happen quite innocently. Hayter might simply overhear part of a conversation. It could happen nightly at The Mena House. The three British engineers might be having a late night drink and talk about some news they heard from the front.” She looked over her shoulder to make sure they weren’t about to have company and lowered her voice. “I just had another thought about Ibn-the-Mad. What if Colonel Hayter is playing at being dippy? If he was the man passing secrets to the enemy, what better cover than as a complete ditherer?”
Dr Watson snapped upright and the deck chair gave a dangerous groan. “It’s funny you should say that. On the morning after the double murder I could have sworn I saw him pour his gin and tonic into a potted palm in the saloon.”
“Hmm, being a double agent would explain why he keeps spilling his drinks. The more he spills, the less he has to consume. So he may play-act the drunk but still be quite sober.”
Dr Watson had been determined to pin the murders on Moran but she put forward a convincing argument. Nevertheless, he was unwilling to let go of his prime suspect. “Do you think Hayter, presuming it is him, could be working in tandem with Moran?”
She shook her head without even turning the question over once, let alone twice. “No, I came straight to you after speaking to Lorna Baxter. She will swear in a court of law that Moran did not leave her side during the night, so he couldn’t have committed the murders. And Gideon told me several times that British agents had been watching Moran, and he had not made contact with anyone suspicious. By the way, I was wrong about Mrs Baxter. Some of her behaviour may be on the dubious side of moral but it is above suspicion.”
“What do you mean by: dubious side of moral?”
The Countess did not like to betray a confidence and there was no way Mrs Baxter’s personal use of Mr Lee’s money had anything to do with their investigation, so she tried to hedge. “I suspected the kilim rug or that papyrus scroll you saw her pick up in Ali Pasha’s shop might be linked to the secret codes but she was buying them for herself.”
“Buying them for herself? How could she afford that?”
“Mr Lee was paying for them.”
“Well, what’s so dubious about that?”
“He didn’t know she was buying them.”
“She was spending his money without his knowledge?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not dubious, that’s illegal.”
“Let me just say in her defence that Mr Lee was a difficult employer who took liberties. She felt entitled to some recompense.”
Dr Watson was a man who had been brought up to believe that moral and legal were synonyms, but the world was changing more rapidly than he liked. The earth beneath his feet was a morass of slippery definitions and the authority figures who inhabited the new world were not necessarily to be trusted. It was very disheartening.
Worse still, if it turned out that Colonel Moran was innocent of wrongdoing, and Colonel Hayter guilty, then he really needed to go into retirement. His thinking was ‘old hat’.
The twentieth century had left him behind.
Countess Volodymyrovna decided to pay Hypatia Lee a visit. There was one question she wanted an answer to and only Miss Lee could supply it. She knocked quietly and entered gingerly, signalling for the maid to leave them for the time being. The maid looked immensely grateful as she slipped out the door with a tray and several empty glasses.
“Please accept my deepest sympathy,” said the Countess, softly and sincerely, mindful that Miss Lee had not only lost her father, but her lover as well. “Is there anything I can bring you? A small brandy? A glass of lemonade?”
Miss Lee had cried herself out and was lying on her pillow with an arm over her face. “No,” she said sniffily, sitting up and flicking back her blonde hair. “If I see another glass of lemonade I shall scream. Would you mind passing me that mirror on the dressing-table.”
“The silver hand-mirror?”
“Yes. Do you know where Mr Longshanks went? Philomena said he went off in a felucca shortly after those two loud explosions. Would you mind passing me the silver hair brush.”