by Anna Lord
“How would you feel if your father and the man you loved had been murdered?” she posed rhetorically. “I understand Dr Watson has returned. What did he have to say about the post mortem?”
“I will make an announcement prior to dinner.”
“You! You will make an announcement! Who put you in charge? This is my ship!”
“Yes, but we are dealing with a double murder. In fact, there has just been another double murder. The two dam saboteurs have been found dead. If you obstruct the course of British justice I will have the Acting High Commissioner lock you in your room until we reach Cairo.”
“He wouldn’t dare! Besides, he’s a hopeless dipsomaniac. I will lodge an official complaint with the American embassy as soon as we return to Cairo!”
“Provided you make it to Cairo. Four murders. Who knows who’ll be next?”
Miss Lee’s voice faltered. “You’re…You’re trying to frighten me.”
“I’m not even trying yet. Someone released ten scorpions today. They were in Mrs Baxter’s green Morocco jewel case. Don’t get into bed without checking.”
Miss Lee’s eyes flew to the bed and she gulped. “That’s…That’s absurd. Why would Mrs Baxter keep scorpions in the green Morocco jewel case I gave her?”
“That’s what I’m about to ask her but first I want to know where your burqa is.”
“My burqa? Now I know you’re mad. It’s in the black leather trunk under the bed. You’re welcome to look. I’m not touching anything until my maid has had a thorough check.”
The Countess pulled out the trunk and tossed clothes out willy-nilly. There was no burqa. She stood up and put both hands on her hips. “Where is your burqa?”
Miss Lee’s bottom lip began to quiver. “I…I have no idea. What is so important about my…my burqa? I think you’re mad. I think you’re the killer! Get out! Get out of my room! Get out before I scream for help!”
A piercing scream rent the air but it didn’t come from Miss Lee.
It came from the lower deck.
As the Countess rushed from the room she heard the door slam and the key turn in the lock. It was followed by a pathetic gurgling sound and a flood of tears.
Gideon caught up to her on the stairs; his voice was dry and husky. “Thank God! I thought that was you!”
She smiled weakly. She’d just frightened Hypatia to death and she still had no idea where the burqa was or who killed Hypatia’s father or lover. “It came from this way.”
Ursula was poised in the doorway of her uncle’s room. She looked terrified, paralysed, in a state of shock. Daisy had an arm around her shoulder, trying to comfort her. The door was standing open. Dr Watson was inside the room, standing at the foot of the bed, equally paralysed. Herr Graf was lying on his back on the bed, not moving, and on his pillow was a rearing cobra, the neck fanned out, hissing, ready to strike.
Gideon pulled out his gun, took three steps into the room, and shot it.
Ursula began to sob. Daisy led her away. They were both shaking uncontrollably.
Dr Watson mustered the courage to check the pulse of Herr Graf but he knew the German would be dead. He hadn’t moved for the last few minutes, not even when the gun went off.
“Where did that snake come from?” asked Gideon when he was sure the two ladies had retreated.
Dr Watson was still in shock too and trying to find his voice. He swallowed hard and took a couple of deep breaths. “I came in to speak to Herr Graf as you know. I knocked and there was no answer so I opened the door. He was stretched out on the bed the same as you see now. I didn’t see the snake at first. It was nestled into the side of his body. I thought he might have been poisoned or some such thing so I moved closer to check and when the snake recoiled I got the fright of my life. I’m afraid I leapt back and just froze. I didn’t have my gun on me. I didn’t want to call out in case Ursula came running in so I just stood there thinking what to do. Suddenly the door opened and Ursula screamed. The snake seemed to sense the threat…that’s when you arrived. Thank goodness you had your gun. To answer your question - I have no idea where the snake came from or who would want to kill Herr Graf apart from me. I didn’t like the man but clearly someone liked him even less.”
“Yes, someone wanted him dead,” agreed Gideon. “Cobras rarely bite. If the snake had just found its way into his cabin by chance it would have found a place to hide. It wouldn’t have crawled onto his bed and nestled up beside him.”
The Countess stared at the gruesome splatter on the wall behind the bed and gave a shudder. “I think it’s safe to say the snake came in after Herr Graf lay down on the bed. He’s lying on the counterpane. The sheets and blanket haven’t been disturbed. If the snake was on top of the bed he would have noticed it. It’s not small like a death adder which could have been hidden under the pillow. Someone brought the snake in here and placed it on the bed while he slept.”
“One of the servants must have been paid to do it,” said Dr Watson.
“Or else Azrafel did it,” concluded Gideon. “I think it’s time to arrest him.”
“Wait,” she said. “That scream would have woken the dead. Where’s Lorna Baxter?”
Gideon shoved his gun back into his jacket pocket. “You’re right. I’ll go and find her. I want some answers. We still don’t know why she had those scorpions.”
He stormed off to the starboard side and rapped sharply on Mrs Baxter’s cabin but there was no answer. Gingerly, he threw open the door and stepped inside not knowing what to expect – crocodiles, scorpions, snakes! Dr Watson and the Countess followed when he gave the signal for them to enter. Mrs Baxter was lying on her bed, shoeless, stockingless, limp. She seemed woozy, drowsy, not quite herself. On the bedside table was a packet of Paradise Lozenges. Dr Watson studied the packet.
“Cocaine mostly, with a good quantity of valerian. Product of Persia. That would account for why she didn’t respond to the scream. I’ll sit with her until she wakes up. I don’t think it’s safe to leave her on her own. We don’t know that the scorpions belonged to her. Someone could have put them in her case. We don’t even know if the Morocco case was hers. Someone could have placed it in her room. She might even be the victim here.”
“The case was hers,” affirmed the Countess, noting an untorn burqa folded neatly on top of the suitcase. “Hypatia told me she gave it to Mrs Baxter. Wealthy women often give things they no longer need, even valuable things like Morocco jewel cases, to their lady’s maid or a paid companion or a governess. The question is: Who put the scorpions inside it?”
Dr Watson looked squarely at his sleuthing counterpart. “That’s obvious, isn’t it?”
Gideon and Countess Volodymyrovna left the doctor to watch over his patient. They walked to the aft deck and stood side by side gazing at the pristine blue water of the Nile. He offered her a cigarette and she accepted; she was feeling nettled and hoped some long deep inhalations of tobacco might help her to feel less cross with herself.
“Have you formed any clear idea about what’s going on?” he said, dropping his voice to a lower register as he lighted the first cigarette and passed it to her.
“Things are starting to fall into place but I wouldn’t go so far as to say they are clear. However, by the time dinner comes around I think I might be able to explain it all.”
“Are you going to give me a clue?”
“I think the ancient Egyptians got it right. They did not fear Anubis. They feared and revered Sekhmet the lioness and warrior goddess, pre-curser to the Sphinx. And who controlled Apep the evil serpent, but Serket the scorpion goddess. But even fiercer than Sekhmet and Serket was the Eye of Ra, a powerful female entity who regularly caused great destruction. She was mother, sister, wife, rolled into one. Imagine that.”
“But we have neither mother, nor sister, nor wife here. We have daughter, cousin, niece and widow.”
“I was speaking metaphorically about female power, not literally about female disempowerment.”
&nb
sp; “Are you saying the four women are in it together?”
“No, one of them is innocent. I just have to decide which one. Can you send some servants to invite both Colonel Moran and Ali Pasha to dinner?”
“I’ll do it personally. I need some exercise. I forgot how sluggish the heat can make one feel. It’s too easy to start feeling lazy. I need to clear my head too. Are you anticipating trouble? Do you want me to invite Jim as well?”
She thought about the offer; his voice was steady but it must have cost him an effort to keep it level. “No, let him sleep. His regiment is setting off at daybreak. He’s got enough to worry about. I think we can handle any eventualities now that we have Colonel Hayter on-side.”
For the remainder of the afternoon everyone stayed locked in their cabins. No one trusted anyone not to slip Deathstalkers into their room. The Countess was the only one who came out for afternoon tea which was served on the aft deck.
She watched Gideon slip down the gangway with two men in tow. They were wrapped in jellabiyas and they carted bulging canvas sacks. He went first to the army encampment. A short time later, when he sailed out to Agilkia Island to invite Ali Pasha to dinner, the two men were no longer with him. Jim accompanied him in the felucca, and she recognized Duffy and Brian too. Later, the felucca with the same four men sailed to Philae. She presumed Jim was going to say goodbye to his Irish father-figure and Gideon was going to issue the dinner invitation to the gun for hire.
While she was contemplating what Gideon was really up to, Dr Watson and Mrs Baxter joined her. The American widow had heard about the death of Herr Graf from the doctor, and he had convinced her take a soothing cup of tea and a breath of fresh air to get over the shock. In reality, he wanted to allow the Countess to get to the bottom of the scorpion incident. He knew his fondness for the attractive redhead would skew his impartiality.
“If you are looking for your green leather, Morocco jewel case,” said the Countess blandly as she poured the tea, “you’ll find it my cabin.”
Mrs Baxter gasped. “I must warn you not to open it!”
“Someone beat me to it. The scorpions have gone. May I ask what you were doing with scorpions in your jewel case?”
Now, the Countess was prepared for all sorts of outrageous excuses and any amount of imaginative obfuscation but the truth came as a complete surprise. She was suddenly on the receiving end of her own pet theory regarding blunt honesty.
“I collect them,” said Mrs Baxter. “There’s a man in Cairo who pays good money for them. They are used to make scorpion wine. It’s an aphrodisiac, quite popular if the Far East. I first heard about it when travelling with my husband. I decided when I came to Egypt to supplement my income. The Morocco case was a perfect receptacle; I don’t have any valuable jewels. Scorpions can live for lengthy periods with no food. I had collected ten scorpions and would have had double or triple that number by the time we returned to Cairo. How did my case come to be in your room?”
The boot was suddenly on the other foot. “My maid spotted the case in the saloon. She thought it was mine. I have an identical one but the colour is slightly different. (She didn’t bother saying it was purple.) She opened it up and saw the scorpions. They gave her quite a fright. Realising her mistake, she left the case where it was. A short time later, Mr Longshanks, thinking the case was mine because he had helped me fix the clasp several days ago, brought it into my cabin. My maid warned me about the scorpions, but when I opened it, the case was empty.”
“So…So where are the scorpions now?”
“I cannot say for sure but I believe they were used to kill the dam saboteurs. Scorpions were found in the luggage room where the men had been imprisoned.”
Mrs Baxter sipped her tea thoughtfully. “You know, I suspected someone of being in my room, looking through my things. I questioned the maid who cleans my room but she swore she did not move my suitcase. That was back in Luxor. Someone must have seen the scorpions back then. How horrible!” She gave a shudder and poured herself another cup of tea.
Beaming broadly, Dr Watson offered to retrieve the case from the Countess’s room while Lorna Baxter finished her tea.
“He’s such a gentleman,” sighed Mrs Baxter wistfully before changing the subject. “Is no one else going to join us for afternoon tea?”
“Mr Longshanks had gone to invite Colonel Moran and Ali Pasha to dine with us. And Colonel Hayter is locked in his room.”
“Locked in his room?” The tone was incredulous.
“Mr Longshanks accused Colonel Hayter of selling archaeological permits at five times the going rate – there was a bit of a contretemps, some punches thrown - but I don’t think Mr Cassel’s Eastern advocate has any jurisdiction over the Acting High Commissioner. He will be forced to release the colonel when he returns from Philae. Dinner is likely to be very lively and heated.”
“How extraordinary! This trip is nothing like what I imagined it would be! My head is reeling! As soon as Dr Watson returns with my case I think I’ll go and collect more scorpions before dusk sets in. I saw some boys hanging around the jetty. They usually know where to find scorpions and they’re happy to be paid a couple of piastres to collect them. I shall probably be able to replace the ones I’ve lost.”
An hour later, Countess V was still sitting in the same chair under the striped canopy. Her third cup of tea was now tepid, untouched, and the uneaten, dainty, ribbon sandwiches had shrivelled up and morphed into dried-up corpse-like fingers. Her listless gaze was vaguely aware that Mrs Baxter was foraging for scorpions on the mainland. A group of eager young boys were darting between the rocks, leaping and pouncing like lion cubs at play. Every now and then their excited, high-pitched voices drifted toward her.
Triangular white sails crossed her line of vision at regular intervals but she was unaware of them until a felucca came to moor at a nearby jetty and disgorge two passengers. She recognized the wiry frame of Colonel Moran and the Enfield rifle that seemed perennially attached to his right hand. She recognized the imposing physicality of the second man as he took a flying leap onto a flat boulder like mythical Ra or Apollo leaping to earth from a moving chariot, sure-footed, golden-haired, a powerhouse of vitality and certainty - a darling of the gods.
Jim did not disembark from the felucca and a queer tug in her belly reminded her how much she cared for the reckless Irishman. She fought back a frisson of fear and hoped this would not be the last time she would ever see him alive.
Just as a woman could love more than one child, she could love more than one man. Love was infinite. She loved Dr Watson too. She loved the three men in her life in different ways. She would never be able to choose one over the other to the exclusion of any of them. That’s why she had no intention of rushing into marriage. Marriage would change everything. Being a wealthy young widow was the best of all possible worlds.
Colonel Sebastian Moran remained on the jetty. He bent down to tie up a bootlace as he watched the felucca sail slowly upstream. Gideon spotted her on the aft deck and began striding across the sand toward the Sekhmet. He had almost reached the gangway when a gunshot rang out and his body crumpled.
21
Sacred Terror
Someone screamed.
The Countess leapt to her feet and began running. It wasn’t until she was stumbling down the gangway that she realized the scream had emanated from her own throat.
The shrill sound shook Dr Watson out of his nap. He burst out of his cabin and was flying past Colonel Hayter’s room when the door flew open and his ex-army chum almost crashed into him.
“What happened? I heard a gunshot!”
“This way!” cried the doctor without stopping. He recognized the voice and knew at once the Countess was in trouble. She was not given to hysterics. There was no way she would scream if the situation did not warrant it. He spotted Moran on the jetty, kneeling on one knee, rifle trained and ready to fire – typical sniper’s position. He aimed his Webley but the distance was too great. He fi
red anyway.
Moran fired off a shot too but not in the direction of the Sekhmet. He aimed inland at a group of boulders. Someone fell but the doctor couldn’t see who it was as he hurtled down the gangway, Hayter hot on his heels.
“Moran must be the saboteur!” deduced the doctor in the blink of an eye. “See if you can get closer and take him down!” He indicated a stand of doum palms. “Go that way! I’ll see to Major Nash.”
Bugger this secretive espionage business! His brain was in turmoil. A handful of servants had gathered at the lower deck but he no longer cared who heard him - a man’s life hung in the balance.
Distress was etched into every line of her stricken face and the doctor realized in that moment how much she cared for Major Nash. She was on her knees, poised over the limp form of the handsome baronet. Blood was gurgling from a head wound. It trickled through a web of elegant lace fingers before sinking into the sand. Head wounds always looked worse than they were he told himself as he bent over the prostrate body and felt for a pulse in the carotid artery. It was weak but the major was still breathing.
“Staunch the wound,” he instructed. “Use your petticoat.”
She did as she was told for once. “It wasn’t Moran. Call Hayter back. If he takes a pot-shot at Moran, Moran will shoot him. He won’t miss. Call him back. Before it’s too late!”
Her judgment had always proved unerring but he doubted she was thinking straight. “If not Moran, then who?”
She cradled the bleeding head in her hands and pressed a thick wad of broderie anglaise against the wound as she looked back over her shoulder. “Someone standing near the rocks. I think it was Lorna Baxter.”
Lorna Baxter! Now he knew she was mistaken. He gave his concentration over to the head wound and felt a wave of relief wash over him. “It’s not a bullet wound. He must have hit his head as he fell. There’s a rock here with some blood on it. A cushion of sand thankfully lessened the impact.”