“Me,” said Nefret with a smile. “The poor boy wants his Mary back, I expect. Tell him she has been well cared for and that I thank him for the loan.”
“That is all you have to say?” His frowning visage turned from Nefret to Emerson.
“It is all any of us have to say,” Emerson assured him. “When may we expect those supplies?”
Major Cartright’s countenance underwent a series of contortions. He had been sorely tried, but knew perfectly well that any attempt to detain Emerson against his will would result in an uproar that would reverberate through every level of British officialdom.
“I’m not certain I can obtain everything you need today,” he muttered.
“Oh, I think you can,” said Emerson, showing his teeth.
“Yes, sir. Then… I will see you in Cairo?” He looked at Ramses, who had remained silent.
“No doubt,” said Ramses.
“You are the one he would like to question,” I said, after Cartright had taken his departure. “I expect he will go haring off to General Chetwode and demand we be held here.”
“Chetwode has no authority to detain us,” said Emerson. He rubbed irritably at the cast, which was looking somewhat the worse for wear. “Nefret, can’t I have this cursed thing off?”
“Not yet, Father. As soon as we get to Cairo I’ll have a look at it.”
Selim returned from his inspection of the motorcar to report that everything seemed to be in order, and went off to commandeer some household assistance, since I did not suppose Major Cartright would consider that matter worthy of his attention. It had begun to rain, so we retreated into the room behind the open mak’ad, where we had left our baggage.
“We may as well unpack our bundles,” I said. “What with all our comings and goings, I have lost track of precisely what we still have. I gave my bar of soap to Mustafa, but here is my medical kit and my parasol -”
“You won’t need that, Mrs. Emerson. You will not be leaving the house just yet.”
I had missed one of the secret rooms. Unlike the makhba under the floor of the harem, this was a small hidden chamber whose door resembled that of a wall cupboard. He looked much the same as he had when I had seen him before, a big man with a grizzled beard and shoulders almost as impressive as those of Emerson. He had a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other.
“Sahin Pasha, I presume,” I said, after a slight catch of breath. “We ought to have anticipated that a clever man would comprehend the gravity of his predicament and escape before he could be apprehended. On the run, are you?”
“One might call it that. Now, if you don’t mind -”
“Coming here was also a clever move,” I mused. “There is a saying that the safest place for a criminal is in the police station.”
“Is there? No, my young friend, don’t take another step. I want all of you close together.”
Ramses stopped. “You daren’t use that gun,” he said. “The sound of a shot will bring the servants and a dozen soldiers.”
“If I am forced to fire, there will be more than one shot and by the time your assistants arrive it will be too late for some of you. There is no need for that. All I want is my daughter.”
“Let us discuss this calmly,” I said. “How do you propose to get her away from here, against her will, without killing all of us, which is, as you must see, impractical?”
A rather jolly rumble of laughter emerged from his parted lips. “Mrs. Emerson, it is a pleasure to meet you at last. I know you are hoping that your fascinating conversation will distract me. It won’t. But since you ask, I have already dealt with Esin. She is lying bound and gagged on the divan in the ka’ah. I found this hiding place last night. As soon as I have persuaded you to enter it, I will take her and go.”
“Go where?” I demanded. “Back into the lion’s den? You are being unrealistic if you believe you can convince your erstwhile friends that you are still to be trusted.”
The man’s strong jaw hardened. “I will prove my good faith by returning, with my daughter.”
It would require more than that. He knew it, and so did I. But if he could recapture the prisoner he had let escape… If he could herd us one by one into the secret room, leaving Ramses till last…
“Go on,” Sahin said, gesturing with the pistol. “You first, Mrs. Emerson.”
“No,” I exclaimed. “Emerson, do you see what -”
“It’s all right, Mother,” Ramses said quietly. “I think he’s bluffing. I wonder how many bullets are left in that pistol? Enough to stop all of us?”
“A good point.” Emerson nodded. “I call your bluff, sir. We are not sheep, to be herded into a pen. The girl stays with us, but we will give you… oh, let us say an hour… to get away.”
They measured one another, two men of commanding presence and stature. The Turk said slowly, “You would do that?”
“As the lesser of two evils. Your usefulness to your government has been destroyed. This way no one will be injured. You can trust us to look after the child, and when the war is over you may be reunited with her.”
“The word of an Englishman?” Sahin Pasha murmured.
“Don’t be foolish,” Ramses said urgently. “There are two – four, I mean – of us. Hand over the gun.”
Sahin smiled wryly. “Four? Ah well, it seems I have no choice. You were correct. The gun isn’t loaded. I had to fight my way out of Gaza.”
“Drop it, then,” Ramses said. He took a step forward and held out his hand. “Or give it to me.”
His eyes were fixed on the pistol. It might be a double bluff; we could not be certain, with a man so crafty. Sahin held it out – and then the knife flashed and Ramses stumbled back and fell, blood spurting from his side. Nefret flung herself down beside him.
“You never learn, do you?” Sahin shook his head regretfully. “You really ought to give up this line of work, my boy.”
Emerson had not stirred. “Nefret?” he asked softly.
Her quick surgeon’s hands had slowed the flow of blood. “It’s… not too bad,” she said.
“But now, you see, there are only three of you,” Sahin said. “And I lied when I said the gun was not loaded. Do I take the ladies on next?”
“Yes,” I said, and swung my parasol. It was one of my better efforts, if I do say so. The gun flew out of Sahin’s hand and fell with a clatter onto the tiled floor.
“Ah,” Emerson breathed. “Well done, Peabody. Get the gun.”
“Take my parasol, then.” I pulled out the little sword and forced the weapon into Emerson’s hand. Sahin Pasha let out a guffaw. Emerson swore, but he got the blade up just in time to parry a wicked cut at his good arm.
“I lied again,” said the Turk, grinning. “The gun is empty.”
“We will see about that,” I replied. I pointed the weapon out the window and squeezed the trigger. There was no explosion, only a click. “Curse it,” I remarked.
“This is so entertaining I hate to end it,” said Sahin Pasha. “Professor, I admire you, I respect you, and I do not want to injure you. Anyhow, my reputation would never be the same if I overcame a man armed with a parasol who has only one serviceable arm. I accept your offer. Put down the…” A gurgle of amusement escaped him. “The umbrella.”
“Oh, come, don’t insult my intelligence,” said Emerson in exasperation. “You have no intention of giving yourself up, and I have no intention of allowing you to take my son prisoner again. I cannot imagine how you could accomplish it, but I do not underestimate you. En garde.”
Ramses pulled himself to a sitting position. “Be careful, Father. He doesn’t -”
“Fight like a gentleman? Well, well. Neither do I.”
He bent his knee and lunged. A cry of alarm escaped me. It was almost certainly the most ineffective move he could have made. The blade of the sword was only three inches longer than that of Sahin’s knife. The Turk didn’t even bother to parry it. One quick step backward took him out of range, and as Emerson stra
ightened, staggering a little, the Turk’s knife drove at his side.
It sank with a crunch into the plaster encasing Emerson’s raised forearm and stuck, just long enough. Emerson dropped the parasol and hit the other man in the stomach. Rather below the stomach, to be accurate.
“Oh, Emerson,” I gasped. “Oh, my dear! That was magnificent!”
“Most ungentlemanly,” said my husband, contemplating the writhing, wheezing form of his foe. “But I was never much good with a parasol.”
The capture of the chief of the Turkish secret service ended any doubts the military might have entertained about letting us leave. General Chetwode himself called to congratulate us, accompanied by several of his staff. We had quite a time getting rid of them.
“Medals again,” Emerson grumbled. “They seem to think we intended this all along.”
“You encouraged them to think so,” Ramses said. At Nefret’s insistence he was reclining on one of the divans. She had had to put a few stitches into the cut, which had bled copiously. “It was inspired lying, Father.”
“At least we got a bottle of whiskey out of them,” Emerson said complacently. “Much more useful than medals. Here, my boy, this will put a little color into your face.”
“I would like some too,” said Esin.
“Spirits are not suitable for young ladies,” I said, sipping my own whiskey appreciatively. It had been quite a busy day, what with one thing and another, and I was not in a good humor with the girl. After we freed her she carried on quite extravagantly, and she had accepted the news of her father’s capture with unbecoming equanimity.
“Aren’t you at all concerned about your father?” I asked.
“What will happen to him?”
“He is a prisoner of war,” Emerson said. “Do you want to see him before we leave? I can probably arrange that.”
“No.” She shivered. “He tried to take me away. He says he loves me, but he will not allow me to do what I want. Is that love?”
“Sometimes,” Nefret said.
The silence that followed was broken by a penetrating shriek from outside the house. I could not make out all the words, but there were references to the will of Allah and the blessings of various prophets, up to and including the greatest, that is, Mohammed. When Sir Edward had arrived on the scene, I did not know, but he must have seen the military go off with their prisoner. This was his farewell to us, and none of us doubted that his chief would soon be informed of the news.
Emerson smiled. “Clever beggar, isn’t he?”
Selim, who had missed all the excitement and was still brooding about it, said under his breath, “Beggar. Yes. He is a clever man. And so is -” He broke off, with a glance at me.
“We will talk about it later, Selim,” I said, as softly as he had done.
“As you say, Sitt. So – it is over?”
“Yes. It is over.”
PART THREE. The Handof the God
12
Sped on by every assistance the military could provide, we reached Cairo in less than two days. Selim left us off at Shepheard’s just in time for tea. He was to take the motorcar on to a prearranged location and leave it. What would become of it after that I did not know and did not ask; I was only happy to be rid of the thing, for I had feared Emerson – and Selim – would want to keep it. They did want to, very badly; but Emerson admitted it might be a trifle difficult to explain how we had acquired it.
The terrace was crowded, and our appearance aroused a certain amount of ill-bred attention, even from acquaintances who ought not have been surprised at anything we did. I heard Mrs. Pettigrew’s trumpeting voice address her husband: “There are the Emersons again, Hector, looking even more disreputable than usual. It is positively embarrassing to be acquainted with them.” I waved my parasol at her in a conspicuous manner.
There was some justice in her description; two days’ motoring on military roads does not improve an individual’s appearance, and our wardrobes had been deficient to start with. However, Ramses and Emerson in Arab dress, Nefret and I in sadly crumpled European attire, and Esin, enveloped in veils, as Nefret’s maidservant, occasioned no comment from the well-trained staff of Shepheard’s, and I was not surprised to learn our old rooms had been reserved for us. The luggage we had left was brought to us, so for the first time in days we were able to clean up and dress in proper clothing. There were a number of messages, most of them from Cyrus or Katherine, asking when we would return to Luxor. They had no news to report, except that Jumana was still sulking (Katherine’s word) or grieving (Cyrus’s).
“We had better take the train tomorrow night,” I said.
Emerson grunted. He had not found the message he hoped for.
“What’s your hurry, Peabody? I thought you’d want to shop and do your usual social round.”
“Replenishment of certain supplies would be expedient,” I agreed. “But I can accomplish that tomorrow. What do you say, Nefret? Do you want to spend some time at the hospital?”
Nefret was watching Ramses, who had taken up the latest issue of the Egyptian Gazette. “I may run in for an hour or so, Mother, but I would just as soon go on to Luxor at once. Ramses?”
“I am ready whenever you are” was the reply.
“Is Ramses concealing something?” Emerson asked, when he and I were alone. “I expected he would be anxious to get back to work, but he sounded almost indifferent.”
“I am pleased to find you more sensitive to your son’s feelings, Emerson. In this case I can interpret them for you.”
“Pray do,” said Emerson coldly.
“He was only exhibiting his usual consideration for the opinions of others, particularly those of Nefret. In fact I believe he would like to put this whole business behind him. You know,” I continued, sorting garments that required washing, “that when he is in the thick of the action, he rather enjoys it. He doesn’t have time to think about what he is doing. Later, when there is leisure for introspection, his overly active conscience reproaches him for employing and even enjoying violence. He is -”
“I’m sorry I asked,” Emerson snarled. “I might have known you’d start talking psychology. When are you going to deliver the girl? I’m not sure I like that part of it. How do we know those bastards won’t bully or mistreat her?”
“That is another thing that is bothering Ramses,” I said. “And do not berate me for talking psychology – you are as sentimental about the girl as he is. As for me, I shall be glad to be rid of the responsibility. You may rest assured, however, that I will not leave her until I am certain she will be treated kindly. I will take her to Ismailiya first thing tomorrow morning.”
Emerson did not accompany us. He was afraid Esin would cry and plead. I thought she might too, so I did not attempt to change his mind. I could not dissuade Ramses from coming, however. He had that stubborn set to his mouth.
Esin was wearing one of Nefret’s frocks. She was somewhat stouter than Nefret, but this dress had a loose fit and an adjustable belt. It did not become her. I had not told her what was in store for her, in part because I do not believe in anticipating trouble and in part because I wasn’t certain myself. It all depended on what, and whom, we found at that address in Ismailiya.
It looked respectable, at any rate – a house set in its own gardens, built in the European style of the previous century. Esin let Ramses help her out of the cab and looked admiringly at the house.
“It is very modern. Are we paying a visit?”
“Yes,” I said.
The door was opened by a manservant, who led us into a nicely furnished sitting room. We were expected, it seemed; he had not asked our names, and we had only been waiting a few minutes before a lady entered the room – the lady Smith had introduced as his sister.
“Mrs. Bayes!” I exclaimed. “So you are -”
“Very pleased to see you again,” the lady cut in smoothly. “Mr. Emerson, a pleasure. And this is Miss Sahin? Welcome, my dear. Did Mrs. Emerson tell you you a
re to stay with me for a while?”
“Am I? Must I?” She gave Ramses an imploring look. “Am I a prisoner of war too?”
“Not in the least,” Mrs. Bayes said heartily. “You are an honored guest. Come along and I will show you your room. I think you will like it. I know you came away in a hurry, so perhaps later we can shop for some new clothes. There are many fine shops in the Muski.”
“I saw them,” Esin said slowly. She looked from Mrs. Bayes, who was holding out her hand and smiling sweetly, to me – I bared my teeth, not nearly so sweetly – and then to Ramses. “I am to go with her? Will I see you again?”
He had known it would be easier for her, and for me, if he was there to reassure her. I saw him brace himself for a round of comforting clichés.
“You must have known you could not stay with us, Esin. Mrs. Bayes will take good care of you, and one day… one day… uh…”
“We will meet again? You will not forget me?”
“Never,” Ramses assured her.
“I will never forget you.” She extended her hand at an awkward angle. Resignedly, Ramses kissed it. “One never knows what the future will bring, Esin,” he said. “We will think of you often, and if you ever need our help, you have only to ask.”
Her black eyes took on a dreamy look. “I read a book, an English book, where the lady sent a red rose to the man she loved, the man she had given up for duty. If I send you a rose, will you come?”
Ramses gathered himself for a final, valiant effort. “From the ends of the earth, Esin.”
Mrs. Bayes had followed the exchange with poorly concealed amusement. “Well done,” she murmured, and put a friendly arm round Esin. “Do not prolong the pain of farewell, my dear. Will you two wait here, please? Someone wishes to speak with you.”
She led the girl out. Ramses blew out his breath. “Is it all right, do you think? Mrs. Bayes seems kind.”
“And she has a sense of humor. That is a good sign. You did splendidly, Ramses.”
The servant entered with a tray and poured coffee. “Very conventional,” I said, accepting the cup he handed me. “Do you want to guess the identity of the person who wishes to speak to us?”
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