“No need to guess,” Ramses said. “He’s been behind this all along.”
It was indeed the Honorable Algernon Bracegirdle-Boisdragon whom the servant ushered in. He came straight to me, his hands extended, his thin lips stretched in a smile. “Mrs. Emerson. What can I say?”
“A great deal, I trust. I do not know that I care to take your hand.”
“I cannot say I blame you.” He turned to Ramses, who had risen, and his smile faded. “Sit down, please. I heard of your injury. You may not want to take my hand either, but I must express my thanks and admiration. You accomplished everything we hoped, and more.”
“It wasn’t I, as you are well aware,” Ramses said. “You knew when you sent me after Ismail Pasha that he was no traitor. He was acting with your knowledge and under your orders.”
“The danger to him was real,” the other man said soberly. “Military intelligence knew nothing of our plans. Call it interservice rivalry if you like, but they can’t be trusted, and they disapprove of what they consider our unorthodox methods.”
“So,” I said, “your group is distinct from all those departments with confusing initials and meaningless numbers?”
“They are confusing, aren’t they?” Smith agreed with a sardonic smile. “MO, EMSIB, MIa, b, and c… We don’t go in for that sort of thing, Mrs. Emerson. Ours is a long and honorable history, going all the way to the sixteenth century. Cardinal Wolsey and Thomas Cromwell -”
“The Tudors, of course,” I said with a sniff. “They would be the ones to foster spying and subterfuge. Spare us the history lesson, please.”
“As you like. You are correct in assuming that our mutual friend was following our agenda. He had several purposes; removing Sahin Pasha was only one of them. Another was to investigate the network in Constantinople. We had warned Ml that the man running that group was a double agent. They didn’t believe us. Sethos got rid of the fellow by persuading the Turks that he had betrayed them – which was true. The trouble with him is that he plays his roles too well! I learned that my bumble-headed counterparts in military intelligence were planning to assassinate him. The only way of preventing that was to persuade you to go after him. If I had told them who he was and what he was doing, the word would have spread, and sooner or later it would have reached the ears of the enemy.”
Ramses shook his head doubtfully. “Your solution was somewhat chancy. What if they hadn’t accepted me?”
Smith leaned forward, his hands clasped. “You continue to astonish me. Surely you know that your reputation is second only to that of your – that of Sethos. There’s not an intelligence officer in Egypt who wouldn’t give his right hand to enlist you. Cartright is an ass – military to the core, and he’s held a grudge against you since you fooled him several years ago, but he knew you were the only man who could get into Gaza undetected.”
“And get Lieutenant Chetwode in. I did wonder,” Ramses said deliberately, “whether the whole point of that operation was to convince the Turks of the genuineness of Ismail’s conversion.”
Under his steady gaze, Smith shifted uncomfortably. “You don’t trust any of us, do you? The only way that scheme could have succeeded was to have the Turks identify you and/or Chetwode as British agents. Believe it or not, we don’t risk our people so callously.”
“Not when they are as valuable as my son,” I said.
“Touché, Mrs. Emerson. You are correct, of course. Cartright’s group isn’t especially subtle; they wanted Ismail dead, and they were willing to hazard two men to accomplish it. To do them justice, none of them has the least idea of the difficulties involved in operating behind enemy lines; they still think of Johnny Turk as incompetent and cowardly.”
“But you knew,” I snapped. “And you let them send Ramses -”
“I had every confidence in his ability to get in and out undetected.”
“I’m flattered,” said Ramses, his lip curling.
“Easy for me to say, you mean? You have every right to feel that way. But the last I heard, Cartright had agreed to your proposal of a reconnaissance and nothing more. It never occurred to me that even Cartright would be stupid enough to go ahead with his little assassination attempt. And, naturally, I assumed you would come back with information that would prove Ismail wasn’t Sethos, even if you had to invent it. The last thing we wanted was to have you fall into the hands of the Turks – particularly those of Sahin. He’d been suspicious of Ismail from the start, and he hoped that Ismail would betray himself by trying to free you.”
Ramses’s tight lips relaxed into a faint smile. “He’s a clever man, but trying to stay one step ahead of Sethos is a hopeless job. Using the girl was brilliant.”
“If that hadn’t worked, he’d have got you out some other way,” Smith said brusquely. “Whatever it took.”
“He told you that?” I asked.
“He didn’t have to tell me. I know him rather well. So. Is there anything else you want to know?”
He had already said more than he had meant to say, and Ramses was looking decidedly uncomfortable. I rose. “Only your assurance that the young woman will be treated well.”
“We don’t war on women, Mrs. Emerson. She’ll be questioned courteously but intensively, and I expect we will get quite a lot out of her; she’s an inquisitive creature, I understand. I imagine she’ll enjoy being the center of attention.” After a moment he added, “I cannot insist that you refrain from mentioning her to Ml – or any of those other confusing numbers – but I assure you she will be happier with us than she would be with them.”
“They will find out eventually, won’t they? Her father knows she is with us.”
“If Sahin Pasha is as intelligent a man as I believe him to be, he will not volunteer any more information than is necessary to keep them from hanging him.” He added, with a rather attractive smile, “With any luck, he should be able to hold them off until the war is over.”
“May that day be soon in coming,” I said with a sigh.
“Amen,” said Mr. Smith.
“One more thing,” I said, drawing on my gloves.
“Yes, of course. He asked me to give you his regards and tell you he will ‘turn up,’ as he put it, before long.”
“Thank you.”
“Not at all.” He himself showed us to the door. “If there is ever anything I can do for you, or any member of your family -”
“The kindest thing you can do for us is leave us strictly alone.” I swept past him in my best style.
“All the same,” I said to Ramses, when we were again in the cab, “I don’t think as badly of him as I do of some of the others. Cartright lied to us. Chetwode did not act without his authorization, did he?”
“Chetwode is another military pedant; he wouldn’t dare act without orders. They don’t think of it as lying, you know. Expediency, necessity, ‘whatever it takes to get the job done.’ Chetwode fooled me, though,” Ramses added, in chagrin. “That air of inept innocence was put on. He couldn’t have escaped from Gaza so handily if he had been as incompetent as he seemed.”
“He counted on your sense of decency and loyalty to assist him,” I said.
“Naïveté, rather. Sahin was right, I’ll never get the hang of the business.”
I took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Decency and loyalty have not prevented you from succeeding.”
Ramses shrugged the compliment away. “It’s over, anyhow, thank God. I’m looking forward to seeing the family again.”
“There is one thing I didn’t ask,” I said.
“Only one? And what is that?”
“Sethos’s real name. Bracegirdle-Boisdragon must know.”
The lines furrowing Ramses’s brow disappeared. “I suppose he must, he admitted having examined various records, which would presumably include a birth certificate. I hadn’t given the matter much thought.”
“Hadn’t you wondered at all? I have. It couldn’t be Thomas, could it? After his father?”
“It doesn’t suit him.”
“Well, but when one gives a newborn infant a name, one cannot predict how it will turn out.”
Ramses gave me a curious look.
“As in my case,” he suggested.
“Walter doesn’t suit you,” I agreed. “But no one ever calls you that. William? Frederick? Albert?”
“Robert,” said Ramses, entering into the spirit of the thing. “No, something more distinctive. Perhaps his mother was fond of poetry. Byron? Wordsworth?”
The subject entertained us for the rest of the drive. I was happy to see I had got Ramses’s mind off the recent unpleasantness. He had done his duty with regard to Esin, not even flinching at that appalling promise – “from the ends of the earth” indeed! – and was more at ease about her. Getting back to Luxor and to the dig would complete the cure.
When we returned to the hotel we found both Nefret and Emerson missing. She had left a message for Ramses, telling him she had gone to the hospital and promising to be back in time for luncheon. There was no message from Emerson.
“Where do you suppose he has gone?” I asked, in considerable irritation.
“To the railroad station, perhaps,” Ramses suggested. “I believe he wants to take the train this evening.”
“I trust that is agreeable to you and Nefret, Ramses. Did he do you the courtesy of asking?”
“So far as I am concerned, the sooner we leave Cairo, the better.”
True to her word, Nefret turned up in good time, to report that all was well at the hospital and that she was perfectly agreeable to a departure that evening. I suspected her motives were the same as mine; I wanted no more encounters with General Murray or any of his lot. We had done our duty and more, we had handed over a very important prisoner to the military, and we had reported (some of) our activities to General Chetwode. They could ask no more of us; but they probably would, if we stayed in Cairo.
“Isn’t Father back yet?” she asked. “I made him go with me to the hospital so that I could X-ray his arm and replace the cast, but that was hours ago.”
Another hour passed with no sign of Emerson. Nefret suggested we order coffee and biscuits, adding with a rueful smile, “My appetite has become outrageous since Gaza. I suppose it’s because we ate such peculiar things at such peculiar hours.”
“No doubt,” I said.
The minutes dragged by. Finally I heard the unmistakable thud of Emerson’s heavy steps, and the door was flung open. A cry of indignation burst from my lips.
“Emerson, how many times must I tell you not to use that cast like a battering ram? And why aren’t you wearing your coat? And your cravat? And -”
Emerson glanced in mild surprise at his arm. “Forgot,” he said, tossing his crumpled coat onto the floor. “Coffee? Good. How did it go?”
“How did what…? Oh, Esin. It is all settled and she is in good hands. Where the devil have you been?”
Emerson sipped his coffee. Ramses leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. “Shall I hazard a guess?”
“If you like,” said Emerson, rolling his eyes at me.
“Hilmiya.”
“Oh, Emerson, you didn’t!” I cried.
“I had to, didn’t I? What the devil, the crafty bastard did me a favor – two favors, in fact.”
“How did you get into the camp?” Ramses asked curiously.
“Walked up to the gate and announced myself,” said his father, holding out his cup for me to refill it. “El-Gharbi was not surprised to see me – he had heard of our return. He seems to hear everything. He wanted me to pay him for the damage to the motorcar.”
“Did you?” Nefret asked, torn between amusement and disgust.
“No. His people had stolen the thing, hadn’t they? I assured him,” said Emerson, with another wary glance at me, “that I would speak on his behalf. Exile, to his village in Upper Egypt, would satisfy him and settle my debt.”
“Oh, dear,” I murmured. “Well, Emerson, you acted according to your lights, I suppose. Go and clean up, it is past time for luncheon.”
I followed him into our room, for I knew that if I did not assist his ablutions he would get the cast wet.
“I trust el-Gharbi was properly appreciative,” I said, assisting him to remove his shirt.
“In his fashion. He said something rather strange.”
“What? Let me do that, Emerson.”
I took the dripping washcloth from his hand.
“ ‘The young serpent also has poisoned fangs.’ ”
“I beg your pardon, Emerson?”
“Those were his precise words, Peabody. I haven’t the vaguest idea what they mean, but it has the ring of a warning, doesn’t it?”
“Hmm. Perhaps he was referring to Jamil.” I put the washcloth down and picked up a towel.
“The warning comes a bit late,” said Emerson. “But that is how soothsayers and fortune-tellers and such individuals make their reputations, by predicting what has already happened. The devil with it, and el-Gharbi. I stopped by the railroad station and made reservations. We will take the train tonight.”
I did not wire ahead. We would probably arrive before the telegram was delivered, and Fatima always kept the house in perfect order. The happy surprise I had planned for her and the others was spoiled, however, by the network of gossip that encompasses Luxor. By the time we reached the house, the whole family was on the veranda waiting for us. Sennia darted at Ramses, shouting, “See how much taller and stronger I am?”
Before any of us could stop her, she had thrown her arms round him in one of her gigantic hugs. We always pretended to be left breathless by her strength, but she knew at once that his gasp of pain was not feigned, and began fussing and apologizing. She made him sit down and lifted both his feet onto a stool.
“You’ve been and got yourselves into trouble again,” said Gargery sternly. “Was it that Master Criminal chap? I trust, sir and madam, that he isn’t going to turn up here. We’ve got enough problems without that.”
“What sort of problems?” I asked.
“There is no trouble, Sitt,” said Fatima, with a reproachful glance at Gargery. “Rest and I will bring tea.”
Gargery would not be silenced. “It’s mostly these young women, madam. That girl that was working for Miss Nefret has been round saying you promised to find her a husband. She’s got a chap in mind and wants you to pin him down before he can get away.”
We all laughed except Sennia, who was still fussing over Ramses. “She didn’t put it that way, surely,” Nefret said.
“She keeps coming round,” said Gargery gloomily. “And then there’s Jumana. Won’t eat, won’t talk, won’t work. It puts a person off, madam, just seeing that gloomy face. And Mrs. Vandergelt -”
“Enough, Gargery,” Emerson snarled. “Can’t we have a single day of peace and quiet? No one is desperately ill, no one is dead, no one is missing? Good. Mrs. Emerson will deal with these minor difficulties in due time.”
“Thank you, my dear,” I said.
The sarcasm was wasted on Emerson. “Good to be back,” he declared with great satisfaction. “No use asking Gargery how things are going at Deir el Medina, but I expect Vandergelt will be here before long, with his own list of complaints. Never a dull moment, eh? Sennia, you haven’t given me a kiss. My arm is bothering me quite a lot.”
Cyrus was courteous enough not to disturb us for the greater part of the day. We were sitting on the veranda admiring the lovely sunset colors, as the calls of the muezzins drifted across the desert in a melodious medley, when he turned up, riding Queenie.
“Figured I’d arrive in time for drinks,” he remarked, handing the reins to the stableman. “Sure good to have you folks back. I hear Ramses has had another little – er – accident. I don’t suppose I should ask where you’ve been and what you’ve been up to.”
“No,” said Emerson. He handed Cyrus a glass.
It was the answer Cyrus had expected. He accepted it, and the glass of
whiskey, with a smile. “Sure have missed you. Maybe you can do something with Jumana. She’s just wasting away, poor little girl.”
“No, she is not,” I assured him. “Nefret and I both examined her this afternoon. She is somewhat off-color, since she hasn’t left the house for days, but she hasn’t lost an ounce.”
“But Fatima said -”
“She has only picked at her meals. That means she is eating on the sly. I prescribed a particularly nasty-tasting tonic.”
“She’s been putting it on?” Cyrus demanded.
“It’s not that simple, Cyrus,” Nefret said thoughtfully. “Her unhappiness is genuine. She isn’t deliberately deceiving us, but I think – and Heaven knows I am no expert – that her natural youthful optimism is engaged in a mental struggle with her sense of guilt. I honestly don’t know whether to slap her or coddle her.”
“Put her to work,”said Emerson. “Always the best medicine. How are things going at Deir el Medina, Vandergelt?”
“ ’Bout the same. Found two more tombs. Empty.”
“You haven’t broken your promise to me, I hope,” I said.
“I haven’t been in the southwest wadis, if that’s what you mean. But if you think I’ve forgotten what that young villain said, you’re wrong. I haven’t been able to sleep, wondering what he meant. ‘The hand of the god.’ What god? Where?” Cyrus held out his empty glass. In silent sympathy, Emerson refilled it. He had no patience with psychology, but this distress he could understand.
Cyrus went on, in mounting passion, “I even went back into that darned shrine – the one where we found the statue of Amon last year. Well, he’s a god, isn’t he? Bertie and I examined every inch of the darned room. The walls and floor are solid.”
“Bah,” said Emerson. “Stop wasting time on fantasies, Vandergelt.”
“Don’t be a hypocrite, Emerson,” I said. “We have all been speculating and guessing and theorizing. It is a pretty little problem. Supposing Jamil was not trying to mislead or tantalize us, which may well have been the case, there are a good many gods shown on a good many wall surfaces in Thebes. Deir el Bahri, Medinet Habu, every tomb on the West Bank – What is it, Cyrus?”
The Golden One Page 42