XI

EMERSON was more forthcoming when I asked precisely what he intended to do in Cairo. ‘For it is all very well,’ I added, ‘to talk vaguely of getting on the trail of Sethos, but without any notion of where to start, it will be difficult to find a trail, much less follow it.’

My tone was somewhat acerbic, for Emerson’s refusal to confide in me had wounded me deeply. He appeared not to notice my annoyance, but replied amicably, ‘I am glad you raised that question, Peabody. I have two approaches in mind. First, we must inquire of official sources what they know of this villain. We have a legitimate reason to demand information, since we have cause to suppose ourselves threatened by him.

‘I have greater hopes, however, of my second approach – to wit, my acquaintances in the underworld of Cairene crime. I would not be surprised to discover that even Sethos’ chief lieutenants are unaware of his true identity; however, by putting together bits and scraps and odds and ends, we may be able to construct a clue.’

‘Good, Emerson. Precisely the approach I was about to suggest.’

‘Humph,’ said Emerson. ‘Have you any other suggestions, Peabody?’

‘I could hardly improve on your ideas, Emerson. However, it has occurred to me to start from the other end, so to speak.’

‘I don’t follow you, Peabody.’

‘I meant that instead of gathering more information, we should pursue the few facts we already have. I am convinced it was Sethos himself who brought the communion vessels to our room. And we know that he or one of his hired assassins was in the hotel on the night of Kalenischeff’s murder. I propose to question and, if necessary, bribe or threaten, the servants who were on duty upon those occasions.’

‘Of course you know the police have questioned them already.’

‘Oh yes, but they won’t have told the police anything. There is a reluctance among people of that class in all countries to cooperate with the police.’

‘True. Anything else?’

‘Yes, one other thing. Has it occurred to you that if Ronald Fraser is not Sethos himself, he may be involved with the gang?’

‘Oddly enough, that had occurred to me,’ Emerson replied, fingering the dimple in his chin. ‘Or, if not Ronald, then Donald. Curse these people,’ he added, ‘why can’t they have distinctive names? I keep mixing them up.’

‘I am sure we can eliminate Donald, Emerson. He was with me this morning, and it was a miracle he was not killed.’

‘What better alibi could there be?’ Emerson demanded. ‘If he is Sethos, he could instruct a confederate to fire at him and miss – as indeed he did.’

‘He couldn’t know I would awaken and follow him, Emerson.’

‘That isn’t why you want to eliminate him, Peabody,’ Emerson grumbled. ‘You have a pernicious weakness for young lovers.’

‘Nonsense, Emerson. I eliminate Donald on purely logical grounds. We both heard Ronald Fraser ask his brother to meet him; as Donald explained to me, the reference was to a place where they had been accustomed to meet as children. How did Ronald learn the whereabouts of his brother, and of Enid, unless he is in touch with that mysterious personage who knows all and sees all? And how did Sethos know Donald would be by the river at dawn unless Ronald told him?’

‘Curse it, Peabody, you have a positive genius for overlooking the obvious! It is because you are obsessed with this villain. You see him everywhere and credit him with well-nigh supernatural powers!’

‘Really, Emerson–’

‘The simplest and most obvious explanation,’ Emerson continued angrily, ‘is that Ronald tried to kill his brother. An act of purely private villainy, Peabody, with not a Master Criminal in sight! Why Ronald should hate Donald I do not know, but there are several possibilities – an inheritance, or rivalry for the hand of the young lady, for instance. People do kill people for the most ridiculous reasons.’

‘In either case,’ I replied with equal heat, ‘it behooves us to learn more about Ronald Fraser. At least I can ascertain whether he was in Egypt last winter. He would have to enter the country in his true name, and he would probably have stayed for a time at Shepheard’s. Mr Baehler can tell me whether this was the case.’

‘Your sweeping generalizations are, as usual, unfounded; but it can’t do any harm to ask,’ Emerson grunted. ‘Here we are, Peabody; get your traps together.’

The train pulled into the main station. Emerson opened the door of the carriage and turned with a benevolent smile to assist the old lady who had been our sole companion during the journey. She was sitting at the extreme end of the seat watching us with wide eyes, and when Emerson offered his hand she let out a scream.

‘Get away!’ she shrieked. ‘Murder – assassins – bats – leave me, monster!’

My attempts at reassurance only maddened her more, and we were forced to abandon her. She appeared, poor creature, to be rather lacking in her wits.

We went first to police headquarters, on the Place Bab el-Khalk. Major Ramsay was rude enough to keep us waiting a good ten minutes, and I daresay it would have been longer had not Emerson, with his habitual impetuosity, brushed the protesting clerk aside and flung open the door to the inner office. A brisk exchange followed, in which I did not interfere since I felt Emerson’s criticisms to be fully justified. During the discussion Emerson held a chair for me and sat down himself, so Ramsay finally resigned himself to the inevitable.

Emerson wasted no more time on compliments. ‘You are of course familiar, Ramsay, with the matter of the antiquities thieves Mrs Emerson and I apprehended last season.’

‘I have your file here before me,’ Ramsay replied sourly, indicating a folder. ‘I was perusing it when you burst in; had you given me time to study it–’

‘Well, the devil, man, how much time do you need to read a dozen pages?’ Emerson demanded. ‘You ought to have known all about it anyway.’

I deemed it appropriate to calm the troubled waters with a soothing comment. ‘May I suggest, Emerson, that we save valuable time by avoiding reproaches? We are here, Major Ramsay, because we want you to tell us all you know about the Master Criminal.’

‘Who?’ Ramsay exclaimed.

‘You may know him as “the Master,” which is one of the names his henchmen call him. He is also known as Sethos.’

Ramsay continued to stare at me with a particularly feebleminded expression, so I tried again. ‘The head of the ring of antiquities thieves. If you have indeed read the report, you know that he unfortunately eluded us.’

‘Oh! Oh yes.’ With maddening deliberation Ramsay turned over the pages. ‘Yes, it is all here. Congratulations from M. de Morgan of the Department of Antiquities, from Sir Evelyn Baring–’

‘Well, then,’ I said. ‘No doubt the police have been actively engaged in attempting to identify and locate this mastermind of crime. What progress have you made?’

‘Mrs Emerson.’ Ramsay closed the file and folded his hands. ‘The administration and the police are grateful to you for your efforts in closing down a ring of local thieves. All this talk of master criminals with outlandish aliases is absurd.’

I put a restraining hand on Emerson’s arm. ‘They know of Sethos in the bazaars,’ I said. ‘They whisper of the Master, and the dreadful revenge he takes on traitors to his revolting cause.’

Ramsay raised a hand to conceal his smile. ‘We pay no attention to the gossip of natives, Mrs Emerson. They are such a superstitious, ignorant lot; why, if we followed up every idle rumour, we would have no time to do anything else.’

From Emerson’s parted lips came bubbling sounds, like those of a kettle on the boil. ‘Please don’t say such things, Major,’ I implored. ‘I cannot guarantee your safety if you continue in that vein. Since we arrived in Egypt less than a week ago, we have been several times attacked by this man, whose existence you deny. There was an attempt at abducting our son, and only this morning a shot fired from ambush narrowly missed me, and actually wounded Don – er – one of our assassins.’

Ramsay was too obtuse to notice my momentary confusion. The smile had vanished from his face. ‘Have you reported these crimes, Mrs Emerson?’

‘Why, no. You see–’

‘Why not?’

Emerson leaped to his feet. ‘Because,’ he bellowed, ‘the police are consummate fools, that is why. Come along, Amelia. This jackanapes knows less than we do. Come, I implore you, before I kick his desk to splinters and perpetrate indignities upon his person which I might later regret.’

Emerson was still seething when we emerged from the building. ‘No wonder nothing is being done to stop the illegal trade in antiquities,’ he growled. ‘With a fool like that in charge–’

‘Now, Emerson, calm yourself. The major has nothing to do with antiquities. You said yourself, you had no great hopes of learning anything from him.’

‘That is true.’ Emerson wiped his perspiring brow.

‘I wish you had not been so hasty, Emerson. I wanted to ask how the investigation into Kalenischeff’s death is progressing.’

‘Quite right, Peabody. It is all the fault of that cursed idiot Ramsay for distracting me. Let us go back and ask him.’

‘Emerson,’ I began. ‘I don’t think–’

But Emerson had already started to retrace his steps. I had no choice but to follow. By running as fast as I could, I caught him up outside Ramsay’s office. ‘Ah, there you are, Peabody,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Do try to keep up, will you? We have a great deal to do.’

At the sight of Emerson the clerk fled through another door, and Emerson proceeded into the inner office. Ramsay jumped up and assumed a posture of defence, his back against the wall.

‘Sit down, sit down,’ Emerson said genially. ‘No need to stand on ceremony; this won’t take long. Ramsay, what is the state of the investigation into the murder of that villain Kalenischeff?’

‘Er – what?’ Ramsay sputtered.

‘The fellow is very slow,’ Emerson explained to me. ‘One must be patient with such unfortunates.’ He raised his voice and spoke very slowly, as people do when they are addressing someone who is hard of hearing. ‘What – is – the – state –’

‘I understood you the first time, Professor,’ Ramsay said, wincing.

‘Speak up, then. I haven’t got all day. Is the young lady still under suspicion?’

I think Ramsay had come to the conclusion that Emerson was some species of madman, and must be humoured for fear he would become violent. ‘No,’ he said, with a strained smile. ‘I never believed she was guilty. It is out of the question for a gently bred lady to have committed such a crime.’

‘That isn’t what you told my wife,’ Emerson declared.

‘Er – didn’t I?’ Ramsay transferred his stiff smile to the madman’s wife. ‘I beg your pardon. Perhaps she misunderstood.’

‘Never mind, Major,’ I said. ‘Whom do you suspect, then?’

‘A certain beggar, who was often outside Shepheard’s. One of the safragis claims to have seen him inside the hotel that night.’

‘And the motive?’ I inquired calmly.

Ramsay shrugged. ‘Robbery, no doubt. I haven’t much hope of finding the fellow. They all look alike, you know.’

‘Only to idiots and ignoramuses,’ said Emerson.

‘Oh, quite, quite, quite, Professor. Er – I meant to say, they all stick together, you know; we will never get an identification from the other beggars. One of them actually had the effrontery to tell me the fellow was English.’ Ramsay laughed. ‘Can you imagine?’

Emerson and I exchanged glances. He shrugged contemptuously. ‘And what of Miss Debenham,’ I asked. ‘Have you found no trace of her?’

‘Ramsay shook his head. ‘I fear the worst,’ he said portentiously.

‘That she is dead?’

‘Worse than that.’

‘I don’t see what could be worse than that,’ Emerson remarked.

‘Oh, Emerson, don’t be ironic,’ I said. ‘He is referring to the classic fate worse then death – an assessment made, I hardly need add, by men. Major, are you really naive enough to believe that Miss Debenham has been sold into white slavery?’

‘Slavery has not been stamped out,’ Ramsay insisted. ‘Despite our efforts.’

‘I know that, of course. But the unfortunates who suffer this fate – and I agree, it is a ghastly fate – are poor children of both sexes, many of whom are sold by their own families. The dealers in that filthy trade would not dare abduct an Englishwoman out of the very walls of Shepheard’s Hotel.’

‘Then what has become of her?’ Ramsay asked. ‘She could not remain concealed for long, a woman with no knowledge of the language, the customs –’

‘You underestimate our sex, sir,’ I said, frowning. ‘Next time we meet you may have cause to amend your opinion, and I will expect an apology.’

After we left the office I heard the key turn in the lock.

‘So much for that,’ said Emerson as, for the second time, we emerged into the street. ‘Not very useful, was it?’

‘No. Well, Emerson, what next?’

Emerson hailed a carriage and handed me into it. ‘I will meet you later at Shepheard’s,’ he said. ‘Wait for me on the terrace if you finish your interrogation before I arrive.’

‘And where are you going?’

‘To the bazaars, to pursue the course I mentioned.’

‘I will go with you.’

‘That would be ill-advised, Peabody. The negotiations I mean to pursue are of the most delicate nature. My informants will be reluctant to talk at all; the presence of a third party, even you, might silence them.’

His argument could not be gainsaid. Emerson had a rare, I might even say unique, rapprochement with Egyptians of all varieties and social classes, stemming from his eloquence in invective, his formidable strength, his colloquial command of the language, and – it pains me to admit – his complete contempt for the Christian religion. To be sure, Emerson was tolerantly and equally contemptuous of Islam, Buddhism, Judaism, and all other faiths, but his Egyptian friends were only concerned about the religion they equate with foreign domination over their country. Other archaeologists claimed to have good relations with their workers – Petrie, I am sorry to say, was always boasting about it – but their attitude was always tempered with the condescension of the ‘superior race’ toward a lesser breed. Emerson made no such distinctions. To him a man was not an Englishman or a ‘native,’ but only a man.

I see that I have digressed. I do not apologize. The complex nobility of Emerson’s character is worthy of an even longer digression.

However, I felt certain there was another reason why he preferred I should not accompany him. In his bachelor days, before I met him and civilized him, Emerson had a widespread acquaintance in certain circles he was not anxious for me to know about. Respecting his scruples and his right to privacy, I never attempted to intrude into this part of his past.

Feeling that I was entitled to the same consideration from him, I did not feel it necessary to inform him that I had business of my own in the old section, and that if he expected me to sit meekly on the terrace of Shepheard’s until he condescended to appear, he was sadly mistaken. First, however, there were my inquiries at the hotel to be made, so I allowed the carriage driver to follow Emerson’s directions.

However, Mr Baehler was a sad disappointment. He absolutely refused to allow me to examine the hotel registers for the previous winter. Upon my persisting, he finally agreed to consult them himself, and he assured me that Mr Ronald Fraser had not been a guest at the hotel during that period. I was disappointed, but not downhearted; Ronald might have stayed at another hostelry.

I then asked the name of the safragi who had been on duty at the time of Kalenischeff’s murder. As I had expected from a man of Mr Baehler’s efficiency, he knew the names and duties of every employee in the hotel, but again I met with a check. The person in question, whose assignment had been the third-floor wing, was no longer in the employ of the hotel.

‘He had a bit of good luck,’ Baehler said with a smile. ‘An aged relative died and left him a large sum of money. He has retired to his village and I hear he is living like a pasha.’

‘And what village is that?’ I asked.

Baehler shrugged. ‘I don’t remember. It is far to the south, near Assuan. But really, Mrs Emerson, if it is information concerning the murder you want, you are wasting your time looking for him. The police questioned him at length!’

‘I see. I understand the police have fixed on some anonymous beggar as the killer, and that Miss Debenham is no longer under suspicion.’

‘So I believe. If you will excuse me, Mrs Emerson, I am expecting a large party–’

‘One more thing, Mr Baehler, and I will detain you no longer. The name of the safragi who was on duty in our part of the hotel while we were here.’

‘I hope you don’t suspect him of wrongdoing,’ Baehler exclaimed. ‘He is a responsible man who has been with us for years.’

I reassured him, and upon hearing that the man in question was even now at his station, I dismissed Mr Baehler with thanks, and went upstairs.

I remembered the safragi well – a lean, grizzled man of middle age, with a quiet voice and pleasant features marred only when he smiled by a set of brown, broken teeth.

The fellow’s smile was without guile, however, and he answered my question readily. Alas, he could not remember anything unusual about the porters who had delivered our parcels. There had been a number of deliveries from a number of different shops; some of the men were known to him, some were not.

I thanked and rewarded him and left him to the peaceful nap my arrival had interrupted. I was convinced he was unwitting. His demeanour was that of an innocent man, and besides, if he had been aware of the identity of the delivery man, he would have been pensioned off, like the other safragi – who was, I felt sure, the same one who had claimed to have seen Donald inside the hotel. Sethos rewarded his loyal assistants liberally.

Since some of my inquiries had proved abortive, I found myself with plenty of time to carry out my other business, and I determined to proceed with it rather than pause for luncheon. Emerson would be occupied for several more hours, and if I hurried, I could be back at the hotel before he got there.

I was crossing the lobby when the concierge intercepted me. ‘Mrs Emerson! This letter was left for you.’

‘How extraordinary,’ I said, examining the superstructure, which was in an unfamiliar hand. There was no question of a mistake, however, for the name was my own, and in full: Amelia Peabody Emerson. ‘Who was the person who left it?’

‘I did not recognize the gentleman, madam. He is not a guest at the hotel.’

I thanked the concierge and hastened to open the sealed envelope. The message within was brief, but the few lines set my pulses leaping. ‘Have important information. Will be at the Café Orientale between one-thirty and two.’ It was signed ‘T. Gregson’.

I had almost forgotten the famous private detective – as perhaps you have also, dear Reader. Apparently he had seen me enter the hotel. But why had he written a note instead of speaking to me personally?’

I consulted my watch. The timing could not have been better. I could visit the shop of Aziz before keeping the appointment with Gregson.

Do not suppose, Reader, that I was unconscious of the peculiarity of the arrangement. There was a chance I might be walking into a trap. Mr Gregson could not be Sethos; his eyes were not black, but a soft velvety brown. Yet he might be an ally of that enigmatic villain, or someone else might have used his name in order to lure me into his toils.

This seemed, on the whole, unlikely. I knew the Café Orientale; it was on the Muski, in a respectable neighbourhood much frequented by the foreign community. And if my suspicion was correct – if Sethos himself lay in wait for me – I was ready for him. I was alert and on guard, I had my parasol and my belt of tools.

However, I felt it advisable to take one precaution. Going into the writing room, I inscribed a brief note to Emerson, telling him where I was going and assuring him, in closing, that if I did not return he was to console himself with the knowledge that our deep and tender love had enriched my life and, I trusted, his own.

Upon rereading this, I found it a trifle pessimistic, so I added a postscript. ‘My dear Emerson, I do not suppose that the M.C. will slaughter me out of hand, since it would be more in character for him to hold me prisoner in order to arouse in you the anguish of uncertainty as to my fate. I feel confident that if I cannot effect my own escape, you will eventually find and free me. This is not farewell, then, but only au revoir, from your most devoted, et cetera, et cetera.’

I left the envelope at the desk with instructions to give it to Emerson no earlier than 5 p.m. if I had not collected it myself before then.

Feeling in need of exercise to work off the excited anticipation that poured through my veins, I did not take a carriage but set off on foot toward the shop. Aziz was a singularly unpleasant little man, but he was the sole survivor of a family that had been intimately connected with the Master Criminal. His father and his brother had been involved in the illegal antiquities trade; both had met terrible ends the previous year, though admittedly not at the hands of Sethos. Aziz had inherited his father’s stock of antiquities and perhaps (as I hoped) his father’s connection with the genius of crime. It was worth a try, at any rate.

Aziz was out in front of his shop, calling to passers-by to come in and view his wares. He recognized me immediately; his fixed tradesman’s smile turned into a look of consternation, and he darted inside.

It was a tawdry place, its shelves and showcases filled with cheap tourist goods and fake antiquities, many of them made in Birmingham. Aziz was nowhere to be seen. The clerk behind the showcase was staring at the swaying curtain through which his employer had presumably fled. There were no customers; most of the tourists were at luncheon, and shop would soon be closing for the afternoon.

‘Tell Mr Aziz I wish to see him,’ I said loudly. ‘I won’t leave until he comes out, so he may as well do it now.’

I knew Aziz was in the back room and could hear every word I said. It took him a few minutes to make up his cowardly mind, but finally he emerged, smiling broadly. The lines in his face looked like cracks in plaster, one had the feeling that if the smile stretched another half inch, the whole façade would crumble and drop off.

He greeted me with bows and cries of delight. He was so happy I had honoured his establishment. What could he show me? He had received a shipment of embroidered brocades from Damascus, woven with gold threads–

I did not much care for Mr Aziz, so I did not attempt to spare his feelings. ‘I want to talk to you about Sethos,’ I said.

Mr Aziz turned pale. ‘No, sitt,’ he whispered. ‘No, please, sitt–’

‘You know me, Mr Aziz. I have nothing else to do this afternoon. I can wait.’

Aziz’s lips curled into a wolfish snarl. Turning on his gaping clerk, he clapped his hands. ‘Out,’ he snapped.

When the clerk had gone, Aziz locked the door and pulled the curtain. ‘What have I done to you, sitt, that you wish my death?’ he demanded tragically. ‘Those who betray this – this person – die. If I know anything of this – this person – which I do not – I swear it, sitt, on my father’s grave – the mere fact that you were heard to mention his name in my shop would be the end of me.’

‘But if you know nothing about him, you are in no danger,’ I said.

Aziz brightened a trifle. ‘That is true.’

‘What do they say of him in the bazaars? You do not endanger yourself by repeating what all men know.’

According to Aziz, no one really knew anything, for Sethos’ men did not gossip about him. He was known only by his actions, and even these were obscure, for his reputation was such that every successful crime in Cairo was laid at his door. Aziz believed he was not a man at all, but an efreet. It was said that not even his own men knew his true identity. He communicated with them by means of messages left in designated places; and those few who had seen him face to face were well aware that the face he wore that day was not the one in which he would next be seen.

Once started, Aziz rather warmed to his theme, and rambled on at length, repeating the legends that had accrued to this mysterious person. They were no more than that for the most part – wild, fantastic tales that were fast becoming part of the folklore of the underworld.

‘Very well,’ I said, glancing at my watch. ‘I believe, Mr Aziz, that you have told me all you know. Sethos would never enlist a man like you; you are too great a coward, and you talk too much.’

He let me out and locked the door after me. Looking back, I saw his face, shining with perspiration, peering fearfully at me through a crack in the curtain.

I hoped Emerson had done better, but feared he had been no more successful than I. By a combination of cleverness and terror, Sethos seemed to have done an excellent job of covering his tracks. If I had not had the meeting with Mr Gregson to look forward to, I would have been somewhat discouraged.

It was thirty-five minutes past one when I arrived at the Café Orientale. Mr Gregson was nowhere to be seen, so I seated myself at a table near the door, ignoring the curious stares of the other patrons. They were all men. I believe there is some nonsensical convention against ladies patronizing cafés. Either Mr Gregson was unaware of this unspoken rule, or he paid me the compliment of realizing that I was supremely indifferent to such things.

I summoned the waiter with a rap of my parasol and a crisp command in Arabic, and ordered coffee. Mr Gregson arrived before the coffee. I had forgotten what a fine-looking man he was. The smile that illumined his face softened his austere features.

‘You came!’ he exclaimed.

‘You asked me to, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, but I scarcely dared hope … No, that is not true. I know the ardent spirit that moves you. I knew you would rush in where lesser women fear to tread.’

‘I did not rush, Mr Gregson, I walked – into a respectable café filled with people. The only danger I faced was that of social ostracism, and that has never been a matter of concern to me.’

‘Ah,’ said Gregson, ‘but I am going to ask you to accompany me into an area that is not so free of peril. I tell you frankly, Mrs Emerson–’

He broke off as the waiter came with my order. Curtly he ordered, ‘Kahweh mingheir sukkar.’

‘You speak Arabic?’ I asked.

‘Only enough to order food and complain that the price is too high.’

The waiter returned. Mr Gregson raised his cup. ‘To the spirit of adventure,’ he said gravely.

‘Cheers,’ I replied, raising my own cup. ‘And now, Mr Gregson, you were telling me frankly …’

‘That the mission I am about to propose is one in which you may reasonably refuse to join me. But I think I have – persuaded, shall we say? – one of Sethos’ henchmen to talk to us. How much the fellow knows I cannot tell, but he is reputed to be as close to that genius of crime as anyone, and I believe it is an opportunity not to be missed. I would not bring you into this, except that the man insisted you be present. He seems to have confidence in your ability to protect him–’

‘Say no more,’ I exclaimed, rising to my feet. ‘Let us go at once!’

‘You do not hesitate,’ Gregson said, looking at me curiously. ‘I confess that in your position I would be highly suspicious of such a request.’

‘Well, as to that, it is quite understandable that the fellow should select me as a confidante. You are a stranger; whereas, if I may say so, my reputation for square dealing is well known. The man may even be someone I know personally! Come, Mr Gregson, we mustn’t delay an instant.’

As we penetrated deeper into the heart of the old city, the narrow winding streets took on the character of a maze, composed of dirty crumbling walls and shuttered windows. The latticed balconies jutting out from the upper stories of the tall old houses cut off the sunlight, so that we walked through a dusty shade. There were few Europeans or English among the pedestrians, some of whom stumbled in a drugged daze, their eyes fixed on vacancy.

Since the streets (if they could be called that) turned and twisted, I was able to keep a watchful eye to the rear. Mr Gregson noted my glances. ‘You are uneasy,’ he said seriously. ‘I should not have brought you. If you would rather return–’

‘Keep walking,’ I hissed.

‘What is it?’

‘We are being followed.’

‘What?’

‘Keep walking, I say, Don’t turn your head.’

‘Surely you are mistaken.’

‘No. There is a man behind us whom I have seen twice before – once outside Shepheard’s, and again loitering near the café. A slight fellow wearing a white gibbeh and a blue turban.’

‘But, Mrs Emerson, that description would fit half the men in Cairo!’

‘He has been careful to keep the sleeve of his gibbeh across the lower part of his face. I am certain he is following us – and I intend to capture him. Follow me!’

Turning abruptly, I rushed at the spy, my parasol raised.

My sudden attack caught both men by surprise. Gregson let out a grunt of alarm, and the pursuer stopped short, raising his arms in an attempt to shield his head. In vain – I was too quick for him! I brought my parasol crashing down on the crown of his head. His eyes rolled up, his knees buckled, and he sank to the ground in a flurry of fluttering white cotton.

‘I have him,’ I cried, seating myself on the fallen man’s chest. ‘Here, Mr Gregson – come at once, I have captured the spy!’

The street had cleared as if by magic. I knew there were watchers hidden in the doorways and peering out from behind the shuttered windows, but the spectators had prudently removed themselves from the scene of action. Gregson edged towards me, with none of the enthusiastic congratulations I expected.

Then a muffled voice murmured pathetically, ‘Sitt Hakim – oh, sitt, you have broken my head, I think.’

I knew that voice. With a trembling hand I lifted the folds of fabric that hid my captive’s face.

It was Selim, Abdullah’s son – the beloved young Benjamin of that loyal family. And I had struck him down!

‘What the devil are you doing here, Selim?’ I demanded. ‘No, don’t tell me. Emerson sent you. You came up with us on the same train, in another carriage – you have been spying on me ever since Emerson and I parted outside the Administration Building!’

‘Not spying, sitt,’ the boy protested. ‘Guarding you, protecting you! The Father of Curses honoured me with this mission, and I have failed – I am disgraced – my heart is broken – and so is my head, sitt. I am dying. Take my farewells to the Father of Curses and to my honoured father, and to my brothers Ali and Hassan and–’

I stood up and reached a hand to Selim. ‘Get up, you foolish boy. You are not hurt; the folds of your turban muffled the blow and I don’t believe the skin is even broken. Let me have a look.’

In fact, Selim’s injury consisted of nothing more than a rising lump on his cranium. I took a box of ointment from the medicine kit in my tool collection and applied it to the lump, after which I wrapped Selim’s head with bandages before replacing his turban. It rode rather high on his head because of the bandages, but that could not be helped.

Mr Gregson watched in absolute silence. There was a curious absence of expression on his face.

‘I beg your pardon, Mr Gregson,’ I said. ‘We can continue now. Do you mind if Selim comes along, or would you rather I sent him away?’

Gregson hesitated. Before he could reply, Selim let out a howl of woe. ‘No, sitt, no. Do not send me away! I will not return to the Father of Curses without you. I would rather run away. I would rather join the army. I would rather take poison and die!’

‘Be still,’ I said angrily. ‘Mr Gregson?’

‘I am afraid this delay has caused us to miss the appointment,’ Gregson said. ‘You had better taken your lachrymose guard back to his master.’

‘Please, sitt, please.’ Selim, who was indeed weeping copiously, took hold of my arm. ‘Emerson Effendi will curse me and take my soul. Come with me, or I will cut out my tongue with my knife so that I need not confess my failure; I will put out my eyes lest I see his terrible frown. I will–’

‘Good Gad,’ I exclaimed. ‘There is no help for it, Mr Gregson. Won’t you come with me and meet my husband? He will be extremely interested in any information you can give.’

‘Not today,’ Gregson said quietly. ‘If I go at once, I may be able to reach the person I spoke of and make another appointment. Perhaps I can also persuade him to allow the Professor to accompany us next time.’

‘Excellent,’ I said. ‘How will you let us know?’

‘I will send a messenger to you. You may leave word for me at Shepheard’s, if you have news; I stop there every day or so to pick up my mail.’

‘Very well,’ I held out my hand. Mr Gregson took it in both of his. They were white, well-tended hands, but the calluses on his palms and the strength of his long fingers proved that here was a man of action as well as a gentleman.

‘We will soon meet again,’ he said.

‘I hope so. And I hope at that time to have the pleasure of introducing you to my husband.’

‘Yes, quite. Until then.’

He strode off and, turning a corner, disappeared from sight. With Selim trailing disconsolately at my heels, I began to retrace my steps.

In fact, it required the combined concentration of myself and Selim to find our way. I had not taken note of the turns and zigzags, since I expected to have Mr Gregson as escort on the return journey, and Selim had been too preoccupied with keeping us in sight to pay attention to where he was going. Eventually, however, we reached a part of the city that was familiar to me, and from there it was only a short distance to the Muski. I hired a carriage and ordered Selim to take a seat beside me.

‘Now then, Selim,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to put you in a difficult position with the professor, but I don’t see how we are going to get round what happened if we tell the truth.’

The boy raised his drooping head. ‘Oh, sitt,’ he said tremulously. ‘I will do anything you say.’

‘I never lie to the professor, Selim.’

Selim looked distraught. ‘However,’ I said, ‘there is no reason why we cannot bend the truth a little. We will have to account for that lump on your head.’

‘I could remove the bandages, sitt,’ Selim said eagerly. ‘You were very generous with the bandages. I do not need them.’

‘No, you must not do that. What I propose is this. You will tell Professor Emerson everything that happened up to the moment when I discovered you. Then say simply that someone fell upon you and attacked you, striking you with a heavy object.’

‘Someone did,’ said Selim.

‘Precisely. It is not a falsehood. Omit the name of your attacker; let the professor think it was an ordinary thief. Upon hearing the altercation, I ran to your rescue.’

‘It is good, sitt,’ Selim exclaimed.

‘Because of your injury I felt it necessary to return with you,’ I continued. ‘The blow on the head left you dizzy and confused; if the professor asks you any awkward questions, you can just say you don’t remember.’

The lad’s soft brown eyes shown with admiration. ‘Sitt, you are my mother and my father! You are the kindest and wisest of women!’

‘You know how I hate flattery, Selim. Your praise is unnecessary; just do as I say and everything will work out. Er – you might lean back and try to look faint. There is the hotel, and I see Emerson storming up and down on the terrace.’

Selim drooped and moaned so exquisitely that the sight of him quite distracted Emerson from the scolding he had meant to give me. ‘Good Gad,’ he shouted, peering into the carriage. ‘What has happened?’ Is he dead? Selim, my boy–’

‘I am not dead but I am dying,’ Selim groaned. ‘Honoured Father of Curses, give my respects to my father, to my brothers Ali and Hassan and–’

I jabbed him surreptitiously with my parasol. Selim sat up with a start. ‘Perhaps I am not dying. I think I will recover.’

Emerson climbed into the carriage and slammed the door. ‘To the railroad station,’ he directed the driver.

‘But, Emerson,’ I began. ‘Don’t you want to know–’

‘I do indeed, Peabody. You can tell me as we go. We will just catch the afternoon express if we hurry.’

He plucked off Selim’s turban. The boy gave a dismal yelp, and Emerson said coolly. ‘I recognize your handiwork, Peabody. One-half pennyworth of blood to this intolerable deal of bandages, eh? Tell me all about it, from the beginning.’

The tale was long in the telling, for I had to begin with my meeting with Mr Gregson, and at first Emerson interrupted me every few words. ‘You must be out of your mind, Peabody,’ he bellowed. ‘To follow that fellow into the heart of the old city on the strength of a cock-and-bull story … Who is he, anyway? You don’t even know him!’

I persevered, and by the time we reached the station I had told the modified version of the truth Selim and I had agreed upon. Emerson’s only comment was a gruff ‘Humph.’ Tossing the driver a few coins, he helped Selim out of the carriage with a gentleness his scowling countenance belied, and hurried us toward the train. There was a little altercation when we took Selim with us into a first-class carriage; but Emerson silenced the conductor with a handful of money and a few firm comments, and the other passengers departed, muttering – but not very loudly.

‘Ah,’ said Emerson in a pleased voice. ‘Very good. We have the carriage to ourselves. We can discuss this remarkable story of yours at leisure.’

‘First,’ I said, hoping to distract him, ‘tell me what you learned in the sûk.’

He had – if I could believe him – discovered more than I. One acquaintance, whom Emerson chose not to identify by name, claimed he knew the murderer of Kalenischeff. The killer was a professional assassin, for hire by anyone who had the price. It was rumoured that he sometimes carried out assignments for Sethos, but he was not an official member of the gang. The man had left Cairo shortly after Kalenischeff’s death, and no one knew where he was to be found.

‘But,’ said Emerson, his eyes narrowing, ‘I am on his trail, Peabody. Eventually he will return, for Cairo is where he does his business. And when he does, word will be brought to me.’

‘But that may take weeks – months,’ I exclaimed.

‘If you think you can do better, Peabody, you have my permission to try,’ Emerson said. Then he clapped his hand to his mouth. ‘No. No! I did not say that. I meant–’

‘Never mind, my dear Emerson. My comment was not intended as criticism. Only you could have learned as much.’

‘Humph,’ said Emerson. ‘What have you been up to, Peabody? You never flatter me unless you have something to hide.’

‘That is unjust, Emerson. I have often–’

‘Indeed? I cannot remember when–’

‘I have the greatest respect–’

‘You constantly deceive and–’

‘I–’

‘You–’

Selim let out a groan and collapsed against Emerson’s broad shoulder. Taking a flask from my belt, I administered a sip of brandy, and Selim declared he felt much better.

I handed the flask to Emerson, who absently took a drink. ‘Now then, Peabody,’ he said affably. ‘What else did you learn?’

I told him about the safragis and described my visit to Mr Aziz. Emerson shook his head. ‘That was a waste of time, Peabody. I could have told you Aziz was not a member of the organization. He has not the intelligence or the – er – intestinal fortitude.’

‘Precisely what I said to Aziz, Emerson. So it appears we are not much further along.’

‘We have made a start, at any rate. I did not anticipate bringing our inquiries to a successful conclusion in one day.’

‘Quite right, Emerson. You always cut straight to the heart of the matter. And,’ I added hopefully, ‘perhaps during our absence Sethos has done something, such as attacking the compound, which will give us more information.’

XII

AT Emerson’s request the train stopped at Dahshoor long enough to let us disembark. We trudged off along the path, Emerson supporting Selim with such vigour that the boy’s feet scarcely touched the ground. After a short time Selim declared breathlessly that he was fully recovered and capable of walking by himself.

‘Good lad,’ said Emerson, with a hearty slap on the back.

Alternately rubbing his back and his head, Selim followed us. ‘He may have saved your life, Amelia,’ said Emerson. ‘You didn’t happen to see the man who attacked him?’

‘It all happened so quickly,’ I said truthfully.

‘The attacker may have been a common thief, you know. We need not see emissaries of Sethos everywhere.’

‘I think you are right, Emerson.’

Before we reached the house we knew something was amiss. The gates were wide open and the place was buzzing like a beehive. The men had gathered in a group, all talking at once. Enid sat in a chair by the door, her face hidden in her hands; Donald paced up and down, patting her shoulder each time he passed her.

‘What the devil,’ Emerson began.

‘It is Ramses, of course,’ I said. ‘I expect he has gone off again.’

As soon as we appeared, the entire assemblage rushed toward us and a dozen voices strove to be the first to tell the news. Emerson bellowed, ‘Silence!’ Silence duly ensued. ‘Well?’ said Emerson, looking at Donald.

‘It is my fault,’ Enid cried. ‘The poor dear little boy wanted to give me a lesson in Egyptian; but I–’ She gave Donald a betraying glance.

‘No, it is my fault,’ Donald said. ‘He was my responsibility; but I–’ He looked at Enid.

Emerson rounded on me and shook a finger under my nose. ‘Now you see, Amelia, what comes of this love nonsense. People afflicted by that illness have no sense of responsibility, no sense of duty–’

‘Be calm, Emerson,’ I implored. ‘Let Donald speak.’

‘He is gone, that is all,’ Donald said, shrugging helplessly. ‘We noted his absence about an hour ago, but precisely how long ago he left I cannot say.’

‘Is he on foot or on donkeyback?’ I inquired.

‘Neither,’ Donald said grimly. ‘The little – er – fellow borrowed a horse – not any horse, but the cherished steed of the mayor, the same one you hired the other day. I say borrow, but I ought to add that the mayor was unaware of the fact. He has threatened to nail Ramses to the door of his house if anything happens to that animal.’

‘He cannot control such a large horse,’ Enid exclaimed, wringing her hands. ‘How he managed to mount and get away without being seen–’

‘Ramses has a knack with animals,’ I said. ‘Never mind that. I assume no one saw him leave and therefore we have no idea as to which direction he took?’

‘That is correct,’ said Donald.

Emerson clapped his hand to his brow. ‘How could he do this? He left no message, no letter?’

‘Oh yes,’ Donald said. ‘He left a letter.’

‘Then why have you not gone after him!’ Emerson cried, snatching the grimy paper Donald held out.

‘Because,’ said Donald, ‘the letter is written in hieroglyphic.’

And indeed it was. I stood on tiptoe and read over Emerson’s shoulder. Ramses’ hieroglyphic hand was extremely elegant, in striking contrast to his English handwriting, which was practically illegible. I doubted, however, that it was for that reason he had chosen to employ the former language.

‘Mazghunah,’ Emerson exclaimed. ‘He has gone to Mazghunah! “For the purpose of speaking with the wabpriest…” That is a rather unorthodox use of the present participle, I must say.’

‘You may be sure Ramses can and will justify the usage if you are foolish enough to ask him,’ I said. ‘Well, Emerson, shall we go after him?’

‘How can you ask, Amelia? Of course we will go after him, and as quickly as we can. When I think of what may have befallen him, alone in the desert – a little child on a horse he cannot handle, pursued by unknown villains … Oh, good Gad!’ Emerson ran toward the stable.

A lurid sunset glorified the west as our patient little donkeys trotted south along the path we knew so well. Emerson was as incapable as I of whipping an animal, but he urged his steed forward with impassioned pleas.

‘So far so good,’ I remarked, in the hope of comforting him. ‘Ramses would have followed this same path; we have not seen his fallen body, so it is probably safe to assume he managed to control the horse.’

‘Oh, curse it,’ was Emerson’s only response.

We entered the village from the north, passing the ruins of the American mission, which had been the scene of some of our most thrilling adventures the year before. It was silent and abandoned; the makeshift steeple of the church had collapsed and the surrounding houses were uninhabited. I had no doubt that the villagers shunned the spot as haunted and accursed.

As we approached the well, we saw a crowd of people. One and all stood in silent fascination, facing the house of the priest, their heads tilted as they listened. Faint and far away, yet distinctly audible, the wavering note rose and fell – the cry of the muezzin reciting the call to prayer. A strange sound in a Christian village, with never a mosque in sight! Most curious of all was the fact that the sound came from inside the house of the priest.

There was a brief, waiting silence. Then the adan was repeated, but more loudly, and in a different voice. The first had been tenor, this was a gruff baritone. It broke off after a few words, to be followed immediately by yet a third voice, distinguished by a perceptible lisp. It sounded as if the priest of Dronkeh were entertaining, or interviewing, all the local muezzins.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea before Emerson’s impetuous rush. Without waiting to knock, he flung the door open.

The last rays of the dying sun cut like a flaming sword through the gloom within. They fell full upon the form of Walter ‘Ramses’ Peabody Emerson, seated cross-legged on the divan, his head thrown back, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as from his parted lips came the wailing rise and fall of the call to prayer.

The priest, who had been sitting in the shadow, started up. Ramses – being Ramses – finished all four of the initial statements of the ritual (‘God is most great, et cetera’) before remarking, ‘Good evening, Mama. Good evening, Papa. Did you have a productive day in Cairo?’

Emerson accepted Father Todorus’ offer of a cup of cognac. I declined. I required all my wits to deal with Ramses.

‘May I ask,’ I inquired, taking a seat beside him, ‘what you are doing?’

I hated to ask, for I felt sure he would tell me, at tedious length; but I was so bewildered by the uncanny performance I was not quite myself. It was obvious that not only the last, but all the other muezzin calls had come from the scrawny throat of my son. Emerson continued to sip his cognac, his bulging eyes fixed on Ramses’ Adam’s apple.

Ramses cleared his throat. ‘When you and Papa discussed the unfortunate captivity of Father Todorus here, I found myself in complete agreement with your conclusion that he had been imprisoned somewhere within the environs of Cairo. Your further conclusion, that it would not be possible to narrow this down, was one with which I was reluctantly forced to disagree. For in my opinion–’

‘Ramses.’

‘Yes, Mama?’

‘I would be indebted to you if you would endeavour to restrict your use of that phrase.’

‘What phrase, Mama?’

‘“In my opinion.”’

The cognac had restored Emerson’s powers of speech. He said hoarsely, ‘I am inclined to agree with your mama, Ramses, but let us leave that for the moment. Please proceed with your explanation.’

‘Yes, Papa. For in my … That is, I felt that although Father Todorus had been unable to see out of the windows, he had probably been able to hear out of them. Indeed, one of your own statements corroborated that assumption. Now while the agglomerate of sounds that might be called the ‘voice of the city’ is generally indistinctive – I refer to such sounds as the braying of donkeys, the calls of water sellers and vendors, the whining pleas of beggars, the–’

‘I observe with concern, Ramses, that you seem to be developing a literary, not to say poetic, turn of phrase. Writing verses and keeping a journal are excellent methods of expurgating those tendencies. Incorporating them into an explanatory narrative is not.’

‘Ah,’ said Ramses thoughtfully.

‘Please continue, Ramses,’ said his father. ‘And, my dearest son – be brief!’

‘Yes, Papa. There is one variety of auditory phenomena that is, in contrast to those I have mentioned (and others I was not allowed to mention), distinctive and differentiated. I refer, of course, to the calls of the muezzins of the mosques of Cairo. It occurred to me that Father Todorus, who had probably heard these calls ad nauseam, so to speak, day after day, might be able to distinguish between them and perhaps even recall their relative loudness and softness. I came, therefore, to attempt the experiment. By reproducing–’

‘Oh, good Gad!’ I cried out. ‘Ramses – have you been sitting here for over three hours repeating the adan in different voices and different tones? Emerson – as you know. I seldom succumb to weakness, but I must confess I feel – I feel rather faint.’

‘Have some cognac,’ said Emerson, handing me the cup. ‘Was the experiment a success, my son?’

‘To some extent, Papa. I believe I have narrowed the area down to one approximately a quarter of a mile square.’

‘I cannot believe this,’ I murmured, half to myself – entirely to myself as it turned out, for none of the others was listening.

‘It was very interesting,’ said Father Todorus, nodding like a wind-up toy. ‘When I closed my eyes I could imagine myself in that house of Satan, listening, as I had done so often, to the calling of the heathen.’

‘I cannot believe this,’ I repeated. ‘Ramses. How did you learn to differentiate these calls? There are three hundred mosques in Cairo!’

‘But only thirty or forty within the area I considered most likely,’ said Ramses. ‘To wit, the old city, with its dark and secret byways and its crumbling ancient mansions and its–’ He caught my eye. ‘I became interested in the matter last spring,’ he went on, more prosaically. ‘When we were in Cairo before leaving for England. We were there for several weeks, and I had ample opportunity to–’

‘I understand,’ said Emerson. ‘A most ingenious idea, upon my word. Don’t you agree, Peabody?’

My cup was empty. I thought of asking for more, but my iron will rose triumphant over distress and disbelief. ‘I believe we should go home now,’ I said. ‘Father Todorus must be tired.’

Father Todorus made polite protestations, but it was evident he would be glad to see the last of us. His manner toward Ramses as he bade him farewell was a blend of respect and terror.

As we emerged from the priest’s house, one of the villagers came up leading the mare and, with a deep salaam, handed the reins to Ramses.

Ramses’ excursion into grand theft had momentarily slipped my mind. I remembered reading that in the American West, horse thieves were usually hanged.

Perhaps Ramses remembered this too. In the act of mounting he hesitated and then turned to me. With his most winning smile he said, ‘Would you like to ride Mazeppa, Mama?’

‘A very proper thought, Ramses,’ said Emerson approvingly. ‘I am glad to see you show your dear mama the consideration she deserves.’

The mayor shared the opinion of the American cowboy with regard to horse thieves. I was obliged to propitiate him by hiring the horse, at a staggering fee, for the duration of our stay at Dahshoor. Leaving the mare with her owner, for we had no stabling facilities worthy of such a paragon, I returned to the house.

My annoyance was not assuaged by the sight of Ramses and his father deep in consultation over a map of Cairo that was spread across the table, on which our evening meal had already been set out. One end of the map was in the gravy. Ramses was jabbing at the paper with his forefinger and saying, ‘The most audible of the muezzins was the gentleman from the mosque of Gâmia ’Seiyidna Hosein. By a process of elimination and repetition I feel we can eliminate everything outside a region roughly seven hundred and fifty–’

Very firmly and quietly I suggested that the map be removed and the dishes rearranged. We sat down to the excellent (though tepid) meal Hamid had prepared. A distinct air of constraint was to be felt, and for a time all ate in silence. Then Emerson, whose motives are always admirable but whose notion of tact is distinctly peculiar, said brightly, ‘I trust the matter of the mare was settled to your satisfaction, Peabody.’

‘It was settled to the satisfaction of the mayor, Emerson. We have hired the mare for the season, at a price of one hundred shekels.’

Emerson choked on a mouthful of stew and had to retire behind his table napkin. However, he did not complain about the price. Instead he suggested, ‘Perhaps we should purchase the animal outright. For you, Peabody, I mean; wouldn’t you like to have her for your own? She is a pretty creature–’

‘No thank you, Emerson. The next thing, Ramses would be demanding that we ship her back to England with us.’

‘You are quite mistaken, Mama; such an idea had not occurred to me. It would be more convenient to keep Mazeppa here, so that I can ride her when we come out each–’

The sentence ended in a gasp and a start, as Emerson, who had realized that any further reference to the mare, especially from his son, would not improve my mood, kicked Ramses in the shin. No one spoke for a while. Donald had not said a word the entire time; I attributed his silence to remorse at his failure to carry out his duty, but as I was soon to learn, there was another reason. He had been thinking. As Emerson says – somewhat unjustly, I believe – the process is difficult for Englishmen, and requires all their concentration.

Not until we had slaked the first pangs of hunger and were nibbling on slices of fruit did the young man rise from his chair and clear his throat. ‘I have come to a decision,’ he announced. ‘That is, Enid and I have come to a decision.’

He took the hand the girl offered him, squared his shoulders, and went on, ‘We wish to be married at once. Professor, will you perform the service this evening?’

The sheer lunacy of the request startled me so that I dropped my napkin. It fell on top of the cat Bastet, who was crouched under the table, hoping (correctly) that Ramses would slip titbits to her. This upset her a great deal, and the rest of the conversation was punctuated with growls and thumps as Bastet wrestled with the napkin.

Emerson’s jaw dropped. He started to speak, or perhaps to laugh. Then a thought seemed to occur to him, for his eyes narrowed and his hand crept to his chin. ‘That would certainly solve some of our difficulties,’ he said musingly, stroking the dimple. ‘Mrs Emerson’s obsession with chaperonage and propriety …’

‘Emerson!’ I exclaimed. ‘How can you entertain such a notion for a split second? My dear Ronald – excuse me, Donald – my dear Enid – whatever gave you the idea that Professor Emerson is licensed to marry people?’

‘Why, I don’t know,’ Donald said, looking confused. ‘The captain of a ship has such privileges; I thought the leader of an expedition in a foreign country–’

‘You thought wrong,’ I said.

Enid lowered her eyes. Yet I had a feeling she had known the truth all along – and had not cared. I should not wish it to be supposed that I ever approve of immorality, but I must confess that my opinion of the girl rose.

‘Sit down, Donald, I said. ‘You look so very indecisive standing there scratching your ear. Let us discuss this rationally. I thoroughly approve of your decision, which will, of course, have to wait until the proper formalities have been carried out. May I ask what led you to it?’

Donald continued to hold Enid’s hand. She smiled at him with (I could not help thinking) the gentle encouragement of a teacher toward a rather backward child.

‘Enid has convinced me,’ Donald said. ‘We cannot continue to hide like criminals who have something to be ashamed of. Surely she is in no danger from the police; only a madman could entertain the notion of her guilt.’

‘That is in fact the case,’ I said. ‘We learned today that the police have abandoned any idea that she killed Kalenischeff. You, however–’

‘I,’ said Donald, lifting his chin, ‘will face my accusers like a man. They cannot prove I killed the fellow – though I was often tempted to punch him senseless as I followed him and Enid around Cairo and saw him smirk and leer at her.’

‘That is the sort of statement I strongly advise you not to make to anyone else,’ said Emerson. ‘However, I agree with you that there is little evidence against you. But you have not explained this sudden surge of gallantry. Was it love, that noble emotion, that strengthened your moral sinews?’

His satirical tone was lost on Donald, who replied simply, ‘Yes, sir, it was. Besides, reluctant as I am to face the truth, Enid has convinced me that it was Ronald who tried to kill me this morning.’

‘Well, of course it was,’ Emerson said. ‘It has been evident from the first that the difficulties you two have encountered are purely domestic in nature. Your brother, Mr Fraser, appears to be a thoroughly unprincipled person. It was he, was it not, who forged the signature and persuaded you to accept the blame? Stupid, Mr Fraser – very stupid indeed. For that act had consequences far more dangerous to you than mere dishonour. Your brother hoped that despair would lead you to death by accident or self-destruction, thus giving him control of your estate. I suspect he has an additional motive which has to do with the affections of Miss Debenham here. I also suspect that had Miss Debenham been content to accept Donald’s disgrace and disappearance, not to mention the hand in marriage of Ronald, Donald (curse it, these names are very confusing) – Ronald, I mean, would have gone no further. By vigorously pursuing the search for Donald and denying his guilt, she endangered Ronald’s position and he was forced to take more direct action.

‘He hired Kalenischeff, not to lead Miss Debenham to Donald, but to mislead her. But Kalenischeff would have betrayed Ronald for a price, and Ronald had to stop him. It is not difficult to hire assassins in Cairo. Kalenischeff was lured to Miss Debenham’s room, not only because he was more vulnerable to attack there, but because Ronald hoped to incriminate his ‘delicate darling,’ as he had the audacity to call her, and keep her from pressing her search. I suspect, Miss Debenham, that he resented your contemptuous treatment of him and his proposal of marriage, and you may thank heaven you did not change your mind, for, once in his power, you would have paid for your contumely in tears and anguish. He is a vicious and vindictive man.’

‘Amazing, Professor,’ Donald exclaimed. ‘You are right in every particular; you have even made me see painful truths I was unwilling to admit to myself. How did you know all that?’

‘Only an idiot would fail to see it,’ Emerson grunted.

‘Or a brother, blinded by fraternal affection,’ I said, more charitably.

‘Or,’ said Emerson, fixing me with a hideous scowl, ‘an individual obsessed by master criminals.’

When we sought our couch in the desert, we did not go alone. To Emerson’s poorly concealed fury, Donald had insisted Enid occupy the other tent. ‘Now, of all times,’ he had said, pressing the girl’s hand, ‘it is important that not the slightest shadow of reproach rest upon Enid.’

‘Humph,’ said Emerson.

I was against the idea myself, though not entirely for the same reason. Emerson’s analysis of the case had been cogent, as his analyses always were. That is not to say it was correct. I felt in my bones that my two young friends were entwined in the invisible strands of Sethos’ filthy web. My arguments had little effect, however. Donald supported Emerson (men always stick together), and Enid supported Donald. The only one who showed an ounce of sense was Ramses. His offer to stand guard outside Enid’s tent was unanimously rejected, but when he offered the cat in his stead, Enid laughed and said she would be delighted to have a nice cuddly kitty curl up with her.

I looked at the great brindled cat. Her topaz eyes had narrowed to slits and her lip curled, as if she were smiling contemptuously at the ludicrously inappropriate description. It seemed even more ludicrous when Ramses took her off into a corner, squatted down, facing her, and began mumbling at her. It was enough to make one’s blood run cold to see them staring into one another’s eyes, the cat quiet and intent, her head tilted and her tail twitching.

Whatever Ramses said had the desired effect. Bastet accompanied us when we left the house. Donald had declared his intention of escorting his beloved and seeing her safely to her tent. They followed at a discreet distance, whispering in the starlight. It was a perfect night for lovers – as indeed most nights in Egypt are – and I would have been content to walk in dreamy silence, with Emerson’s hand holding mine. However, Emerson was being stubborn.

‘If they are determined to go to Cairo and give themselves up tomorrow, it is essential that some responsible person accompany them,’ I insisted.

‘Absolutely not, Peabody. We will be shorthanded as it is once they have gone – although she was never much use, and he is too distracted by her to carry out his duties. I don’t know why you keep encouraging people like that. You always have a few of those vapid young persons hanging about, interfering with our work and complicating our lives. I have nothing against them, and I wish them well, but I will be glad to see the last of them.’

I let Emerson rant, which he did, scarcely pausing to draw breath, until we had reached our tent. I stopped to call a pleasant good night to the two shadowy forms behind us. Emerson took my hand and pulled me inside. For a long time thereafter, the only sounds that broke the stillness were the far-off cries of jackals.

When I woke in the pre-dawn darkness, it was not, for once, a burglar or an assassin who had disturbed my slumber. I had dreamed again – a dream so vivid and distinct that I had to stretch out my hand to Emerson in order to reassure myself that I was really in the tent with my husband at my side. The contours of those familiar features under my groping fingers brought a great sense of relief. Emerson snorted and mumbled but did not wake up.

I could have wished just then that he did not sleep so soundly. I felt a ridiculous need for consultation – even, though I am reluctant to confess it, for comforting. It was not so much the scenario of the dream that made me tremble in the darkness, but, if I may so express it, the psychic atmosphere that had prevailed. Anyone who has wakened shrieking from a nightmare will know what I mean, for in dreams the most innocuous objects can arouse extraordinary sensations of apprehension. I yearned to discuss my sensations with Emerson and hear his reassuring ‘Balderdash, Peabody!’

My better nature prevailed, as I hope it always does, and, creeping closer to his side, I sought once again to woo Morpheus. The fickle god would not be seduced, though I tried a variety of sleeping positions. Through all my tossing and turning Emerson lay like a log, his arms folded across his breast.

At last I abandoned the attempt. As yet no light penetrated the heavy canvas of the walls, but an indefinable freshness in the air told me that dawn could not be far off. Rising, I lighted a lamp and got dressed. As those who have attempted to perform this feat in the narrow confines of a tent can testify, it is impossible to do it gracefully or quietly, yet Emerson continued to sleep, undisturbed by the light or by my inadvertent stumbles over his limbs, or even by the jingling of my tool belt as I buckled it on. I had to pound gently on his chest and apply a variety of tactile stimuli to his face and form before his regular breathing changed its rhythm. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Without opening his eyes he put out his arm and pulled me down upon him.

As I believe I have mentioned, Emerson dislikes the encumbrance of sleeping garments. The vigour of his movement brought my belt and its fringe of hard, sharp-edged objects in sudden contact with a vulnerable portion of his anatomy, and the benevolent aspect of his countenance underwent a dreadful change. I clapped my hand over his mouth before the shriek bubbling in his throat could emerge.

‘Don’t cry out, Emerson. You will waken Enid and frighten the poor girl out of her wits.’

After a while the rigidity of Emerson’s muscular chest subsided, and his bulging eyes resumed their normal aspect. I deemed it safe to remove my hand.

‘Peabody,’ he said.

‘Yes, my dear Emerson?’

‘Are we surrounded by hostile Bedouin on the verge of a murderous attack?’

‘Why no, Emerson, I don’t think so.’

‘Did a shadowy figure creep into the tent, brandishing a knife?’

‘No.’

‘A mummified hand, perhaps? Slipping through the gap between the tent wall and the canvas floor, groping for your throat?’

‘Emerson, you are particularly annoying when you try to be sarcastic. There is nothing wrong. At least nothing of the sort you mention. It is almost morning, and I … I could not sleep.’

I removed my elbows from his chest and sat up. I said no more; but Emerson then demonstrated the sterling qualities that have won him the wholehearted affection of a woman who, I venture to assert, insists upon the highest standards in a spouse.

Once again his sinewy arms reached out and drew me into a close embrace – not quite so close, and with some degree of caution. ‘Tell me about it, Peabody,’ he said.

‘It sounds foolish,’ I murmured, resting my head against his breast.

‘I love you when you are foolish, Peabody. It is a rare event – if by foolish you mean gentle and yielding, timid and fearful…’

‘Stop that, Emerson,’ I said firmly, taking his hand. ‘I am not fearful; only puzzled. I had the most peculiar dream.’

‘That is also a rare event. Proceed.’

‘I found myself in a strange room, Emerson. It was decorated in the most luxurious and voluptuous fashion – rosy-pink draperies covering the walls and windows, a soft couch strewn with silken pillows, antique rugs, and a tiny tinkling fountain. Upon a low table of ebony and mother-of-pearl was a tray with fruit and wine, silver bowls and crystal glasses. A dreaming silence filled the chamber, broken only by the melodious murmur of the fountain.

‘I lay upon the couch. I felt myself to be wide awake, and my dreaming self was as bewildered by my surroundings as I myself would have been. My eyes were drawn to a fringed and embroidered curtain that concealed a door. How I knew this I cannot say; but I did, and I also knew something was approaching – that the door would soon open, the curtain lift – that I would see …’

‘Go on, Peabody.’

‘That was when I woke, Emerson – woke in a cold sweat of terror, trembling in every limb. You know, my dear, that I have no patience with the superstition that dreams are portents of things to come, but I cannot help but believe there is some deeper meaning in this dream.’

I could not see Emerson’s face, but I felt a hardening of the arms that held me. ‘Are you sure,’ he inquired, ‘that the emotion you felt was terror?’

‘That is a strange question, Emerson.’

‘It was a strange dream, Peabody.’ He sat up and put me gently from him, holding me by the shoulders and looking deep into my eyes. ‘Who was it, Peabody? Who was approaching the door?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Hmmm.’ He continued to gaze at me with that peculiar intensity. Then he said quietly, ‘I believe I can identify the origin of your dream, Peabody. Your description sounds like the one Father Todorus gave of his prison.’

‘Why, of course,’ I exclaimed. ‘You are quite right, Emerson. No doubt that explains it. Even my emotions were the same as those the poor old man must have felt.’

‘I am glad to have relieved your apprehension. Have I done so, Peabody?’

‘Yes, Emerson, and I thank you. Only – only I still have a sensation of approaching doom – that something lies in wait on the threshold of our lives–’

‘That is a sensation to which you should be accustomed,’ said Emerson, in his old sardonic manner. ‘Never mind, Peabody, we will face the danger together, you and I – side by side, back to back, shoulder to shoulder.’

‘With Ramses running around getting in the way,’ I said, emulating his light tone. ‘Emerson, I apologize for disturbing you with my nonsense. Do you dress now and I will go out and light the spirit stove and make some tea.’

I handed him his trousers, knowing he could never find them without a prolonged and profane search. Emerson’s broad shoulders lifted in a shrug, and he accepted the offering.

I crawled to the entrance of the tent. The flap had been secured by a simple slip knot, running through a ring in the canvas floor. Unloosening this, I saw a slit of daylight outside. It was morning, though still very early. Rising, I pushed the flap aside and went out.

Immediately I felt myself falling. I had tripped over some object that lay before the tent. My outstretched hands struck the hard ground, but I felt the obstruction under my shins. Not until I stumbled to my feet did I see what it was.

Donald Fraser lay on his back. His limbs had been arranged, his hands were folded on his breast. A blackened hole like a third eye marked the centre of his forehead; his blue eyes were wide open and their surfaces were blurred by a faint dusting of sand.

I did not scream, as an ordinary woman might have done, but a loud, shrill cry of surprise did escape my lips. It brought Emerson rushing out of the tent with such precipitation that the most strenuous efforts on my part were required to prevent both of us from falling onto the corpse a second time. An oath broke from Emerson; but before he could enlarge upon the theme, he was distracted by a third person who came running toward us.

‘The assassin,’ Emerson exclaimed, freeing himself from my grasp and raising his fist. As he recognized the newcomer his arm fell nervelessly to his side and I myself staggered under the shock of the impression. I looked from Donald, alive and on his feet, to Donald recumbent and slain; and then, somewhat belatedly, the truth dawned on me.

‘It is Ronald, not Donald,’ I exclaimed. ‘What is he doing here? What is either of them doing here?’

Donald had seen his brother. The rays of the sun warmed the dead man’s face with a false flush of life, but there could be no doubt in anyone’s mind that Ronald was no more. With a cry that sent a thrill of sympathy through my veins, Donald dropped to his knees beside the body.

‘Don’t touch him,’ Emerson said sharply. ‘There is nothing anyone can do for him now. He has been dead for hours; the rigidity of the limbs is well advanced.’

Donald might not have heeded this sensible advice, but the sound of someone approaching reminded him of a more important duty. He rose and ran to meet Enid, taking her in his arms and holding her head against his breast. ‘Don’t look,’ he said in broken tones. ‘It is Ronald – my poor brother, dead, foully slain!’

The cat Bastet was at Enid’s heels. After a curious but cursory inspection of the body she sat down and began washing herself. I was tempted to speak severely to her about her failings as a watch cat, but upon reflection I decided she could not be blamed for failing to warn us of the killer’s presence, if, as I assumed, she had been shut in Enid’s tent. Her primary responsibility had been to watch over the girl and that aim had been achieved, though how much of the credit was due to the cat Bastet only she (the cat) and heaven knew.

Emerson went into the tent and return with a blanket, which he threw over the dead man. ‘A suspicion of murder does indeed arise,’ he said grimly. ‘Aside from the fact that I see no weapon in his hand, he must have been carried to this spot after the deed was done. I am a sound sleeper, but I rather think a pistol shot five feet from my ear would have awakened me. Come, come, Donald, pull yourself together. Your grief is somewhat absurd, considering the fact that your brother has done his best to ruin you. Explain your presence.’

Holding Enid in the curve of his arm, Donald turned. With his free hand he dashed the tears from his eyes. ‘I do not apologize for my womanly weakness,’ he muttered. ‘At such a time resentment is forgotten and a thousand tender memories of childhood soften the recent past. Professor, surely my brother’s death casts a doubt upon his culpability. He cannot have taken his own life.’

‘Precisely,’ Emerson said.

Enid, more quick-witted than her lover, instantly understood Emerson’s meaning. ‘How dare you, Professor! Are you suggesting that Donald murdered his brother?’

‘What?’ Donald cried. ‘Enid, my darling, you don’t believe–’

‘No, my darling, of course not. But he–’

Emerson let out a roar. ‘If I hear one more maudlin phrase or sentimental endearment, I will abandon you to your fate! You are in a pretty fix, Mr Donald Fraser, and I have a feeling we may be short on time. Answer me without delay. What brought you here at this hour?’

‘I have been here all night,’ Donald said.

‘I see.’ Emerson’s critical frown softened. ‘Well, Mr Fraser, I must say that demonstrates better sense than I had expected from you. Miss Debenham can testify that you were with her–’

‘Sir,’ Donald exclaimed, his cheeks flushed with indignation. ‘You are casting aspersions upon the noblest, the purest girl who ever–’

Enid’s face was as rosy as his. ‘Oh, Donald, you dear, adorable idiot … He was with me, Professor. I shall swear to it in court.’

Donald protested, of course, and it took several roars from Emerson to silence the pair. To summarize the confused and impassioned statements that were eventually produced, it seemed that Donald had spent the night stretched out on a rug before the entrance to his beloved’s sleeping quarters. She had not been aware of his presence, and neither had heard anything out of the way.

Emerson gave the young man a look of blistering contempt. ‘It is this cursed public-school spirit,’ he muttered. ‘Of all the pernicious, fatuous attitudes … What of Ramses, you irresponsible young fool?’

‘He promised me solemnly he would not leave the house during the night. I felt I could take his word–’

‘Oh yes,’ I said hollowly. ‘But, Donald, the night is spent.’

Across the desert, from out of the sunrise, galloped a splendid horse, with a small figure perched on its back.

Ramses tried to bring the mare to a spectacular, rearing stop. The feat was of course quite beyond his strength; he rolled off the animal’s back and hit the ground with a thump. Rising to hands and knees, he began, ‘Good morning, Mama. Good morning, Papa. Good–’

Emerson hoisted him to his feet. ‘Eschew the formalities, my son,’ he said.

‘Yes, Papa. Thank you for reminding me that time is indeed of the essence. A party of officials has just disembarked from a government steamer. It will not take them long to learn where we are to be found, and from the constitution of the group and the solemnity of their demeanour I deduce that some serious matter–’

‘Good Gad,’ I exclaimed. ‘We should have anticipated this, Emerson. The murderer – whose name, or epithet, rather, I need not mention – wishes to have Donald arrested for his brother’s death. Of course he would notify the police.’

The latest catastrophe had struck Donald dumb. He stood staring helplessly as Emerson ran his hands over the young man’s body. ‘He has no weapon,’ he remarked.

‘The weapon,’ I cried. ‘Without it the police cannot prove–’

‘That is not necessarily true, Mama,’ said the voice of Ramses, from somewhere nearby.

At first I could not tell where he had got to. Turning, I discovered that he had crept to the shrouded figure and lifted the blanket. After a brief and emotionless stare he let the covering fall again and stood up. ‘The situation is as I surmised,’ he said. ‘Papa, failure to find the pistol that fired the fatal shot may not save Mr Donald Fraser, for the prosecution will claim it could easily be concealed in the sand. I would not be surprised, however, if it were not found nearby, in a place easily discovered by the most cursory search.’

With a cry, Enid ran toward her tent. I knew what was in her mind and hastened to aid her; for although Ramses was right (drat him) in saying that the absence of the weapon would not clear Donald, the discovery of it would certainly strengthen the case against him.

When I reached her, Enid was crawling on the ground, brushing sand and pebbles aside in her frantic search. However, it was Ramses who found the pistol wedged in a crevice in the rock some twenty feet from the tent. Emerson hastily took it from him.

‘We ought, by rights, to turn it over to the authorities,’ he said.

‘Give it to me,’ I said. ‘I will conceal it in my sponge-bag.’

‘Whatever you do had best be done quickly,’ remarked Ramses. ‘For here they come.’

The party was an imposing one – several constables, Major Ramsay, and no less a personage than Sir Eldon Gorst, the Advisor on police matters in the Ministry of the Interior. The latter was the first to speak. Dismounting from his donkey, he approached me, his face grave. ‘Mrs Emerson! It is always a pleasure to see you; I wish our meeting could have taken place under more pleasant circumstances. Professor–’

‘Hallo, Gorst,’ said Emerson. ‘Get it over with, will you? I have a great deal of work to do. The body is over there.’

‘So it is true,’ Sir Eldon said heavily. ‘I could scarcely believe … You know Major Ramsay, I think?’

‘Yes,’ I said, nodding frostily at the major. ‘We have only just made the tragic discovery ourselves. May I ask how you happened to have been notified – hours ago, one presumes, since it would take you some time to get here?’

Sir Eldon started to speak, but was anticipated by the major. ‘The source was unimpeachable,’ he said, scowling.

‘It must have been, to send you out on what might have been a wild-goose chase,’ said Emerson. ‘Curse it, I insist upon knowing who dumped a corpse on my doorstep. I am not a man to be trifled with, Ramsay.’

‘Damn it, Professor,’ Ramsay began.

‘My dear fellow, there are ladies present,’ Sir Eldon exclaimed. ‘Speaking of ladies – I am correct, madam, am I not, in assuming that you are Miss Enid Debenham, whose prolonged absence has caused such concern to my office?’

‘I am she.’

‘And I,’ said Donald, ‘am Donald Fraser. I expect, Sir Eldon, that you have been looking for me too.’

Sir Eldon bowed. It was clear that his unknown informant had told him, not only about the death of Ronald, but the presence of Donald. ‘It is my duty to inform you,’ he began.

‘For once I agree with Professor Emerson,’ growled the major. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

He gestured. One of the constables stepped forward. There was a click, and a soft moan from Enid, and Donald stood handcuffed before us.

XIII

ENID insisted upon accompanying Donald to Cairo. Sir Eldon tried to dissuade her, but Major Ramsay, who had no gentlemanly instincts, said she might as well come along, since she would have to give a statement and he had a lot of questions to ask her. I of course assured her I would follow as soon as possible. Instead of protesting, as I expected, Emerson only gave me an odd look and said nothing.

One of the constables was left behind to search for the weapon. As I departed from my tent with my sponge-bag over my arm, I saw him disconsolately surveying the vast and tumbled terrain.

We had to bustle in order to catch the morning train. I say we, for to my surprise I discovered that Emerson meant to come with me. I was about to express my approval and my pleasure when Emerson put an end to both by pointing out that we would have to take Ramses too. He was quite correct; leaving Ramses at Dahshoor was too fraught with terrible possibilities to be contemplated. He had Abdullah and the other men completely under his thumb. It need hardly be said that Bastet also accompanied us, for Ramses refused to be parted from her for any length of time.

I could not make out what Emerson was planning. For him to abandon his work was almost unheard of, yet he had not even given Abdullah directions as to how to proceed, only told him to declare a holiday.

As soon as we had taken our seats on the train, I began my inquiries. I thought it better not to ask Emerson point-blank what was on his mind, but instead attempted to work up to it by subtle indirection.

‘I trust,’ I began, ‘that the events of this morning have altered your appraisal of the situation and brought you around to my way of thinking.’

‘I doubt it,’ Emerson said curtly.

‘Your belief that Donald’s difficulties are purely domestic in nature – I believe you used that phrase – was obviously erroneous. Unless you think Donald killed his brother?’

‘It seems unlikely,’ said Ramses, who had recovered his breath after being yanked into the compartment and thrust into a seat. ‘Mr Donald Fraser is not distinguished by great intellectual capacity – indeed, I cannot help but wonder what a lady of Miss Debenham’s superior qualities could possibly see in him – but there is no reason why he should go to the trouble of carrying the body a long distance from the scene of the murder in order to place it conspicuously in front of your tent.’

‘Humph,’ said Emerson, tacitly acknowledging the truth of Ramses’ analysis.

‘Furthermore,’ Ramses continued, ‘if the pistol was his, it must have been procured in the last day or two, since he did not have it with him when he came, and I do not see how–’

‘Did you have the effrontery to search the young man’s belongings?’ I demanded indignantly.

‘He had no belongings,’ Ramses replied calmly. ‘Except for the opium and pipe which you took from him. Nor was there any hiding place in his room, except under the cot, which I investigated at an early–’

‘Never mind,’ Emerson said, anticipating my protest. ‘We will take it as read that Donald did not kill his brother. Some other person … Oh, curse it, I may as well admit it. We are back to your friend Sethos, Amelia.’

‘I knew that from the first, Emerson.’

‘Bah,’ said Emerson. ‘Here is something I’ll wager you don’t know. I have come to the conclusion that Sethos has played the same trick he played on us once before – that at some point he has actually introduced himself to us. In disguise, I hardly need say–’

‘Quite right, Papa,’ cried Ramses. ‘You anticipate my very words. And I know who he is. The gentleman Mama met in Cairo, the self-styled private investigator!’

‘Don’t be silly, Ramses,’ I said. ‘You have not even met Mr Gregson.’

Ramses became red in the face with frustration. ‘But, Mama, I have tried over and over to tell you – Tobias Gregson is the name of the police officer in the detective stories by Arthur Conan Doyle. I put it to you that it would be typical of the strange sense of humour of the man known as Sethos to select as a pseudonym the name of the character Mr Sherlock Holmes – the most famous private investigator in modern fiction – despised as a bungler and a fool. What do you know of this man, in fact? Did he show you his papers? Did he refer you to the police in order to verify his semiofficial standing? Did he–’

‘I will not permit that accusatory tone, Ramses,’ I exclaimed. ‘Don’t dare talk to me like a schoolmaster lecturing a dull student. Mr Gregson was working under cover. Furthermore – furthermore, he has brown eyes.’

Emerson started as if he had been stung. ‘I am shocked, Amelia, that you should go around staring into the eyes of strange men.’

‘I have good reason to notice the colour of a suspect’s eyes,’ I replied stoutly. ‘As for Mr Gregson, I hope and believe you will meet him shortly. He is not Sethos. But I know who is. Mrs Axhammer, the elderly American lady who visited us at Dahshoor!’

I expected Emerson to say ‘Bah,’ or ‘Humbug,’ or something equally insulting. His response offended me even more. He burst into a peal of laughter. ‘Come, now, Peabody, that is too absurd. On what basis–’

‘Several. She was careful to wear a veil, but it did not conceal the lively sparkle of dark eyes. When on one occasion the veil was displaced, I observed that her teeth were firm and white and that her chin, though close-shaven, showed signs of stubble!’

‘I have known old ladies with full moustaches and beards,’ said Emerson, grinning. ‘You are both wrong. I know who Sethos really is. His lordship, Viscount Everly!’

He gave me no time for rebuttal, but went on. ‘Ronald was in his entourage. It was while the presumed viscount and his friends were shooting at Dahshoor that both the incidents involving firearms occurred. It was his horse that bolted, endangering Ramses–’

‘Pure coincidence,’ I said. ‘Sethos cannot be his lordship. He is Mrs Axhammer.’

‘The viscount,’ Emerson growled.

‘Mr Gregson,’ piped Ramses.

His high-pitched voice contrasted so oddly with his father’s baritone grumble that Emerson and I both burst out laughing. Ramses contemplated us haughtily down the length of his nose. ‘I fail to see the humour in the situation,’ he said.

‘You are quite right, my boy,’ said Emerson, smiling. ‘I suppose we must agree to disagree. Time will tell which of us is correct.’

‘If we are not all wrong,’ I said more seriously. ‘I cannot get it out of my head, Emerson – your reminder that the god Set was red-haired. But I will wager that I will be the first to come face to face with his evil emissary.’

‘You had damned well better not be,’ said Emerson, and refused to apologize, even though he had promised me he would try not to swear in front of Ramses.

When we entered the lobby of Shepheard’s, the first person we saw was Enid. She sat reading a newspaper, apparently oblivious to the curious stares and whispers of the other guests, but the moment we appeared she jumped up and hastened to meet us.

‘You came,’ she whispered, seizing my hand. ‘I was afraid you would not. Thank you, thank you!’

‘I said I would come,’ I replied. ‘When I say I will do something, Enid, you may be certain I will do it.’

Ramses studied her from under lowered brows; and indeed she little resembled the demure archaeologist of Dahshoor. She was wearing an extravagantly frivolous gown, all ruffles and puffs and lace, and her lips and cheeks were rouged. I daresay she wore no more paint than usual, but owing to the pallor of her face, the red patches stood out with garish effect.

Retaining her tight grasp on my hand, she reached out her other hand to Ramses. ‘Don’t you know your old friend in this costume?’ she asked, with a brave attempt at a smile.

‘I hope you do not suppose that a superficial alteration of that nature could deceive my trained eye,’ Ramses replied in evident chagrin. ‘I was merely endeavouring to decide whether I prefer this persona to the other. On the whole–’

It had taken only a few days to teach Enid that if someone did not interrupt Ramses, he would go on talking indefinitely. ‘No matter what my outward appearance, Ramses, my feelings will never change. I am your true friend, and I hope I may consider you mine.’

Ramses was moved. A casual observer might not have realized it, for the only outward expression of his feelings was a rapid blink of his eyelids. He replied in his most dignified manner, ‘Thank you. You may indeed rely upon my friendship, and if at any time in the future you have need of my services, they are at your disposal, although I sincerely trust that you will never regret your decision to accept the hand of a person who, though not entirely devoid of admirable qualities, is not–’

I suppressed Ramses. At least he had made Enid smile; turning to me, she said, ‘Perhaps you think me bold to sit here in full view of all the gossips. But I will not skulk in my room as if I had done something to be ashamed of. Donald and I are victims, not villains.’

I am entirely of your opinion,’ I replied warmly. ‘Mr Baehler gave you your rooms back? I was concerned about that, since it is the height of the season, and Shepheard’s is always crowded.’

‘I had booked them for a month and paid in advance. Besides,’ Enid added, with a wry smile, ‘I imagine he would have difficulty finding someone who was willing to inhabit them just now. I confess I do not look forward to sleeping in that bed. If you are remaining in Cairo for a few days, perhaps Ramses–’

‘I would be more than happy,’ declared Ramses.

I exchanged glances with Emerson. ‘We will think about it, Enid. In the meantime–’

‘In the meantime, I hope you will be my guests for luncheon,’ Enid said. ‘I have not quite enough courage to walk into the dining salon alone.’

Naturally we agreed. I excused myself long enough to retrieve and destroy the letter I had left for Emerson the day before, and then joined the others. We had hardly taken our seats when Mr Baehler came to the table. He apologized for disturbing our meal. ‘But this message was just left for you, and since it is marked ‘Urgent,’ I thought–’

‘Ah,’ I said, reaching for the letter. ‘You were quite right to bring it at once, Mr Baehler.’

‘It is directed to Professor Emerson,’ Baehler said.

‘How extraordinary,’ I exclaimed.

‘What do you mean, extraordinary?’ Emerson demanded. ‘I have many acquaintances in Cairo who …’ He perused the letter. ‘Extraordinary,’ he muttered.

Baehler departed, and Emerson handed me the letter. It was, as I had suspected, from Mr Gregson. ‘Professor,’ it read. ‘I will be at the Café Orientale at twelve noon sharp. Do not fail me. Matters are approaching a climax, and if you wish to avert the peril threatening a person near and dear to you, you must hear what I have learned.’

‘I knew it,’ I said triumphantly. ‘That proves you are mistaken, Ramses; if Mr Gregson had any designs on me, he would not invite your father to be present. WE must go at once; it is almost twelve.’

Emerson pressed me back into my chair. ‘You are not mentioned in the invitation, Amelia,’ he said.

‘But, Emerson–’

‘It is a trap,’ squeaked Ramses. ‘There is some diabolical mystery in this; I beg you, Mama–’

‘Please, Amelia, don’t leave me.’ Enid added her entreaties to those of the others. ‘I had counted on your support later this afternoon, when I go to police headquarters to give my statement.’

‘I tell you, Mama, it is a trap,’ Ramses insisted.

‘If it is, I am forewarned and shall be forearmed,’ Emerson declared. ‘Amelia, you must guard Miss Debenham. She will be especially vulnerable when she leaves the hotel. This could be a ruse, to lure us away and leave her unprotected.’

‘I had not thought of that,’ I admitted. ‘Very well, Emerson; your argument has convinced me.’

‘I thought it might,’ Emerson said, rising.

‘Don’t go alone, Emerson,’ I begged.

‘Of course not. Ramses will go with me.’

That was not what I had had in mind, but before I could say so, Ramses and his father had left us.

‘I would feel very bad if I thought my selfish needs had caused you to neglect a more important duty,’ Enid said anxiously. ‘Do you believe they are going into danger?’

‘No. Were that the case, I am afraid I would choose to neglect you instead. For you know, Enid, that my dear Emerson and I are joined by bonds of affection of the strongest kind. I would be the first to rush to his side if peril threatened him.’

‘Or Ramses.’

‘Oh yes, or Ramses, of course. The fact that I can sit here and quietly sip my soup’ – which I proceeded to do, the waiter having brought the first course as we conversed– ‘testifies to my perfect confidence in Mr Gregson. Just think, Enid, when Emerson returns he may have in his possession the evidence that will clear Donald.’

Enid’s eager questions prompted me to explain more fully about Mr Gregson’s involvement in the case. She had not heard the full story, and as she listened she began to look grave.

‘Of course I am only an ignorant girl, with little experience in such things,’ she said hesitantly. ‘But I have never heard of this Mr Gregson. He said he was a famous detective?’

‘Famous in his own circles, I presume he meant,’ I replied. ‘People in that line of work have reason to remain inconspicuous.’

‘No doubt that is true,’ Enid said.

The dining salon was filling rapidly. We had been among the first ones there, since Enid’s appointment with the police was for one o’clock. I watched the entering guests, wondering if ‘Mrs Axhammer’ would dare to make an appearance. She did not, but before long I saw another familiar form – that of Viscount Everly. He was alone, and for the first time since I had met him he was wearing proper morning dress instead of a bizarre costume. His eyes met mine, and after a moment of hesitation, he squared his shoulders, and approached.

‘Er–’ he began.

‘Don’t dither, young man,’ I said. ‘If you have any sensible remark to make, make it.’

‘Well, ma’am, it’s deuced difficult to do that with you looking at a chap as if he’d stolen your handbag,’ said the viscount plaintively. ‘It puts a chap off, you know.’

‘I am attempting, your lordship, to ascertain the colour of your eyes.’

The young man shied back, but not before I had discovered what I wanted to know. His eyes were an indeterminate shade of muddy brownish-grey, with flecks of green … It would have been hard to say what colour they were, but at least I was certain they were not black.

Enid stared at me in bewilderment, but I did not explain. I must confess I sometimes enjoy little mystifications of that nature. ‘Sit down, your lordship,’ I said. ‘I presume you wish to offer your condolences to Miss Debenham on the death of her kinsman?’

‘He said he was her affianced husband,’ said Everly, taking a chair.

‘He was mistaken,’ Enid said shortly.

‘Well, er – in any case – deuced sorry, you know. He was a fine chap – splendid shot – held his whisky… . No, forget that.’

‘Had you known him long?’ I asked.

‘Never met the fellow before I came to Cairo. Seemed a good sort. Ran into him at the Turf Club.’

‘And how did you know he was dead?’

I meant to catch him off guard, but he replied with prompt and ingenuous candour. ‘Why, it’s all over the city, you know. And besides, I was the one who told Gorst yesterday that he was missing and that I feared foul play.’

‘You!’ I exclaimed.

‘Why, yes.’ The viscount leaned forward and planted his elbows on the table, pulling the cloth askew and setting my wineglass rocking. He caught it before more than a few drops had spilled. ‘See that?’ he exclaimed proudly. ‘Quick as a conjurer! What was I talking about?’

‘You informed the police yesterday …’

‘Oh, right. It was last evening that he disappeared, you see. Smack out of his room at Mena House, while we were waiting for him to join us for dinner. Sent a waiter up to fetch him when he didn’t turn up; room in a shambles, tables overturned, drawers pulled out – deuced exciting! Well, it was sure there’d been a struggle, and he didn’t come back, and … I happened to run into Sir Eldon later, and mentioned it to him. Thought it was the least I could do.’

As I listened to his semi-coherent statement and studied his lax, undistinguished features, I could not imagine what had prompted Emerson to suspect him of being a genius of crime. Nor could Emerson accuse me of being careless and taking foolish chances in speaking with him; for what could even a desperate and brilliant criminal do to me in a crowded dining salon in the most popular hotel in Cairo?

I was soon to find out.

There were no preliminary warning symptoms, such as giddiness or nausea. The only thing I remember is seeing his lordship, still seated in his chair, suddenly rush away from me at the speed of an express train, until he was no larger than a bumblebee. I felt my chin strike the table and felt nothing more.

I dreamed the same strange dream. Every detail matched the first – the soft couch on which I reclined, the walls draped with rosy silk, the marble floor, the tinkling fountain. Knowing I would soon wake at Emerson’s side, I lay in drowsy content enjoying the voluptuous beauty of my surroundings. The ceiling above me was swathed in folds of soft fabric like the roof of a sultan’s tent; from it hung silver lamps that shed a soft and tender light upon the scene. Lazily I turned my head. It was there, just as I had seen it before – the low table of ebony and mother-of-pearl, the bowl filled with oranges and nectarines, grapes and plums. Only the wine decanter and crystal goblets were missing.

Musingly I pondered the possible significance of such a recurring dream. Further study of the subject suggested itself. I resolved to take advantage of the prolongation of this vision to explore the ambience more thoroughly, so I swung my feet off the couch and stood up.

A wave of giddiness sent me reeling back onto the cushions. But it was not that unpleasant sensation so much as the cool marble against the soles of my bare feet that brought the shocking truth home to me. This was not a dream. I was here, in the flesh – and someone had had the audacity to remove my boots!

And my tools! They were the first things I reached for; the dizziness had passed, and I was fully alert and capable of reasoning logically. Logic quickly informed me of the full horror of my situation. How he had abducted me in broad daylight from a crowded hotel I did not know, but I had no doubt of his identity. Only Sethos could be so bold; only he could carry out such a daring plot. And he was – he must be – the vapid viscount! The little trick with the wineglass, so deftly performed, had given him an opportunity to drug my wine. Emerson had been right and I had been wrong. The only consolation was that Ramses had been wrong too.

My heart was beating rather more rapidly than was comfortable, but the emotion that tingled through me was not so much fear as intense determination, mingled, I confess, with a burning curiosity. Was I at last to come face to face with the enigmatic personage whose exploits had aroused in me both repugnance and a certain unwilling admiration? There is, all critics agree, a dark grandeur in Milton’s Satan; his local emissary could not but inspire a degree of the same respect.

Without moving from my seat, I took stock of the situation. Now I understood the absence of the crystal glasses and decanter I had seen in my dream. There was not a single object in the room that could be used as a weapon. My tools and my parasol had been taken, my pistol had been removed from its holster; even the heavy boots were gone from my feet. I saw no mirrors, no vases, no glass objects of any kind, whose shattered shards could be used to strike at an enemy or slash a vein. A grim smile, worthy of Emerson himself, crossed my lips. If Sethos feared I would attempt self-destruction in order to cheat him of his revenge, he underestimated me.

The drug had left me extremely thirsty, but I was afraid to taste the delectable fruit or drink the water from the fountain, though a delicate silver cup had been provided. Rising cautiously to my feet, I was pleased to find that I experienced no recurrence of the giddiness. A hasty circuit of the chamber revealed what I had expected. The windows, concealed behind filmy draperies, were shuttered and bolted. The shutters were beautifully carved wooden affairs, pierced in a delicate pattern to admit air, but when I applied my eye to one of the larger holes I could see only a narrow sliver of daylight, owing to the cunning curvature of the aperture. No hinges were visible; evidently they were on the outside of the shutters.

The only other exit from the room was a heavy door behind a curtain of fringed damask. Its inner surface was unmarked by hinges or keyholes or handles. I put my shoulder against it but it did not yield so much as a fraction of an inch.

Returning to the couch, I pondered my new discoveries and was forced to conclude that they offered little hope. The room had been designed for a prisoner, and I was sure I knew what kind of prisoner. That the villain should insult me by putting me into a room of the harem made me grind my teeth in rage. Nor was my ire assuaged when I discovered, spread upon the couch, such a costume as was worn by favoured concubines of wealthy voluptuaries – the flowing, semi-transparent shinityan, or trousers, and the antree, or vest, that leaves half the bosom exposed. A respectable woman would wear a robe over these garments even in the privacy of her house, but none had been supplied. I tossed shintiyan and anteree contemptuously onto the floor.

At the moment there appeared to be nothing more I could do. The lamps were too high for me to reach, the door and windows were unassailable. I could probably twist the filmy fabric of the trousers into a rope, but a rope was of no use to me except to hang myself. Yet the situation was not entirely hopeless. In his consummate arrogance, Sethos had not bothered to change his headquarters. Not that I expected anything would come of Ramses’ ridiculous idea of locating the place by means of the muezzins’ calls, but I knew Emerson would raze the city of Cairo to its foundations before he gave up the search. There was hope as well in the information Mr Gregson had discovered. Perhaps even now he and Emerson were on their way to release me!

I cannot say the time dragged, for I was fully occupied in considering and dismissing ideas for escape (mostly, I confess, the latter). I had no intention of sitting supinely waiting to be rescued. When I heard the faint sound at the curtained door I was instantly on my feet and speeding across the room. I had no great expectation that my attempt would succeed, for I had only my bare hands with which to strike at the person who was about to enter, and I was also ignorant of whether the door opened in or out, to right or to left. Still, one must do one’s best. Clasping my hands together in the manner demonstrated to me by an Arab thug of my acquaintance, I took up my position by the door.

I did not see the door open, or hear it; the hinges had been well oiled. A faint draft of air was the only warning I had. It was followed by the abrupt displacement of the curtain as a man passed through. I was ready. I brought my clenched hands down with bruising force on the back of his neck.

At least that was where I planned to strike him. My fists landed in the middle of his back and fell numb and tingling to my side. The fellow was almost seven feet tall, and his muscles felt like granite.

He was an astonishing and formidable figure, one that might have stepped straight out of the pages of The Arabian Nights. His sole article of attire was a pair of knee-length drawers, bound at the waist by a wide crimson sash into which he had thrust a pair of long, curving swords, one on each side. Otherwise his body was bare, from the crown of his shaven head to his midriff and from his knees to the soles of his enormous feet. Every inch of his exposed skin gleamed with oil and bulged with muscle. His arms were as big around as my waist.

He glanced at me with mild curiosity. I suppose my blow must have felt to him like the brush of a butterfly’s wing. As he advanced slowly toward me I retreated, step by step, until the backs of my calves struck the couch and I sat down rather more rapidly than I had intended. That seemed to be what the apparition desired I should do. He halted, and then drew himself up into military rigidity as the curtain once more lifted to admit his master.

I knew him – yet he was no one I had ever seen before. A black beard and moustache masked the lower part of his face; but unlike the hirsute adornments he had worn in his disguise as Father Girgis, this beard was short and neatly trimmed. Tinted glasses concealed his eyes, and I had no doubt that his black, waving locks were false. He wore riding boots and breeches and a white silk shirt with full sleeves, a costume that set off his narrow waist and broad shoulders, and made me wonder how he could ever have played the role of the hollow-chested, feeble-looking young nobleman.

With a peremptory gesture he dismissed the guard. The giant dropped to the floor in a deep salaam and then went out.

‘Good afternoon, Amelia,’ said Sethos. ‘I hope I may call you that.’

‘You may not,’ I replied.

‘Defiant as ever,’ he murmured. ‘It does not surprise me to find your spirit undaunted and your courage high; but are you not in the least curious as to how I brought you here?’

‘Curiosity is a quality I hope I will never lose,’ I said. ‘But at the moment the question of how I came here interests me less than the more important question of how I will get away.’

‘Allow me to satisfy the former question, then,’ came the suave reply. ‘But first, let us make ourselves comfortable.’

He clapped his hands. The giant reappeared, carrying a tray that looked like a doll’s platter in his huge hands. He placed it on the table and withdrew. Sethos poured wine into the crystal glasses.

‘I know you must be thirsty,’ he remarked, ‘for the drug I was forced to use has that effect, and I observe you have not tasted the fruit or used the cup. I admire your caution, but it was unnecessary; the water and the fruit are untainted, as is the wine.’

‘I had expected cognac,’ I remarked ironically.

Sethos burst out laughing, displaying a set of handsome white teeth. ‘So you appreciated my little joke with the good father? Since some ignorant persons persist in regarding my divine patron as the Egyptian Satan, I feel I ought to live up to the reputation he enjoys. Tempting the smug and the pious, and observing the ludicrous haste with which they tumble from virtue, gives me a great deal of innocent pleasure.’

‘I am not amused,’ I assured him. ‘It was a childish, unworthy gesture.’

‘One day, my dear, you will learn to laugh with me at the follies of mankind. But I beg you will assuage your thirst.’

The sight of the pale liquid in the glass he offered made my throat feel drier than ever, but I folded my arms and shook my head. ‘Thank you, no. I never drink with assassins and kidnappers.’

‘You don’t trust me? See here.’ He raised the glass to his lips and drank deeply before offering it again. I took it; ostentatiously turning it so that my lips would not touch the spot his had rested upon, I quenched my thirst. The wine had a dry, tingling taste that was most refreshing.

‘Now,’ Sethos went on, seating himself on a cushion, ‘shall I tell you how I captured you?’

‘It is obvious,’ I said with a shrug. ‘You slipped something into my glass of wine when you caught it to prevent it from spilling. My collapse alarmed my companion; assisted by you, she had me carried to her room. Her balcony gives onto a courtyard, from which it would not be difficult to transport a trunk or a bag of laundry to a waiting carriage. Is Miss Debenham also a prisoner, or have you added another murder to your long list?’

Sethos was offended. ‘I do not murder women,’ he said haughtily.

‘You only have them abducted, accused of murder–’

‘The young woman was never in danger of being executed or even imprisoned,’ Sethos said. ‘Nor has she been harmed. A touch of chloroform, from which she has long since recovered …’

‘Then she must know you are the viscount – or you were – or perhaps I should say that the viscount was you …’

‘It does not matter. That persona is of no use to me now; it has been discarded. You never suspected me?’

‘Emerson did,’ I cried. ‘You cannot deceive Emerson; he is on your trail, and you will not escape his vengeance!’

‘Emerson,’ Sethos repeated, with a sardonic smile. ‘Never mind him; what about you?’

‘I thought you were Mrs Axhammer,’ I admitted. ‘And Ramses – you remember Ramses–’

‘Only too well.’

‘Ramses – after all, he is only a little boy – suspected the detective, Mr Gregson.’

‘I was Gregson.’

‘What!’

‘I was also Mrs Axhammer. I was all three!’

As the meaning of his words struck home, my sprits plummeted into the depths. I was as close to despair as I have ever been, even when I thought myself buried alive in the Black Pyramid. For I had counted on Gregson to assist Emerson in tracking Sethos to his lair.

Galvanized, I bounded to my feet. ‘Emerson,’ I shrieked. ‘He was to meet you – Gregson – what have you done with my husband?’

‘Damn Emerson,’ was the irritated reply. ‘Why must you keep mentioning him? I haven’t done anything to him. The appointment was a ruse, to get him out of the way. I never went near the Café Orientale, and I hope he is still sitting there swilling coffee and reeling from the conversation of that abominably loquacious offspring of yours.’

‘I don’t know why I should believe you.’

‘I don’t know why you should not.’ Sethos rose to his feet. Slowly and thoughtfully, he said, ‘Radcliffe Emerson is one of the few men in the world who could be a serious threat to me. An ordinary, unimaginative villain would have him exterminated; but that is not my way. Besides, I rather enjoy a challenge, and appreciate a worthy adversary. The only advantages I have over Emerson are, first, his preoccupation with his archaeological research, from which he is not easily distracted, and, second, his atrocious temper, which leads him to act without thinking.’

‘Yet,’ I said wonderingly, ‘you have destroyed the first of those advantages by abducting me; for if I am not restored to Emerson unharmed, every ounce of his considerable energy and intelligence will be bent on finding you. As for his temper, it is a terrifying thing to encounter when it is aroused. You, sir, have aroused it.’

‘Quite true. Don’t suppose I was unaware of the risks. Since I proceeded with my plan, you must believe I considered the result worth those risks.’

As he spoke, he advanced slowly toward me. I stepped back, circling the couch, until I could retreat no farther. Sethos came on, lightly as a panther stalking its prey.

I set my back against the wall, prepared to defend myself to the last. ‘Do your worst, you monster,’ I cried. ‘You have taken away my parasol and stripped off my tools; but never think you can break the spirit of a Peabody! Torture me, murder me–’

‘Torture? Murder?’ He gasped for breath, his hands tearing at the open throat of his shirt. ‘Madam! Amelia! You misunderstand me totally. Why, I killed a man yesterday and left him lying before your tent only because he dared hazard your safety by shooting at the man who was with you!’

Before I could take in this remarkable speech, much less respond to it, he had flung himself – not at my throat – but at my feet. ‘Most magnificent of women, I adore you with all my heart and soul! I brought you here, not to harm you, but to shower upon you the ardent devotion of a soul hopelessly caught in your spell!’ And he buried his flushed face in the folds of my trousers.

XIV

THOUGH the astonishing turn of events surprised me considerably, it did not offer any reassurance for the future, and my indomitable will quickly conquered my amazement. Sethos continued to breathe heavily on to my left knee. His shirt collar had slipped back, exposing the nape of his neck. The trick had failed the first time; all the more reason why I should give it another try. Clasping my hands tightly together, I struck.

The results were most gratifying. Sethos let out a grunt and released his hold. His knees slipped on the polished marble and his head hit the floor as he fell forward. His head would have struck my feet had I remained motionless, but even as he toppled, I was running for the door.

I had forgotten the cursed thing had no handle. I pushed at it in vain. Turning at bay, I saw Sethos advancing toward me. His tinted glasses had fallen off. His black eyes – his brown eyes – or were they grey? Whatever colour they were, they were blazing with homicidal lust – or perhaps, considering his recent declaration, it was another kind of lust. To be honest, I did not really care which. Desperately I ran my hands over my trousers, hoping against hope some small tool had been overlooked – my penknife, my scissors, even a box of matches. He was almost upon me when a burst of inspiration illumined the darkness of despair. The belt itself! It was two inches wide and fashioned of thick though flexible leather, with a heavy steel buckle. Whipping it off, I whirled it vigorously.

‘Back!’ I shouted. ‘Stand back, or I will mark you in such a fashion that you will always bear one unmistakable stigma no disguise can hide!’

Sethos leaped back with agile grace. A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. ‘That,’ he remarked, ‘is what made me love you, Amelia. You are so magnificently disdainful of common sense and discretion. The man who shares your life will never be bored.

‘Please put that down and be reasonable. Even if you could strike me unconscious you could not leave the house.’

‘I could try,’ I retorted, continuing to whirl my belt, which made a sharp singing sound, like that of an angry insect.

‘You could try. But you would fail; and if my men thought you had killed me or seriously injured me, they might harm you. Will you be more amenable if I promise on my solemn oath that I will not touch you or approach you again until you ask me to?’

‘That will never happen,’ I assured him.

‘Who knows? Life is full of unexpected happenings; that is what makes it endurable. If you won’t take my word, look at it this way: You know me to be – well, let us not say vain – let us just say I have a good opinion of myself. Does it not seem more in keeping with what you know of my character that I would derive a peculiar pleasure from winning your affection – turning hate to love, contempt to admiration – rather than resorting to the brute force lesser men might employ? I despise such crudeness. And,’ he added, with another smile, ‘I am sure your arm must be getting tired.’

‘Not at all,’ I said stoutly. ‘I can keep this up all afternoon. However, your argument has its merits.’ I did not mention another, more persuasive argument, and I must say he was courteous enough not to refer to it with so much as a fleeting glance - the fact that my trousers, deprived of a large part of their support, were responding to the inexorable law of gravity.

‘Very well,’ I said. ‘It appears to be an impasse, Mr Sethos. I will take your word, but mind you, I give no promise in return.’

I had not used his name before. Upon hearing it, his eyebrows lifted and he laughed. ‘So you have discovered my favourite pseudonym! Leave off the honorific, if you please; it sounds a trifle absurd, and dispels the confidential air I would like to see between us.’

‘No, thank you,’ I replied. ‘I prefer to maintain as much formality between us as the unusual circumstances permit.’

‘But, hang it,’ he cried, half laughing and half angry, ‘how can I begin my wooing with soft phrases and tender words if I must refer to you as Mrs Emerson?’

‘I feel sure a little difficulty of that nature will only be a challenge to you.’

He held out his hand. With a shrug I gave him the belt.

‘Thank you, Mrs Emerson,’ he said gravely. ‘And now I must ask that you assume those garments I have had laid out for you.’

‘How dare you, sir!’

‘As a simple matter of self-defence, Mrs Emerson. Heaven knows what other hard or prickly objects you have concealed about your person. There is room for a set of carving knives in those trousers.’ Correctly interpreting my mutinous expression, he added, ‘Aside from removing the arsenal you carried on your belt, and your boots, neither I nor my assistants searched you. It was a mark of the peculiar respect I feel for you, but if you force me …’

‘Again your arguments are persuasive, sir. I trust you will show me the additional courtesy of leaving me alone while I carry out your command?’

‘Certainly. Rap on the door when you are ready. But don’t try my patience too long.’ Then he said, in a language I recognized as French, though it was slurred and oddly accented, ‘Let down your tresses, oh my beloved, that their perfumed splendour may be the only barrier between your ecstasy and mine.’

I believe I succeeded in concealing my surprise at this extremely personal comment, for I thought it better to pretend I had not understood. Yet a strange sensation ran through me – a tingling warmth, if there can be such a thing. The extraordinary powers of the man were not limited to those of the mind; his body was that of an athlete, and his voice – that remarkable, flexible, and sonorous instrument – could change as suddenly and as completely as could his appearance.

He left me then, and I did not delay in following his orders. Do not believe, dear Reader, that I would have acquiesced so meekly had I not had an ulterior motive. Little did the villain know he had played into my hands! It was a pity that I could only attain my ends by such a doubtful stratagem, but by ordering me to remove my garments he had given me an excuse to dispose of certain of those garments in a manner he could not expect. He had said he would not return until I summoned him, but not knowing whether he would keep to his word, I had to work quickly.

Removing my trousers, I unwound the flannel belt I always wear when in Egypt and tore off a strip. How often had my dear Emerson teased me about this article of clothing! It was an invaluable protection against catarrh, as was proved by the fact that I had never suffered from that complaint. (In fact, Emerson had never suffered from it, either, though he absolutely refused to wear a flannel belt. However, Emerson is a law unto himself.) The belt had proved useful on a number of occasions; now it might be my salvation. Fortunately I had purchased a new supply before leaving England, and the bright pink colour had not been faded by repeated washings.

It was with some reluctance that I removed from around my neck the chain from which hung my lapis scarab bearing the cartouche of Thutmose the Third. It had been Emerson’s bridal gift; to part with it now, when it was my only memento of him, was hard indeed. But my hands were firm as I knotted the chain onto the end of the flannel strip. How fitting it would be if the gift of marital affection should save me from a fate that is (supposed to be) worse than death.

Returning to the window with my bit of flannel, I extracted one of my hairpins. Though a good three inches in length, these devices were useless weapons because of their flexibility. However, this very quality was what I counted on now. Selecting the largest of the apertures in the shutter, I pushed the flannel and its scarab appendage into the hole as far as I could reach with my finger. The hairpin then came into play. There was a moment of suspense when the flannel jammed in the outer opening and would not move; after poking and prodding it, I finally felt it give way, and triumph filled me as I pushed the rest of the strip through and knotted the end to prevent it from falling out.

I felt certain the shutters covered a window that opened onto the open air. From that shutter now dangled a bright pink strip of flannel with a lapis scarab at its end. If, as I hoped, the window gave onto a public thoroughfare, someone was certain to notice my marker eventually.

I ripped the rest of the flannel into strips and knotted the ends together. Not even Sethos would notice that one strip was missing, and he could amuse himself by speculating on what I had meant to do with the cloth.

Once stripped down to my combinations – a one-piece, knee-length cotton garment trimmed with lace and little pink bows – I picked up the filmy objects Sethos had supplied. They were not quite so indecent as I had thought; the bodice was low-cut and sleeveless, but not translucent, for the fabric was covered with heavy embroidery and beadwork. But the trousers! There was enough fabric in them to have covered the tall windows in my drawing room at home, but they concealed very little. I put them on over my combinations.

‘Let down thy hair, oh my beloved …’ It was half-way down already. My hair is heavy and coarse, and the rough handling I had received had not improved the neatness of my coiffure. I had no intention of appearing to respond to Sethos’ impertinent request, particularly since I meant to retain my hairpins if I could. One never knows when a hairpin may come in handy. However, it was not easy to rearrange my tresses without the help of a comb or brush and I was still struggling with them when there was a rap on the door.

‘Oh, curse it,’ I said, quite as Emerson might have done.

The door opened and Sethos put his head through the curtain. He stepped aside; the bald-pated giant entered with another tray, this one loaded with plates and dishes.

Sethos looked me over and then remarked, coolly, ‘I hope you don’t mind my saying, Mrs Emerson, that the effect is not quite what I had expected. Never mind, it is a start. That unusual garment you are wearing is sufficiently form-fitting to assure me you are not concealing a pistol or a stiletto.’

Having arranged the dishes on the table, the giant retired. Scarcely had he vanished behind the curtain before a series of thuds and knocks broke out. ‘Don’t get your hopes up,’ said Sethos with a smile. ‘It is not a rescue party you hear, but my servant engaging in a bit of carpentry. I ordered a bar to be placed on this side of the door, as a token of my respectful intentions and my high esteem. Aren’t you going to thank me?’

‘What, thank my jailor for refraining from assaulting me?’

Sethos laughed and shook his head. ‘You are incomparable, my dear – Mrs Emerson. Please sit down and let us dine.’

He lifted a silver cover. The delicious aroma of chicken and spices reminded me that I was extremely hungry, my luncheon having been rudely interrupted. I would require all my strength in the hours to come; so I sat down on a cushion and helped myself. I refused wine, however.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Sethos, with one of his peculiar smiles. ‘I do not intend to weaken your resistance by rendering you intoxicated. It may take weeks, even months, but eventually you will learn to love me for myself.’

‘Months! You can’t keep me shut up in one room so long. I need exercise, fresh air–’

‘Never fear. This is only a temporary stopover. Tomorrow we leave for one of my country estates. I have prepared it especially for you and I know you will appreciate it. There are gardens filled with shade trees and exotic blooms, winding paths and crystal fountains, where you will be free to wander as you will.’

This was a piece of news, and no mistake! I should have expected it, but it cast a decided shadow over my hope of escape. I knew Emerson would find me sooner or later if I remained in Cairo; but even Emerson would find it difficult to search every inch of Egypt. Nor had Sethos said we were to remain in Egypt. His villa might be anywhere in the Near East – or the world!

The longer I could delay our departure, the better for me, but I could not think of any way of doing that. To pretend illness would not deceive Sethos; to pretend a sudden, overwhelming affection would be even less convincing, supposing I could bring myself to simulate that emotion. However, it would do no harm to simulate tolerance at least, and encourage him to talk in the hope that he might inadvertently betray some information I could use.

‘Who are you really?’ I asked. ‘Is this your true appearance?’

Sethos smiled. ‘That is another of the qualities I love in you, Amelia – I beg your pardon, Mrs Emerson. You are not subtle. Much as I yearn to confide in you, greatly as I burn to come to you as myself, caution compels me to preserve my incognito until we are truly united. This face you see is only one of a thousand I can assume if I wish. I am, if I may say so, a master in the art of disguise. Permit me the indulgence of boasting a little – of making myself appear admirable in the opinion of one I adore–’

‘Pray continue,’ I said, helping myself to a salad. ‘The subject interests me a great deal.’

‘But it is not a subject in which you could excel. You are my antithesis, direct where I am subtle, forthright where I am cunning and indirect. You go straight to your goal, banging people over the head with your parasol, and I glide as slyly and sinuously as a serpent. The art of disguise is essential in my business, not only for practical reasons but because it casts an aura of the supernatural over my actions. Many of my ignorant assistants believe I change my appearance by magical means. Whereas in reality it is only a matter of grease paint and hair dye, wigs and beards and costumes, and a more subtle yet equally important alteration of demeanour. Gestures, carriage, the tone of the voice – these change a man’s appearance more effectively than any physical trick. I can make myself an inch or two taller by means of special shoes and boots; but I make myself appear shorter by holding myself in a certain way. If you had examined the viscount with a critical measuring eye, you would have seen that he was taller than his stooping posture suggested; that his bowed shoulders were not so narrow as they seemed; that his hesitant speech and foolish mannerisms suggested a physical weakness his actual proportions did not support.’

‘But his eyes,’ I exclaimed – for I was genuinely fascinated. ‘Surely the priest of Dronkeh had black eyes; and Ramses assured me–’

‘Ramses has a great deal to learn,’ Sethos said. ‘There are ways of changing the colour of the eyes. Certain drugs enlarge the pupils. Paint applied to the eyelids and lashes make the iris appear darker or lighter, especially if one is fortunate enough to have eyes of an ambiguous shade between brown and grey. Someday I will show you my bag of tricks, Amelia; in each of my hideaways I have a laboratory fitted out with my equipment, including a few items I developed myself. It may amuse you to experiment with them; though in your case it would be difficult to conceal those sparkling, steely orbs or dim their brilliance …’

He gazed into them as he spoke, his voice dropping to a soft murmur.

‘I would rather hear rational discourse than empty compliments,’ I said – though I was conscious of a perceptible quickening of my pulse.

He drew back. ‘Forgive me. I will keep my word, though you make it very difficult … I will answer any questions you may have – except one.’

‘Your real identity, I suppose. Well, Mr Sethos, I have a dozen others. Why do you lead such a life? With your abilities you could succeed in any one of a number of lawful professions.’

Thoughtfully he replied, ‘Someday I will tell you my history, and then you will understand the motives that impelled me into this admittedly curious way of life. But one I may confess now. It is not for monetary gain alone that I rob the dead and the living. The finest objects I acquire never reach the sordid stalls of the marketplace. I am a lover of beauty; and the most beautiful objects I take, I keep for myself.’

His meaning was unmistakable, for he gazed again into my eyes with an expression of intense interest. I burst out laughing. ‘That is a very pretty speech, Mr Sethos, but I am afraid you have undermined your claim to be a connoisseur by abducting me. Emerson is the only man–’

‘Please do me the favour of refraining from mentioning that person every few sentences,’ he interrupted fiercely. ‘You are right, though; the professor and I are more alike than he would care to admit, and his appreciation of your charms is only one of the things we share.’

‘I can’t stop mentioning him, because he is constantly in my thoughts.’

His eyes fell. ‘You have the power to hurt me,’ he muttered. ‘Your laughter wounded me deeply.’

‘I really don’t think I owe you an apology, Mr Sethos. If I have wounded your amour-propre, you have done me a more serious injury. This is the first time I have been abducted by a man who claimed to have been moved to madness by my beauty, so I don’t know the correct way to behave.’

My little attempt at humour was not well received. Sethos looked down at me. ‘How could you have missed the attentions I paid you?’ he demanded tragically. ‘How could you have supposed, as you apparently did, that I intended to harm you? Why, scarcely a day has passed since your return to Egypt that I have not managed to speak to you or at least admire you from afar. Not only was I the three individuals you mentioned – I was a tourist, a snake-charmer in the Muski, even a digger in your own excavations. Everything I have done was designed to demonstrate my deep passion–’

‘Such as whisking Ramses off the top of the Great Pyramid?’

‘That was a scheme that went awry,’ Sethos admitted. ‘I was – as you have probably guessed – the American gentleman who spoke to you atop the pyramid. My intention was to stage a daring rescue of that appalling child and restore him to your arms. However, I was foiled by Donald Fraser, curse him.’

‘I see. And on another occasion, when your horse ran away with Ramses–’

‘The same rascal interfered to spoil my plans.’ Sethos’ lips curled back in a wolfish snarl. ‘He at least will have occasion to regret his interference. I had determined to slaughter his even more rascally brother the moment I learned he had fired a shot that might have struck you. Ronald was a tiresome fellow anyway, and so stupidly single-minded, I was afraid he would continue to endanger you by making further attempts on Donald. So I did away with him, and it gave me a particular satisfaction to incriminate Donald when I did so. Surely you must have understood why I went to the trouble of carrying his body all that distance and laying it at your feet? I returned the communion vessels because, in a newspaper interview I read, you expressed your disapprobation of that particular theft. I sent you flowers – you know the meaning of red roses in the language of love – and a golden ring bearing my name! How could you have overlooked their significance?’

‘Good Gad,’ I exclaimed. ‘So that is what was troubling Emerson! Poor dear man, he must have thought–’

‘Emerson again!’ Sethos flung up his hands.

My poor dear Emerson! (I continued my soliloquy in my thoughts, since it did not seem sensible to irritate my companion further.) Emerson had correctly interpreted the signs I had missed. It was not surprising that I should have done so, for my inherent modesty had clouded my normally clear intelligence. My thoughts were in a whirl, for a new and terrible thought had invaded my calm. Was it possible that Emerson believed – that he suspected – that he entertained for a single instant the slightest doubt of the wholehearted sincerity of my devotion? Was he – in short – jealous?

Impossible, my heart cried out. Surely Emerson could no more question my affection than I could doubt his. But if he did – if he could – then my disappearance must raise doubts … It was a thought more terrible than any fear of imminent annihilation. I believe my lips actually quivered for a moment. But only for a moment; the necessity of escape became more pressing than ever.

Incredibly, I had almost forgotten my position in the interest of the conversation, and another fear wormed its way into my mind. The man had a superhuman power of fascination. I had been chatting with him easily, fearlessly. Could time bring about the result he confidently expected?

Again my heart responded with a fervent ‘Impossible!’ But a doubt lingered …

‘Tell me,’ I said resolutely, ‘about the Fraser brothers. How did you become involved with Ronald?’

‘Through normal business channels,’ Sethos said readily. ‘I have in my employ several of the most reliable assassins in Cairo. He approached one of them and his request was, in due course, passed on to me. He had hired Kalenischeff (whose reputation was known to everyone except the naive officials of the police department) to distract Miss Debenham when she came to Cairo bent on tracking down Donald Fraser and convincing him to tell the truth about Ronald. Ronald could not permit that; only his brother’s woolly-witted loyalty stood between him and prison, disgrace and destitution. And he had good reason to fear that Donald might yield to the persuasion of the young and wealthy woman he secretly adored. Hence Kalenischeff, who led the girl astray instead of helping her.

‘Kalenischeff, however, was not trustworthy. I had dismissed him from my employ some months earlier for that very reason. It would have been more discreet of me to have had him killed, but I am not so prone to needless slaughter as you suppose. He was in no position to betray my identity – I take care that no one shall be in that position – but if he had told all he knew, he could have crippled some of my operations.

‘I kept an eye on him, therefore; and when I heard from Ronald Fraser that Kalenischeff was about to betray both of us, I was happy to accede to his request that Kalenischeff be disposed of. The wretch had decided to make a clean sweep, collect as much money as possible, and leave Egypt for good. He knew the Department of Antiquities would pay a tidy sum for information about me.’

‘And Miss Debenham offered an even larger sum if he would help her find Donald and tell Donald of his brother’s treachery.’

‘Precisely. The girl proved resistant to the drug we used and made the mistake of running away. As I told you, she was never in real danger; the weak muscles of a woman – even yours, my dear – could not have struck a blow like the one that destroyed Kalenischeff.’

‘But Donald – poor Donald! You must clear him. That was an unworthy act, Mr Sethos.’

‘If it will please you,’ Sethos said softly. ‘I will see to it that Fraser goes free.’ He reached for my hand. I pulled it away. He shrugged and sighed and smiled, and leaned back.

‘Not even a touch of the hand in return for my confessing to murder? So be it. I told you I was a patient man.

‘The rest of the business should be clear to you now. Ronald never knew my real identity. As Viscount Everly I encouraged him to join my little group because I wanted to watch the fellow. I knew, of course, that Miss Debenham had fled to you, just as I knew you had taken Donald Fraser under your wing. I was not surprised, since it is your habit to adopt every unfortunate innocent you come across – by force, if necessary.’

‘It is the duty of a Christian to help the unfortunate.’

‘It is a Moslem’s duty too. Strange, how the so-called great religions all insist on the same weak virtues. Even the ancient Egyptians boasted of having given food to the hungry and clothing to the naked.’

‘It is a sublime and universal truth,’ I replied. ‘What you view as weakness is the quality that makes us one with the Divine. “And the greatest of these is love.” Or, I hastily amended, ‘as the word is sometimes translated, charity.’

‘A poor, feeble translation,’ said Sethos softly. His eyes held mine with hypnotic power, I felt myself sinking deep into their velvety depths. Then he lowered his gaze, and I let out a quick, involuntary sigh. His lashes were as long and thick and curling as those of a pretty girl. I wondered if they were his own.

‘I have always avoided the softer sentiments,’ Sethos went on reflectively. ‘My feelings for you came on me like a hurricane, a great natural force I was powerless to resist. I would have resisted them if I could. Even now I have a strange foreboding–’

‘You have them too!’ I exclaimed.

His lashes lifted; laughter warmed his brown – his grey – his chameleon eyes, before they darkened into sombre pensiveness. ‘I used to view such premonitions as the expression of an instinct developed by those who have reason to fear danger. But now I wonder if there is not some higher fate that guides our destinies. Not a benevolent deity; no one who studies the cruelty of man can believe in a god who permits such atrocities. Only a vast, impersonal something, with a perverted sense of humour! It would be strange, would it not, if the solitary weakness of a lifetime should be my downfall? I sense that this may be so. You could redeem me, Amelia – you and you alone. Only imagine what I might do for the world if my powers were turned to good instead of evil. Help me, Amelia. Give me your hand – lead me out of darkness into light…’

It was a thrilling moment. I felt that at long last I understood this strange, brilliant, and tormented man. I was moved – nay, I was inspired. My lips parted. My breast heaved. My hand reached out …

Our fingertips had not quite touched when the sounds of violence made both of us start from our seats. The curtains swayed wildly as the door opened and slammed back against the wall. There was only one person of my acquaintance who opened a door in that manner! I pressed my hand to my palpitating bosom.

It was Emerson! It was he! But what a sight he was! His hair stood on end, his best dress shirt was in shreds; one sleeve had been ripped away from the seam and huddled on his forearm like a ragged gauntlet. His face was disfigured by reddening patches, and one eye was half-closed. Blood dripped from his scraped knuckles, and in either hand he held a naked sword. Never in my life had I beheld a spectacle that moved me more! I felt that my pounding heart must burst the confines of my breast.

Before the curtain had fallen back into place, Emerson whirled round. He let out a startled remark, dropped one of the swords, and slammed the door shut but not before a sinuous and tawny form had streaked through the opening. Emerson dropped the bar into place just as the panels began to reverberate under a fierce assault. Then he turned again. His gaze went straight to me.

‘Amelia!’ he exclaimed. ‘For God’s sake, put on some clothes!’

‘Emerson,’ I replied, with equal passion. ‘Watch out!’

Emerson ducked and a heavy silver bowl crashed into the door, skimming his dishevelled head. The cat Bastet sauntered toward Sethos. Her loud rasping purr blended with the dying echoes of the sound of the bowl striking the door. Sethos staggered as the cat twined affectionately around his ankles – she was, as I believe I have mentioned, a large and muscular animal. Agilely he leaped away, and the cat Bastet, deeply affronted, headed for the table and the stuffed chicken.

After a casual glance around to assure himself that Sethos had no other missiles convenient to hand, Emerson looked again at me. ‘Has he harmed you, Peabody? Has he dared … Has he … Good Gad, Peabody, seeing you in that outrageous costume has filled me with apprehensions I scarcely–’

‘Have no fear, Emerson! He has not … He did not …’

‘Ah!’ Emerson’s chest swelled, completing the ruin of his best shirt. He shook the tatters of his sleeve from his arm and flexed his muscles. ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘I will only tear one of his legs off.’

He started toward Sethos, who retreated as delicately as Bastet might have done, his hands hanging limp and loosely flexed.

‘Emerson,’ I said.

‘Please don’t distract me, Peabody.’

‘He is unarmed, Emerson. Your scimitar–’

‘Scimitar? Oh.’ Emerson stared curiously at the weapon. ‘I took it from that fellow out there,’ he explained. ‘Never saw such a hard head on a human being. He was up and at me again almost at once. I expect, though, that they have overpowered him by this time.’

Indeed, the pounding on the door had ceased. ‘You did not come alone then?’ I asked.

‘Certainly not. Ramses–’

‘Emerson!’

‘And a regiment of police officers.’ He transferred his gaze to Sethos. ‘Your evil career is ended, you swine. But I shan’t admit the police until I have dealt with you. I promised myself that satisfaction, and I think I deserve it.’

Sethos straightened to his full height. He was not as tall as Emerson, or as brawny, but they made a magnificent pair as they faced one another in mutual animosity.

‘Good, Professor,’ he said in a low, drawling voice. ‘I promise myself some satisfaction too, for I have yearned to come to grips with you. Give me the other sword, and we’ll fight for her like men.’

‘Emerson,’ I cried in some anxiety, for I knew my husband’s temperament only too well. ‘Emerson, you don’t know how to fence!’

‘No, I don’t,’ Emerson admitted. ‘But you know, Peabody, there can’t be much to it – whacking at one another in turn, and–’

‘Emerson, I insist … No. No, my dearest Emerson– I beg you, I implore you…’

A pleased smile spread over Emerson’s face. ‘Well, Peabody, since you put it that way…’ And to my horror he flung the sword away. It skipped across the smooth marble floor in a series of musical ringing sounds. Even before it struck the floor, Sethos moved – not toward that sword, but toward the first, which Emerson had dropped at the door. Snatching it up, he swung on Emerson.

‘Now, Professor, we are more evenly matched,’ he snarled. ‘I know something of boxing, but I prefer not to meet you in that arena. Pick up the sword – I give you that much.’

Emerson shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t be much use to me,’ he remarked. ‘However …’ And with the catlike quickness he could sometimes summon, he snatched the wine decanter and brought it crashing down on the edge of the table. Bastet, who had been eating the chicken, soared up with a yowl of protest; the decanter shattered; and the table collapsed, spilling food and broken glass. The air glittered with crystal shards, like drops of clear hail.

Emerson ripped the silken covering from the couch and wrapped it round his left arm. ‘Now then,’ he said. ‘Come on, you bas– excuse me, Peabody – you villain.’

They circled one another in taut silence. Sethos lunged. With a quick twist of his body, Emerson stepped inside the other man’s guard and jabbed at his face with the broken bottle. Sethos jumped back. His next move was a slash, from left to right; Emerson beat it back with a blow across Sethos’ forearm. The blade whistled past his side. Sethos retreated again, giving Emerson a chance to snatch up the silver tray. It served as a makeshift shield; with its aid he took the offensive, striking the sword back each time it approached, and jabbing with the decanter.

In my opinion there is never any excuse for violence. It is the last resort of people and nations who are too stupid to think of a sensible way of settling their differences. The sight of two pugilists beating one another to a pulp sickens me; the idea of little boys being taught to ‘fight like men’ revolts and repels me. Was I therefore filled with disgust at the bloody battle that raged between these two men of intellect and ability?

No.

The sight of Emerson’s muscles rippling under his bronzed skin – of the ferocious smile that bared his strong white teeth – of the grace and vigour of his movements – roused an answering joyful ferocity in my bosom. My breath came in gasps, my cheeks burned. For a few moments I was not a civilized, sensible woman; I was a primitive female crouched in her cave as two savage male beasts fought to possess her.

It was a most curious and interesting sensation.

A wicked feint and even quicker riposte struck the makeshift shield aside. Sethos’ blade bit deep into Emerson’s arm. He gave a grunt of annoyance rather than pain and lunged forward. Only Sethos’ sideways turn of the head saved his eyes; the glass scored a row of ragged cuts down his cheek. Wounded and in need of a respite, the combatants broke apart, both dripping blood, both panting, both glaring.

‘This is ridiculous!’ I cried.

Neither man paid the least attention, but my fit of temporary insanity had ended abruptly at the sight of the blood spurting from Emerson’s wound. Masculine pride is all very well, and I hoped Emerson was enjoying himself, but I was cursed if I was going to stand by and see him cut to ribbons just so he could have the satisfaction of dying to defend my honour.

I ran toward the door. Emerson did not take his eyes off Sethos, but he saw me. ‘Peabody,’ he gasped. ‘If you open – that door – I will – I will – oof!’ I heard Sethos’ blade ring on the silver platter. I snatched up the scimitar Emerson had flung away and turned for an appraisal of the situation.

It was far from reassuring. Even as I turned, the final blow was struck. Too late, I thought wildly – too late to admit the helpers waiting outside, too late even to reach my stricken spouse and stand side by side with him, sword in hand! Sethos’ blade came down on the platter again and knocked it out of Emerson’s grasp. As the sword hung motionless from the impact for a split second, Emerson dropped the decanter and caught his opponent’s arm in both hands.

They stood frozen in matching strength, Sethos’ efforts to free his arm and Emerson’s efforts to hold it producing a temporary equilibrium. Slowly Sethos’ arm bent. The sword quivered in his straining hand. Beads of sweat broke out on Emerson’s brow. The rose-pink wrappings on his arm were crimson now, but his grip never weakened.

Then the end came. The sword fell from Sethos’ fingers, and Emerson’s hand, slippery with blood, lost its hold. Quick as ever, Emerson reached for the fallen sword. Sethos, just as quick, leaped back against the wall. He looked at me. ‘Amelia – farewell!’ he cried – and vanished.

Emerson bounded forward with a series of oaths that exceeded anything I had ever heard him utter. The slab of marble through which Sethos had vanished closed again, in Emerson’s face. ‘Damn!’ said Emerson, beating on the slab with the scimitar and then with his fist, ‘Damn, damn, damn, damn!’

After a while I said, ‘Emerson.’

‘Damn, damn … Yes, Peabody? Damn!’ said Emerson.

‘Shall I open the door now, Emerson?’

‘Curse the cursed fellow,’ Emerson bellowed, varying the tone of his remarks. ‘One day – one day, I swear …’ He stopped kicking the marble and stared at me. ‘What did you say, Peabody? Did I hear you correctly? Did you ask my permission to open the door?’

‘Yes, you heard me, Emerson. But oh, my dear Emerson, I think we should let them in; you are wounded, my dear, and–’

‘Do you really want to let them in, Peabody?’

‘No, Emerson. At least – not just yet.’

‘How could you possibly suppose, even for a second, that I cared for anyone but you?’

‘Well, Peabody, if you hadn’t kept referring to that man in such admiring terms–’

‘I never stopped thinking of you for a moment, Emerson. I never lost hope that you would find me.’

‘Had it not been for your quick wit in stringing your bits of flannel out the window, we would not have succeeded, Peabody. We began searching in the area Ramses’ research had indicated, but it was somewhat extensive.’

‘Where did you learn to do that, Emerson?’

‘This, Peabody?’

‘No – no, not … Oh, Emerson. Oh, my dear Emerson!’

‘I was referring, some minutes ago, to your skill in fighting with broken bottles, Emerson. I had no idea you could do that.’

‘Oh, that. One picks up odds and ends, here and there… . Something is sitting on my back, Peabody. Or are you–’

‘No, Emerson, I believe it is the cat Bastet. I suppose she has finished the chicken and is indicating she is ready to leave. Shall I remove her?’

‘Not if it would necessitate your moving from your present agreeable position, Peabody. The sensation is unusual but not unpleasant… . Without the cat Bastet, we might not have reached you so soon. Apparently your idea that Sethos had tempted her with tidbits when he delivered the communion vessels was right on the mark. She remembered him well; he dropped his handkerchief in Miss Debenham’s room, and his scent was strong on it. Bastet picked it up at once in the street outside this house.’

‘How very interesting! But without the signal of my flannel belt–’

‘That was the decisive factor, Peabody!’

‘You were never out of my thoughts, Emerson.’

‘Nor you from mine, Peabody. I imagined that fellow holding you in his arms – I thought I would go mad with rage.’

‘He was very courteous. He explained that he wanted to win my love, not force his upon me.’

‘Curse the rascal!’

‘He did have a strange charm, Emerson. Not that he would have succeeded with me, but I imagine many women–’

‘I don’t care for the tenor of the conversation, Peabody. Stop talking.’

Before we admitted the police, who were making agitated assaults upon the door, it was necessary to tidy ourselves up a bit. After a refreshing splash in the fountain I reassumed my dear familiar clothes. Fortunately there was a great deal of fabric at hand, so I was able to bind up the cut in Emerson’s arm, though I promised myself I would tend to it properly as soon as we got to the hotel. We then unbarred the door.

The anteroom was filled with constables, led by Major Ramsay. He beamed with almost amiable pleasure when he beheld us unharmed, though he was not at all happy to learn of Sethos’ escape. After we had satisfied his curiosity as to the events (most of them, at least) which had preceded our opening the door, I asked curiously, ‘Where is Ramses?’

‘He is somewhere about,’ Ramsay replied.

Ramses came running out of an adjoining room, his face alight with a boyish enthusiasm seldom seen upon that saturnine countenance. ‘Mama,’ he cried. ‘Mama, look here!’

He swept his hand across his mouth and then curled his lips back, displaying a set of brown, rotten teeth, like those of an old Egyptian beggar. ‘They are a trifle large,’ he explained indistinctly, ‘but in time–’

‘Take them out at once,’ I exclaimed in disgust.

Ramses complied, all the more readily because the dentures were in fact considerably oversized for his mouth. ‘There are wonderful things in there,’ he exclaimed, his eyes shining. ‘Paints for the face and hands, pads to fit in the cheeks, wigs and beards and … Oh, Mama, may I have them? Please, Mama?’

It was hard for a mother to disappoint a little lad, to wipe the shining joy from his face. ‘I think not, Ramses,’ I said. ‘The police will want those things as evidence.’

(However, it appears they did not; for since we returned to England, the servants have complained of seeing strange individuals wandering around the house and the grounds. One apparition is that of a little golden-haired girl, and Rose is convinced we have a ghost.)

So ended our second encounter with the strange and mysterious personage known as Sethos. The second, and perhaps the last – for several days after that battle of Titans we received a letter. It was delivered to us at Dahshoor, whither we had returned after seeing Ronald – or Donald, rather – and his bride-to-be cleared of all charges and rejoicing in their approaching nuptials. As Emerson had pithily expressed it, ‘Now that nonsense is over, thank heaven, and I can get back to work.’

But was it over? An unseen messenger had delivered the letter, eluding our watchful men, gliding like a ghost through the barred gates of the compound. We found it on the doorstep one morning at dawn. Actually, it was Ramses who found it, since he was usually the first one to arise, but it was Emerson’s deep voice that intoned the message aloud.

‘“You might have redeemed me,” it began.

Emerson stopped. ‘It seems to be directed to you, Peabody,’ he said drily.

‘Read on, Emerson. There are not now and have never been any secrets between us.’

‘Humph,’ said Emerson. He proceeded. ‘“From this time on, when the unhappy world reels under the miseries of the blows I shall deal it, remember that its suffering is on your head. My Amelia – my beloved …” Curse the fellow’s impertinence! I have half a mind to rip this paper to shreds!’

‘You may do with it what you like after you have finished reading it, Emerson.’

‘Bah,’ said Emerson. ‘Very well, then … “Henceforth you and yours are safe from my avenging hand. You may refrain from assaulting elderly ladies whom you suspect of being Sethos in disguise; you may leave unpulled the luxuriant beards of suspicious gentlemen. You will see me no more. I am leaving Egypt forever. Think of me sometimes, Amelia, as I will think constantly of you. What could we not have achieved together!”’

‘I wonder if he means it,’ I said, as Emerson methodically converted the letter into confetti.

‘Humph,’ said Emerson.

‘I really wish you had not destroyed that letter, Emerson. It was not very sensible!’

Emerson’s hands stopped moving. ‘What did you say, Peabody?’

‘You are making a mess on my nice clean doorstep, and the time may come – I hope it does not, but it may – when we might want a specimen of Sethos’ handwriting.’

‘Peabody,’ said Emerson, looking at me strangely.

‘Yes, Emerson?’

‘That is the first time in three days you have criticized or reprimanded me.’

‘Indeed? Well, I am sorry, Emerson, but if you persist in–’

‘No, no, you don’t understand.’ Emerson grasped me by the shoulders and gazed into my eyes. ‘I was beginning to fear you had turned into one of those boring females who can only say, ‘Yes, my dear,’ and ‘Just as you like, my dear.’ You know very well, Peabody, that our little discussions are the spice of life–’

‘The pepper in the soup of marriage.’

‘Very aptly put, Peabody. If you become meek and acquiescent, I will put an advertisement in The Times telling Sethos to drop by and collect you. Promise me you will never stop scolding, Peabody.’

Ramses and the cat were both watching with intense interest, but for once I did not care. I put my arms around Emerson’s neck. ‘My dear Emerson,’ I said, ‘I think I can safely promise that.’