Children of the Storm (41 page)

“They all claim they had never set eyes on her before. But I think you have.”

“Hathor?” Ramses thought it over. “The description fits, such as it is.”

“It must be the same woman. This is the connection between two seemingly unrelated parts of the pattern, and it explains how Martinelli was lured to his death. He’d follow a woman anywhere.”

Ramses ran his fingers through his hair. It was late, and he was tired, but several other pieces of the pattern were falling into place. “So he ‘borrowed’ the jewelry in order to impress her. Offered it to her, perhaps, in exchange for favors she had withheld. He had no intention of paying so high a price, though. It would have meant the end of his lucrative job with Cyrus, and the police on his trail. What a dirty little swine he was.”

Sethos lifted his glass and set it down again, making a pattern of interlocking rings on the table. “A moralist would say he got what he deserved. She agreed to sell her favors, with no more intention of carrying out her share of the bargain than he, and he went panting after her, too blinded by lust to wonder why she was leading him into a remote part of Luxor; and in a dark, verminous alley his doom awaited him, as Amelia might put it. He was probably dead before he knew what had happened.”

“They bundled him up and tossed him over a donkey and carried him out into the desert.” Ramses continued the story. “They took the jewelry, and everything else that might have identified him, and left him for the jackals.”

“It was as easy as taking candy from a child,” Sethos said, bland and unmoved. He sounded almost admiring. “Brilliantly planned, really. One had only to look at the poor bastard to know he had had no success with the sort of woman he wanted. No woman of taste would have touched him with a barge pole. He was ripe for the plucking, and she plucked him like a goose.”

“Why? If it’s the princesses’ treasure she’s after . . .” He wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before. “Could that be it?”

“Why ask me? I’m a reformed character,” said his uncle virtuously. “If I were after it—and don’t give me that fishy stare, I’m not—I wouldn’t go about it in such a disorganized fashion. I certainly wouldn’t arrange a series of haphazard attacks; they’ve only succeeded in putting you on the qui vive. No. What I’d do is bide my time, lull you into a sense of false security, and then strike. I could break into that locked room in sixty seconds, and with a dozen well-trained villains helping me, clear out everything that’s portable and be away from Luxor before morning.”

“I’ll bet you could, at that,” Ramses muttered.

“It would be an attractive challenge,” Sethos mused. He leaned back and lit a cigarette. His face took on a dreamy expression. “Transport arranged in advance . . . ready admission to the Castle for a trusted friend . . . servants asleep in their wing of the house . . . Cyrus gently escorted back to his room and locked in, with his wife . . .”

He sighed regretfully and blew out a wobbly smoke ring.

“It must be quite a temptation,” Ramses said, with unwilling amusement. His uncle’s expression was that of a man remembering a particularly successful romantic interlude. “How you must miss the good old days, before Mother reformed you. Or has she?”

“Mmmm.” Sethos put out his cigarette and leaned forward, elbows on the table, no longer smiling. “Believe this, if you can. I swore to her I would never interfere with their work again. That goes for Cyrus too. I don’t steal from my friends.”

“Does that mean—”

“We had better go. Your wife will be sending out search parties.”

His evasive response roused certain dire suspicions. It wasn’t the first time they had entered Ramses’s mind. What had Sethos been doing in Jerusalem when he was supposed to be in Constantinople? Since the war the former battlegrounds had been in turmoil, and the preservation of antiquities was undoubtedly low on the list of the occupying powers. It was a perfect opportunity for a picker-up of unconsidered trifles, and Sethos was an expert picker-upper.

There’s nothing I can do about it, Ramses told himself, even if it’s true. And I can’t prove it is.

The colored lanterns began to go out as they left the hotel and started back along the road above the embankment. Ramses loosened his tie. “So if it isn’t the treasure, it’s something else she wants. Was Martinelli’s death part of the plan?”

“He had made a few enemies,” Sethos said noncommittally.

“While he was working for you?”

“Then, and when he was working for other people. Given his weakness for women, it isn’t impossible that he—er—offended one of them. Tracking him down would be easy. Everyone in Luxor knew he was working for Cyrus.” His uncle was a shadow beside him. They passed the Savoy and the Hotel de Karnak, now dark except for a few lamps next to the entrances. Bats flapped and swooped between the trees. A long, piercing whistle began and grew louder—the night train from Cairo, several hours late as usual.

It was drowned out by a roar of sound. The black sky to the east reddened and quivered.

“My God,” Ramses gasped. “What was that?”

Sethos’s head was raised like that of a pointer sniffing the air. “It’s near the railroad station. Come on.”

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CHAPTER ELEVEN None of us heard the explosion, which was a good thing, since certain of us might have been worried enough to investigate. When a loud noise is juxtaposed to the absence of Ramses, one naturally assumes he had something to do with it. As Nefret told me later, he did not return until almost three in the morning. His attempt to undress without waking her did not succeed, and when she lit a lamp the sight of him almost made her drop it. His best evening suit was a complete ruin—torn, smeared with blood and ashes and other unmentionable substances, and his hands were, to quote Nefret, a bloody mess. The rest of us did not learn of the matter until breakfast.

“I wasn’t hurt and neither was Sethos,” Ramses insisted, trying to get a firm grip on his fork. “We were a half mile away when the blast went off. I cut myself up a bit digging people out of the rubble. Damn it, Nefret, I don’t need all these bandages. You always—”

“What happened?” My voice was, perhaps, a trifle loud.

Ramses picked up a sausage in his fingers. “They tried to blow up the train station, just as the express from Cairo was coming in. Mercifully they didn’t make a good job of it. The tracks weren’t damaged, and only part of the station went up. One man was killed and half a dozen others were injured—all of them Egyptians. The European waiting room and the platform were unscathed.”

“They,” Emerson said. “Who was responsible?”

Ramses had bit off a chunk of sausage. He shrugged.

“The peasants are revolting,” said David. His lips twisted. “The damn fools!”

Ramses swallowed. “That is the assumption. The rioting last spring included similar acts of sabotage.”

“Damnation.” Emerson took out his pipe.

“Don’t sprinkle tobacco on your eggs, Emerson,” I ordered.

“I’ve finished,” said Emerson, sprinkling tobacco on the remains of his breakfast and the surrounding area. “I suppose we can expect a contingent of troops from Cairo. What a bloody nuisance. David, perhaps it would be advisable for you to—er—lie low for a while.”

David’s finely cut lips straightened. “I won’t run away, sir. I had nothing to do with this and they can’t prove I did.”

“The military doesn’t need proof,” Emerson muttered.

“Yes, by God, they do,” Ramses said vehemently. “David is a British citizen, and some of the biggest guns in the government will vouch for him.”

“Including me,” said Sethos, posing in the open doorway. “Am I too late for breakfast, Fatima?”

“Can’t you ever enter a room without making a theatrical production of it?” I inquired.

“It’s a habit,” Sethos explained.

“Let me see your hands.”

He held them out. “Clean enough?”

“You were digging too,” I said, observing the broken nails and scraped knuckles and scorched palms. “Come to the clinic and I will—”

“Well, of course I was digging. Did you expect me to stand idly by while Ramses was being heroic?”

Ramses let out a sound like a softer version of his father’s growl. “We were both extremely heroic,” Sethos said soothingly. “Don’t fuss, Amelia, I applied half a bottle of whiskey—and even a little soap and water.” He took a chair next to Maryam and Fatima hurried to set a place for him.

“Are you all right, sir?” Maryam turned a pretty, anxious face toward him.

“Quite. Why are you all getting worked up? This was an isolated incident, and at present the cause is unknown. I telegraphed Cairo to that effect first thing this morning. Unless something else occurs I believe they will be content to leave the investigation in my hands and those of the police.”

“I hope so. Candidly,” I declared, “at this moment I don’t give a curse about riots and insurrections, and the explosion cannot have any bearing on our other problems.”

“Problem,” Sethos corrected. “There is a common cause, and last night Ramses and I . . . Oh, thank you, Fatima. That looks delicious. Last night we discovered one of the links. Have you told them, Ramses?”

“Haven’t had a chance,” Ramses said curtly. “Your discovery, anyhow.”

I will confess, in the pages of this private journal, that my first reaction to Sethos’s account was chagrin. I ought to have thought of it myself. Is not “cherchez la femme” a favorite axiom? Not with me, however, and in a case of presumed strangulation a female does not immediately leap to mind.

“Well done,” I conceded. “Though, if I may say so, certain of your conclusions are based on unsubstantiated extrapolation. I do not . . . I beg your pardon, Emerson? Did I hear a reference to pots and kettles?”

“I would never express such a trite aphorism, Peabody.”

“Hmm. As I was about to say, I do not see that this gets us much further. We had postulated a gang, had we not?”

“But now we know—” Catching my eye, Ramses amended the statement. “We may reasonably assume that the appearances of Hathor are not extraneous to the pattern we have been trying to establish. There is a woman involved.”

“A young, beautiful woman,” Nefret murmured.

“Quite,” said Ramses. He snapped off another bit of sausage.

“But what was the purpose of those ridiculous appearances?” I cried in exasperation. “And who the devil is she?”

“A permanent resident of Luxor or a tourist who arrived in Luxor over a month ago,” said Sethos.

“A month?” I asked.

“I’ve made a timetable,” Sethos explained, with a superior smile at me. He knew I had not, or I would have said so. “Martinelli disappeared over three weeks ago. Give her a week or so before that to become acquainted with him. If it is the same woman, she made a quick trip to Cairo when you did, and then came back in time to arrange to sink Daoud’s boat and stage her second appearance. There is every reason to believe she is still here.”

“That limits the number of suspects, surely,” David said thoughtfully. “Most tourists stay for only a few days, and there aren’t that many permanent residents who are female.”

“And young and beautiful and—er—no better than she should be,” I agreed. “It can’t be one of that group. I know them all, and I assure you one of my acquaintances would have informed me if a newcomer had settled here.”

“She’s right about that,” said Emerson to the group at large. “Those females are always quick to relay the latest gossip.”

“Still, there is no harm in inquiring,” Sethos said. He had taken advantage of the lull to empty his plate, which Fatima immediately refilled. “No, Amelia, not you; a direct question to one of your friends would arouse curiosity, and we must avoid that at all costs. I will make my availability for social functions of all sorts known to the good ladies of Luxor society. A new face is always welcome, and there is no man more welcome than an eligible bachelor.”

“You had better do something to your face if you intend to attract the ladies,” I retorted. “That beard—”

“I’ve been waiting for it to grow out,” Sethos explained, stroking his chin. “Just wait, Amelia; once I’ve had it trimmed and touched up a bit—and made a few other changes—the mere sight of me will cause you to swoon with admiration.”

“Bah,” said Emerson. “All you will learn is that there are several women in Luxor—I name no names, Peabody—who would stop at nothing to marry off their spinster daughters. The woman you’re after won’t come anywhere near you.”

“I think she might,” Sethos said, his smile fading. “I am known to be a friend of Mr. Cyrus Vandergelt, am I not?”

“In short,” said Ramses, after a moment of silence, “you intend to set yourself up as bait.”

Maryam let out a little cry, and her father turned to her with a reassuring smile. “It’s perfectly safe, Maryam. I doubt very much that she would try the same trick a second time. If she does, I promise I won’t follow her into a dark alley.” He looked round the circle of sober faces and shrugged. “It’s our best lead and it ought to be pursued.”

“It would be nice if we could clear the matter up soon,” I said. “The Christmas season is approaching. I have never allowed a criminal to interfere with my holiday celebrations, and I don’t intend to begin now.”

“Christmas!” Emerson exclaimed, eyes bulging. “Now see here, Peabody, I have never objected to the unnecessary effort you expend on what is essentially a pagan holiday with accretions from an equally nonsensical superstition—”

“We certainly can’t disappoint the children,” Lia said. “I must confess I hadn’t given it much thought.”

“I have,” I said. “But we still have a few weeks.”

“There is another matter,” said David, glancing at his father-in-law. “The Milner Commission is due in Egypt shortly, and the British attitude is already known. The Protectorate will continue. Zaghlul Pasha has sent word that the commission is to be boycotted entirely. There will be strikes and demonstrations all over the country.”

“How do you know that?” Lia asked.

“I read the newspapers,” David said somewhat impatiently. “I hope Sethos is right, but I have a feeling that Cairo is going to take the explosion at the railroad station more seriously than he anticipates.”