Lion in the Valley (15 page)

"I
saw you there. And afterwards?"

"We
returned to the hotel. The prince said good night to me at the door of my
room—''

"You
did not invite him in?"

"I
suppose I deserve that," she said, after a moment. "No, Mrs. Emerson,
I did not."

"Continue,
please. And be succinct."

"The
safragi had given me your letter. I read it as I brushed my hair and, as I have
said, I was angry—"

"You
may omit your emotional reactions except in so far as they have bearing on the
events of that night."

"Thank
you. I tossed the letter aside. I prepared for bed. I went to bed. I fell
asleep. Much later something woke me. Perhaps it was the sound of the door
opening, or footsteps. A dark form came into the field of my vision. I
recognized the prince. He moved quietly toward the bed. I got out of the bed. I
fell to the floor. I lost consciousness. When I awoke the first light of dawn
was brightening the window and I saw the prince lying dead across the bed. I
went to my wardrobe. I took out—"

"Just
a moment, if you please. I know I told you to be succinct, but that is carrying
it a bit too far. Let us go back to your awakening in the middle of the night.
How did you feel then? Alert and fully conscious, or unnaturally weak and
drowsy?"

"I
had barely strength enough to roll off the bed, away from him. How did you
know?"

"I
assume you were drugged, of course. Did you have anything to eat or drink
before you retired?"

"I
drank from the water bottle on the bedside table. The dry air makes one so
thirsty...."

"I
thought so. Those damnable water bottles! One would think they had been
invented for the convenience of burglars and murderers. Some kindly guardian
angel roused you in time.... But it would not have mattered, you were never in
any danger of
that
sort.

"Kalenischeff
was lured to your room by a message purporting to come from you. He had made
advances to you? No, you need not answer, I felt sure he had; he was a vain man
with an inordinately high opinion of his attraction for the opposite sex. He
would not be suspicious of a request for an assignation.

"The
assassin was waiting for him. Fortunately for you, your awakening was brief and
incomplete, for you were spared the horror of seeing Kalenischeff dispatched;
and if you had seen the deed done, the murderer would have felt it necessary to
dispose of you as well. Either you are unusually resistant to drugs or you did
not drink much of the water; your guardian angel, still on active duty, again
wakened you before you were meant to awaken. If matters had gone according to
plan, you would have been discovered with the dead body of your presumed lover,
and would have been placed under arrest. As it was, you had time to dress and
creep out of the hotel unseen. The safragi had been bribed to leave his post,
possibly by Kalenischeff himself. It was early morning, and if you avoided the
public rooms, few people would see you, or recognize the frivolous, fashionable
Miss Debenham in the costume you are presently wearing.
 
You
 
then
 
went
 
into
 
hiding—never mind
where, you can tell me about it later—and,
remembering my offer of assistance, you determined to seek me out. I commend
you on your presence of mind, Miss Marshall. Few women would have had the
strength of character to behave so sensibly after such a frightful shock. Thank
you. You told your story very nicely."

"But—but—"

"Hush.
We have not time for more."

I
was correct. A sound behind the curtain preceded by no more than a few seconds
the appearance of Ramses. "Papa wishes me to tell you that the water has
boiled. He also wishes to know what—I omit the qualifying phrase, since it is
one you have specifically forbidden me to repeat—what you are doing in here
without a chair or a table or a lamp. I confess that my own curiosity on that
point—"

"Will
probably never be satisfied," I said, rising. I permitted myself that
small jest, since I was in excellent humor. Matters were working out nicely.
"We are coming, Ramses."

The
girl caught my hand. "But, Mrs. Emerson," she whispered. "What
am I to do? You believe me—"

"Yes."

"How
can you trust me? You don't even know me!"

"It
is very simple," I murmured. "I know who the murderer really
is."

"What?"
Her cry rang out. Ramses turned. Silhouetted against the light from the
adjoining room, his thin limbs and mop of hair, and the inquiring tilt of his
head, made him look exactly like an oversized vulture.

"Later,"
I hissed, and escorted Miss Marshall to the chair Emerson had set for her, and
the cup of stewed tea he had prepared. Emerson's talents, though diverse, do
not extend to the culinary arts.

Revising
our sleeping arrangements was more complex than I had anticipated. I could not
send Ramses up to sleep on the roof: he might decide to climb down the wall and
go off on some peculiar errand of his own. Ramses seldom disobeyed a direct
order, but he had a diabolical facility for finding a loophole in my commands.

Emerson
and I could not sleep on the roof and leave the young lady and the young man
down below. Emerson thought I was being uncharacteristically prudish, and said
so at length. I did not bother to explain my true reasons, since they would
have aggravated him even more. By a fortuitous combination of circumstances,
Miss Marshall had eluded the Master Criminal. I could hardly leave her at the mercy
of a man whom I strongly suspected of being the M.C.'s lieutenant.

The
same objection applied to having Miss Marshall sleep on the roof. The only
solution was for Emerson and me to place our mattresses in the sitting room,
which adjoined the small chamber I had assigned to Miss Marshall. No one could
reach her without stepping over our recumbent forms, for the only doorway
opened out of the sitting room, and the window was too narrow to permit anyone
to enter.

These
arrangements were not concluded without a considerable amount of noise. Emerson
is too well bred to swear in the presence of a lady, but his state of mind
found expression in loud, broken ejaculations, and frequent cries of "Good
Gad!" My first concern was to get Enid settled as soon as possible; she
was clearly on the verge of total collapse, a normal reaction for one finding
sanctuary after hours of nervous strain and physical exertion. A camp cot and
blankets, a lamp and basic
toilet articles were easily supplied (for
I always equip my expeditions adequately). Not until this was accomplished and
Enid was tucked into bed did I realize I had seen nothing of Mr. Nemo. A
normally curious individual would have come out to see what was happening. I
went to his room, but I knew in advance what I would find.

There
was no lock on the crude wooden door, but Nemo had attempted to barricade it
with the packing case that served as his table. People often underestimate my
physical strength. I am only five feet tall and rather on the thin side (in
most areas), but I keep myself fit; when I put my shoulder to the door, I had
no difficulty shoving the empty case out of the way.

Nemo
lay on his side, facing the door. A slight, sweet smile curved his lips; the
flame of the tiny lamp on the floor in front of him was reflected in his
unblinking eyes.

He
had brought the vile instrument of his destruction with him. I reproached
myself for neglecting to search his belongings, though in fact I had not seen
that he had any. But it would have been easy for him to conceal the pipe and
the opium in the folds of his robe. I found them almost at once; sunk in the
euphoria of the drug, he had not thought to conceal them again. The pipe lay
beside him, where it had fallen from his lax hand. Near it were a small tin box
half-filled with a dark, treacly substance and a thin metal dipper, which was
used to scoop up a small quantity of the opium. Dipper and opium were then held
over a flame until the substance was cooked and reduced in size, after which it
was dropped into the bowl of the pipe.

I
knew the futility of attempting to speak to Nemo. He was far away, wandering in
fields of illusion. I gathered up the tin of opium, the pipe, and the metal
dipper;
blew out the lamp; and went quietly away.

The
rest of the night passed without incident. Emerson snored. He seldom snores.
When he does, it is usually deliberate.

I
was up with the dawn, filled with my usual boundless energy. There was a great
deal to be done that day, and I looked forward to it as a pugilist rejoices in
the prospect of testing his strength against a worthy opponent. I moved quietly
about my morning tasks, trying not to wake Emerson, for I thought it would be a
good idea to have his breakfast ready when he woke. His temper would be tried
often enough in the hours to come.

The
absence of wooden flooring was annoying, for it enabled people to creep up on
one unheard. My trained sixth sense, however, warned me that someone was
watching me; expecting to see my ubiquitous son, I looked up with a frown and
beheld instead the countenance of Mr. Nemo peering warily through the curtain
we had rigged to give us a modicum of privacy.

He
inspected the room from one corner to the other, as if he expected to see
monsters lying in wait. "Will you step outside with me, Mrs.
Emerson?" he asked in a whisper.

I
had been about to suggest the same thing. A long, serious conversation with Mr.
Nemo was high on my list of activities for the day. I was only surprised that
he made no effort to avoid the scolding he must have known was coming. But
perhaps instead of asking forgiveness he meant to go on the offensive and
demand the return of his abominable drug apparatus. His grave expression and
the firm set of his lips indicated determination rather than repentance.

Once
outside, he beckoned me to follow him to the
north side of the house,
where we could not be seen from the doorway. Then he faced me.

"Mrs.
Emerson, I am leaving your employ."

He
had not shaved that morning, nor used a comb and brush on his tumbled golden
locks. (In fact, so far as I knew, he did not have a comb or brush.) The
effects of the drug showed in his shrunken pupils and pale cheeks. But months
of degradation had not eradicated all traces of the splendid young Englishman
(or Scot) he had once been. Shaved and brushed, dressed in a proper suit, he
would turn any woman's head.

"No,
Mr. Nemo, you are not," I said.

His
lips twisted. "How do you propose to stop me?"

"By
force, if necessary." I leaned against the wall and folded my arms.
"A shout from me would bring ten sturdy men who are sworn to obey my
slightest command. I do not include Emerson, since, although his strength and
devotion exceed all the others, he is rather disoriented when he is suddenly
roused from sleep, and you might well elude him before he gets his wits in order.
I doubt, however, that you could fight off Abdullah and his sons. No," I
went on calmly, as he took a step toward me, his fists clenched. "Don't
try to intimidate me, for I know you are incapable of laying violent hands on a
woman.

"You
are not leaving my employ, Mr. Nemo. What— do you suppose that, having once
placed my shoulder to the wheel and my nose to the grindstone, I will leave the
furrow unplowed? I have sworn to redeem you and redeem you I will, with your
cooperation or without it. In principle, I am in full sympathy with the right
of every Englishman—or woman—or, come to that, any man or woman of any nation
... What was I about to say?"

Nemo's
frown had been replaced by a blank, almost
imbecile stare. "I
haven't the slightest idea," he mumbled.

"Oh,
yes. I believe firmly in the right of the individual to seek or leave
employment whenever he or she chooses. Any infringement of that choice
constitutes serfdom, and liberty is the inalienable right of humankind.
However, in this case your right to liberty must be laid aside temporarily in
favor of a higher good.

"Having
made that plain, Mr. Nemo, I will proceed to the next point. Pay close
attention, if you please. My determination to lift you out of the gutter was
reinforced last night when I discovered you in the loathsome clutches of the
devil's weed. It is not what you think," I went on, more gently, as he
turned his head away, a flush of shame mantling his bristled cheeks. "That
discovery proved to me that I had been mistaken in another, more important
assumption. I am not often mistaken. In this case there was some excuse for me,
since the circumstances were suspicious in the extreme.

"I
knew full well that the man whose confederate I suspected you of being would
never choose as a trusted aide any man whose loyalty or efficiency could be
weakened by opium. You had said you were addicted, but in fact I had never seen
you indulging in drugs. It makes a neat syllogism, you see. You are, as I know
firsthand, a user of drugs. The Master Criminal does not admit drug addicts
into his inner circle. (I make that assumption because only a fool would commit
that error, and the Master Criminal is not a fool.) Therefore you are
not—"