Lion in the Valley (17 page)

The
carriage bore me swiftly to my destination, the Administration Building on the
Place Bab el-Khalk. Until recently the constabulary of Cairo had been under the
benevolent supervision of a British Inspector General. It was still under
British supervision; only the title of the administrator had been changed, to
that of Adviser. Sir Eldon Gorst, who was a personal acquaintance, held the
position; but when I asked for him I was told he was not in his office, and I
was referred to one of the officers on his staff.

It
was with some chagrin that I found myself in the presence of Major Ramsay, the
least intelligent and most unsympathetic of Sir Eldon's subordinates. On the
occasion of our last meeting, at a social gathering at the Consulate, I had
taken the opportunity of correcting some of his ill-informed opinions on the
subject of women, their rightful position in society, and the unjust laws that
prevented them from assuming that position. I would never accuse a British
officer of rudeness, but Major Ramsay's responses had come as close to that
condition as a British officer could come; and toward the end of the discussion
Emerson had said something about punching someone in the jaw. It was only one
of
Emerson's little jokes, but Major Ramsay had no sense of humor. I
was sorry to see, from the unsmiling curtness of his greeting, that he still
harbored a grudge.

I
explained the reason for my visit. Ramsay looked at me severely. "I had
assumed you came in order to correct or amend the statement you originally made
to the officer in charge of the investigation, Mrs. Emerson. Surely you know I
cannot discuss the conduct of a police inquiry with a member of the general
public."

I
settled myself more comfortably in the hard chair and placed my parasol across
my lap. "Oh, yes, Major Ramsay, that is an admirable rule so far as it
goes, but it does not apply to
me.
Professor Emerson and I can hardly be
called members of the public, much less the general public."

"You—"
Ramsay began.

"I
am certain that by now you have reached the same conclusion that was
immediately apparent to me; namely, that Miss Debenham is innocent. Have you
any other suspects?"

Ramsay
bit his lip. His long, melancholy countenance was incapable of expressing
subtle alterations in the intellectual process (assuming he had an intellectual
process), but it was not difficult for me to follow his thoughts. He disliked
telling me anything substantive, but hoped that by doing so he could gain
information.

The
latter motive triumphed over the former. Pursing his lips, as if he had tasted
something sour, he said, "We are looking for a man to assist us with our
inquiries. An Egyptian—a beggar, in fact. Perhaps you noticed him outside
Shepheard's."

An
unpleasant premonition crept over me. Naturally I did not display any sign of
perturbation, for
my
countenance only expresses my intellectual process
when I allow it to do so.

"A
beggar," I repeated, smiling ironically. "I noticed several dozen of
them."

"Taller
than the average, sturdily built; wearing a pale-blue robe and a saffron
turban."

"I
can't say I recall such an individual. Why do you suspect him?"

"I
didn't say we suspected him, only that we wish to question him."

And
that, dear Reader, was all I was able to learn. Ramsay absolutely refused to
elaborate or add to his statement.

Once
outside the building, I found myself in a rare state of indecision. I was
tempted to call on Sir Evelyn Baring, the Consul General, and request his
cooperation, which I surely would have received, since we were old friends. But
the afternoon was wearing on, and I had wasted too much time with the imbecile
Ramsay. I would have enjoyed a delightful ride home under the desert moon, but
I knew Emerson would fly into a rage if I did not return by sunset. Emerson is
completely fearless where his own safety is concerned, but the mere thought of
danger to me reduces the dear fellow to a positive jelly.

As
I stood debating with myself, I heard a voice pronounce my name in questioning
accents. Turning, I found myself face to face with a stranger. ' 'Face to
cravat" would be more accurate, for the man was eight or ten inches taller
than I. Stepping back in order to see his face, I beheld a lean, hawk-nosed
countenance atop a wiry body dressed rather oddly, for that climate, in a caped
tweed coat. Tinted spectacles protected his eyes from the glaring sun. In his hand
he held a matching tweed cap.

"I
am Mrs. Emerson," I acknowledged.

His
thin lips parted in a pleasant smile. “I recognized
you
from the portraits which have appeared at various times in the newspapers.
Though, if I may say so, they did not do you justice."

"Newspaper
photographs seldom do. Perhaps I have seen your features similarly reproduced.
They seem familiar to me, Mr.—?"

"Gregson.
Tobias Gregson. Yes, I have been featured in the popular press from time to
time. I am a private investigator—a well-known private investigator, to quote
the same source."

"That
must account for it. What cases have you investigated, Mr. Gregson?"

"Many
of my cases are of the most secret nature, involving sensitive family scandals
or delicate government negotiations. However, you may recall the matter of the
Amateur Mendicant Society? Or the Camberwell poisoning case?"

"I
can't say that I do."

"No
matter. I don't want to detain you, Mrs. Emerson; I ventured to address you
only because I believe you have an interest in my present investigation."

I
looked at him more closely. "Have you been called in to assist the police
in the murder of Kalenischeff?"

Gregson
smiled contemptuously. "I am not on good terms with the official police,
Mrs. Emerson. Professional jealousy ... But I will say no more. No, I happened
to be in Egypt on another matter—a related matter, as it turned out. The case
has its points of interest."

"It
does. No doubt your long experience in criminal matters has already given you
some hint as to the identity of the guilty party."

"Obviously
it was not Miss Debenham," Gregson said coolly.

"Obviously.
But who?"

Gregson
glanced from side to side and lowered his voice. "I am endeavoring to
discover the whereabouts of a certain beggar who was seen hanging about the
hotel on the night of the murder."

"Ah,"
I said, in equally mysterious tones. "A tall, well-built man wearing a
yellow turban?"

"I
might have known the famous Mrs. Emerson would be on the same trail," said
Gregson, with a look of respectful admiration.

"Not
at all. I heard of him from Major Ramsay."

"Ramsay
is an idiot. He doesn't know what you and I know." "

"And
what is that, Mr. Gregson?"

"That
the beggar is not a beggar at all, but an emissary of that genius of crime,
that master of deceit—"

"What?"
I cried. "How do you know of
him?"

"I
have my methods, Mrs. Emerson. Suffice it to say that I do know of this
enigmatic personage, to whom you referred, in a newspaper interview, as the
Master Criminal. I have set myself the task of tracking him down."

"I
have set myself the same task, Mr. Gregson."

"We
must confer, Mrs. Emerson."

"I
would like you to meet my husband, Mr. Gregson."

"I—I
beg your pardon?"

I
smiled, and explained the apparent non sequitur. "I was not changing the
subject, Mr. Gregson. Emerson and I are equal partners, in our criminal
investigations as in our professional and marital activities; perhaps you can
convince him, as I have not yet succeeded in doing, that capturing the Master
Criminal is a matter of paramount importance."

"I
see. I will, of course, be honored to meet Professor Emerson."

"I
must be off now, or that same Professor Emerson will be rushing to Cairo in
search of me. Are you staying at Shepheard's, Mr. Gregson?"

"No.
But a letter left with the concierge will reach me."

"We
are at Dahshoor, should you care to call on us." I gave him my hand in
farewell, but when I would have taken it back, he held on. "Please don't
hurry away, Mrs. Emerson. May I not offer you a cup of tea or a lemonade?"

It
was a tempting suggestion, for I was anxious to learn all I could from this
remarkable individual. As I debated with myself, my wandering gaze found an
object that caused me to doubt the evidence of my own eyes. I snatched my hand
from the warm clasp of Mr. Gregson and started in pursuit; but my quarry
mounted a horse and galloped away before I could speak to him. When I returned
from a hasty investigation of the nearby streets and lanes, Mr. Gregson had
also vanished. My carriage awaited; I directed the driver to take me to Mena
House.

I
had not got a good look at the horseman, but one physical feature had been
unmistakable—the red-gold waves of hair that shone in the sun like a brazen
helmet. I would not have been surprised—though I would have been deeply
grieved—to discover that Nemo had broken his word. He was only a weak male
creature, after all. But if he was
only
a weak male creature, a beggar
and a drug taker—what was he doing outside police headquarters, wearing a suit
of the best British tailoring?

Six

D
espite
the best efforts of my noble steed, the stars were blossoming upon the blue
velvet of the sky before I reached Dahshoor. The afterglow washed the sloping
sides of the pyramids in an eerie pinkish light, but the desert floor was
veiled in twilight; long before I made out his form, I heard the well-loved
voice: "Peabody! Peabody, is that you? Answer me, curse it!"

I
urged my horse into a gallop. Emerson came running to meet me, and before long
I was held in his tender embrace.

"What
the devil do you mean being so late?" he demanded. "I was about to
send a search party after you."

"Please,
Emerson. If you must shout, wait until your lips are farther from my ear."

Emerson
mumbled something unintelligible into the orifice in question. Eventually the
little mare politely
requested the attention she well deserved
by nudging me with her velvety nose, and I suggested to Emerson that we save
further demonstrations of welcome for a more suitable time and place.

"Yes,
quite," said Emerson. "Come and see our new sleeping quarters,
Peabody."

"The
tents have been delivered, then? I particularly requested Ali to send them out
immediately."

"I
don't know whether he sent them immediately, but they arrived a few hours ago.
I had Nemo put up our tent—"

"Nemo!"

"Yes,
and he did it very deftly, too. What do you think?"

From
what I could see in the gloaming, the structure appeared to be properly
constructed. I accepted Emerson's pressing invitation to inspect the interior,
and it was only after a somewhat lengthy and thoroughly satisfactory interval
that I was able to turn my attention to a matter I had meant to pursue
immediately upon my arrival. Emerson politely held the tent flap aside for me,
and as we walked hand in hand toward the house I asked, "When did Nemo
leave, Emerson?"

“Why,
not at all, Peabody, unless he has taken to his heels within the past half
hour. I left him with Ramses. ... What did you say, Peabody?"

"I
only uttered a brief ejaculation, fearing for a moment that I was in danger of
tripping over a stone."

"Oh,"
said Emerson. "What were we talking about?"

"I
was about to say that you should have had Mr. Nemo erect both tents."

"Amelia,
I do not intend that Ramses shall sleep in a tent."

"It
is not for Ramses, it is for Miss Marshall."

"Oh,
curse it, Amelia, why the devil—"

"I
told you, Emerson. It is not suitable—"

He
interrupted me, of course. We continued our discussion as we walked to the
house. The inevitable conclusion having been reached, Emerson shook himself and
said calmly, "It is good having you back, my dear Peabody. The place is
just not the same without you. I only hope I have not made a mistake in taking
that young woman on my staff. Can you believe she kept to her room all day? I
am afraid she is not up to the work. I am afraid she is sickly. Night air is
bad for sickly persons—"

"The
night air is just what she needs to complete her cure. I promise you, she will
be ready for work tomorrow."

"Humph,"
said Emerson.

Before
we left England, Ramses had informed me that he had decided to write an
introductory Egyptian grammar, the volumes available being, in his opinion,
completely inadequate. I agreed with his evaluation, but I would have
encouraged the endeavor in any case, since I hoped it would help to keep him
out of mischief. I was pleased, that evening, to find him busily scribbling,
with the cat Bastet sitting on the table acting as a paperweight.