Lion in the Valley (35 page)

"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 in 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 feeble-minded 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 rumor, 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 assistants."

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 defense, 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 humored 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 portentously.

"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 than 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."