Lion in the Valley (37 page)

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 toward
me, with none of the enthusiastic congratulations I had 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 honored 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 honored 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 take 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 callouses 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 shone 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. "Honored 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
suk."

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 rumored 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—"

"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 farther
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."

Twelve

A
t
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
vigor 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.