Lion in the Valley (41 page)

I
could not make out what Emerson was planning. For him to abandon his work was
almost unheard of, yet he had not even given Abdullah directions as to how to
proceed, only told him to declare a holiday.

As
soon as we had taken our seats on the train, I began my inquiries. I thought it
better not to ask Emerson point-blank what was on his mind, but instead
attempted to work up to it by subtle indirection.

"I
trust," I began, "that the events of this morning have altered your
appraisal of the situation and brought you around to my way of thinking."

"I
doubt it," Emerson said curtly.

"Your
belief that Donald's difficulties are purely domestic in nature—I believe you
used that phrase—was obviously erroneous. Unless you think Donald killed his
brother?"

"It
seems unlikely," said Ramses, who had recovered his breath after being
yanked into the compartment and thrust into a seat. ' 'Mr. Donald Fraser is not
distinguished by great intellectual capacity—indeed, I cannot help but wonder what
a lady of Miss Debenham's superior qualities could possibly see in him—but
there is no reason why he should go to the trouble of carrying the body a long
distance from the scene of the murder in order to place it conspicuously in
front of your tent."

"Humph,"
said Emerson, tacitly acknowledging the truth of Ramses' analysis.

"Furthermore,"
Ramses continued, "if the pistol was his, it must have been procured in
the last day or two,
since he did not have it with him when he
came, and I do not see how—"

"Did
you have the effrontery to search the young man's belongings?" I demanded
indignantly.

"He
had no belongings," Ramses replied calmly. "Except for the opium and
pipe which you took from him. Nor was there any hiding place in his room,
except under the cot, which I investigated at an early—"

"Never
mind," Emerson said, anticipating my protest. "We will take it as
read that Donald did not kill his brother. Some other person ... Oh, curse it,
I may as well admit it. We are back to your friend Sethos, Amelia."

"I
knew that from the first, Emerson."

"Bah,"
said Emerson. "Here is something I'll wager you don't know. I have come to
the conclusion that Sethos has played the same trick he played on us once
before—that at some point he has actually introduced himself to us. In
disguise, I hardly need say—"

"Quite
right, Papa," cried Ramses. "You anticipate my very words. And I know
who he is. The gentleman Mama met in Cairo, the self-styled private
investigator!"

"Don't
be silly, Ramses," I said. "You have not even met Mr. Gregson."

Ramses
became red in the face with frustration. "But,

Mama,
I have tried over and over to tell you—Tobias Gregson is the name of the police
officer in the detective stories by Arthur Conan Doyle. I put it to you that it
would be typical of the strange sense of humor of the man known as Sethos to
select as a pseudonym the name of the character Mr. Sherlock Holmes—the most
famous private investigator in modern fiction—despised as a bungler and a fool.
What do you know of this man, in fact? Did he show you his papers? Did he refer
you
to the police in order to verify his semi-official standing? Did
he—"

"I
will not permit that accusatory tone, Ramses," I exclaimed. "Don't
dare talk to me like a schoolmaster lecturing a dull student. Mr. Gregson was
working under cover. Furthermore—er—furthermore, he has brown eyes."

Emerson
started as if he had been stung. "I am shocked, Amelia, that you should go
around staring into the eyes of strange men."

"I
have good reason to notice the color of a suspect's eyes," I replied
stoutly. "As for Mr. Gregson, I hope and believe you will meet him
shortly. He is not Sethos. But I know who is. Mrs. Axhammer, the elderly
American lady who visited us at Dahshoor!"

I
expected Emerson to say "Bah," or "Humbug," or something
equally insulting. His response offended me even more. He burst into a peal of
laughter. "Come, now, Peabody, that is too absurd. On what basis—"

"Several.
She was careful to wear a veil, but it did not conceal the lively sparkle of
dark eyes. When on one occasion the veil was displaced, I observed that her
teeth were firm and white and that her chin, though close-shaven, showed signs
of stubble!"

"I
have known old ladies with full mustaches and beards," said Emerson,
grinning. "You are both wrong. I know who Sethos really is. His lordship,
Viscount Everly!"

He
gave me no time for rebuttal, but went on, "Ronald was in his entourage.
It was while the presumed viscount and his friends were shooting at Dahshoor
that both the incidents involving firearms occurred. It was his horse that
bolted, endangering Ramses—"

"Pure
coincidence," I said. "Sethos cannot be his lordship. He is Mrs.
Axhammer."

"The
viscount," Emerson growled.

"Mr.
Gregson," piped Ramses.

His
high-pitched voice contrasted so oddly with his father's baritone grumble that
Emerson and I both burst out laughing. Ramses contemplated us haughtily down
the length of his nose. "I fail to see the humor in the situation,"
he said.

"You
are quite right, my boy," said Emerson, smiling. "I suppose we must
agree to disagree. Time will tell which of us is correct."

"If
we are not all wrong," I said more seriously. "I cannot get it out of
my head, Emerson—your reminder that the god Set was red-haired. But I will
wager that I am the first to come face to face with his evil emissary."

"You
had damned well better not be," said Emerson, and refused to apologize,
even though he had promised me he would try not to swear in front of Ramses.

When
we entered the lobby of Shepheard's, the first person we saw was Enid. She sat
reading a newspaper, apparently oblivious to the curious stares and whispers of
the other guests, but the moment we appeared she jumped up and hastened to meet
us.

"You
came," she whispered, seizing my hand. "I was afraid you would not.
Thank you, thank you!"

"I
said I would come," I replied. "When I say I will do something, Enid,
you may be certain I will do it."

Ramses
studied her from under lowered brows; and indeed she little resembled the
demure archaeologist of Dahshoor. She was wearing an extravagantly frivolous
gown, all ruffles and puffs and lace, and her lips and cheeks were rouged. I
daresay she wore no more paint
than usual, but owing to the pallor of her
face, the red patches stood out with garish effect.

Retaining
her tight grasp on my hand, she reached out her other hand to Ramses.
"Don't you know your old friend in this costume?" she asked, with a
brave attempt at a smile.

"I
hope you do not suppose that a superficial alteration of that nature could
deceive my trained eye," Ramses replied in evident chagrin. "I was
merely endeavoring to decide whether I prefer this persona to the other. On the
whole—"

It
had taken only a few days to teach Enid that if someone did not interrupt
Ramses, he would go on talking indefinitely. "No matter what my outward
appearance, Ramses, my feelings will never change. I am your true friend, and I
hope I may consider you mine."

Ramses
was moved. A casual observer might not have realized it, for the only outward
expression of his feelings was a rapid blink of his eyelids. He replied in his
most dignified manner, "Thank you. You may indeed rely upon my friendship,
and if at any time in the future you have need of my services, they are at your
disposal, although I sincerely trust that you will never regret your decision
to accept the hand of a person who, though not entirely devoid of admirable
qualities, is not—"

I
suppressed Ramses. At least he had made Enid smile; turning to me, she said,
"Perhaps you think me bold to sit here in full view of all the gossips.
But I will not skulk in my room as if I had done something to be ashamed of.
Donald and I are victims, not villains."

"I
am entirely of your opinion," I replied warmly. "Mr. Baehler gave you
your rooms back? I was concerned about that, since it is the height of the
season, and Shepheard's is always crowded."

"I
had booked them for a month and paid in advance. Besides," Enid added,
with a wry smile, "I imagine he would have difficulty finding someone who
was willing to inhabit them just now. I confess I do not look forward to
sleeping in that bed. If you are remaining in Cairo for a few days, perhaps
Ramses—"

"I
would be more than happy," declared Ramses.

I
exchanged glances with Emerson. "We will think about it, Enid. In the
meantime—"

"In
the meantime, I hope you will be my guests for luncheon," Enid said.
"I have not quite enough courage to walk into the dining salon
alone."

Naturally
we agreed. I excused myself long enough to retrieve and destroy the letter I
had left for Emerson the day before, and then joined the others. We had hardly
taken our seats when Mr. Baehler came to the table. He apologized for
disturbing our meal. "But this message was just left for you, and since it
is marked 'Urgent,' I thought—"

"Ah,"
I said, reaching for the letter. "You were quite right to bring it at
once, Mr. Baehler."

"It
is directed to Professor Emerson," Baehler said.

"How
extraordinary," I exclaimed.

"What
do you mean, extraordinary?" Emerson demanded. "I have many
acquaintances in Cairo who..." He perused the letter.
"Extraordinary," he muttered.

Baehler
departed, and Emerson handed me the letter. It was, as I had suspected, from
Mr. Gregson. ' 'Professor," it read. "I will be at the Cafe Orientale
at twelve noon sharp. Do not fail me. Matters are approaching a climax, and if
you wish to avert the peril threatening a person near and dear to you, you must
hear what I have learned."

"I
knew it," I said triumphantly. "That proves you
are
mistaken, Ramses; if Mr. Gregson had any designs on me, he would not invite
your father to be present. We must go at once; it is almost twelve."

Emerson
pressed me back into my chair. "You are not mentioned in the invitation,
Amelia," he said.

"But,
Emerson—"

"It
is a trap," squeaked Ramses. "There is some diabolical mystery in
this; I beg you, Mama—"

"Please,
Amelia, don't leave me." Enid added her entreaties to those of the others.
"I had counted on your support later this afternoon, when I go to police
headquarters to give my statement."

"I
tell you, Mama, it is a trap," Ramses insisted.

"If
it is, I am forewarned and shall be forearmed," Emerson declared.
"Amelia, you must guard Miss Debenham. She will be especially vulnerable
when she leaves the hotel. This could be a ruse, to lure us away and leave her
unprotected."

"I
had not thought of that," I admitted. "Very well, Emerson; your
argument has convinced me."

"I
thought it might," Emerson said, rising.

"Don't
go alone, Emerson," I begged.

"Of
course not. Ramses will go with me."

That
was not what I had had in mind, but before I could say so, Ramses and his
father had left us.

"I
would feel very bad if I thought my selfish needs had caused you to neglect a
more important duty," Enid said anxiously. "Do you believe they are
going into danger?"

"No.
Were that the case, I am afraid I would choose to neglect you instead. For you
know, Enid, that my dear Emerson and I are joined by bonds of affection of the
strongest kind. I would be the first to rush to his side if peril threatened
him."

"Or
Ramses."

"Oh
yes, or Ramses, of course. The fact that I can sit here and quietly sip my
soup"—which I proceeded to do, the waiter having brought the first course
as we conversed—"testifies to my perfect confidence in Mr. Gregson. Just
think, Enid, when Emerson returns he may have in his possession the evidence
that will clear Donald."

Enid's
eager questions prompted me to explain more fully about Mr. Gregson's
involvement in the case. She had not heard the full story, and as she listened
she began to look grave.

"Of
course I am only an ignorant girl, with little experience in such things,"
she said hesitantly. "But I have never heard of this Mr. Gregson. He said
he was a famous detective?"

"Famous
in his own circles, I presume he meant," I replied. "People in that
line of work have reason to remain inconspicuous."

"No
doubt that is true," Enid said.

The
dining salon was filling rapidly. We had been among the first ones there, since
Enid's appointment with the police was for one o'clock. I watched the entering
guests, wondering if "Mrs. Axhammer" would dare to make an
appearance. She did not, but before long I saw another familiar form—that of
Viscount Everly. He was alone, and for the first time since I had met him he
was wearing proper morning dress instead of a bizarre costume. His eyes met
mine, and after a moment of hesitation, he squared his shoulders and
approached.