Seeing a Large Cat (32 page)

"We met Miss Bellingham and Sir Arthur on our way," I explained. "I believe you have not met my son, Sir Arthur, and I apologize for neglecting earlier to present my-er adopted nephew, Mr. Todros. Nefret, will you ask All to bring tea?"

I did not like abandoning Ramses to the tender mercies of Dolly, but I did not suppose she could do more than annoy him while David and the other young man were present. Nefret followed me into the house.

"Why did you bring her here?" she demanded.

"She was gadding about without a guard," I replied. "She said she had sent Saiyid away because he was a nuisance. That young man would be of no use at all if Scudder attacked her."

"Ah, I see." Nefret's smooth brow resumed its untroubled look. "Take all the time you like, Aunt Amelia, I will make certain everyone behaves himself. Or, more likely, herself."

My dear thoughtful Emerson had ordered the tin bath to be filled for me. Nothing less than total immersion would have sufficed; even my undergarments were stickily gray. I completed my ablutions as hastily as possible and slipped into a loose tea gown since Emerson was not in our room to assist me with buttons.

The social temperature on the terrace was far from comfortable, though it would have been hard to say whether it was chilly or heated. A little of both, I thought. Dolly must have been flirting outrageously with Ramses, since her new admirer was glaring at my son and Nefret's cheeks were prettily flushed-whether with suppressed laughter or the need to repress a sarcastic remark, I was not sure. Ramses was in his favorite position atop the wall, which prevented Dolly from sitting next to him, and Emerson was watching them all with a bland smile.

My attempts to carry on a courteous conversation met with failure. I did not suppose Dolly would linger long; she had come for only one purpose, and having failed to achieve it in that ambience, she sought another that might be more successful.

"We mustn't keep you folks," she announced, rising. "And Daddy will be wondering what has become of his little girl. Won't you ride along with us, Mr. Emerson?"

Ramses unfolded himself with less reluctance than I had expected. "David and I will both ride with you," he said, and looking at me, he added politely, "If it meets with your approval, Mother, we will remain at the Amelia and meet you and Father and Nefret there later."

If the proposal had come from anyone but Ramses, I would not have thought twice about it. We would have to leave by seven in order to keep our appointment with Mrs. Jones, and there was no point in their returning to the house beforehand. I studied Ramses's bland countenance closely, but found nothing there to confirm my instinctive suspicions. Dallying with Dolly was surely not his aim, and there was not time enough for him and David to get into worse trouble.

"Very well," I said.

Dolly maneuvered Ramses into helping her to mount her horse, pushing poor Sir Arthur quite forcibly out of the way. Somehow or other her foot slipped from the stirrup, and she managed to get both arms round his neck when he caught her. Her pleased smile vanished, however, when Ramses took a firmer grip and tossed her onto her saddle with an audible thud.

After the party had ridden off Emerson burst out laughing. "She is quite a predator, isn't she? I cannot recall ever encountering a female so terrifyingly direct in her methods."

"Those silly sidesaddles are awkward things," I said fairly. "Perhaps her foot really did slip."

"Ha!" said Nefret.

"Ha indeed," said Emerson, still chuckling. "Never mind; it will be useful experience for Ramses. I remember one time in Athens . . ." Catching my eye, he stopped chuckling and reached for his pipe. "Er-as I was about to say, you did right in bringing her here, Peabody. Do you suppose her father has not sufficiently emphasized the danger? Hang it all, the girl is practically asking to be attacked."

"So," said Nefret, "you noticed that too, Professor?"

I said, "So did I."

Emerson grinned broadly. "Of course you did, Peabody. Have we time for a whiskey and soda before dinner?"

We did.

Chapter Eleven

A fondness for martyrdom, especially of the verbal variety, is common to the young.

Donald had asked us to dine with him and Enid, but I had felt it best to decline. Mrs. Jones had explained that she always "fasted and meditated in solitude before calling upon the spirits"; that interlude would give us the opportunity we needed for a final, private conference with the lady. We had an early dinner, and as soon as Cyrus arrived we set out for the dahabeeyah, where we were to meet the boys.

Cyrus was as smartly dressed as I had ever seen him, his linen suit of snowy freshness, his gloves immaculate. The diamond in his stickpin, though tastefully modest in size, was of the finest water. I complimented him on his appearance, adding, "I am afraid the rest of us do not do you justice, my friend. We are wearing our working costumes, as you see; I felt it advisable to be prepared for any contingency, since we cannot predict what may transpire."

"You and Miss Nefret look lovely in anything you choose to wear," Cyrus said gallantly. "And I see you have your parasol; that should prove a sufficient defense against any danger. You must have some notion of what is going to happen, though."

"Some notion, yes, but I need to talk to Ramses. He got away from me this afternoon before I could find out what plans he and Enid agreed upon."

We had to wait for him, of course. David was there to greet us when we arrived; when I expressed impatience, he said Ramses was almost ready and offered to go and hurry him up. I informed him I would take care of that matter, but as soon as I knocked on the door and announced myself, Ramses emerged, and we were soon on our way across the river.

"Now then," I said, adjusting my shawl, "tell us what went on this afternoon."

His head to one side, Ramses appeared to consider the question, and I said impatiently, "I don't want one of your long-winded, detailed descriptions of every word mat was spoken and every thought that passed through your mind, Ramses. Just the pertinent facts."

"Ah," said Ramses. "Very well, Mother. First, as to the costume. I was able to acquire some rather pleasant imitations of ancient jewelry from Mustafa Kamel-a beaded collar, bracelets, earrings, and the like. The basic garment, as you know, is quite simple. A bedsheet, properly draped, sufficed, and I purchased as well a long fringed scarf to tie round her waist. The major difficulty was her hair-not its color, but its style. Copies of elaborate ancient Egyptian wigs are not obtainable in the suks."

"Curse it, I knew I ought to have gone with you," Nefret exclaimed. "I could have arranged it to look authentic."

"That was not the problem," Ramses said. "What was required was a coiffure that could be quickly changed."

"Quite right," I agreed. "She will have to slip out of the sitting room into the corridor, and then into Mrs. Jones's bedchamber, from which she will emerge as Tasherit. Can she assume the costume hurriedly and without assistance, Ramses?"

"After considering various alternatives," said Ramses, "we concluded it would be best for her to wear it under a loose garment-a tea gown, I believe she called it. She will change into it and the costume after dinner."

"What about her hair?" Nefret asked.

"She will let it down. It is very thick and long," Ramses said. "It reaches almost to her waist."

"Good," I said. "Donald will be satisfied with that romantic image; he is not an authority on ancient Egyptian hairstyles. We will have to make certain the room is almost dark, even darker than it was the other evening, and create some sort of diversion so that Enid can creep out unobserved by Donald."

Emerson offered to create a diversion. After a brief, extremely apprehensive silence, I said tactfully, "We will discuss it with Mrs. Jones. She probably has some good ideas."

The question of how we were to reach Mrs. Jones's sitting room unobserved was easily resolved. I always familiarize myself with the service areas of hotels and other establishments, since one never knows when one may want to enter them surreptitiously. It was I, therefore, who led our party, skirting the Luxor's pretty gardens and entering into a narrow way that led to a small courtyard next to the kitchen. I was glad I had worn sturdy shoes instead of evening slippers. M. Pagnon, the manager of the hotel, did his best to maintain proper standards of hygiene, but trash of all varieties littered the ground.

Two of the kitchen boys stood smoking outside the back door. Our appearance startled them a good deal; they were so busy staring, they did not even return my friendly greeting. A similar state of startlement seized the inhabitants of the kitchen when we entered it. One of the waiters dropped a bowl of soup, but that was the only major accident. It was lentil soup, I believe.

The back stairs were uncarpeted and extremely dirty. We met no one, and when I opened the door giving on to the first floor corridor, I found it deserted. Most of the guests had gone down to dinner. The Frasers' rooms were at the front of the hotel, overlooking the garden. I tapped softly at the door of Mrs. Jones's sitting room. It opened almost at once, but only enough to allow a single wary eye to be seen. Recognizing me, she threw the door open.

"Come in, quickly," she whispered. "Mr. Fraser is in a state of nervous excitement, and I don't know that she can keep him occupied until the designated time."

Cyrus made rather a point of shaking hands with her, and while they exchanged greetings I examined her mauve silk crepe gown with considerable interest. It was one of the new "reform" dresses, loose fitting and suggesting a medieval robe. A long tabard of embroidered velvet fell from her shoulders to her feet. The ensemble lent dignity to her small, sturdy figure, and it had a suggestion of the exotic that suited the present occasion. It also appeared to be very comfortable. I reminded myself to ask her afterward where she had got it. Liberty's, perhaps? That establishment had become known for such garments.

After we had all entered, Mrs. Jones bolted the door. She had not been fasting; a half-eaten platter of mixed biscuits and a glass of wine stood on the table. She saw my reaction and returned my sardonic look with an amused, unabashed smile before she carried the evidence into her bedroom.

"Now then," she said briskly. "Mrs. Fraser appears to know what she is to do. We were able to talk briefly this afternoon. I promised her we would arrange a screen before the door so the light from the corridor won't be seen when she slips out Can one of you gentlemen... ?"

"It would be simpler to break the light bulbs in the corridor," said Emerson, who was taking a rather alarming interest in the proceedings.

We dissuaded him from that impractical notion, and Ramses explained that he had found a means of dealing with the problem. Taking a hammer and a handful of nails from his pocket, he requested the temporary loan of a blanket or coverlet from Mrs. Jones's bed.

"Won't Mr. Fraser wonder why the room is so much darker this time?" Nefret asked.

Ramses, standing on a chair, was busily hammering. "It must be dark if Mrs. Fraser is to steal away unseen," he said. "Our excuse will be that, as all students of the occult know, the greater strain of materialization requires total darkness."

"He will believe it, at any rate," said the lady cynically. "You must keep tight hold of his hands, Professor and Mr. Vandergelt, and not let him get away from you. The most dangerous moment will be at the end, when she bids him an eternal farewell. He may not be willing to let her go. Mrs. Fraser is prepared for that possibility, I hope?"

"She knows her lines," said Ramses without turning.

"She will need time to resume her normal attire and slip back into the room," Emerson said. "If we had a little tussle, Fraser and I, and I wrestled him to the floor-"

"No, Emerson," I said.

"Not unless it is necessary," amended Mrs. Jones.

She had seated herself on the sofa and was sipping the glass of mineral water Cyrus had poured for her. I said, "You appear quite without apprehension, Mrs. Jones. Last night you talked of stretched nerves."

The lady raised her slippered feet onto a hassock and leaned back, the very picture of confidence and calm. "I am accustomed to working alone, Mrs. Emerson, with the entire burden on my shoulders. This is a new experience for me, and I relish it. I daresay no charlatan has ever had a staff of such able, willing assistants!"

Cyras chuckled. "Nerves of steel," he said admiringly.

She turned to look at him. Voice and face were deadly serious. "Not entirely, Mr. Vandergelt. We are taking a desperate chance tonight. If our performance is not successful, it could leave Mr. Fraser worse off than before, or with his determination unchanged. And," she added with a smile, "if he goes on searching for the tomb, I will have to go with him, up the cliffs and down the wadis. My abused feet won't hold up much longer."

As she had predicted, Donald was ten minutes early. A tentative knock heralded his arrival, and when she heard it, Mrs. Jones let out a long sigh.

"Places, ladies and gentlemen," she said, and flung herself down on the sofa, closed her eyes, and clasped her hands on her breast. I went to the door.

Donald was alone. His face was not as ruddy as usual, and his eyes passed over me as if I were a parlor maid. In a soft, tremulous voice he said, "Is she ready?"

"She is still resting," I said, moving back so he could enter. "Be very quiet. You ought not to have come early, Donald."

Donald tiptoed in. He did not tiptoe any better than Emerson. With a ghost of his old smile he said, "You could not wait either."

His naive statement was a reminder of our greatest advantage. So strong was his need to believe that he would accept without question anything that suited his belief. A more suspicious man seeing all of us assembled might have wondered what the devil we were doing there beforehand. Donald only greeted the others in hushed tones and took a chair.

Mrs. Jones came out of her "meditative state" and was sitting up by the time Enid joined us. Her tea gown of pink crepe de chine might have been designed for the purpose it served that night; it had long full sleeves and a high neckline, and it buttoned conveniently down the front. There was enough fabric in its voluminous folds to cover two women of her size-which in one sense it did!

We had agreed upon the seating arrangements-Enid between me and Ramses, at the end of the table nearest the door; Donald between Emerson and Cyrus at the far end. Donald did not question that or anything else, not even the bedspread nailed to the door. I began to wonder why we had gone to so much trouble to create an illusion; Donald probably would not have objected if Mrs. Jones had demanded he lie facedown under the table while the princess took her own time about materializing.

It was no laughing matter, though. My last sight of Donald, before the lights were extinguished, was of a face engorged and eyes that were fairly popping out of his head. I wished, now that it was too late, that I had examined nun to make certain his heart was sound. His strenuous physical activities over the past weeks had had no ill effect, which was encouraging. One could only hope for the best.

Mrs. Jones outdid herself. She groaned, gasped, and babbled. Ramses had not explained in detail what cues he and Enid had arranged (to be fair, I had ordered him not to), so I was as startled as Donald when my son's voice suddenly cut into the lady's moans.

"Look! What is that at the window?"

So pervasive was the eerie atmosphere that I imagined for a moment I saw an amorphous pale shape against the dark draperies. (As I learned later, I did see it-a long white cloth held at arm's length by David, whose chair was nearest the window.) Then Enid withdrew her hand from mine and I heard the soft rustle of fabric as she slipped behind the bedcover.

"It is nothing." The voice was David's. He sounded as if he were reciting a memorized speech, which was in fact the case.

Mrs. Jones picked up her cue, letting out a piercing scream that brought Donald's attention back to her. She began to speak in broken phrases interspersed with heartrending groans and harsh gasps. "Too hard ... the pain . . . O Gods of the Underworld..."

Donald began struggling to free himself. I heard Emerson admonish him, softly but savagely, reminding him of the dangers to the medium and the princess if the materialization were interrupted.

Enid must have had some difficulty with her buttons or combs; Mrs. Jones's appeals to the gods of the underworld had become somewhat repetitious before the door behind her swung open to reveal . . . Enid, wrapped in a bedsheet and decked with cheap jewelry, illumined by a single lamp behind her.

But that was not what Donald saw, and for a brief instant I saw it too-the slender woman's form outlined in light through the translucent robes, the glitter of bright metal at her throat and on her wrists, the raven locks that fell over her white shoulders.

For a few seconds the silence was so profound one could hear the hiss of flame on the wick of the lamp. I held my breath. This was the crucial moment. Would Enid remember her speech and deliver it convincingly? Would Donald accept this vision? Her face was shadowed by the dimness of the light and by a thin white veil (a good idea, that; I made a mental note to commend Ramses for thinking of it). Yet could a man fail to recognize the features of his own wife? She must not linger. How was she to get away unseen?

All this flashed through my mind in an instantaneous jumble of thought. Then Donald's pent breath came out in a sob. He tried to speak her name-the name of Tasherit-but could only pronounce the first syllable.

Enid cleared her throat. "I greet you, my lord and long-lost love," she began. "It has been a weary journey through the darkness of Amenti...."

Oh, dear, I thought. She sounds like a schoolgirl trying to sound like a tragic heroine. It must have been Ramses who had composed that dreadful speech. What had he been reading?

It was comical and embarrassing-and pitiable. Donald was weeping. Enid's prim, self-conscious voice rambled on about the gods of the underworld and the pain of returning to the flesh and similar twaddle. I began to think I could not stand Donald's tears or the banality of Ramses's prose much longer. It was high tune Enid stopped talking and dematerialized. What was she waiting for?