The Snake, The Crocodile, And The Dog Part 19

Needless to say, I did not sleep. I lay awake as I had done every night since it happened- not tossing and turning, for that is an exhibition of weakness I do not allow myself- but trying to discover a possible course of action. At least this night I had new information to consider I went over and over every word, every phrase, every comma, even, in that malevolent missive. Every word and every phrase contained sly threats all the more terrifying for being left to the imagination of the reader. (Especially an imagination as active as mine.) The man who had composed them must be a veritable fiend.

And an arrogant fiend. He had not even bothered to conceal his nationality, his English was as good, his syntax as elegant, as my own. I felt confident he was not a guest at the hotel. Anyone could have stolen stationery from the writing room. As for his aim in proposing a rendezvous . . . Well, Cyrus's reasoning was irrefutable. It agreed with my own. Even if I were cad enough to break my word and betray a helpless people in exchange for my husband's life . . .

But, oh, Reader! You know little of the human heart if you suppose that honor is stronger than affection or that cool reason can overcome loving fear. If the villain had stood before me at that moment with one hand outstretched and the other holding the key to Emerson's prison, I would have thrown myself at his feet and begged him to take what he wanted.

Emerson's suspicions had been logical but unsubstantiated. The letter had turned them from surmise into certainty. It was the location of the Lost Oasis the fiend was after. But what, precisely, would satisfy his demands?

A map? THE map? Either he knew it existed, or he had deduced that it must. The journey we had made led into the waterless, featureless desert, and only a madman would set out unless he had precise directions The dirty yellow dog must know we had followed a map of some kind.

To the best of my knowledge, only one copy was still in existence. There had been five to begin with, and to complicate the matter still further, two of the five had been deliberately, fatally inaccurate I had destroyed mine- one of the false maps Ramses's copy, the one we had used to reach the oasis, had been lost or mislaid during our rather precipitate departure from the place. Emerson's copy had disappeared even before we left Nubia. That left two, one accurate, one false.

The other false copy had belonged to Reggie Forthright. He had left it with me when he set off on his expedition into the desert, and, as he had requested, I had pa.s.sed it on to the military authorities, together with his last will and testament, before we went into the desert. Presumably these doc.u.ments had been sent to his sole heir, his grandfather, when he failed to return. This copy of the map did not concern me, for it would only have led the one who followed it to a very dry, prolonged, and unpleasant death.

The original copy of the map had been in the possession of Lord Blacktower, Reggie's grandfather It was now in Emerson's strongbox in the library at Amarna House. Blacktower had given it up, along with the guardianship of Nefret, at Emerson's emphatic request. I had urged that it be destroyed, but Emerson had overruled me. One never knew, he had said. There might come a time, he had said . .

Had it come? For the second and, I am happy to say, last time, my integrity wavered under the impact of overpowering affection. I had to bite down hard on the linen pillowcase before reason again prevailed.

I could not trust the honor of a man who clearly had none. Nor would he trust mine. He could not afford to release his hostage until he was certain the information I had given him was accurate-and how could he know that until he had made the journey and returned? I could not have retraced our route or remembered the compa.s.s readings, but I did not doubt that Emerson could. He had held the compa.s.s and followed the directions. The villain did not need a map if he could force Emerson to speak.

No, the rendezvous was a ruse. Our only hope was to find Emerson and free him before . . .

Where could he be? Somewhere in the vicinity of Luxor still, I felt sure. The search had been intensive and was proceeding, but it could not penetrate into every room in every house, especially the houses of foreign residents. Egypt enjoyed the blessings of British law, which proclaims that a man's home is his castle. A n.o.ble ideal, and one with which I thoroughly agree- in principle. n.o.ble ideals are often inconvenient. I well remembered the story of how Wallis Budge had smuggled his boxes of illegal antiquities away while the police waited outside his house, unable to enter until the warrant arrived from Cairo We needed a warrant, and for that we must have grounds. That was what my devoted friends were trying to obtain- talking with their informants in the villages, following up gossip about strangers in the city, investigating rumors of unusual activity- and I pinned my hopes on their endeavors.

I had especially counted on Abdullah and his influence with the men of Gurnah, who were reputed to know every secret in Luxor, but as I lay sleepless in the dark, I had to confess I was sorely disappointed in him. I had seen very little of him in the past few days. I knew one reason why he avoided the house, he looked like a white-bearded, turbaned John Knox when he saw me and Cyrus together. Not that Abdullah would have insulted me by supposing I had the least interest in another man. He was jealous of Cyrus on his own account, resenting anyone who wanted to a.s.sist me and Emerson in the slightest way, and resenting Cyrus all the more because his own efforts had proved futile. Poor Abdullah. He was old, and this had been a terrible blow to him. I doubted he would ever fully recover.

G.o.d forgive me for such doubts. For it was Abdullah who served me best.

Cyrus and I were seated at luncheon next day, discussing how we should deal with the matter of the proposed rendezvous, when one of the servants entered and said that Abdullah wanted to speak with me.

"Have him come in," I said.

The servant looked scandalized. Servants, I have found, are greater sn.o.bs than their masters. I repeated the order,- with a shrug the man went out and then returned to report Abdullah would not come in. He wished to speak to me in private

"I can't imagine what he has to say that he could not say in front of you," I said, rising.

Cyrus smiled. "He wants to be your sole prop and defender, my dear. Such loyalty is touching, but blamed aggravating. Go ahead."

Abullah was waiting in the hall, exchanging sour glances- and I think low-voiced insults- with the doorkeeper. He would not speak until I had followed him out onto the veranda.

When he turned to face me, I caught my breath. His sour frown had vanished, to be replaced by a glow of pride and joy that made him look half his age.

"I have found him, Sitt," he said.

"You must not tell the Amerikani!" Abdullah took hold of my sleeve and held me back when I would have rushed back into the house with the news. Drawing me farther away from the door, he went on in an urgent whisper, "He would not let you go. It is dangerous, Sitt Hakim. I have not told you all."

"Then for G.o.d's sake, tell me! Have you seen him? Where is he?"

Abdullah's story gave me pause and forced me to curb my raging impatience. He did not need to caution me that we must move with the utmost discretion- especially since he had not yet set eyes on his master.

"But what other closely guarded prisoner could there be, so close to Luxor? The house is outside the town, near to the village of El Bayadiya. It is rented by a foreigner, an Alemani or Feransawi. A tall black-bearded man, an invalid, it is said, for he is pale and walks with a cane when he goes out, which is not often. His name is Schlange. Do you know him, Sitt?"

"No. But it is surely not his real name, nor, perhaps, his true appearance. Never mind that now, Abdullah. You have a plan, I know. Tell me."

His plan was the very one I would have proposed myself. We could not demand entry to the house until we were certain Emerson was there, and we could not be certain until we had entered it. "So we will go ourselves," said Abdullah. "You and I, Sitt. Not the Amerikani."

He went on to list all the reasons why Cyrus should not make one of the party. Obviously he was reluctant to share the glory, but his arguments had merit. The strongest of them was that Cyrus would try to prevent me from going- and that was unthinkable. I would go mad if I had to sit waiting for news like some feeble heroine of romantic fiction, and I could trust no one but myself to act with the ruthlessness and determination the situation might well demand.

I arranged to meet Abdullah in an hour, in the garden behind the house, and a.s.sured him I would find a way of deceiving Cyrus. Do I sound calm and collected? I was- then. I knew I had to be. When I returned to the table where Cyrus awaited me, I gave one of my most convincing performances- a brave, sad smile, a forced cheerfulness.

"He is still pursuing idle rumors," I said, taking up my napkin. "I am sorry I was so long, Cyrus, but I had to comfort him and make him feel his efforts were useful. Poor Abdullah! He takes this very much to heart."

We returned to discussing our plans (only his part in them, had he but known) for the afternoon. I allowed myself to become increasingly agitated as he continued to insist I not keep the appointment. "Someone must go," I cried at last "I could not bear it if we failed to pursue even the frailest hope."

"Why, sure, my dear. I have it all figured out. I'll go in person to direct operations, as soon as you promise me you'll not leave the house till I get back."

"Very well. I yield only because I must- and because I know it is the safest course, for him. I shall go to my room now, Cyrus, and stay there, with the door locked, until you return. I think I may take a little something to make me sleep, otherwise the minutes will drag too slowly. G.o.dspeed and good fortune, my friend."

Cyrus patted me clumsily on the shoulder. Handkerchief to my eyes,

I fluttered out of the room.

When I reached my room I found Anubis stretched out on the bed. How he had got there I did not know, he came and went as he pleased, as mysteriously as the afreet the servants believed him to be. Abdullah hated him as much as he feared him, blaming the poor creature for Emerson's capture. Of course that was nonsense. Cats cannot be held guilty for their actions, since they have no morals to speak of. If I had been given to superst.i.tious fancies, I would have imagined Anubis regretted his inadvertent involvement in the disaster. He spent a good deal of time wandering about the house as if in search of something- or someone?- and he was often in my room, tolerating and even inviting my caresses. The feel of a compliant cat's fur has a surprisingly soothing effect

After greeting the cat in an appropriate if hurried manner, I hastened to change. I dared not wait until after Cyrus had left the house, Abdullah and I had to cross the river and travel a considerable distance, and I wanted to reach the suspected house before nightfall. A surrept.i.tious entry into unfamiliar territory is hazardous in the dark. It took only a few minutes to rip off my ruffled gown and replace it with my working costume. I reached automatically for my belt, a voice audible only to my inner ear stopped me. "You jangle like a German bra.s.s band, Peabody," it reminded me. Sternly repressing the emotion that threatened to overcome me, I abandoned my belt, slipping revolver and knife into my handy pockets I locked my door- making certain Anubis was inside- and went onto the balcony. The cursed vine I had counted upon to a.s.sist my descent proved to be too far away. I had to hang by my hands and drop a considerable distance. Fortunately there was a flower bed below. Cyrus's petunias and hollyhocks cushioned my fall nicely.

Abdullah was waiting. I did not question or commend at that time the arrangements he had made-the donkeys, the felucca ready to sail, the horses waiting on the other side. One thought permeated every cell in my frame. Soon I would see him- touch him- feel his arms around me. For, as I am sure I need not say, I did not mean to content myself with a cautious reconnoiter and strategic withdrawal.

My fingers touched the pistol in my pocket. If he was there, I would have him out, that day, that instant, no matter what or who stood between us.

The path Abdullah took followed an irrigation ditch through fields of cabbages and cotton. Half-naked workers straightened and stared after us as we galloped past, children playing in the courtyard of a house waved and called. Abdullah slackened speed for neither man nor beast. When a careless billy goat- whose goatee and long face gave it a certain resemblance to my friend Cyrus- wandered out into the road, Abdullah dug his bare heels into the horse's flank and soared over the goat. I followed his example.

He drew rein at last amid a huddle of huts, where another path crossed ours. Following his example, I dismounted The place was strangely deserted, only a few men, drinking coffee at tables under a rude shelter, were to be seen. One of them came to us and handed Abdullah a bundle of cloth before leading the horses away.

"We must go on foot from here," said Abdullah. "Will you wear this, Sitt?"

He shook out the bundle-a woman's enveloping robe of somber black, with the accompanying burko, or face veil. After I had put it on, he nodded approval. "It is good. You must walk behind me, Sitt, and not stride like a man. Can you remember?"

His bearded lips were twitching. I smiled back at him. "If I forget, Abdullah, you must beat me. But I will not forget."

"No. Come then. It is not far."

As we walked, I glanced at the sun. After so many years in Egypt I had learned to read its position as readily as the hands of a clock, even now Cyrus's agents must be in their positions on the terrace of the Winter Palace Hotel. Was he there, the unknown villain who had laid such a dastardly plot? I prayed he was. If he was absent from his house, our mission of rescue would be easier.

My heart gave a great leap when I saw a high mud-brick wall ahead. Palms and dusty-leaved acacias surrounded it, and the tiled roof of a house showed over the top. It was a sizable establishment- an estate, in Egyptian terms- house, gardens and subsidiary buildings surrounded by an enclosure wall for privacy and protection Abdullah pa.s.sed it without breaking stride, I shuffled humbly after him, my head bowed and my heart thudding. Out of the corner of my eye I noted that the wall was high and the wooden gate was closed.

When we reached the end of the wall, some sixty feet farther on, Abdullah darted a quick glance over his shoulder and turned aside, pulling me after him. The wall continued now at right angles to the road Another turn brought us to the third side of the enclosing wall, and after a short distance Abdullah stopped, gesturing.

His meaning was plain, and I could only approve his decision. Behind us a field of sugarcane formed a green wall that hid us from casual pa.s.sersby. We were now at the back of the estate, as far from the main house as was possible. Mud-brick, the ubiquitous building material of Upper Egypt, is convenient but impermanent, the bricks and their plastered outer surface had crumbled, leaving c.h.i.n.ks and crevices "I will go first," he whispered. "No, you will not," I replied. "We must reconnoiter before we attempt to enter, and I am younger . . . that is, I am a lighter weight than you. Give me a hand up."

I threw off the m.u.f.fling black robe and veil. No disguise would save us if we were discovered inside.

I put the toe of my boot into a convenient hole, Abdullah- who had learned early on that it was a waste of time to argue with me- cupped his hands under the other boot and lifted me till I could see over the wall.