Lion in the Valley (25 page)

"Most
interesting," said Emerson. "Of course I recognized you immediately,
Miss Debenham. I was merely—er—biding my time before challenging you."

He
fixed his stern gaze on me, where I sat next to Mr. Nemo. I started to speak,
but thought better of it.

"Ha,"
Emerson said again. "However, Miss Debenham, you have omitted something
from your most interesting story. You have, in fact, omitted everything of
importance. I assume you are intimately acquainted with Mr. Nemo here, or you
would not have addressed him so informally. Who is he? What is your
relationship?"

Nemo
rose to his feet. "I can answer those questions and others. If I can spare
Enid—Miss Debenham—that shame, in recounting a history replete with—"

"Never
mind the rhetoric," Emerson snapped. "I am a patient man, but there
are limits to my patience. What the devil is your name?"

"My
name is Donald Fraser."

I
started up. "Ronald Fraser?"

"No,
Donald Fraser."

"But
Ronald Fraser—"

The
vibration of the dimple in Emerson's chin warned me that he was about to roar.
I stopped, therefore, and Emerson said, with the most exquisite courtesy,
"I would be grateful, Mrs. Emerson, if you would refrain from any comment
whatever—refrain, if possible, even from breathing loudly—until this gentleman
has finished. Begin at the beginning, Mr. Fraser— for of your surname at least
I feel fairly confident—and do not stop until you have reached the end."

Thus
directed, the young man began the following narrative.

"My
name is Donald Fraser. Ronald is my younger brother. Our family is old and honorable;
never, until recently, did a blot of shame darken the name of Fraser—"

"Humph,"
said Emerson skeptically. "I take leave to doubt that. The ancient Scot
was a bloodthirsty fellow; wasn't there some tale about an ancestor of yours
serving up the severed head of an enemy to the widow of the deceased at a
dinner party?''

I
coughed gently. Emerson glanced at me. "Quite right, Amelia. I did not
mean to interrupt. Continue, Mr. Donald Fraser."

"It
will not take much time, Professor. The story is only too familiar, I
fear." With an attempt at insouciance, the young man started to cross his
arms, but winced and let the injured member fall back. For an instant the
girl's face mirrored the pain on his and she made as if to rise. Almost
immediately she sank back onto the stool. Ha, I thought, but did not speak
aloud.

Donald—as
I shall call him, in order to prevent confusion with his brother—proceeded.
"Being the elder, I was the heir to the estate upon the death of our
parents
a few years ago. Our family was not rich, but thanks to my
father's prudent management, we were left with enough to maintain us in modest
comfort. I say we, because morally, if not legally, half of what I had
inherited was Ronald's.

"My
father had purchased a commission for me in— in a regiment of the line. ...
There is no need, I believe, to mention which one. After his death my brother
nobly offered to take over the management of the estate so that I might pursue
my military career. I had... I incurred debts. Allow me the favor of refusing
to be specific about their nature; they were . .. They were not the sort one
likes to mention, especially before ..."

He
gazed at Enid. I was as intrigued by the silent interchange between them as by
his halting speech. She never looked at him, he never took his eyes off her;
and the air between them fairly crackled with emotion. When his voice faltered,
she started to her feet. Her cheeks were flaming.

"You
lie!" she cried. "Despicably, stupidly—"

Emerson
put one big brown hand on her shoulder and gently but inexorably returned her
to her seat. "Be silent, Miss Debenham. You will have your chance at
rebuttal. Sir—finish your story."

"It
is quickly told," Donald muttered. "The regiment was gazetted to
Egypt. Being in need of funds, I had forged a signature on a bill. My crime was
discovered. The person I had attempted to defraud, a fellow officer, was
generous. I was given the choice of resigning my commission and—and
disappearing. I did so. That is all."

He
had come to the end, but so abruptly, that Emerson and I were both left
staring. Assuming my husband's prohibition ceased to have effect at that time,
I exclaimed,
“Upon my word, Mr. Fraser, that is a
rather curt narrative. I think, though, that I can fill in some of the details
you have omitted. Your brother is in Egypt—"

"I
know. I saw him yesterday."

"I
presume he came to find you and extend a brother's hand in forgiveness and
affection."

Nemo's
drooping head sank lower. From Enid, squirming under Emerson's hand, came a
scornful laugh. I turned to her. "And you, Miss Debenham, also came here
on an errand of mercy and redemption, to save your old playfellow?"

"I
came to tell him what I thought of him," the girl cried. She twisted away
from Emerson's grasp and jumped to her feet. "He is a stupid fool who
deserves everything that has happened to him!"

"No
doubt," said Emerson, studying her with interest. "But if you will
forgive me, Miss Debenham, I am determined to push doggedly onward—against the
opposition of everyone present—to some understanding of the facts themselves.
Is that how you became involved with Kalenischeff? For I do you the credit to
assume you would have better taste than to take up with such a villain for his
own sake."

"You
are quite right," Enid said. "I had not been in Cairo two days before
Kalenischeff approached me. He offered his assistance—for a price, of course—in
finding Donald, who, Kalenischeff assured me, had slunk off like a whipped cur
and hidden himself in Cairo's foul underworld."

Donald
winced and covered his face with his hand. Enid went on remorselessly,
"Alone I had no hope of entering that disgusting ambiance or approaching
its denizens. Kalenischeff persuaded me that we should pretend to be—to be
interested in one another in order
to conceal my true purpose and lull Donald
and his criminal associates—"

"That
was rather credulous of you," Emerson said critically. "But never
mind. I take it you did not, in fact, murder the rascal in a fit of pique or in
defense of your virtue? No, no, don't lose your temper; a simple shake of the
head will suffice. I never believed a woman could strike such a blow,
penetrating the muscles of the chest and entering the heart—"

"Emerson,
how can you!" I cried indignantly. "You told me—"

"You
misunderstood," said Emerson, with such sublime indifference to truth that
I was struck dumb with indignation. He compounded the insult by continuing,
"Well, well, we are in a confused situation here, but that is nothing new;
and at least the story these two young idiots—excuse me, young people—have
produced puts an end to your theory that Sethos was responsible for
Kalenischeff's death. There is no evidence—"

"But
there soon will be," I assured him. "Abdullah and Hassan are bringing
it—the body of one of the Master Criminal's henchmen, dead by his own hand
after he had failed his dread master in the assignment of abducting me. That is
to say, he did not know it was me; I was disguised as Enid, and he—"

"You
were disguised," Emerson repeated slowly, "as Miss Debenham?"

I
explained. Emerson listened without interrupting once. Then he turned to
Nemo—or Donald, as I must call him.

"You,
sir, were present, when these remarkable events occurred?"

"Emerson,
do you doubt my word?" I demanded.

"Not
at all, Amelia. The only thing I doubt is that
anyone could mistake
you for Miss Debenham."

"Donald
did," I declared triumphantly. "Is that not true, Donald? You
followed me, believing I was Enid. No doubt you were trying to work up courage
enough to reveal yourself."

But
the untenability of this assumption was apparent as soon as I voiced it, for
Nemo had remained in concealment for an hour and a half without making his
presence known. The deep flush of shame that dyed his manly cheeks betrayed his
true motive. He loved her— deeply, hopelessly, desperately—and his only joy was
to worship her dainty form (or what he believed to be hers) from afar.

Tactfully
I turned the subject. "The evidence will soon be forthcoming, Emerson. I
believe I hear Abdullah coming now."

It
was indeed Abdullah, with Hassan close on his heels.

"Where
have you put the body?" I asked.

Abdullah
shook his head. "There was no body, sitt. We found the spot you described;
there were signs of a struggle, and bloodstains upon the ground. We searched
far and wide, thinking the man might have recovered and crawled away—"

"Recovered
from being dead?" I exclaimed. "Abdullah, do you think I don't know a
corpse when I see one?"

"No,
sitt. But dead or alive, he was gone. No doubt he was dead, as you say, for we
heard his ghost calling in a high, thin voice, as spirits do."

Hassan
nodded in emphatic confirmation. "We ran away then, sitt, for we did not
want the dead man to mistake us for his murderers."

"Oh,
good Gad," I said disgustedly. "That was not a ghost you heard, you
foolish men. There are no such
things. It must have been a bird, or a—or
a—"

"Never
mind, Peabody, I will conduct my usual exorcism," said Emerson. The use of
that name instead of "Amelia" indicated that he had forgot his
annoyance with me in the pleasurable anticipation of the theatrical performance
to which he had referred. Emerson had often been called upon to perform
exorcisms, Egypt being, in the opinion of its citizens, a particularly
demon-ridden country.) He has quite a reputation as a magician and is
deservedly proud of it.

"Emerson,"
I said, interrupting his description of how he meant to go about the ritual.
"Emerson—
where is Ramses?"

We
looked in Ramses' room, purely as a matter of form; I knew, as did Emerson,
that if he had been anywhere about, he would have come to see what the
commotion was, talking and interrupting and asking questions and making
comments... .

We
set out en masse for the Bent Pyramid. Emerson soon outstripped the rest of us,
but Donald was not far behind him. The young man's look of haggard reproach was
so poignant I had not the heart to reproach him for neglecting his duty. Love,
as I reflected philosophically, has a corrosive effect on the brain and the
organs of moral responsibility.

Since
I had not mentioned to Emerson the collapse of the subsidiary pyramid, he had
no idea where to start looking; when I arrived on the scene he was rushing around
like a dog on a scent and making the evening hideous with his stentorian
repetitions of Ramses' name.

"Be
silent a moment," I begged. "How can you hear him reply if you keep
shouting?"

Emerson
nodded. Then he turned like a tiger on poor
Abdullah and clutched him by
the throat of his robe. "From what direction did the cry you heard
come?"

Abdullah
gestured helplessly and rolled his eyes, finding speech impossible because of
the constriction of the cloth around his throat.

"If
you will forgive me, Emerson, that was a foolish question," I said.
"You know how difficult it is to determine the origin of a faint, muffled
cry in this barren region. I have, I believe, more pertinent information which
I will produce as soon as you are calm enough to hear it. Look there, Emerson.
Look at the small pyramid."

One
glance was all that trained eye required. His hand fell in nerveless horror
from the throat of our devoted reis; his eyes moved with mingled dread and
deliberation over the new-fallen debris at the base of the small structure.
None knew better than he the dangers of a careless attack on the unstable mass.

It
was young Selim who gave a heartbreaking cry and flung himself onto the debris,
where he began digging frantically. Emerson dodged a perfect rain of broken
stone and lifted Selim up by the scruff of his neck. "That won't do, my
lad," he said in a kindly voice. "You will bring the rest of the heap
down on your head if you aren't careful."

Contrary
to popular opinion, Arabs are very softhearted people and feel no shame in
displaying emotion. Selim's face was wet with tears, which mingled horribly
with the sand to form a muddy mask. I patted him on the shoulder and offered
him my handkerchief. "I don't think he is under there, Selim," I
said. "Emerson, do you call again. Just once, my dear, and then wait for
an answer."

No
sooner had the echoes of Emerson's poignant cry died into silence than there
was an answer, high and
faint and far away, quite easily mistaken
by superstitious persons for the wailing of a lost spirit. Abdullah started.
"That was it, O Father of Curses. That was the voice we heard!"

"Ramses,"
I said, sighing. "He has found the entrance, curse—I mean, bless him.
Emerson, do you see that shadow ten feet above the debris and slightly to the
right of center?"