Lion in the Valley (3 page)

The
dashing couple swept up the stairs and into the hotel.

"Well!"
I said. "I wonder who—"

"Never
mind," said Emerson, taking me firmly by the arm.

We
had our usual rooms on the third floor, overlooking the Ezbekieh Gardens. After
we had unpacked
and changed our attire, we went down to
take tea on the terrace. Emerson grumbled less than usual at the performance of
what he terms "an absurd social ritual," for we were all thirsty after
the long, dusty ride.

Tea
on the terrace of Shepheard's is certainly one of the popular tourist
activities, but even old hands like ourselves never tire of watching the
vivacious procession of Egyptian life that passes along Ibrahim Pasha Street.
The environs of the hotel teem with crowds of beggars, vendors, donkey boys and
carriage drivers, all vying for the custom of the guests. Once we had seated
ourselves and given the waiter our order, I took a list from my pocket and read
it to Ramses. It was a list of things he was forbidden to do. It began, as I
recall, with "Do not talk to the donkey boys," and ended, "Do
not repeat any of the words you learned from the donkey boys last year."
Ramses' Arabic was fluent and unfortunately quite colloquial.

We
saw a number of acquaintances pass in and out of the hotel, but none came to
speak to us, and there were none with whom we cared to speak; not an
Egyptologist in the lot, as Emerson put it. I was about to suggest that we
retire to our rooms when another oath from my outspoken husband warned me of
the approach of someone who had inspired his disapproval. Turning, I beheld
Kalenischeff.

He
wore his fixed smile like a mask. "Good afternoon, madame—Professor—Master
Ramses. Welcome back to Cairo. May I... ?"

"No,"
said Emerson, snatching the chair from Kalenischeff's grasp. "How dare you
address Mrs. Emerson? Your very presence is an insult to any respectable
woman."

"Now,
Emerson." I raised my parasol to indicate another chair. Kalenischeff
flinched; he was remembering,
no doubt, another occasion on which I had
been forced to jab the point into his anatomy in order to prevent a rude
encroachment upon my nether limbs. I went on, "Let us hear what he has to
say."

"I
won't take much of your time." Kalenischeff decided not to sit down after
all. He lowered his voice. "I would like to come to an agreement with you.
A bargain—"

"What?"
Emerson shouted. "A bargain? I don't enter into agreements with murdering,
thieving—"

"Hush,
Emerson," I implored. The people at the adjoining tables had abandoned all
pretense of good manners and were eavesdropping as hard as they could.
"Hear him out."

Kalenischeff's
smile stayed glued in place, but drops of perspiration stood out on his brow.
"I know your opinion of me," he hissed. "No bargain, then, only
a promise from me. I am about to leave Cairo—to leave Egypt, in fact. Only give
me a few days to wind up my affairs—don't interfere with me—and I swear you
will never see or hear from me again."

"Where
are you going?" I asked curiously.

"That
need not concern you, Mrs. Emerson."

"You
will have to travel to the ends of the earth to escape the long arm of your
former master," I said significantly.

The
man's lean face paled visibly. "Why do you mention ... What makes you
suppose ..."

"Come,
come, Kalenischeff. It is only too obvious. Something, or someone, has
frightened you badly enough to induce you to flee. Who else could it be but
that genius of crime, that diabolical Master Criminal? We could not prove you
were one of his gang, but we knew it to be true. If you mean to betray that
all-seeing, all-knowing individual, you would do better to cast
yourself
into the arms of the police—or even better, into our arms. I speak
figuratively, of course."

"You
are mistaken," Kalenischeff muttered. "Quite mistaken. I would never
... I have never been involved with..."

Emerson's
brows drew together. He spoke in a soft growl that was—as Kalenischeff
knew—more menacing than any shout. "It is you who are mistaken, you
villain. Your protestations of innocence do not convince me in the slightest.
Tell your master, when next you speak with him, to stay out of my way. The same
goes for you. I want nothing to do with either of you, but if you interfere
with me, I will squash you like a beetle. Have I made myself plain?"

This
was not at all the approach I wanted to take. I said quickly, "Think what
you are doing, Kalenischeff. Confide in us and let us save you. You take a
dreadful risk just by talking with us. The spies of your dread master are
everywhere; if one should see you—"

My
approach was no more successful than Emerson's had been; Kalenischeff paled
with horror. "You are right," he muttered. And without further ado or
further speech, he went with stumbling steps toward the door of the hotel.

"Ha,"
said Emerson, in a satisfied voice. "Good work, Peabody. That got rid of
the fellow."

"Such
was not my intention. Emerson, we cannot allow that rascal to make good his
escape; we cannot permit him to delude the young lady who is obviously his
latest victim!"

Emerson
seized my arm as I started to rise and returned me to my chair with a force
that drove the breath from my lungs. By the time I had freed myself, the
carriage with the matched grays had drawn up before the steps, and the young
lady had come onto the terrace.

Kalenischeff
hastened to hand her into the carriage. The gapers were treated to a view of a
dainty buttoned boot and a flash of ruffled petticoats as the lady mounted the
steps. Kalenischeff swung himself into the driver's seat, snatched the whip
from the groom, and cracked it. The horses were off as from a starting gate, at
a full gallop. Pedestrians and peddlers scattered. One old fruit vendor was a
little slow; his sideways stumble saved his old bones from injury, but his
oranges and lemons went flying.

I
shook my head at Ramses as he started up.

"But,
Mama, I hoped I might be of assistance to the old gentleman. As you see, his
oranges—"

"I
do not question the purity of your intentions, Ramses. They do you credit; but
they almost always end in disaster, not only for you but for the object of your
good will."

"But,
Mama, dat man dere—"

His
gesture indicated one of the ragged bystanders, who had come to the aid of the
vendor—a tall, well-built fellow in a ragged robe and a saffron turban. He had
picked up three of the oranges and had sent them spinning into the air in a
fairly creditable juggling act. At the moment I took notice of him he turned
away; two of the oranges fell neatly at the feet of the lamenting vendor, and
the other vanished, presumably into the folds of the juggler's filthy robe.

"You
are lapsing again, Ramses," I said sternly. "How often have I told
you I will not tolerate your mispronunciation?''

"Quite
a number of times, Mama. I am chagrined to have erred in that direction; but as
you may have observed, I am inclined to forget myself when under the effect of
some strong emotion or when taken by surprise, as in—"

"Very
well, very well. Be more careful in future."

The
vendor had changed the tone of his lament upon recognizing Emerson, who was
leaning over the rail. "It is Emerson Effendi," he cried. "O,
Father of Curses, see what they have done to a poor old man! They have ruined
me; my wives will starve, my children will be homeless, my aged mother—"

"Not
to mention your extremely aged grandmother," said Emerson, in extremely
colloquial Arabic. The adjectives he used carried an implication that caused
the listeners to burst into howls of laughter.

Emerson
grinned. He does enjoy having his witticisms appreciated. Dropping a handful
of coins into the vendor's tray, he went on, "Buy a new
gibbeh
(robe)
for your great-grandmother, that she may flourish in her profession."

More
raucous male laughter followed this improper remark. Emerson resumed his seat.
Catching my eye, and hastily straightening his countenance, he exclaimed,
"I told you we should not have come here, Amelia. What sort of hotel is
this, to allow a criminal like Kalenischeff on the premises? I have half a mind
to leave at once. Baehler! Herr Baehler!"

It
is said that a good hotelier has a sixth sense for impending trouble. It is
also said by ill-natured persons that Baehler expects trouble from Emerson and
is constantly on the watch for it. Be that as it may, the manager appeared as
if from thin air and made his way to our table.

"You
called me, Professor Emerson?" he murmured.

"What
are you whispering for?" Emerson asked curiously.

"He
is attempting, by example, to persuade you to moderate your voice," I
said.

Baehler
gave me a look of grateful acknowledgment,

Emerson
an outraged stare. "What the devil are you implying, Peabody? I never
raise my voice. I would like to know, Herr Baehler, what you mean by letting a
rascally reprobate like that in your hotel. It is an outrage."

"You
are referring to Prince Kalenischeff?"

"Prince?
Ha!" Emerson exploded. "He has no right to the title, or to that of
archaeologist. He is a thief and a villain, a member of the ring of antiquities
thieves Mrs. Emerson and I unmasked last year—"

"Please,
Professor." Baehler wrung his hands. "People are staring. You are
overheard."

"Well,
I mean to be overheard," Emerson declared. "That is the function of
speech, Baehler, to be heard."

"All
the same, Herr Baehler is right, Emerson," I said. "You and I know
the man is guilty, but we could not find legal evidence. We cannot expect Herr
Baehler to evict him on those grounds. What I would like to know is the
identity of the unfortunate young woman he was escorting. She appears to be
very young. What is her mother thinking of, to allow her to appear alone in
public with such a man?"

Baehler
hesitated. From his untroubled brow and pleasant half-smile one would have
supposed he was unconcerned; but I knew that he yearned to confide in a
sympathetic and understanding person. He began cautiously, "The lady is an
orphan. Perhaps you have heard of her. She is a countrywoman of yours—a Miss
Debenham. The Honorable Miss Debenham, to be precise. Her father was Baron
Piccadilly, and she is his sole heiress."

"An
heiress," I said meaningfully.

Emerson
grunted. "That explains Kalenischeff's interest. No, Baehler, we are not
acquainted with the young woman; we do not concern ourselves with the
empty-headed upper classes. I don't want to hear anything more about this Miss
Devonshire, or whatever her name may be. Mrs. Emerson does not want to hear
about her either. Mrs. Emerson has no time for such people."

"Hush,
Emerson. Mr. Baehler knows I never interfere in other people's affairs; but I
feel an obligation in this case, knowing what I know of Kalenischeff's true
character. The young lady should be warned. If I may be of any assistance
..."

Baehler
was only waiting for the opportunity to speak out. "I confess, Mrs.
Emerson, that the situation is— er—uncomfortable. Miss Debenham arrived in
Cairo quite unaccompanied, even by a personal servant. She soon took up with
the prince, and their behavior has become an open scandal. You are not the
first to mention it to me. Reluctant as I am to offend a member of the British
upper class, I may be forced to ask Miss Debenham to leave the hotel."

I
also lowered my voice. "Do you mean that they— that they are ..."

Baehler
leaned forward. "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Emerson. I can't hear what you
are saying."

"Perhaps
that is just as well." I looked at Ramses, who stared back at me with the
owl-eyed blankness that indicated an intense interest in the conversation. I
had long since abandoned hope that Ramses was ignorant of matters no
eight-year-old boy should concern himself with, but I tried to maintain an
appearance, at least, of decorum.

"Emerson,"
I said, "take Ramses upstairs and wash him."

"He
doesn't need washing," said Emerson.

"He
always needs washing. You know we are dining at Mena House this evening, to see
the full moon over the pyramids. I would like to get an early start."

"Oh,
very well." Emerson rose. "Don't think I am unaware of what you are
planning, Peabody. Watch yourself."

When
the two of them had gone off, I turned back to Baehler. "Speak candidly,
my friend. Does Kalenischeff share Miss Debenham's room? You cannot shock
me."

I
had shocked Herr Baehler. "Mrs. Emerson, how can you suppose I would allow
such a thing in my hotel? The prince has his own room, some distance from Miss
Debenham's suite."

I
permitted myself a small ironic smile, which Baehler pretended not to see.
"Be that as it may, I cannot watch unmoved the headlong rush of a fellow
creature to destruction, particularly when the fellow creature is a member of
my own oppressed sex. We women are constantly taken advantage of by men—I
except my husband, of course—and we have a moral obligation to stand by one
another. I will speak to Miss Debenham."