Lion in the Valley (42 page)

"Er—"
he began.

"Don't
dither, young man," I said. "If you have any sensible remark to make,
make it."

"Well,
ma'am, it's deuced difficult to do that with you looking at a chap as if he'd
stolen your handbag,"
said the viscount plaintively. "It
puts a chap off, you know."

"I
am attempting, your lordship, to ascertain the color of your eyes."

The
young man shied back, but not before I had discovered what I wanted to know.
His eyes were an indeterminate shade of muddy brownish-gray, with flecks
of
green___It would have been hard to say what color
they were, but at
least I was certain they were not black.

Enid
stared at me in bewilderment, but I did not explain. I must confess I sometimes
enjoy little mystifications of that nature. "Sit down, your
lordship," I said. "I presume you wish to offer your condolences to
Miss Debenham on the death of her kinsman?"

"He
said he was her affianced husband," said Everly, taking a chair.

"He
was mistaken," Enid said shortly.

"Well,
er—in any case—deuced sorry, you know. He was a fine chap—splendid shot—held
his whiskey. ... No, forget that."

"Had
you known him long?" I asked.

"Never
met the fellow before I came to Cairo. Seemed a good sort. Ran into him at the
Turf Club."

"And
how did you know he was dead?"

I
meant to catch him off guard, but he replied with prompt and ingenuous candor.
"Why, it's all over the city, you know. And besides, I was the one who
told Gorst yesterday that he was missing and that I feared foul play."

"You!"
I exclaimed.

"Why,
yes." The viscount leaned forward and planted his elbows on the table,
pulling the cloth askew and setting my wineglass rocking. He caught it before
more than a few drops had spilled. "See that?" he exclaimed proudly.
"Quick as a conjurer! What was I talking about?"

"You
informed the police yesterday ..."

"Oh,
right. It was last evening that he disappeared, you see. Smack out of his room
at Mena House, while we were waiting for him to join us for dinner. Sent a
waiter up to fetch him when he didn't turn up; room in a shambles, tables
overturned, drawers pulled out— deuced exciting! Well, it was sure there'd been
a struggle, and he didn't come back, and ... I happened to run into Sir Eldon
later, and mentioned it to him. Thought it was the least I could do."

As
I listened to his semi-coherent statement and studied his lax, undistinguished
features, I could not imagine what had prompted Emerson to suspect him of being
a genius of crime. Nor could Emerson accuse me of being careless and taking
foolish chances in speaking with him; for what could even a desperate and
brilliant criminal do to me in a crowded dining salon in the most popular hotel
in Cairo?

I
was soon to find out.

There
were no preliminary warning symptoms, such as giddiness or nausea. The only
thing I remember is seeing his lordship, still seated in his chair, suddenly
rush away from me at the speed of an express train, until he was no larger than
a bumblebee. I felt my chin strike the table and felt nothing more.

I
dreamed the same strange dream. Every detail matched the first—the soft couch
on which I reclined, the walls draped with rosy silk, the marble floor, the
tinkling fountain. Knowing I would soon wake at Emerson's side, I lay in drowsy
content enjoying the voluptuous beauty of my surroundings. The ceiling above me
was
swathed in folds of soft fabric like the roof of a sultan's tent;
from it hung silver lamps that shed a soft and tender light upon the scene.
Lazily I turned my head. It was there, just as I had seen it before—the low
table of ebony and mother-of-pearl, the bowl filled with oranges and
nectarines, grapes and plums. Only the wine decanter and crystal goblets were
missing.

Musingly
I pondered the possible significance of such a recurring dream. Further study
of the subject suggested itself. I resolved to take advantage of the
prolongation of this vision to explore the ambiance more thoroughly, so I swung
my feet off the couch and stood up.

A
wave of giddiness sent me reeling back onto the cushions. But it was not that
unpleasant sensation so much as the cool marble against the soles of my bare
feet that brought the shocking truth home to me. This was not a dream. I was
here, in the flesh—and someone had had the audacity to remove my boots!

And
my tools! They were the first things I reached for; the dizziness had passed,
and I was fully alert and capable of reasoning logically. Logic quickly
informed me of the full horror of my situation. How he had abducted me in broad
daylight from a crowded hotel I did not know, but I had no doubt of his identity.
Only Sethos could be so bold; only he could carry out such a daring plot. And
he was—he must be—the vapid viscount! The little trick with the wineglass, so
deftly performed, had given him an opportunity to drug my wine. Emerson had
been right and I had been wrong. The only consolation was that Ramses had been
wrong too.

My
heart was beating rather more rapidly than was comfortable, but the emotion
that tingled through me was not so much fear as intense determination, mingled,
I confess, with a burning curiosity. Was I at last to come
face
to face with the enigmatic personage whose exploits had aroused in me both
repugnance and a certain unwilling admiration? There is, all critics agree, a
dark grandeur in Milton's Satan; his local emissary could not but inspire a
degree of the same respect.

Without
moving from my seat, I took stock of the situation. Now I understood the
absence of the crystal glasses and decanter I had seen in my dream. There was
not a single object in the room that could be used as a weapon. My tools and my
parasol had been taken, my pistol had been removed from its holster; even the
heavy boots were gone from my feet. I saw no mirrors, no vases, no glass
objects of any kind, whose shattered shards could be used to strike at an enemy
or slash a vein. A grim smile, worthy of Emerson himself, crossed my lips. If
Sethos feared I would attempt self-destruction in order to cheat him of his
revenge, he underestimated me.

The
drug had left me extremely thirsty, but I was afraid to taste the delectable
fruit or drink the water from the fountain, though a delicate silver cup had
been provided. Rising cautiously to my feet, I was pleased to find that I
experienced no recurrence of the giddiness. A hasty circuit of the chamber
revealed what I had expected. The windows, concealed behind filmy draperies,
were shuttered and bolted. The shutters were beautifully carved wooden affairs,
pierced in a delicate pattern to admit air, but when I applied my eye to one of
the larger holes I could see only a narrow sliver of daylight, owing to the
cunning curvature of the aperture. No hinges were visible; evidently they were
on the outside of the shutters.

The
only other exit from the room was a heavy door behind a curtain of fringed
damask. Its inner surface was unmarked by hinges or keyholes or handles. I put
my
shoulder against it but it did not yield so much as a fraction of an inch.

Returning
to the couch, I pondered my new discoveries and was forced to conclude that
they offered little hope. The room had been designed for a prisoner, and I was
sure I knew what kind of prisoner. That the villain should insult me by putting
me into a room of the harem made me grind my teeth in rage. Nor was my ire
assuaged when I discovered, spread upon the couch, such a costume as was worn
by favored concubines of wealthy voluptuaries—the flowing, semi-transparent
shintiyan,
or trousers, and the
anteree,
or vest, that leaves half the bosom
exposed. A respectable woman would wear a robe over these garments even in the
privacy of her house, but none had been supplied. I tossed
shintiyan
and
anteree
contemptuously onto the floor.

At
the moment there appeared to be nothing more I could do. The lamps were too
high for me to reach, the door and windows were unassailable. I could probably
twist the filmy fabric of the trousers into a rope, but a rope was of no use to
me except to hang myself. Yet the situation was not entirely hopeless. In his
consummate arrogance, Sethos had not bothered to change his headquarters. Not
that I expected anything would come of Ramses' ridiculous idea of locating the
place by means of the muezzins' calls, but I knew Emerson would raze the city
of Cairo to its foundations before he gave up the search. There was hope as
well in the information Mr. Gregson had discovered. Perhaps even now he and
Emerson were on their way to release me!

I
cannot say the time dragged, for I was fully occupied in considering and
dismissing ideas for escape (mostly, I confess, the latter). I had no intention
of sitting supinely waiting to be rescued. When I heard the faint sound at the
curtained door I was instantly on my
feet and speeding across the room. I had
no great expectation that my attempt would succeed, for I had only my bare
hands with which to strike at the person who was about to enter, and I was also
ignorant of whether the door opened in or out, to right or to left. Still, one
must do one's best. Clasping my hands together in the manner demonstrated to me
by an Arab thug of my acquaintance, I took up my position by the door.

I
did not see the door open, or hear it; the hinges had been well oiled. A faint
draft of air was the only warning I had. It was followed by the abrupt
displacement of the heavy curtain as a man passed through. I was ready. I
brought my clenched hands down with bruising force on the back of his neck.

At
least that was where I had planned to strike him. My fists landed in the middle
of his back and fell numb and tingling to my side. The fellow was almost seven
feet tall, and his muscles felt like granite.

He
was an astonishing and formidable figure, one that might have stepped straight
out of the pages of
The Arabian Nights.
His sole article of attire was a
pair of knee-length drawers, bound at the waist by a wide crimson sash into
which he had thrust a pair of long, curving swords, one on each side. Otherwise
his body was bare, from the crown of his shaven head to his midriff and from
his knees to the soles of his enormous feet. Every inch of his exposed skin
gleamed with oil and bulged with muscle. His arms were as big around as my
waist.

He
glanced at me with mild curiosity. I suppose my blow must have felt to him like
the brush of a butterfly's wing. As he advanced slowly toward me I retreated,
step by step, until the backs of my calves struck the couch and I sat down
rather more abruptly than I had intended. That seemed to be what the apparition
desired I should do. He halted, and then drew himself up into military
rigidity
as the curtain once more lifted to admit his master.

I
knew him—yet he was no one I had ever seen before. A black beard and mustache
masked the lower part of his face; but unlike the hirsute adornments he had
worn in his disguise as Father Girgis, this beard was short and neatly trimmed.
Tinted glasses concealed his eyes, and I had no doubt that his black, waving
locks were false. He wore riding boots and breeches and a white silk shirt with
full sleeves, a costume that set off his narrow waist and broad shoulders, and
made me wonder how he could ever have played the role of the hollow-chested,
feeble-looking young nobleman.

With
a peremptory gesture he dismissed the guard. The giant dropped to the floor in
a deep salaam and then went out.

"Good
afternoon, Amelia," said Sethos. "I hope I may call you that?"

"You
may not," I replied.

"Defiant
as ever," he murmured. "It does not surprise me to find your spirit
undaunted and your courage high; but are you not in the least curious as to how
I brought you here?"

"Curiosity
is a quality I hope I will never lose," I said. "But at the moment
the question of how I came here interests me less than the more important
question of how I will get away."

"Allow
me to satisfy the former question, then," came the suave reply. "But
first, let us make ourselves comfortable."

He
clapped his hands. The giant reappeared, carrying a tray that looked like a
doll's platter in his huge hands. He placed it on the table and withdrew.
Sethos poured wine into the crystal glasses.

"I
know you must be thirsty," he remarked, "for the
drug
I was forced to use has that effect, and I observe you have not tasted the
fruit or used the cup. I admire your caution, but it was unnecessary; the water
and the fruit are untainted, as is the wine."

"I
had expected cognac," I remarked ironically.

Sethos
burst out laughing, displaying a set of handsome white teeth. "So you
appreciated my little joke with the good father? Since some ignorant persons
persist in regarding my divine patron as the Egyptian Satan, I feel I ought to
live up to the reputation he enjoys. Tempting the smug and the pious, and
observing the ludicrous haste with which they tumble from virtue, gives me a
great deal of innocent pleasure."

"I
am not amused," I assured him. "It was a childish, unworthy
gesture."