Lord of the Silent: A Novel of Suspense (9 page)

I turned the last page over. She was waiting for me to speak, her hands tightly clasped and her lips parted. I cleared my throat. "It is even more preposterous than the other version." "But it's true, every word. You know it's true. You were the woman he meant. I was too confused to think straight at the time, but when I went over it in my mind-over it and over it-I realized it could only have been you. Who-" I interrupted. Rude of me, but I wasn't ready for that question yet. "Why didn't you publish this version?" "I had promised I would not betray him." "Dear me, how noble." She jumped up. "Don't patronize me, Mrs. Emerson! That summer, the summer before the war, the commitments of the tribal chieftains were of vital importance. Could we count on them to remain neutral, or were they secretly dealing with the Turks? That's why he was there, to find out, and he endangered his mission and himself by helping me. That knowledge has haunted me ever since. I must find out what happened to him. If he came to harm because of me-" "I see. You had better sit down, Miss Minton, and finish your tea. Pacing in that agitated fashion will only tire you." She flung herself down onto the sofa. "I don't want any more confounded tea. Are you going to answer me or not?" "After you have satisfied my curiosity on one final point. What made you suspect that Ramses might have been your rescuer? I presume that was why you embraced him?" Her tight lips relaxed. "I quite enjoyed it, even with his wife looking daggers at me. Your son, Mrs. Emerson, has a certain reputation in certain circles. It was the sort of thing he might have done, and there was something about my rescuer-his voice, his gestures-oh, I can't explain it, but it was oddly familiar, somehow. Ramses is very like his father, but as soon as I was-er-close to him, I knew he wasn't the man. Now it's your turn. I've been honest with you; please tell me the truth. He knew you, and knew you well; it is impossible that you should not know him." I had postponed answering her in order to give myself time to think what to say. How much could I-should I-disclose? Part of the story must be told; a flat denial of facts that she knew to be true would only sharpen her curiosity, and I feared my face had given me away not once but several times as I read that bizarre narrative. I was only too familiar with Miss Minton's persistence. And in this case, I felt certain, she was driven by a stronger motive than journalistic curiosity. I said slowly, "I knew him." "Knew . . . Do you mean . .. ?" I suspected she had developed a sentimental attachment to her unknown hero; it had echoed in every word of her story; but when I saw the color drain from her face I realized the attachment was deeper than I had supposed. Sympathy for the pain of a fellow woman loosened my tongue. "I am sorry. It had nothing to do with you; he died saving my life, and that of-of others." "I knew he was not a thief," she whispered. "Oh, but he was. One of the best. For years he controlled the illegal antiquities game in Egypt-tomb robbing, forgery, illicit digging. He had built up a criminal network that covered all of Egypt and parts of the Middle East. I never knew his name; his men referred to him as 'the Master.' He also used the sobriquet of Sethos. Nor did I ever see his face when it was not disguised. The general description matches his, however, and the statements you reported were completely in character. He had a strange sense of humor." "He was in love with you, wasn't he?" "That is irrelevant and immaterial and none of your business, Miss Minton." "That was why he kissed me. Because I look like you." "I assure you, Miss Minton, that Sethos undoubtedly kissed quite a number of women who did not resemble me in the slightest." She bit her lip and bowed her head. It was the only sign of weakness she had exhibited; admiration for her self-control made me speak with a candor I had not intended. "It doesn't do to romanticize a man, you know. None of them is perfect. Sethos had some admirable characteristics, but he broke every commandment except the seventh, and that was only because he was not in a position to do so." I left her sitting bolt upright with her hands folded in her lap and her face composed; but I knew that as soon as the door closed behind me, she would weep. I could hardly blame her for romanticizing that strange encounter. It had been romantic-blatantly, deliberately, and outrageously. Sethos was ... had been ... a consummate actor; he had slipped into the role of dashing hero as easily as he would have drawn on a pair of gloves. It had been odd, though, her sense of recognition. Not until the previous winter had we discovered that the Master Criminal, the man who had harassed and tormented us for so many years, was Emerson's half-brother. That part of the truth Miss Minton would never know; there was no reason why she should. There was a very good reason why I had not enlightened her about another matter. I had sworn never to disclose it, for it might compromise others, including Ramses. It was for her own good, really. Let her remember her rescuer as the thief and criminal he had been, before he turned his unique talents from crime to counterespionage, and died in the service of his country. 5

The interview had taken longer than I had expected. Darkness had fallen when I left the hotel. It was a lovely evening and I did not hurry the cabdriver; accustomed as I am to the bustling traffic and interesting odors and cacophonous street sounds of Cairo, I quite enjoyed the drive. It gave me time to think over what had transpired. All things considered, I believed I had handled the matter quite well. When the cab stopped in front of the house, Ali the doorman rushed at me waving his arms and thanking God in a loud voice. Ali is an excitable fellow who enjoys theatrics, but he tends to take his cues from certain other persons, so I was not surprised when Emerson burst through the open door and added his voice to Ali's. Emerson was not thanking God. "What kept you so long? How dare you be so late? What happened?" "Pay the driver, Emerson," I said, as soon as I could make myself heard. I had been about to do so myself, but knew this little task would distract him. "What? Oh." He was not wearing a coat. After fumbling in his trouser pockets he found a fistful of coins, handed them to the driver, put his arm round my waist, and propelled me into the house. "You gave him far too much," I said. "Why are you carrying on like this? I told you where I was going." "Hmph." Emerson stopped outside the door of the parlor. He was still holding me very tightly. "Perhaps I had a premonition." "You? You don't believe in premonitions and forebodings. You always sneer at mine." The parlor door opened, and Emerson released me as if I were red-hot. "Ah," I said, seeing Nefret and Ramses side by side in the doorway. "Good evening, my dears. Are you dining? You didn't tell me." "I told Fatima," said Nefret. "She always prepares food enough for a dozen. When you didn't turn up I asked her to put dinner back." "Mahmud won't like it," I said. Our cook is somewhat temperamental. "I had a few words with him," said my daughter-in-law firmly. "There's time for your whiskey and soda, Aunt Amelia. Come and sit down and tell us what that woman wanted." I realized that Ramses must have discussed with her our earlier encounters with Miss Minton, and that they had concluded- correctly-that the lady had an ulterior motive for wanting to see me. I had intended to tell them the whole story anyhow. After a number of unfortunate incidents, resulting from the misguided attempts of certain persons to shield other persons from knowledge they (the certain persons) considered dangerous, we had made a pact, the four of us, to conceal nothing. At least Nefret and I had. Emerson and Ramses had agreed in principle, but both of them suffered from the innate conviction of male persons that they are the natural protectors of helpless females, and although both of them knew that Nefret and I were far from helpless, I did not trust either of them to stick to his promise. So I took off my hat and took a chair and a glass of whiskey, and launched into my narrative. I was able to render it with all the panache of the original because I had brought the original away with me, slipping the pages into my handbag while Miss Minton's vision was blurred by tears. (It was not a nice thing to do, but as I had once remarked, all is fair in love, war, and journalism. In this case all three considerations applied.) I fully intended to return it, with my apologies-or perhaps without them-after I had taken a copy. Nefret was the first to speak. "So that was it. I was afraid she'd heard some rumor about what Ramses did last winter. It would make a sensational story." That idea hadn't occurred to me. Perhaps it would only have occurred to a woman so passionately devoted to her husband that she was blind to anything that did not directly affect him. "She's not such a fool," Ramses said. "Publishing anything at all about that episode would violate the Official Secrets Act and get her in serious trouble." Emerson had not said a word. "Well, Emerson?" I inquired. "Well," said Emerson. "We had better go in to dinner before Mahmud burns the soup." In a normal household the discussion would have ended there, or been postponed until we four were alone. In this respect (as in certain other ways), ours is not a normal household. Emerson had always discussed anything he felt like discussing in front of the servants, sometimes asking them for their opinions or appealing to them for support (usually against me). It was this ill-bred habit of Emerson's that had encouraged Gargery to offer his opinions even when Emerson did not ask for them. We took our places at the table and I waited for Emerson to introduce the subject, which I felt sure he would sooner or later. I was tempted to introduce it myself, in the hope that it would get Gargery's attention off his butling duties. He had, as was only natural, assumed he would take on the same duties in our Egyptian household. The only trouble was that Fatima considered it her duty and her right to serve our dinner. She seldom contributed to the conversation, but she liked to know what was going on. So did Gargery. It would have been amusing to watch the two maneuvering for advantage if it hadn't been so inconvenient. Neither would yield to the other, so dishes were slapped onto the table and snatched up with such efficiency that I had not eaten a full meal since we arrived. I had been meaning to have a little talk with the two of them, but had not yet found the time. So, when Gargery reached for my soup bowl, I said, "I haven't finished, Gargery. Emerson, what have you to say?" "Miss Minton's narrative," said Emerson, fending Gargery off with his elbow, "is of purely academic interest. I see no reason to discuss it." "Do you believe her?" Nefret asked. "Yes," said Ramses. He glanced at Fatima, who was neatly blocking Gargery's attempt to get at his soup. She insisted on his finishing every bite of every dish, because she considered he was too thin. He hastily swallowed the last spoonful and went on, "It was Sethos, unquestionably. The reference to one of his lieutenants, incomplete but faithfully recorded by Miss Minton, leaves no room for doubt. I understand now why she was so determined to see us and speak with you, Mother. She was obviously fascinated by him. What did you tell her?" "It required some careful thought," I said. "The resemblance between me and Miss Minton, and the references to certain of my characteristics, made it impossible for me to deny that I was the woman to whom he had referred. I felt obliged to disabuse her of her assumption that his purpose in being there was anything other than the one he had admitted." Gargery's brow furrowed. "I beg your pardon, madam, but I can't quite work my way through that sentence." "No one expects you to, Gargery," I replied. Gargery took offense at my dismissal of his implicit request and retaliated by removing my fish plate before I had taken more than two bites. "What else did you tell her?" Nefret asked. "I gave her a brief summary of his career as a thief, and I informed her that he had passed away. I hope that will put an end to her romantic notions, but I don't count on it. A woman of a certain age ... I wonder why she has never married." "Gargery," said Emerson. "If you try to take my plate again before I have finished, I will pin your hand to the table with my fish fork." "Yes, sir," said Gargery. He folded his arms and looked sternly at Emerson. "I think, sir, that you should tell us what this is all about. If that Master Criminal person has come back to life and is after you and the madam, we must take steps to protect you. What has he got to do with Miss Minton? I remember her; she gave us quite a lot of trouble over the British Museum case." Emerson turned rather red in the face. "You may as well tell them, Emerson," I said. "If you don't, Gargery's imagination will run riot and he will do something silly." Emerson looked from Gargery to Fatima. Both of them were nodding vigorously. Despite their competitiveness in regard to serving the food, they were allies in all matters that might affect our safety and well-being, and if Fatima believed the situation was serious she would inform Selim and Daoud and Kadija, and then the whole lot of them would be trailing after us. Recognizing the logic of my remark, Emerson said, "It seems Miss Minton ran into Sethos summer before last, when she was in Arabia. She was unaware of what happened this past winter." "Ah," said Gargery. "So he is dead, then. You wouldn't lie to me, would you, sir?" "No," said Emerson. I hoped we had seen the last of Miss Minton, but I did not count on it, especially since I had taken the liberty of borrowing her manuscript. In the hope of forestalling further communications I copied the pages out before I went to bed that night and sent them back to her by messenger the following morning, with a little note explaining politely but firmly that I had told her all I could and saw no reason for further contact. Somewhat to my surprise, there was no response. Perhaps she had regretted her decision to confide in me. It had certainly been a most revealing document. With Miss Minton on the trail, I was all the more determined to get the children away from Cairo. There was no reason why they could not leave immediately; the Amelia was ready, and after remaining blandly indifferent to his father's increasingly blunt hints, Ramses had finally announced that he was willing to go. He had given up hope of hearing from Asad, who could easily have communicated with him had he chosen to do so. We concluded that he had left the city for parts unknown. It was Nefret, however, who had been the deciding factor. We had had a little chat one day, while we were cutting flowers for the saloon. The roses were particularly pretty that year. "Did Father agree?" she asked. "Emerson proposed the scheme himself," I assured her. "Not that I believe there is any cause for concern. Emerson really is worried about the Luxor tombs. You wouldn't mind leaving the hospital for a while?" For a few moments she was silent, her attention apparently fixed on the perfectly formed crimson rose she held. Then she said, "You know that when I went back to Switzerland to complete my medical training it was a form of penance." "My dear girl, we agreed not to refer again to those unhappy times." She went on as if I had not spoken. "The hospital was in desperate need of a woman surgeon. It still is. Aunt Amelia-Mother-" She put the secateurs down and turned to face me. "Is it wrong to care so much about someone that nothing and no one else matters to you?" "I don't know whether it is right or wrong, my dear; but I understand." "I thought I loved him before we were married, but it was nothing to the way I feel now. You know how much the hospital means to me. I would abandon it forever, without a backward look, if it would help to keep him safe." "Now, my dear, there is no need for such a theatrical gesture," I remarked, for I felt it advisable to lower the emotional temperature. "Ramses would not want you to give up your professional career on his account; in fact, he would be extremely vexed if you considered such a thing. So we are agreed? You can persuade him?" "Oh, yes." Her pensive features relaxed into a little smile. "I can persuade him." I had not doubted she could. To say that her slightest wish was his command would not have been strictly true-and a good thing, too, for a man who will give in to a woman's every whim is not worth having-and the other way round, of course-but one had only to see them together to know that the attachment was as strong on his part as it was on hers. The only remaining difficulty was Sennia. However, she returned from school that afternoon looking quite pleased with herself, and started telling us about her friends Mark and Elizabeth. "There, you see?" I said. "I told you that you would soon make friends if you were polite and well-behaved." Sennia had been trying to learn how to raise her eyebrows as Ramses did. His were very thick and dark and expressive, rising and lowering and tilting at various angles according to his state of mind. Thus far Sennia's best attempt had been to open her eyes very wide and wrinkle her forehead, with no visible alteration in the position of her brows. She did this now. "Far be it from me to contradict you, Aunt Amelia," she said, in a fair imitation of Ramses's best drawl. "But being polite was a waste of time. They didn't like me till I cursed them." I dropped the scone I had been buttering. Horus extended a paw, pulled the scone to him, and ate it. "Cursed them?" I said weakly. "In ancient Egyptian. I know a lot of bad words in Arabic and English but the Professor told me I mustn't use any of them." She reached for a cream bun and bit into it. "Emerson! You didn't teach her-" "Certainly I did. Children are natural bullies, my dear, and the only way to deal with bullies is to overpower them, physically or morally. Since it did not seem right to teach Sennia how to knock someone down-" "Ramses taught me that," Sennia volunteered. She licked cream off her fingers. "But I only did it once, and not until after he pushed me." I turned my indignant stare toward my son, who avoided my eyes and began to mumble. "It was just a little harmless trick of tripping someone up-self-defense, really-it's only effective if the person has got too close for comfort ..." Nefret began to laugh. "Never mind, darling. Mother may not approve your methods but they seem to have been effective. So, Sennia, you are now enjoying school?" "Oh, yes. The lessons are not too boring and everyone wants to be on my side when we choose up for games." So that was all right. Sennia kindly consented to continue her education and I informed the parties concerned that they would sail next day. It was as well that I did, for the evening post brought a letter from Howard, who had returned to Luxor for a brief visit, containing news that brought Emerson's fury to the boiling point. The latest theft had been extraordinarily bold and daring; the miscreants had actually carried off part of a monumental black granite statue of Ramses II from his mortuary temple on the west bank. The statue had been in fragments, but the head had been very well preserved. The head had been the first element to disappear. Its absence had been noted, not by any of the guards, but by a tourist- one of those tirelessly compulsive persons who reads his Baedeker line by line. He had reported it to the authorities, who had promised to investigate. By the time they got round to visiting the Ramesseum, two other large chunks of the statue were gone. "How the hell did he do it?" Emerson demanded, waving Howard's letter like a battle flag. "The cursed head must have weighed hundreds of pounds. Then he had the damned effrontery to return the following night, after the original theft had been reported-" "He?" I repeated. Emerson broke into a fit of coughing. "Whoever he was,"