The Eye of the Serpent (8 page)

‘Mr Wade!' he cried. ‘I
thought
it was you! Are you all right, my friend?'

Ethan grinned back at him. He untied the bandana from around his neck and mopped at a trickle of blood that was moving down his forehead.

‘I'm fine, thanks to you.' He walked over to
Alec, sliding the pistol back into its holster as he did so. ‘Glad you happened along when you did. Alec, this gentleman is Mr Mohammed Hansa, a trader from Luxor. He's fairly new to the area, so I guess you won't have met him before.'

Mohammed bowed politely. ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance,' he said. ‘Any friend of Mr Wade's is a dear friend of mine.'

‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Hansa.'

‘Mohammed. Please, call me Mohammed.'

‘When our team needs any luxury items, Mohammed's the guy we go to,' continued Ethan. ‘He can put his hands on just about anything – soap, razor blades, cigarettes, whisky – you name it! He's also the closest thing there is to a local taxi service.' He glanced at Llewellyn. ‘Boy, am I glad we didn't give you the lift you wanted.'

For the moment Llewellyn seemed to have lost the power of speech. He just sat there, staring open-mouthed at Ethan, who turned his attention back to the driver of the Ford.

‘Mohammed, this young man is Sir William's nephew, Alec, come to help us out at the dig.'

Mohammed bowed his head a second time and placed a hand on his chest. ‘An honour it is,
young sir,' he said. ‘So sorry to hear about your uncle's illness. Such a fine English gentleman.'

‘Would somebody mind telling me what's going on here?' piped up Llewellyn, who had finally recovered himself enough to speak. ‘One moment we're driving along nice and quiet, the next we're thundering towards those creatures—'

‘Hyenas,' said Mohammed. ‘Attacking my good friend Mr Wade here. I could hardly sit there and ignore his plight.'

‘Well, no, of course not,' admitted Llewellyn. ‘But a bit of warning wouldn't have gone amiss. I nearly had a heart attack.'

‘Alas, sir, there was no time. I had to act quickly.' Mohammed turned back to Ethan. ‘I had a feeling we might see you, Mr Wade. We passed your fine English automobile on the road back there.' He gave Ethan a sly look and sat back down in the driver's seat. ‘Surely it cannot possibly have broken down?'

Ethan chuckled. ‘Yeah, Mohammed, I know what you're getting at. I promise I won't make any more bad jokes about your Model T, OK? Right now it looks like the nicest car a man could ever wish to see.' He patted its rusting bonnet respectfully. ‘Though to be honest, I can't
believe that sandstorm didn't finish off your engine too.'

Mohammed looked puzzled. ‘Sandstorm?' he murmured. ‘What sandstorm?'

Ethan stared at him. ‘Well, you must have seen it,' he spluttered. ‘You weren't that far behind us. Near enough blew us right off the road.'

But Mohammed was shaking his head. ‘I saw no sandstorm, Mr Wade. It has been like this all the way from Luxor.'

Alec and Ethan exchanged puzzled looks.

‘It's all very odd,' continued Mohammed. ‘What on earth are hyenas doing so far north? And what made them attack you?' He indicated the dead creatures lying in the sand. ‘They are usually such timid creatures. One shot of a gun should have been enough to see them off.'

‘Yeah.' Ethan tilted back his hat and stared down at the corpses. ‘How do you account for that?' He indicated the biggest of them. ‘Took three shots to put that big feller down. Never known anything like it.' He pointed to another dead hyena. ‘That guy I got with a head shot.' He lifted his gaze and saw a third hyena lying dead some distance from the others. ‘And that one . . .' He seemed to remember something.
His eyes widened and he turned to look at Alec.

‘Kid,' he said. ‘You . . . you saved my neck. I remember now. That hyena was on top of me and you stuck him with the blade.'

Alec looked down at the hunting knife in his right hand, which was red and sticky with gore. He squatted down and plunged the blade into the sand to clean it.

‘I . . . I didn't have time to think,' he said. ‘That thing was on top of you and . . . well, I just did what I thought was best.' He handed the knife back to Ethan, who slid it back into its sheath.

‘You did great,' he said. ‘Really great.'

Alec shrugged. He uncorked his canteen and began to wash the blood from his hand.

Ethan turned to Llewellyn. ‘Now there's a story for your newspaper,' he said. ‘A story of courage . . . A young boy fighting off a savage beast and saving a man's life! Your readers will love it. And unlike most stories you people print, this one is actually true.'

Llewellyn stared at him for a moment as though he hadn't the faintest idea what Ethan was on about. Then he seemed to remember something. ‘Oh, ah, yes, of course! You must, er . . . let me have all the details . . . I shall talk to
you when we reach our destination and I'll, er . . . make some notes.'

‘Great. Say, which newspaper did you say you worked for?'

‘The . . .
Examiner
.'

‘Oh, right, so you must know Billy Farnsworth.'

‘Umm . . . Billy . . .?'

‘You know, the sports columnist?'

Llewellyn smiled. ‘Oh yes, of course. Billy! He and I are great friends.'

Ethan gave him a knowing look. ‘Tell me, he still got something going with that little cocktail waitress from the Sphinx nightclub?'

Llewellyn winked. ‘I'm afraid so. It's the talk of the office.'

Ethan nodded. ‘Well,' he said, ‘I guess that settles it. You're no more a newspaper reporter than I am.'

Llewellyn looked appalled. ‘What are you suggesting?' he cried.

‘Mr Llewellyn, there
is
no Billy Farnsworth and no cocktail waitress neither. I just made 'em up. Now, either you tell me the truth or you can get out of this automobile and start walking.'

Llewellyn's expression turned to one of alarm.
He reached into his inside pocket and produced a leather wallet, which he flipped open and held out to Ethan. ‘You must forgive me, Mr Wade. As you say, I am not a reporter but a private detective. I have been hired by the parents of Mr Thomas Hinton to investigate the circumstances surrounding their son's disappearance.' He withdrew a letter from the wallet and handed it over. ‘That's from Mr Hinton,' he said, ‘explaining the situation. I had hoped that my little deception might help me to obtain information.'

Ethan studied the letter for a few moments in silence. Then he shrugged and handed it back. ‘Why didn't you just tell the truth?' he said. ‘I don't appreciate being lied to.'

Llewellyn frowned. ‘In my experience, Mr Wade, most people have a tendency to distrust detectives, but will tell newspapermen just about anything.'

‘Yeah, well, I ain't most people. I hate reporters but I've got a lot of time for private dicks.'

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘Detectives. One of my favourite uncles is in the business. Obadiah Wade – operates out of Boston. Maybe you heard of him?'

Llewellyn shook his head and his cluster of
chins wobbled alarmingly. ‘I'm afraid not,' he said. ‘Sorry.'

‘That's OK.' Ethan looked at Alec. ‘That explains how he knows about the tomb. When I informed Tom's parents that he'd gone missing, they asked for more details, and I had to tell them about the new discovery.'

Alec looked at Llewellyn. ‘So Tom's parents told you about the tomb?'

Llewellyn nodded. ‘They're very worried about their son. They want some answers.'

‘That's perfectly understandable,' said Ethan. ‘Tell you the truth, I wouldn't mind a few myself.'

‘You surprise me,' said Llewellyn. ‘From what Mr Hinton's parents told me, you haven't exactly been yelling about his disappearance from the rooftops.'

‘The rest of the team made a pretty thorough search for him before I even got here. They drew a blank. The local police didn't seem to want to know about it. And when I first got here, I made enquiries about Tom too – discreet enquiries.'

Llewellyn frowned. ‘Why so discreet?' he asked. ‘It's almost as though you don't
want
to find Mr Hinton.'

‘That's not true – of course we want to find him! But the thing is, I couldn't open it up too wide: we'd have had the newspaper reporters at the site and then Sir William's great discovery would be splashed over every paper from here to Chattanooga.' He stared at Llewellyn for a moment, his arms folded. ‘So what do we do with you, Llewellyn? I confess, my first instinct is to leave you here, and if the rest of those hyenas come back, that's just tough.'

Llewellyn stared at Ethan in horror. ‘Mr Wade, I have apologized for my deception. Please, I beseech you, you cannot abandon me to such a fate.'

Ethan scowled. ‘I must be getting soft in my old age, but I'm going to give you one chance. Just one, mind you! You can come with us to the dig and you can even ask questions. But I'm warning you – you ever lie to me again and you'll be heading back to Luxor with my boot up your backside.'

Llewellyn was evidently outraged by this remark and Alec had to smother a laugh at the expression on his face, but after a moment he nodded. ‘I'm sorry, Mr Wade. I was just trying to do my job.'

‘And I'm trying to do mine.' Ethan thought for a moment. ‘How long is it going to take, this questioning? You need me to assign you a spare tent?'

Llewellyn looked absolutely horrified. ‘That won't be necessary,' he said. ‘The Hintons have agreed to finance a room at the Winter Palace Hotel in Luxor.'

Ethan raised his eyebrows. ‘Nice. Uncle Obadiah always used to say the best thing about the job was the perks. Maybe I went into the wrong line of work. It's comfortable there.'

‘Very comfortable,' agreed Alec. ‘Hot showers, ceiling fans, the best food for miles around . . . But of course, you won't be doing it properly like us.'

‘I'll live with myself somehow,' said Llewellyn.

‘I'm sure you will,' said Ethan. ‘But, Mr Llewellyn, I got to warn you. If you're asking questions
anywhere
, please be discreet. Whatever you do, don't go telling people that we found a tomb. It's a sensitive situation and I'm trying to keep a tight lid on it. The last thing I want is for this to get leaked to the newspapers. And listen, the native workers on the dig . . . I've kind of given them the impression that Tom went back to England—'

‘You did what?' cried Llewellyn.

‘You need to understand, they're a superstitious crowd. If I let them think for one moment that something strange is going on, they'll be out of that site quicker than you can say Abraham Lincoln.'

‘And your colleagues?'

‘They know something screwy happened, and of course they're all concerned about what might have become of Tom . . . but they also know how important a find this is, and they hate newspapermen every bit as much as I do. I wouldn't think private investigators figure very highly on their Christmas lists either, but if you think any of 'em are holding out on you, tell 'em to come see me and I'll put 'em straight.'

‘Thank you, Mr Wade,' said Llewellyn gravely. ‘I appreciate that.'

‘That goes for you too, Mohammed,' added Ethan. ‘Anything you just overheard is top secret. If it gets back to me that you've been blabbing, my team will be getting its goodies from a different trader.'

‘I understand,
effendi
,' said Mohammed. ‘My lips are sealed. But for now we must decide what we are going to do with you. With all
Mr Llewellyn's luggage, there is no room in the automobile for more passengers.'

‘Hmm?' Ethan gazed along the empty road for a few moments. ‘I guess we could just dump his luggage—'

‘What?' cried Llewellyn, getting up out of his seat.

‘Aw, relax, I'm just joshing you,' laughed Ethan. ‘No, Mohammed, maybe you could drive Mr Llewellyn on up to the dig and send Mickey back to collect us in the other Crossley.'

‘Perhaps, but after the trouble you have just experienced, I am reluctant to leave you out here alone. Those other hyenas might come back. May I suggest that you and this valiant young man come and stand on the running boards of my fine Ford automobile, and in this manner I will convey you to your destination.'

Ethan looked doubtful but he waved Alec to the Ford and the two of them clambered into position on either side of it.

‘Think this thing will take our weight?' muttered Ethan, bouncing up and down on the rickety board.

Mohammed gave him a look. ‘Mr Wade, did you not just promise to stop making fun of my
automobile?' he said. ‘We could, of course, drive back to your magnificent Crossley and stand on the running boards of that, but strangely it doesn't appear to be going anywhere.'

Ethan laughed. ‘All right, point taken,' he said. ‘I guess we'll just have to put our trust in the engineering skills of Mr Henry Ford.'

Mohammed started up the automobile and eased it slowly back onto the firmer surface of the road. ‘There now,' he said. ‘Are you both quite comfortable?'

‘We're fine,' said Alec. He was so pleased to be getting out of these wide open spaces, he wasn't about to start complaining about a little discomfort.

‘I'm glad,' said Mohammed. ‘And because you are not properly seated, I am only going to charge each of you half fare.'