The Golden One: A Novel of Suspense (32 page)

The capture of the chief of the Turkish secret service ended any doubts the military might have entertained about letting us leave. General Chetwode himself called to congratulate us, accompanied by several of his staff. We had quite a time getting rid of them. “Medals again,” Emerson grumbled. “They seem to think we intended this all along.” “You encouraged them to think so,” Ramses said. At Nefret’s insistence he was reclining on one of the divans. She had had to put a few stitches into the cut, which had bled copiously. “It was inspired lying, Father.” “At least we got a bottle of whiskey out of them,” Emerson said complacently. “Much more useful than medals. Here, my boy, this will put a little color into your face.” “I would like some too,” said Esin. “Spirits are not suitable for young ladies,” I said, sipping my own whiskey appreciatively. It had been quite a busy day, what with one thing and another, and I was not in a good humor with the girl. After we freed her she carried on quite extravagantly, and she had accepted the news of her father’s capture with unbecoming equanimity. “Aren’t you at all concerned about your father?” I asked. “What will happen to him?” “He is a prisoner of war,” Emerson said. “Do you want to see him before we leave? I can probably arrange that.” “No.” She shivered. “He tried to take me away. He says he loves me, but he will not allow me to do what I want. Is that love?” “Sometimes,” Nefret said. The silence that followed was broken by a penetrating shriek from outside the house. I could not make out all the words, but there were references to the will of Allah and the blessings of various prophets, up to and including the greatest, that is, Mohammed. When Sir Edward had arrived on the scene, I did not know, but he must have seen the military go off with their prisoner. This was his farewell to us, and none of us doubted that his chief would soon be informed of the news. Emerson smiled. “Clever beggar, isn’t he?” Selim, who had missed all the excitement and was still brooding about it, said under his breath, “Beggar. Yes. He is a clever man. And so is —” He broke off, with a glance at me. “We will talk about it later, Selim,” I said, as softly as he had done. “As you say, Sitt. So — it is over?” “Yes. It is over.”

PART THREE

The Handof the God

12

Sped on by every assistance the military could provide, we reached Cairo in less than two days. Selim left us off at Shepheard’s just in time for tea. He was to take the motorcar on to a prearranged location and leave it. What would become of it after that I did not know and did not ask; I was only happy to be rid of the thing, for I had feared Emerson — and Selim — would want to keep it. They did want to, very badly; but Emerson admitted it might be a trifle difficult to explain how we had acquired it. The terrace was crowded, and our appearance aroused a certain amount of ill-bred attention, even from acquaintances who ought not have been surprised at anything we did. I heard Mrs. Pettigrew’s trumpeting voice address her husband: “There are the Emersons again, Hector, looking even more disreputable than usual. It is positively embarrassing to be acquainted with them.” I waved my parasol at her in a conspicuous manner. There was some justice in her description; two days’ motoring on military roads does not improve an individual’s appearance, and our wardrobes had been deficient to start with. However, Ramses and Emerson in Arab dress, Nefret and I in sadly crumpled European attire, and Esin, enveloped in veils, as Nefret’s maidservant, occasioned no comment from the well-trained staff of Shepheard’s, and I was not surprised to learn our old rooms had been reserved for us. The luggage we had left was brought to us, so for the first time in days we were able to clean up and dress in proper clothing. There were a number of messages, most of them from Cyrus or Katherine, asking when we would return to Luxor. They had no news to report, except that Jumana was still sulking (Katherine’s word) or grieving (Cyrus’s). “We had better take the train tomorrow night,” I said. Emerson grunted. He had not found the message he hoped for. “What’s your hurry, Peabody? I thought you’d want to shop and do your usual social round.” “Replenishment of certain supplies would be expedient,” I agreed. “But I can accomplish that tomorrow. What do you say, Nefret? Do you want to spend some time at the hospital?” Nefret was watching Ramses, who had taken up the latest issue of the Egyptian Gazette. “I may run in for an hour or so, Mother, but I would just as soon go on to Luxor at once. Ramses?” “I am ready whenever you are” was the reply. “Is Ramses concealing something?” Emerson asked, when he and I were alone. “I expected he would be anxious to get back to work, but he sounded almost indifferent.” “I am pleased to find you more sensitive to your son’s feelings, Emerson. In this case I can interpret them for you.” “Pray do,” said Emerson coldly. “He was only exhibiting his usual consideration for the opinions of others, particularly those of Nefret. In fact I believe he would like to put this whole business behind him. You know,” I continued, sorting garments that required washing, “that when he is in the thick of the action, he rather enjoys it. He doesn’t have time to think about what he is doing. Later, when there is leisure for introspection, his overly active conscience reproaches him for employing and even enjoying violence. He is —” “I’m sorry I asked,” Emerson snarled. “I might have known you’d start talking psychology. When are you going to deliver the girl? I’m not sure I like that part of it. How do we know those bastards won’t bully or mistreat her?” “That is another thing that is bothering Ramses,” I said. “And do not berate me for talking psychology — you are as sentimental about the girl as he is. As for me, I shall be glad to be rid of the responsibility. You may rest assured, however, that I will not leave her until I am certain she will be treated kindly. I will take her to Ismailiya first thing tomorrow morning.” Emerson did not accompany us. He was afraid Esin would cry and plead. I thought she might too, so I did not attempt to change his mind. I could not dissuade Ramses from coming, however. He had that stubborn set to his mouth. Esin was wearing one of Nefret’s frocks. She was somewhat stouter than Nefret, but this dress had a loose fit and an adjustable belt. It did not become her. I had not told her what was in store for her, in part because I do not believe in anticipating trouble and in part because I wasn’t certain myself. It all depended on what, and whom, we found at that address in Ismailiya. It looked respectable, at any rate — a house set in its own gardens, built in the European style of the previous century. Esin let Ramses help her out of the cab and looked admiringly at the house. “It is very modern. Are we paying a visit?” “Yes,” I said. The door was opened by a manservant, who led us into a nicely furnished sitting room. We were expected, it seemed; he had not asked our names, and we had only been waiting a few minutes before a lady entered the room — the lady Smith had introduced as his sister. “Mrs. Bayes!” I exclaimed. “So you are —” “Very pleased to see you again,” the lady cut in smoothly. “Mr. Emerson, a pleasure. And this is Miss Sahin? Welcome, my dear. Did Mrs. Emerson tell you you are to stay with me for a while?” “Am I? Must I?” She gave Ramses an imploring look. “Am I a prisoner of war too?” “Not in the least,” Mrs. Bayes said heartily. “You are an honored guest. Come along and I will show you your room. I think you will like it. I know you came away in a hurry, so perhaps later we can shop for some new clothes. There are many fine shops in the Muski.” “I saw them,” Esin said slowly. She looked from Mrs. Bayes, who was holding out her hand and smiling sweetly, to me — I bared my teeth, not nearly so sweetly — and then to Ramses. “I am to go with her? Will I see you again?” He had known it would be easier for her, and for me, if he was there to reassure her. I saw him brace himself for a round of comforting clichés. “You must have known you could not stay with us, Esin. Mrs. Bayes will take good care of you, and one day . . . one day . . . uh . . .” “We will meet again? You will not forget me?” “Never,” Ramses assured her. “I will never forget you.” She extended her hand at an awkward angle. Resignedly, Ramses kissed it. “One never knows what the future will bring, Esin,” he said. “We will think of you often, and if you ever need our help, you have only to ask.” Her black eyes took on a dreamy look. “I read a book, an English book, where the lady sent a red rose to the man she loved, the man she had given up for duty. If I send you a rose, will you come?” Ramses gathered himself for a final, valiant effort. “From the ends of the earth, Esin.” Mrs. Bayes had followed the exchange with poorly concealed amusement. “Well done,” she murmured, and put a friendly arm round Esin. “Do not prolong the pain of farewell, my dear. Will you two wait here, please? Someone wishes to speak with you.” She led the girl out. Ramses blew out his breath. “Is it all right, do you think? Mrs. Bayes seems kind.” “And she has a sense of humor. That is a good sign. You did splendidly, Ramses.” The servant entered with a tray and poured coffee. “Very conventional,” I said, accepting the cup he handed me. “Do you want to guess the identity of the person who wishes to speak to us?” “No need to guess,” Ramses said. “He’s been behind this all along.” It was indeed the Honorable Algernon Bracegirdle-Boisdragon whom the servant ushered in. He came straight to me, his hands extended, his thin lips stretched in a smile. “Mrs. Emerson. What can I say?” “A great deal, I trust. I do not know that I care to take your hand.” “I cannot say I blame you.” He turned to Ramses, who had risen, and his smile faded. “Sit down, please. I heard of your injury. You may not want to take my hand either, but I must express my thanks and admiration. You accomplished everything we hoped, and more.” “It wasn’t I, as you are well aware,” Ramses said. “You knew when you sent me after Ismail Pasha that he was no traitor. He was acting with your knowledge and under your orders.” “The danger to him was real,” the other man said soberly. “Military intelligence knew nothing of our plans. Call it interservice rivalry if you like, but they can’t be trusted, and they disapprove of what they consider our unorthodox methods.” “So,” I said, “your group is distinct from all those departments with confusing initials and meaningless numbers?” “They are confusing, aren’t they?” Smith agreed with a sardonic smile. “MO, EMSIB, MIa, b, and c . . . We don’t go in for that sort of thing, Mrs. Emerson. Ours is a long and honorable history, going all the way to the sixteenth century. Cardinal Wolsey and Thomas Cromwell —” “The Tudors, of course,” I said with a sniff. “They wouldbe the ones to foster spying and subterfuge. Spare us the history lesson, please.” “As you like. You are correct in assuming that our mutual friend was following our agenda. He had several purposes; removing Sahin Pasha was only one of them. Another was to investigate the network in Constantinople. We had warned Ml that the man running that group was a double agent. They didn’t believe us. Sethos got rid of the fellow by persuading the Turks that he had betrayed them — which was true. The trouble with him is that he plays his roles too well! I learned that my bumble-headed counterparts in military intelligence were planning to assassinate him. The only way of preventing that was to persuade you to go after him. If I had told them who he was and what he was doing, the word would have spread, and sooner or later it would have reached the ears of the enemy.” Ramses shook his head doubtfully. “Your solution was somewhat chancy. What if they hadn’t accepted me?” Smith leaned forward, his hands clasped. “You continue to astonish me. Surely you know that your reputation is second only to that of your — that of Sethos. There’s not an intelligence officer in Egypt who wouldn’t give his right hand to enlist you. Cartright is an ass — military to the core, and he’s held a grudge against you since you fooled him several years ago, but he knew you were the only man who could get into Gaza undetected.” “And get Lieutenant Chetwode in. I did wonder,” Ramses said deliberately, “whether the whole point of that operation was to convince the Turks of the genuineness of Ismail’s conversion.” Under his steady gaze, Smith shifted uncomfortably. “You don’t trust any of us, do you? The only way that scheme could have succeeded was to have the Turks identify you and/or Chetwode as British agents. Believe it or not, we don’t risk our people so callously.” “Not when they are as valuable as my son,” I said. “Touché, Mrs. Emerson. You are correct, of course. Cartright’s group isn’t especially subtle; they wanted Ismail dead, and they were willing to hazard two men to accomplish it. To do them justice, none of them has the least idea of the difficulties involved in operating behind enemy lines; they still think of Johnny Turk as incompetent and cowardly.” “But you knew,” I snapped. “And you let them send Ramses —” “I had every confidence in his ability to get in and out undetected.” “I’m flattered,” said Ramses, his lip curling. “Easy for me to say, you mean? You have every right to feel that way. But the last I heard, Cartright had agreed to your proposal of a reconnaissance and nothing more. It never occurred to me that even Cartright would be stupid enough to go ahead with his little assassination attempt. And, naturally, I assumed you would come back with information that would prove Ismail wasn’t Sethos, even if you had to invent it. The last thing we wanted was to have you fall into the hands of the Turks — particularly those of Sahin. He’d been suspicious of Ismail from the start, and he hoped that Ismail would betray himself by trying to free you.” Ramses’s tight lips relaxed into a faint smile. “He’s a clever man, but trying to stay one step ahead of Sethos is a hopeless job. Using the girl was brilliant.” “If that hadn’t worked, he’d have got you out some other way,” Smith said brusquely. “Whatever it took.” “He told you that?” I asked. “He didn’t have to tell me. I know him rather well. So. Is there anything else you want to know?” He had already said more than he had meant to say, and Ramses was looking decidedly uncomfortable. I rose. “Only your assurance that the young woman will be treated well.” “We don’t war on women, Mrs. Emerson. She’ll be questioned courteously but intensively, and I expect we will get quite a lot out of her; she’s an inquisitive creature, I understand. I imagine she’ll enjoy being the center of attention.” After a moment he added, “I cannot insist that you refrain from mentioning her to Ml — or any of those other confusing numbers — but I assure you she will be happier with us than she would be with them.” “They will find out eventually, won’t they? Her father knows she is with us.” “If Sahin Pasha is as intelligent a man as I believe him to be, he will not volunteer any more information than is necessary to keep them from hanging him.” He added, with a rather attractive smile, “With any luck, he should be able to hold them off until the war is over.” “May that day be soon in coming,” I said with a sigh. “Amen,” said Mr. Smith. “One more thing,” I said, drawing on my gloves. “Yes, of course. He asked me to give you his regards and tell you he will ‘turn up,’ as he put it, before long.” “Thank you.” “Not at all.” He himself showed us to the door. “If there is ever anything I can do for you, or any member of your family —” “The kindest thing you can do for us is leave us strictly alone.” I swept past him in my best style. “All the same,” I said to Ramses, when we were again in the cab, “I don’t think as badly of him as I do of some of the others. Cartright lied to us. Chetwode did not act without his authorization, did he?” “Chetwode is another military pedant; he wouldn’t dare act without orders. They don’t think of it as lying, you know. Expediency, necessity, ‘whatever it takes to get the job done.’ Chetwode fooled me, though,” Ramses added, in chagrin. “That air of inept innocence was put on. He couldn’t have escaped from Gaza so handily if he had been as incompetent as he seemed.” “He counted on your sense of decency and loyalty to assist him,” I said. “Naïveté, rather. Sahin was right, I’ll never get the hang of the business.” I took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Decency and loyalty have not prevented you from succeeding.” Ramses shrugged
the compliment away. “It’s over, anyhow, thank God. I’m looking forward to seeing the family again.” “There is one thing I didn’t ask,” I said. “Only one? And what is that?” “Sethos’s real name. Bracegirdle-Boisdragon must know.” The lines furrowing Ramses’s brow disappeared. “I suppose he must, he admitted having examined various records, which would presumably include a birth certificate. I hadn’t given the matter much thought.” “Hadn’t you wondered at all? I have. It couldn’t be Thomas, could it? After his father?” “It doesn’t suit him.” “Well, but when one gives a newborn infant a name, one cannot predict how it will turn out.” Ramses gave me a curious look. “As in my case,” he suggested. “Walter doesn’t suit you,” I agreed. “But no one ever calls you that. William? Frederick? Albert?” “Robert,” said Ramses, entering into the spirit of the thing. “No, something more distinctive. Perhaps his mother was fond of poetry. Byron? Wordsworth?” The subject entertained us for the rest of the drive. I was happy to see I had got Ramses’s mind off the recent unpleasantness. He had done his duty with regard to Esin, not even flinching at that appalling promise — “from the ends of the earth” indeed! — and was more at ease about her. Getting back to Luxor and to the dig would complete the cure. When we returned to the hotel we found both Nefret and Emerson missing. She had left a message for Ramses, telling him she had gone to the hospital and promising to be back in time for luncheon. There was no message from Emerson. “Where do you suppose he has gone?” I asked, in considerable irritation. “To the railroad station, perhaps,” Ramses suggested. “I believe he wants to take the train this evening.” “I trust that is agreeable to you and Nefret, Ramses. Did he do you the courtesy of asking?” “So far as I am concerned, the sooner we leave Cairo, the better.” True to her word, Nefret turned up in good time, to report that all was well at the hospital and that she was perfectly agreeable to a departure that evening. I suspected her motives were the same as mine; I wanted no more encounters with General Murray or any of his lot. We had done our duty and more, we had handed over a very important prisoner to the military, and we had reported (some of) our activities to General Chetwode. They could ask no more of us; but they probably would, if we stayed in Cairo. “Isn’t Father back yet?” she asked. “I made him go with me to the hospital so that I could X-ray his arm and replace the cast, but that was hours ago.” Another hour passed with no sign of Emerson. Nefret suggested we order coffee and biscuits, adding with a rueful smile, “My appetite has become outrageous since Gaza. I suppose it’s because we ate such peculiar things at such peculiar hours.” “No doubt,” I said. The minutes dragged by. Finally I heard the unmistakable thud of Emerson’s heavy steps, and the door was flung open. A cry of indignation burst from my lips. “Emerson, how many times must I tell you not to use that cast like a battering ram? And why aren’t you wearing your coat? And your cravat? And —” Emerson glanced in mild surprise at his arm. “Forgot,” he said, tossing his crumpled coat onto the floor. “Coffee? Good. How did it go?” “How did what . . . ? Oh, Esin. It is all settled and she is in good hands. Where the devil have you been?” Emerson sipped his coffee. Ramses leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. “Shall I hazard a guess?” “If you like,” said Emerson, rolling his eyes at me. “Hilmiya.” “Oh, Emerson, you didn’t!” I cried. “I had to, didn’t I? What the devil, the crafty bastard did me a favor — two favors, in fact.” “How did you get into the camp?” Ramses asked curiously. “Walked up to the gate and announced myself,” said his father, holding out his cup for me to refill it. “El-Gharbi was not surprised to see me — he had heard of our return. He seems to hear everything. He wanted me to pay him for the damage to the motorcar.” “Did you?” Nefret asked, torn between amusement and disgust. “No. His people had stolen the thing, hadn’t they? I assured him,” said Emerson, with another wary glance at me, “that I would speak on his behalf. Exile, to his village in Upper Egypt, would satisfy him and settle my debt.” “Oh, dear,” I murmured. “Well, Emerson, you acted according to your lights, I suppose. Go and clean up, it is past time for luncheon.” I followed him into our room, for I knew that if I did not assist his ablutions he would get the cast wet. “I trust el-Gharbi was properly appreciative,” I said, assisting him to remove his shirt. “In his fashion. He said something rather strange.” “What? Let me do that, Emerson.” I took the dripping washcloth from his hand. “ ‘The young serpent also has poisoned fangs.’ ” “I beg your pardon, Emerson?” “Those were his precise words, Peabody. I haven’t the vaguest idea what they mean, but it has the ring of a warning, doesn’t it?” “Hmm. Perhaps he was referring to Jamil.” I put the washcloth down and picked up a towel. “The warning comes a bit late,” said Emerson. “But that is how soothsayers and fortune-tellers and such individuals make their reputations, by predicting what has already happened. The devil with it, and el-Gharbi. I stopped by the railroad station and made reservations. We will take the train tonight.”