The Khamsin Curse (29 page)

“I suppose you will eventually
get around to interrogating me?”

“Hardly an interrogation,
Colonel Hayter.”

“You want to know when I
returned to the Sekhmet?”

“If you can recall,” she said
dryly.

He cracked a crooked smile,
simultaneously wry and rueful. “I got in just before Dr Watson and
Miss Lee and just after Ali Pasha. I cannot say what time it was
because I wasn’t wearing a fob watch for obvious reasons but I can
be certain about the rest. Ali Pasha was already in the saloon when
I cleared a path to the gin bottle. Dr Watson and Miss Lee came
later because I could hear her wailing like a banshee. One of the
crew ran to fetch her lady’s maid and Dr Watson made a brief
appearance to help himself to a generous measure of whiskey. He
didn’t see me, just as you didn’t see me. I don’t think he saw Ali
Pasha either. The man’s green and black jacket tended to lose
itself in the upholstery of the wing chair and the fronds of the
palm. When Ali Pasha started to pass wind, I toodled off to bed. A
clock on the bedside table told me it had just gone half past one
o’clock. You are assisting Dr Watson with his detective work
now?”

She nodded in the affirmative
while he polished off his gin and tonic.

“Well, I’m not surprised he
prefers you as a partner. You are much easier on the eye than Mr
Sherlock Holmes. You realise it should be
me
interrogating
you
. Do you mind telling me where
you
spent the night
and what time
you
returned to the Sekhmet?”

She tried not to bristle at the
mockery he made of his high office, nor the facetious tone, but two
could play at that game. “I spent the night with Colonel Moriarty.
We hunkered down inside the Temple of Imhotep. He provided great
comfort for which I was immensely thankful. Heroic men bring out my
grateful side. I did not return to the Sekhmet until midday or
thereabouts.”

He seemed taken aback by her
impropriety. “I, er, I understand that you were with Mr Longshanks,
Colonel Moran, and Colonel Moriarty when the stretcher bearers
arrived to retrieve the bodies. What did you make of the two
deaths?”

“Why anyone would want to
murder our generous American host and a noted British Egyptologist
is a true mystery worthy of the great London detective. My esteemed
colleague will have to solve this case on his own.”

If he noticed that she failed
to answer the question, he did not show it. And because she didn’t
want to know what he would make of her next evasive answer, she
circumvented the question by leaving him to his next gin and tonic,
unsure whether he was a true dipsomaniac or merely feigning
drunkenness to divert suspicion from something more sinister.

She had much to cogitate.

Dinner was a quiet affair.
Conversation was stilted and awkward. Any attempt to jolly-up would
have rung false so no one tried. Everyone retired early. Gideon
Longshanks did not return to the Sekhmet until almost midnight.
Fedir alerted her as to the major’s return. She immediately threw
on a white and gold Morocaine kaftan and went to his cabin. The
door was unlocked.

18

“Unless you’re planning to
shoot yourself in the foot,” she quipped, borrowing Jim’s phrase,
“you can re-house your weapon.”

What was it about men and guns?
He was poised behind the door. The Smith & Wesson was cocked.
Jim had once greeted her in like manner when she paid him a visit
in the middle of the night. Quietly, she closed the door.

The room was in darkness. The
smell of a burning candle, recently extinguished, tickled the
senses. She could just make out his shadowy outline as he climbed
into bed.

“I won’t relight the candle,”
he whispered gruffly, shoving the gun under his pillow. “I’m naked
and I’m about to go to sleep. I hope what you’ve got to say is
important. Go ahead and make it quick.”

Restless, and with her heart
beating faster than normal for someone who should have been on the
verge of slumber, she paced the end of the bed because it was the
only piece of furniture she could make out with any certainty and
she didn’t want to trip over his clothes or shoes or anything else
he may have dropped as he scrambled for cover.

“Ursula Graf had some
interesting news to impart this afternoon.” She explained about the
secret tomb. He made several guttural sounds that told her he
hadn’t yet fallen asleep. “What I cannot reconcile is
why
she told me.”

He sat up and fumbled for a
cigarette and some lucifers. “You think she and her uncle murdered
Lee and Mallisham so they could take over the tomb?”

The lucifer created a spark
that briefly limned him in gold. The end of the cigarette glowed
red. He didn’t offer one to her.

“Yes, it would make perfect
sense.” She explained her theory about the helpless voices and the
burqas and Miss Clooney being an accomplice.

“Did you check if they still
have their burqas?”

She kicked herself, and not
because it was dark. “No. I can do that tomorrow. Did you get
approval for the post mortem?”

“Yes. We can take the Sekhmet
across to the construction site. There’s a large jetty large where
we can moor for a few days. The British surgeon, Dr Bell, agreed to
perform the post mortem and he’s pleased for Dr Watson to assist.
How’s Miss Lee?”

“She’s coping with the aid of
opium twists.” She refrained from telling him that she
inadvertently let slip the deaths were murders which was news which
had somehow been kept from Hypatia until she blurted it out.

“Where did she get the opium
from?”

She kicked herself a second
time. “I presume she brought it with her. She had the twists in a
Limoges candy bowl shaped like a seashell.”

“Has anyone ever told you that
you have an eye for useless detail?”

“Dr Watson may have mentioned
it once or twice but I live by the adage: Nothing is important;
everything is significant.”

He shook his head and exhaled
at the same time. “Is there anything else significant that I should
know about?”

She told him about Lorna
Baxter. “I was fairly sure she was the courier passing on military
information via secret codes but the kilim rug and the papyrus
scroll are nothing more than recompense for wandering hands. I’m
going to help her find decent employment when all this is
over.”

He flicked a finger of ash into
an empty water glass. “Mallisham might be dead but I wouldn’t rule
him out. Didn’t you say he had papyrus scrolls in his
suitcase?”

“Yes, but they were just
covered with odd scribbles. Remember the ancient Ma’at prayer which
Daisy copied out for the party. I think they were related to that.
He might have been trying to get the ink just right or working out
the size of the lettering so the prayer would fit on the page.”

“Has Hayter been following the
two murders up this afternoon or getting stuck into the gin
again?”

“Need you ask?” she gibed
before switching to serious. “Although, Dr Watson said he saw
Hayter pour his gin into the potted palm in the saloon the morning
after the birthday party. We began to speculate if Hayter might be
play-acting the drunk to cover up for something else.”

“Such as?”

“Being a double agent.”

“That’s not as daft as it
sounds. The best double agents are the ones you never suspect.
You’ve ruled out Moran?”

“Yes, I think even Dr Watson
has secretly conceded it cannot be Moran. You might find this fact
interesting. It was Sharif who organized the servants for the
party. I’m wondering if he also organized the crocodiles?”

“To scare us off the
island?”

“Yes. Have you met him?”

“Yes. The three engineers are
impressed with his work and he’s highly respected by the workforce.
By the way, Jim took care of the crocodiles. The Kiosk is clear. If
any stories surface we’ll know they came from Ali Pasha.”

“I want to speak to Ali Pasha
about the tomb.”

“It’s too dangerous. Stay clear
of him.”

“Where is he staying?”

“Did you hear me?”

“If you don’t tell me I shall
find out from someone else.”

He flicked more ash into the
water glass. “Are you forgetting Kom Ombo?”

“I’m not forgetting
anything.”

“Then stay clear.”

“If you won’t tell me then I’ll
ask Jim.”

He tossed his cigarette into
the glass. A bit of water at the bottom made it sizzle. “We’ll
discuss it tomorrow. Goodnight.”

She turned to go. “You didn’t
notice what I’m wearing?”

“I have an eye for detail too
and I know what’s significant. The Morocaine kaftan looks fetching.
Is that what you’re fishing for?”

Impulsively, she marched to the
side of the bed and cupped his vitals through the blanket.

“What are you doing now?” he
said.

“I’m checking to see if you’re
pleased to see me.”

“Satisfied?”

“Yes.”

“Then kiss me goodnight and go
to bed. We can talk about Agilkia Island and Jim tomorrow.”

Smiling happily, she kissed him
and pretended she didn’t hear the expletive that followed her as
she tip-toed back to her cabin.

“This is how it must have been
in the days of the Pharaohs,” declared Dr Watson, gazing at the
construction camp and the workers who toiled like ants under a hot
sun. He was finally getting a chance to see first-hand how the
construction of the Lower Aswan Dam was going.

It was only the beginning of
the new century but he doubted there would be anything to rival a
gravity buttress dam of such magnitude. He had seen Telford’s
Aqueduct and Paxton’s Crystal Palace and the Thames Embankment, but
this construction surpassed them all. It was an engineering marvel!
He felt an immense sense of sadness that Jefferson Lee was not here
in person to witness it with him as the Sekhmet steered toward the
eastern shore of the Nile.

“And yet the Pharaohs would be
amazed,” returned his travelling companion, training her sights
further to the east where the Irish Guards had set up camp,
scanning for a heroic figure striding among the small tent city,
“that this construction should be for the benefit of the many and
not just the one.”

“Most of the people can see the
benefit,” added Gideon, following her line of gaze, “but there are
many who think it goes against the gods. They don’t like change. In
fact, they fear it. To tamper with the flow of the Nile River and
the annual flood is tantamount to tampering with the gods of
creation.”

Dr Watson, Countess
Volodymyrovna and Gideon Longshanks were standing at the guard rail
talking quietly together.

“Did you have a chance to speak
to the other female guests about their burqas?” asked Gideon.

She shook her head. “I decided
at breakfast that any questions would look suspicious so Xenia and
Fedir will search their cabins while we inspect the dam.”

“What about Hypatia Lee?”
checked the doctor. “Will she be joining us?”

“Yes, Xenia informed me that
her lady’s maid was pressing a muslin dress in preparation for her
mistress going ashore.” She turned to Gideon. “I suspect a
lucrative offer of employment may be coming your way soon –
something akin to advocate-on-world-affairs. The offer may come
with fringe benefits that will be difficult to turn down.”

“Thanks for the warning. I’ll
have to pretend to think long and hard about it. But changing the
subject. Do either of you think the crocodile incident could be
linked to the murders?”

Dr Watson tucked back a smile
and tried to concentrate. “Do you mean – was it perpetrated by a
homicidal maniac in the hope of killing as many of us as possible
prior to the double murder or was it designed to get us to flee in
all directions from the Kiosk so the double murder could take
place?”

Gideon gave a philosophical
shrug. “Either-or.”

“The former seems more likely.
The incident was not merely designed to scare us off the island – I
don’t go with that theory - but to kill us off. None of us would
have survived that attack without the two well-armed colonels. It
helped that they were both crack shots and fearless. Anything less
and we were done for. Anyone who survived a mauling would simply
have bled to death by morning. As for the latter, it strikes me as
unlikely. The murderer couldn’t possibly know who would and
wouldn’t flee.”

“I agree,” said the Countess,
looking past the doctor’s shoulder. “Here comes Colonel Hayter. I’m
not in the mood for his dithering this morning.”

“I’ll head him off.” Dr Watson
went quickly to meet his old chum.

She turned back to Gideon. “I
don’t think the murderer would have gone to the effort of staging
the scene in the two chambers for nought. That makes no sense. The
crocodile attack cannot be related to the Pashtun-style murders any
more than the arrival of the Khamsin. The windstorm provided
convenient cover but so would nightfall. The two men could have
been lured to the site by any number of imaginative means once we
all set off to return to the Sekhmet. The crocodile incident
actually worked against the staging of the murders. It could have
ruined everything. The murders must have been carried out by
someone on the island or someone who had contact with someone on
the island.”

“You’re thinking of Ali Pasha?”
said Gideon.

“Yes.”

“Are you still determined to
pay him a visit on Agilkia Island?”

“Yes.”

Gideon angled his substantial
shoulders due east; his baritone dropped to a lower decibel, dry,
hoarse and slightly harsh. “Then take Jim with you. Dr Watson will
be busy with the post mortems and I will be busy trying to get to
the bottom of the latest sabotage. Make sure you tell Jim what’s at
stake so he’s on his guard. Your arrival on Agilkia could invite a
repeat of Kom Ombo, especially once you start asking uncomfortable
questions. There are plenty of spare boats at the construction site
but you should hire a felucca. That way you can make it seem as if
you and Jim are having a private romantic assignation before he
departs for Khartoum. Ali Pasha will be less suspicious and he
won’t have time to prepare for your arrival. If Jim hasn’t already
swapped the red and black military duds for desert khaki, he should
do it before you set off in the felucca. Here comes Miss Lee. I’ll
go and deliver commiserations. Go back to your cabin and stay
there. After we all depart for the dam you disembark and head off
in the opposite direction.”