The Khamsin Curse (35 page)

Hypatia stopped sobbing; her
voice was harsh and strained. “Daisy and Mrs Baxter!”

“Daisy, yes, but not Mrs
Baxter. It was Ursula Graf.”

Several more gasps echoed
around the closed circle.

Dr Watson was shaking his head
in disbelief. He couldn’t imagine the attractive fraulein murdering
either Lee or Mallisham. She was barely acquainted with them. Daisy
Clooney might want to murder her uncle but Ursula Graf was a
different matter. “Fraulein Graf had no motive to kill either man,”
he protested. “And don’t tell me her brief friendship with Daisy
was enough to rope her in as an accomplice.”

“I believe Daisy and Ursula
knew each other before they met in Egypt. Daisy mentioned attending
numerous Egyptology lectures in Berlin. It would be odd if Ursula
did not attend the same lectures considering her interest in things
Egyptian. Hypatia met Professor Mallisham at those lectures and
hatched the plan to come to Egypt. I think Daisy and Ursula hatched
a plan of their own. Daisy hated her uncle because he had inherited
what should rightfully have gone to her father. She held him
responsible for the death of both her parents. What’s more, I think
Daisy suspected she was fathered by Jefferson Lee and that the
fathering had not been consensual.” The Countess broke off and
looked directly at Hypatia. “Is that true?”

Hypatia was no longer sobbing;
she had entered a state of numb despair. “Yes,” she croaked
wretchedly. “Daisy believed
my
father raped
her
mother. I told her she was wicked for saying it, but something my
father said not long ago made me think twice. And he always hated
Daisy. It was as if he wanted to punish her for no reason.” She
stopped to draw breath. “I think I remember seeing Ursula in
Berlin. I know Herr Graf was at the lectures. I remember him
clearly because he struck me as odious. He seemed to know Max quite
well but I wouldn’t say they were friends.”

“They were in business,”
confirmed the Countess. “Professor Mallisham manufactured fake
artifacts and Jurgen Graf sold them to rich clients. I think Ursula
believed Mallisham sold the fake artifacts to her father which
ended up ruining his career, and that’s why she hatched the plan
with Daisy. While, you, Miss Lee were eagerly planning a sojourn in
Egypt, Daisy and Ursula were planning one too, but theirs was more
nefarious. It was Ursula who murdered her uncle with the cobra when
either she or Daisy overheard a discussion concerning Jurgen Graf’s
complicity in his brother’s suicide. The cobra makes me think of
Cleopatra, although she used an asp. It was a safeguard in case the
women were charged with murder. I don’t think either of them wanted
to end up in an Egyptian prison.”

The Countess turned her gaze to
Dr Watson. “The day we went to the souk we saw Daisy and Hypatia
leaving the coffee house arm in arm. Just recently I realised it
could not have been Hypatia. She has excellent posture. Daisy walks
with her shoulders slumped. So did the person with her. It was
Ursula Graf. Ursula is blonde the same as Hypatia. An easy mistake
to make. Moreover, Hypatia appeared a short time later wearing a
burqa. She met up with Colonel Moran who passed her some opium
twists. She dropped them when she stumbled and I caught sight of a
pale foot in an expensive sandal. That’s what bothered me about the
incident. It was
not
an Egyptian lady under the burqa but a
foreigner. Is that right Colonel Moran? You have been procuring
opium for Miss Lee during this journey?”

He shrugged. “What of it? It’s
perfectly legal.”

“Thank you for confirming it.
You procured some for her again at the hotel and again here on the
mainland when we docked. If you nod it will help to eliminate you
from what is yet to come.”

Feigning unconcern, he gave
another supercilious shrug and nodded, but secretly he was
impressed. It was no wonder the boy was smitten. A man’s blood
always ran hot at the thought of bringing an uppity woman down a
peg or two in bed. “Where are the two murderers, by the way?” His
eyes roved around the close-knit circle looking for the guilty
party harbouring the pretty killers.

The Countess was careful to
look at neither Major Nash nor Colonel Moriarty. “I believe they
have eluded capture,” she said flatly. “No doubt they are already
heading back to Cairo on the train. Shall we move on to the final
matter – the espionage?”

“A top up of glasses first,”
suggested Major Nash, flashing a conspiratorial glance Moriarty’s
way when he thought no one was looking.

Moriarty knew the Countess
noticed the exchange. He leapt to his feet to help Dr Watson
refresh the glasses. As everyone was milling about, lighting up
cigarettes, he sidled up behind the Countess. “You know, don’t
you?” he whispered into the back of her head.

She nodded.

Everyone returned to their
seats, keen to hear about the business of espionage. So far, she
had made sound sense and no one was able to refute her logical
argument. Many were still trying to get their heads around the
horror of it all let alone the rationale. The doctrine of
probability supported her conclusions and Dr Watson must have had a
hand in helping her to order her thoughts and form her
theories.

“The Egyptians have many wise
sayings,” she began when everyone settled; glass in one hand,
cigarette in the other. “I remembered this one at the last: We were
looking for the snake and missed the scorpion.”

Several men squirmed and some
nodded knowingly.

“After I had eliminated Ali
Pasha, Colonel Hayter and Colonel Moran – apologies to those
gentlemen – and dismissed Herr Graf and Professor Mallisham for the
reason they were no longer living, I was left with Lorna Baxter. I
suspected the kilim rug and/or the papyrus she purchased from Ali
Pasha’s shop to contain secret codes pertaining to military
manoeuvres which could be passed on to Britain’s enemy. But her
more-than-rational explanations for having those items left me
floundering, the same with the scorpions in her jewel case.

Nevertheless, she was the
perfect courier. She had travelled widely in the Middle East with
her husband, a minor official in diplomatic service, and she was
attractive and clever.

Extremely clever! The rug and
papyrus were designed to distract from the other items she had
purchased – two silk scarves, one decorated with Arabic calligraphy
and the other with a smattering of hieroglyphs. And she left them
in full view, draped over the back of her chair for all to see. In
Kom Ombo, she even daringly dropped one of the scarves in the
temple and left it to Dr Watson to retrieve, knowing full well he
would not let her down. I even paid for the coded messages myself –
a grand irony that must have made her laugh!

So much about her rang true –
having to make her own way in the world, having to suffer Jefferson
Lee’s wandering hands - but there were one or two things that
didn’t.

She claimed that Ali Pasha
propositioned her. This was most likely invented to win Dr Watson’s
sympathy and to explain away an impulsive display of forthrightness
when she didn’t realize she was being observed. She wished to
portray herself as naturally retiring. When I learned Ali Pasha was
not interested in women the conceit became obvious.

To win my sympathy she told a
story about the death of her husband and of being stranded, unable
to pay an expensive hotel bill. It rang true but it also reminded
me of a woman in similar circumstances in Montenegro. She had run
up an expensive hotel bill. An unknown gentleman came to her
rescue. I recall my late step-aunt muttering something about the
danger of gratitude and eternal servitude. I imagine the man who
came to the rescue of Mrs Baxter recruited her for his own ends. He
recognized at once her suitability to act as a courier for illegal
contraband and he most likely groomed her for greater things.

I believe she cultivated an
interest in Colonel Moran so that she could direct suspicion toward
him if the need arose. His reputation would have gone against him.
He unwittingly provided her with an alibi more than once. Let’s not
forget she also hired Azrafel. Whether she knew about the dam
sabotage may yet come to light. They may have been working
separately and yet with one aim. She stole the major’s gun on the
night of the party. It suggests she suspected him of being more
than an advocate. The attempt made on his life in Kom Ombo probably
came from her say-so, and the attempt to implicate Japhet by using
a Nubian wearing Japhet’s distinctive shoes attests to her
attention to detail.

I dare say she did not expect
the colonel to shoot her when she tried to kill the major. I think
she felt certain he would not turn against her. Alas! That was her
only miscalculation. We thank Colonel Moran for his
marksmanship.

But we want the spymaster, not
just the spy. I believe if Major Nash sends a telegram to Cairo and
orders the arrest of the man I call Horus, a scarf and trinket
trader who has a souvenir shop near the Bab al-Ghuri gate, we will
have that man. He may offer up further names during
questioning.”

The moment the Countess
finished speaking, an arrest was made, a telegram sent, and Ali
Pasha approached Miss Lee. By next year she would be the most
famous archaeologist in Egypt. Dinner was convivial despite all
that had recently taken place.

When someone commented that the
wind was picking and there seemed to be some flurries of grit and
sand in the air the party broke up. Jim kissed the Countess on the
lips when he thought no one was looking and set off for war. The
passengers on the Sekhmet staggered off to bed and prepared to
‘batten down the hatches’. The air was sweltering.

Major Nash, leaning limply
against the guard rail, staring at a mid-heaven moon and sucking on
a fine Havana, was trying hard not to think about his throbbing
head.

“You took them to Jim’s camp,”
she accused softly. “He will escort them to Khartoum where they
will be out of reach of colonial justice. You didn’t want them to
end up in an Egyptian prison.”

“I have no idea what you’re
talking about.” She was only guessing he told himself as he took an
exaggerated puff of his cigar and held his breath for one long
moment – she’d draw down like a mouthful of warm smoke: sweet tang,
hint of spice, exotic aftertaste.

“I saw you fumble for your fob
watch that time Hayter was raving on about Egyptian prisons. You’re
not a fumbler. You were rattled. You’ve experienced the inside of
an Egyptian prison first hand. You knew Daisy and Ursula wouldn’t
survive long.”

“I repeat. I have no idea what
you’re talking about.” He savoured the aromatic fantasy and
wondered how long it would be before the Khamsin arrived.

Sighing, she turned her back on
him, hesitated, walked a few paces, paused and looked back. “Just
to be clear, I support what you did. If you happen to be passing my
cabin on the way to your room, and you decide you are not too
spent, you will find my door unlocked.”