The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog (27 page)

"Karl's evidence is good enough for me," I said. "He is an old friend whom we have known for years— "
"Hmph," said Emerson, who of course had no recollection of ever having seen Karl before.
"All the same," I went on. "I trust Karl will not take offense if I call another witness, and if I request Cyrus to keep you covered (that is the phrase, I believe?) while I go in search of her."
"Good idea," said Cyrus. "Not that I doubt your word, von Bork, but this is the doggonedest story
I ever heard If it wasn't Vincey, then who— "
"That will all be gone into at the proper time," I said. "First— where is Bertha?"
There was no need to search for her, she was there, a few feet behind us. Rene was at her side, his arm encircling her slim shoulders. "There is nothing to fear," he assured her. "This villain, this scum, cannot hurt you now."
"But it is not he," Bertha said.
"I would like to beat him as he— " Rene's jaw dropped. "What is it you say?"
"He is not the one." Bertha moved slowly forward, out of the protective circle of his arm. Her wide
dark eyes were fixed on Vincey. "They are alike as sons of the same mother, but this is not the same man. Who would know better than I?"

*  *  *

"So it was Sethos after all," I said.
We had retired to the shade and I had asked Selim to brew tea. With such overwhelming evidence to support his claim it hardly seemed fair to exclude Mr. Vincey from our company, but I noticed Cyrus
kept his right hand in his pocket and held his cup in his left.
"The conclusion is forced upon us," I continued. "Who else but a master of disguise, as we know the Master Criminal to be, could have imitated Mr. Vincey's appearance so precisely?"
In a dangerously soft voice Emerson requested eludication of this speech. I obliged in general terms, omitting certain details of our former encounters with Sethos. When I had finished, Emerson studied
me pensively before speaking.
"I had begun to believe you suffered less from woolly-mindedness than other members of your sex, Peabody. I would be sorry to learn I was mistaken, but this farrago of nonsense, this piece of
sensational fiction— "
"There is such a man," Vincey said. Emerson's critical gaze moved to him and he flushed faintly. "Anyone who has been involved with the illegal antiquities trade knows of him. The unfortunate incident in my past, which I bitterly regret and which I have endeavored ever since to live down, brought me in contact with that trade."
"Ja, ja,"
Karl nodded vigorously. "I too have heard such stories. One is inclined, natiirlicb, to dismiss them as idle rumor, but no less a distinguished individual than M. de Morgan— "
"Balderdash!" Emerson shouted, his countenance reddening. "It seems necessary to admit that someone took advantage of Vincey's absence, but let me hear no more nonsense about master criminals. You credulous fools may sit here and spin fairy tales all day if you like, I am going back to work."
And off he went, with Abdullah close on his heels and the cat close on the heels of Abdullah. Vincey smiled ruefully. "I have lost the allegiance of Anubis, it seems. Cats are unforgiving creatures, he blames me for leaving him, I suppose, and will accept no excuses. I hope, Mrs. Emerson, that you are more merciful. You do believe me?"
"No reasonable individual could doubt your evidence," I replied, glancing from the little pile of receipts and statements— which I had of course examined carefully— to the solemn face of Karl von Bork.
"And the misunderstanding has given me the pleasure of seeing Karl again. How is Mary, Karl? We
heard she had been ill."
"She is better, I thank you. But— the Herr Professor . . . It is true, then, what we heard from friends?
He did not seem to know me."
"He has suffered a temporary loss of memory in some areas," I admitted— since it would have been
folly to deny it. "But that fact is not generally known, and I hope you will be discreet about mentioning it— especially to Walter, if you have occasion to write to him."
"We communicate less often than I would like," Karl said. "A scholar of the most profound brilliance is Mr. Walter Emerson, in my own field of philology he is the brightest star. He does not know of his most distinguished brother's— "
"We expect a complete recovery," I said firmly. "There is no need to distress Walter. Much as I would enjoy chatting with you, Karl, I had better return to my duties. Will I see you later? Perhaps you will
both dine with us this evening on Mr. Vandergelt's dahabeeyah."
I glanced at Cyrus for confirmation of the invitation. Still preoccupied with the problem of drinking tea left-handed, he nodded brusquely.
"It would be better not, I think," said Vincey. "You are a kind, just woman, Mrs. Emerson, but you cannot be wholly comfortable in my presence just now, it must recall too many painful memories. We
will spend the night at Minia and be on our way next morning. Karl must return to the dig, he has
already given too much of his time to my affairs. As for me, I am at your disposal at any time and
for any purpose."
"Where will you be?" I asked.
"At my apartment in Cairo, engaged in the same business as yourself." His face hardened. "My good name has been tarnished, rny reputation impugned. That stain will remain until the blackguard who defamed me is caught and punished. My motive for tracking him down is not as compelling as yours,
but I hope it will comfort you to know that I am bent on the same object."
I embraced Karl, which made him blush and stammer, and shook Mr. Vincey's hand. Cyrus did neither. He did not remove his hand from his pocket until the two retreating forms were blurred by distance and blowing sand into ghostly images of men. Then he said, "I guess I'm just a hardheaded old Yankee, Amelia, but I'd just as soon not turn my back on that fellow Vincey."
"You have known Karl as long as I. I would no more doubt his word than I would that of Howard
Carter or Mr. Newberry."
"The more honest a man, the easier he can be bamboozled," Cyrus grunted. "Just promise me, Amelia, that if Vincey asks you to meet him in some dark alley you won't accept the invitation."
"Now, Cyrus, you know I would never do such a silly thing."
When I returned to the little faience ring I had been carefully removing from its position, I saw that the
cat Anubis was stretched out along the wall. I had forgotten it until that moment, and so, evidently, had Mr. Vincey. Evidently his "faithful companion" was not so faithful as he had believed. Not that I blamed the intelligent animal for preferring Emerson's and my company.
With brushes and tiny probes I freed the ring from the matrix of hardened mud that held it. Emerson came loping over to see how I was getting on, and I handed him the ring— or, to be more accurate, the bezel of a ring. These common objects, made of cheap fragile faience, had usually lost the thinner shank portion when we found them, it may have been because they were broken that they had been discarded. Sometimes they bore the name of the reigning pharaoh and were worn as a token of loyalty, in other cases the bezel was ornamented with the image of a god favored by the wearer. "Bes," I said.
"Hmph," said Emerson. "So Akhenaton's devotion to his 'sole god' was not emulated by all the citizens
of Amarna."
"The appeal of the homely little gods of the household must have been difficult to combat." I sat back
on my haunches and rubbed my aching shoulders. "Witness the popularity of certain saints in Catholic countries. Bes, being the patron of jovial entertainment and— er— conjugal felicity— "
"Hmph," said Emerson again. "All right, Peabody, don't dawdle. There is a good-sized heap of sand
to be sifted."
I noted the ring on the record sheet and put it into the appropriate box, which had been labeled with
the numbers assigned to the square,  the house, and the particular room. As I bent again to my task, I
was conscious of a strange sense of depression. I ought to have been encouraged by Emerson's use of that loved and loving appellation— i.e., my maiden name, sans title. He was using it now as he had originally, with sarcastic intent, but even that was a step forward, for it tacitly awarded me the same equality he would have given a fellow worker who happened to be male.
It was not Emerson who had affected my mood, or even the startling discovery of Mr. Vincey's innocence, though the knowledge that we now had to deal, not with an ordinary criminal, but with that enigmatic and unknown genius of crime who had evaded capture so often, was certainly discouraging. What disturbed me most was being forced to acknowledge I had been mistaken in my assessment of Sethos's character. I had been gullible enough to believe in that strange man's honor— to trust his word that never again would he impinge upon my life. Obviously he was no more to be trusted in that area
than in any other. I ought not to have been surprised or disappointed. But I was.
The swollen globe of the sun hung low over the river, veiled by the rising mist of evening, when we started back to the dahabeeyah. Emerson had driven the men unmercifully and himself just as hard—
and me even harder. I was so stiff and cramped with squatting I was glad to accept the offer of Cyrus's arm. Rene had given his to Bertha, watching the oddly assorted pair— the slim, dapper young man and the perambulating bundle of shapeless cloth beside him— I said thoughtfully, "I have never been one to interfere with romantic attachments, Cyrus, but I do not approve of that relationship. His intentions cannot be serious— in the way of matrimony, I mean."
"I hope not," Cyrus exclaimed. "His mother is a member of some noble French house, the old lady
would have a fit if he brought home a squashed blossom like that."
"Please don't mention that to Emerson. He is as prejudiced against the aristocracy as he is against young lovers. However, Cyrus, I cannot approve of an unlicensed attachment, it is not fair to the girl."
"I suppose you've got her future all planned," Cyrus said, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Are you going to give her any say in the matter?"
"Your sense of humor is delightful, dear Cyrus. I haven't had time to consider the matter seriously, first
I will have to ascertain what talents she has, and how best to employ them. But I certainly will not allow
her to fall back into the life of degradation and abuse she has experienced thus far. Honorable marriage
or an honorable profession— what other choices are there for any woman who is given the opportunity
to choose?"
Cyrus's hand went to his chin. Finding no goatee on which to tug, as was his habit when perplexed or perturbed, he rubbed his chin. "I reckon you're a better judge than I am," he replied.
"I reckon I am," I said, laughing. "I know what you are thinking, Cyrus, I am a married woman, not an inexperienced girl. But you are wrong. Men always believe what they want to believe, and one of their least attractive delusions concerns the— er— the . . ."
While I was considering how best to express this delicate matter (and really, there is no way of
expressing it delicately), I saw the black-robed form of Bertha sway closer to Rene, and her head tilt toward him. I caught my breath.
"Never mind, my dear, I get your drift," said Cyrus with a smile.
However, it was not embarrassment that had caused me to lose track of what I had been saying. The girl's sinuous, swaying movement had roused a long-forgotten memory. I had known another woman whose gestures had that serpentine grace. Her name was one of those on the list I had sent to Sir Evelyn Baring.

*  *  *

The mayor was waiting for me when Cyrus and I reached the village square. His dour expression told
me, before he spoke, what news he had to give.
"No sign of Mohammed yet?" I inquired.
"He has not returned to the village, Sitt, and some of the men searched the cliffs all day. Hassan ibn Mahmud believes he has run away again."
"I would like to speak with Hassan." I sweetened the request with a few coins, adding, "There will be
the same for Hassan if he comes at once."
Hassan promptly appeared, he had been watching from behind a wall. He frankly admitted that he was one of those Mohammed had asked to join him. "But I would never do such a thing, honored Sitt," he exclaimed, opening his eyes as wide as they would go. The effect was not convincing, like those of
many Egyptians, Hassan's eyelids were inflamed by recurrent infections, and his other features were
not precisely prepossessing.
"I am glad to hear that, Hassan," I remarked pleasantly. "For if I believed you meant to harm the Father of Curses, I would tear the soul out of your body by means of my magic, and leave it shrieking in the fires of Gehenna. But perhaps you agreed to go along with Mohammed yesterday in order to prevent
him from carrying out his evil plan?"
"The honored Sitt reads the hearts of men!" exclaimed Hassan. "It is as the honored Sitt has said. But before we could act, the Sitt appeared, shooting and shrieking, and we knew the Father of Curses was saved. So we all ran away."
Of course I did not believe a word of this fantasy, and Hassan knew I did not. His cowardly allies had waited in concealment to see how Mohammed made out before risking their own precious hides, but if I had not come when I did, they would have been on Emerson like a pack of jackals on a wounded lion. Mastering my contempt and anger, I took out a few more coins and jingled them carelessly in my hand. "What was Mohammed's plan?"
I had to listen to a good many more protestations of innocence before I could winnow the few grains of wheat from among the chaff of Hassan's lies. He insisted that murder was not Mohammed's aim— and that I did believe. Once their victim was subdued and helpless, they would carry him to a place Mohammed knew of and leave him there Hassan insisted he knew nothing more— and I believed that
too. He and his friends were only hired thugs— tools, to be used for a specific purpose and discarded.
"And now," Hassan concluded sadly, "Mohammed has run away. One of your bullets struck him, Sitt,
for he bled as he ran, and I think he will not come back. I would be glad if he would."
I assured him the reward was still in effect, offered lesser amounts for any additional information, and sent him on his way— not rejoicing, but in a more cheerful frame of mind.
Twilight crept along the ground like a woman trailing long gray veils. Golden flowers of lamplight blossomed in the windows of the houses. "If I were not in the company of a lady," said Cyrus,
"I would spit. I have a bad taste in my mouth."
I took his arm. "For that affliction I usually prescribe a whiskey and soda. And if you pressed me to
join you, Cyrus, I would not say no."
"Don't give way to discouragement, my dear." Cyrus squeezed my hand, "You handled that rascal just right. If Mohammed hasn't already skipped the country his pals will be hot on his trail. I don't think we have to worry about him bothering us again."
"But who will be next?" We had reached the shore, warm, welcoming lights glowed from the dahabeeyah and the aroma of roasting mutton wafted to our nostrils. Across the river the western cliffs were crowned with a single brilliant star.
I stopped. "Will you think me foolish, Cyrus, if I confess a weakness I scarcely dare admit to myself? May I confide in you? For I feel the need of unburdening myself to a listener who is sensitive to my feelings and will not reproach me for them."
In a voice gruff with emotion, Cyrus assured me he would be honored by my confidence. Darkness, I have found, assists confession,- the softness of the night, the silent attention of a friend lent eloquence
to my tongue, and I told him of my selfish, contemptible yearning to return to the past.
"Can you blame me," I demanded passionately, "for feeling as if some evil genie intercepted the prayer
I had the temerity to address to a benevolent Creator? Legends and myths tell us how such selfish
wishes are twisted to harm instead of help the wisher. You remember Midas and the golden touch. The past has come back, not to help but to haunt me. Old enemies and old friends— "
"Right," Cyrus interrupted. "Amelia, dear, you're too sensible a lady to believe that stuff. I figure what you want from me isn't so much sympathy as a jolt of common sense. These people haven't been lying around in some eternal museum waiting to be wound up and set on your trail all at once, you've seen
Karl off and on over the years, and me, and Carter, and a lot of other folks. Old enemies are bound to turn up too— along with plenty of new ones, considering how you and Emerson operate. It's impossible
to go back, Amelia. This is now, not then, and the only direction you can go is forward."
I drew a deep, steadying breath. "Thank you, Cyrus. I needed that."
His warm, firm fingers tightened around mine. He leaned toward me.
"That whiskey and soda you mentioned will complete the cure," I said. "We had better go on, the
others will be wondering what has become of us."