Lord of the Silent: A Novel of Suspense (11 page)

(The description is that of Emerson.) Egyptians were not admitted to membership. Neither were noncommissioned officers. We were not members either, but I did not anticipate I would be prevented from entering. Such proved to be the case. The doorman was a large, very gloomy-looking fellow, who had once occupied the same position at Shepheard's. He took one step forward. I waved my parasol at him in a friendly manner. He backed hastily away, and flung the door open. I had never been in the Club, since Emerson and I refused to patronize establishments of that sort, but I had heard that many of the officers and high officials were in the habit of meeting there for drinks and gossip before they went on to various evening appointments. The large hall appeared to be where these activities took place; it was not yet crowded, for the hour was still early, but I saw a number of familiar faces. They saw me as well. Some looked away, as from a visual obscenity, while others stared and muttered amongst themselves. I realized I was the only female present. Apparently the sacred precincts were out of bounds to women as well as other lower breeds. I found a spot from which I could get a good view of the proceedings and made myself comfortable. I believe my appearance could not have been faulted; I was wearing a smart calling suit of saffron silk and my second-best hat. The parasol might have been regarded as a slightly discordant note, for it was larger and plainer than the frivolous parasols carried by fashionable ladies. I have had occasion in the past to remark on the all-round usefulness of a good stout parasol; it proved its usefulness once again, for, failing to capture the attention of a waiter, I hooked one of them by the arm and ordered a whiskey and soda. The buzz of conversation, which had halted upon my entrance, resumed, though on a lower note. Sipping my whiskey, I looked around. There was no one to whom I cared to speak. Evidently no one cared to speak to me. I had been there a good half hour before the gentleman to whom I had addressed a little note finally appeared. He appeared a trifle ill at ease, and as he stood in the doorway I thought how much he reminded me of another Edward, the lieutenant of the Master Criminal, who had been with us on several occasions. Like Sir Edward Washington, Lord Edward Cecil was tall and fair-haired, with the faintly supercilious expression that marks the product of our public schools. He did not see me at first; then someone caught his sleeve and whispered in his ear, and he turned with a forced smile, and came to me. "Good evening, Mrs. Emerson. I am sorry to have kept you waiting." "Do not apologize. I made certain you did not receive my message until a short time ago, and since I expect my husband will turn up before long, please do me the favor of answering my question promptly and without equivocation. Is the War Office still trying to force my son into cooperating with them?" His faint smile vanished. "For heaven's sake, Mrs. Emerson, don't talk so loudly! I don't know what you mean." "I find that very hard to believe, Lord Edward," I said severely. "The man whom I met at your brother's house under an assumed name is in Cairo. Don't bother asking how I know; I have my sources. He is a newcomer, and therefore of interest to the Anglo-Egyptian community, and the description I extracted from Mrs. Pettigrew fits him exactly. I presume he is the new head of the group of disorganized individuals who make up our intelligence department. I asked you to bring him here this evening. Where is he?" Never had I seen the imperturbable Lord Edward so uncomfortable. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other and glancing uneasily about, he cleared his throat but did not speak. I felt certain he was trying to invent a lie that would put an end to my interrogation, though he could not possibly have supposed that he would succeed. He was spared that difficulty when he saw the man who had just entered. "Ah," I said. "The mysterious Mr. Smith. Perhaps you will be good enough to introduce us, Lord Edward. Otherwise I will be forced to hail him, in a clear and carrying voice, by the name he gave me." "You would, wouldn't you?" Lord Edward muttered. He gestured, hastily and without his usual grace. The mysterious Mr. Smith had seen us. His mouth tightened into invisibility, but knowing he was fairly caught, he made the best of it. "Sorry to have kept you waiting, Cecil," he said smoothly, and bowed to me, as to a stranger. Lord Edward presented him: the Honorable Algernon Bracegirdle-Boisdragon. "How do you do," I said. "You are new to Cairo, I believe. I hope you find it pleasant." I did not give him time to reply, for I could see he was about to make his excuses. Lowering my voice, I went on, "Do try to look a little more affable; you must have known you would encounter me sooner or later. I do not enjoy your company any more than you like mine, so let us get to the point. Why didn't your office inform us that one of Wardani's lieutenants had escaped?" "I was unaware-" "Come now, don't lie to me. If you didn't know, you are even more inefficient than I had expected. Are any of the others on the loose?" He was not an easy man to keep off guard. His eyes narrowed into slits. "How did you know about Asad? If you did, why didn't you notify the police or the military?" "Well done," I said approvingly. "It is a pleasure to fence with an adversary of your skill, but you cannot put me on the defensive. I asked you first." "You had better tell her," Lord Edward warned. "The Professor is on his way, and you don't want him asking the questions." Bracegirdle-Boisdragon's face hardened. "The fact is, we are no longer concerned about that lot of ineffectual revolutionaries. They cannot do any harm now." "Do you mean you let the rest of them get away too?" It was my tone of voice, rather than the words themselves, that brought a flush of anger to his face. He looked much more human and, as I had hoped, rising temper produced a prompt answer. "No, madam, we did not! We have kept them under closer surveillance since Asad escaped. I am sorry if our failure to notify you caused you trouble .. ." I recognized this as a disingenuous attempt to extract information from me; after considering the pros and cons, I decided to provide it. "One might call it that. Fortunately Ramses was not seriously injured." If I had not known the fellow to be a professional dissembler, I would have taken his surprise at face value. "Injured? By Asad? When did this happen?" "It was not serious. Now, Mr.-oh, good Gad, never mind- don't let us waste time; I have one more question and I want a direct, honest answer. I expect Emerson momentarily. Have you or any of your associates approached Ramses again about the matter we discussed at Lord Salisbury's?" He hesitated-weighing the pros and cons, as I had done-but not for long. "I understand why such a suspicion might have entered your mind, Mrs. Emerson. Let me assure you that Asad's attack on your son must have been motivated by resentment of his earlier activities. To the best of my knowledge there is no present cause-" Lord Edward was guilty of the discourtesy of interrupting. "I say! Isn't that ..." It was. There is no mistaking the noises with which Emerson brings the motorcar to a stop, particularly when he is in a hurry or in a rage. On this occasion he was both, as he promptly demonstrated. The door crashed back against the wall, and there he stood, like Hercules or some other hero of antique legend, fists clenched and eyes blazing. He must have found my message as soon as he returned from the dig, for he was still wearing his dusty, sweatstained garments, and of course he had lost his hat. The other men were in uniform or lounge suits, but Emerson was superbly indifferent to the inappropriateness of his attire and at that moment so was I. He outshone every man in the room. Emerson headed straight for me, brushing aside people who were not quick enough to get out of his way. By the time he reached me I was alone. Lord Edward had not even excused himself, and Mr. Smith had simply melted away. I did not suppose Emerson would swear at me in public, but just to be on the safe side, I spoke first. "Good evening, my dear. Will you join me in a whiskey and soda?" "Not in this hellhole," said Emerson. He did not bother to lower his voice. "Come along, Peabody. Er-if you are ready, that is." Once we were outside, Emerson expressed his opinion of people who did not have the common courtesy to consult their husbands before dashing off on some harebrained expedition. "Well, my dear," I said, "your little scheme of waiting for someone to attack us has not borne fruit. It is no wonder, really, when you consider we haven't gone anywhere except to the dig and back. We need to get out and about, away from-" "But why the bloody Turf Club? You know how I feel about the place, and if you are hoping to instigate a violent attack, I can think of more likely areas." "It is where many of the officers and most of the officials spend their spare time. I took it for granted that Mr. Asad's escape must have been known to some of them, and such proved to be the case. You will never guess who I ran into." "Yes, I will. I saw the bastard before he scuttled off, like a beetle behind the baseboard. Did you know he would be here?" "Yes. I learned of his presence in Cairo when I took tea at Shepheard's with Mrs. Pettigrew, Mrs. Gorst, and Madame Villiers. As I have often told you, Emerson, the sources of information you rudely refer to as gossip-" "Leave off, Peabody. I am already in a state of extreme exasperation." "Very well, my dear. I asked Lord Edward to bring him to the club. His real name is Bracegirdle-Boisdragon, with an Honorable, no less. No wonder he chose a monosyllabic pseudonym! Upon interrogation he admitted he had known of Asad's escape, professed disinterest in the comings and goings of the ex-rebels, on the grounds that they had been rendered harmless, and asked how I knew of it." "Did you tell him?" "Yes. It occurred to me, you see, that it might have been the War Office that set Asad on Ramses's trail, in the hope of frightening him back into the service." Emerson dropped the pipe he had been about to fill. "Frightening?" he repeated, in a rumble like thunder. "The word was ill-chosen," I admitted. "Ramses is not to be intimidated so easily. However, those who do not know him well-" "Peabody!" The roar was muffled. Emerson was fumbling under the seat for his pipe. He came up red-faced and sputtering. "That theory is absolutely insane." "So are many of the people in the intelligence service." "Hmmm," said Emerson. "I don't insist on that interpretation, I merely present it as a possibility. Supposing we dine at Bassam's and ask if he has heard from Asad. Afterward we might stroll the streets of the old city arm in arm and hand in hand-" "Back-to-back is more like it," Emerson grumbled. But his eyebrows had resumed their normal position and a smile tugged at his lips. "You are incorrigible, Peabody, and you are not really dressed for a melee, supposing we should be fortunate enough to inspire one. Is that a new frock? It becomes you." "It is not new, and you have seen me wear it several times, but I appreciate the compliment. Fear not, my dear, I am armed and ready." Though the restaurant was crowded, Mr. Bassam had kept a table for us. I had sent ahead to tell him we were coming, and I was rather touched when I saw how much effort he had made. The cloth on the table was very clean (and a little damp still) and a vase of flowers adorned it. The roses were beginning to wilt. He had not put any water in the vase. After all, they would last until we were finished dining, and it was the immediate impression that mattered. The genial fellow greeted us with a cry of triumph. "I have found him!" "Splendid!" I said, taking the chair he held for me. Emerson was less enthusiastic. "How do you know it was the right man?" "One of them must be the man. There were three who wore glasses and I told your words to each." "Doesn't mean a cursed thing," said Emerson, after Bassam had gone off to the kitchen. "If one of them was Asad, which is doubtful, he did not take the hint." "Perhaps he will approach or attack us when we leave," I said. Emerson grinned. "Always the optimist, my dear." We lingered over our dinner. The hour was fairly late when we left. My hopes were high, but they were soon dashed; though we walked slowly along some of the darkest lanes I have ever seen, even in Cairo, the shadowy forms of other pedestrians passed us without speaking. We had left the motorcar at the Club and taken a horse-drawn cab. This sensible suggestion was mine; as I pointed out to Emerson, once he was behind the wheel of the vehicle it would have been virtually impossible for anyone to stop him. When we reached the Place de Bab el-Louk, where we had told the driver to wait, we found the fellow had gone to sleep, slumped forward with his head bowed. Emerson announced our arrival in a loud voice and helped me into the cab, which was, to my disappointment, otherwise unoccupied. Ah, well, I thought, settling myself, there is still a chance we will be waylaid before we reach the Club. It did not happen quite as I had expected. All at once the driver pulled the horse up with a sharp jerk on the reins and began striking the poor creature with his whip. Cursing volubly, Emerson sprang to his feet and reached for the driver. It was well known that we never allowed that sort of thing, so the fellow was prepared; he met Emerson's lunge with a blow that made him fall back onto the seat. By that time I found myself busily occupied with another individual, who had opened the door of the cab and was attempting to pull me out of it. He was quite surprised, I believe, when instead of resisting I descended instantly from the vehicle and stepped heavily onto his bare feet. Our positions were now reversed; he was trying to get away and I was determined he should not escape me. My parasol was in my hand; with a quick twist I freed the nice little sword concealed in the handle and thrust. He let out a thin scream, but I must not have hurt him very much because he hit out at me, and although I blocked the blow quite efficiently, it was hard enough to throw me back against the open door of the carriage. It all happened very quickly. I must have uttered an expletive, though I do not remember doing so; Emerson hastened to me and took hold of my arm. "Go after him!" I gasped, for the man I had attacked was no longer to be seen. "Be damned to that," said Emerson. "Curse it, don't you realize you are wounded?" "Nonsense," I said, wondering why my voice sounded so far away. "It was only ..." The next thing I knew I was half sitting, half reclining on the seat of the carriage, with Emerson bending over me. I heard something rip. It was the sleeve