The Hippopotamus Pool (31 page)

Sir Edward, playing it safe, had rejected evening dress in favor of a suit in a heather blend that set off his blue eyes and fair hair. Kevin ... Well, even his best friend could not have called him handsome, but his freckled face beamed with satisfaction at finding himself in such company. The annoyance of the
Times,
the
Mirror
and the
Daily Mail,
at a distant table, undoubtedly added to his enjoyment. Walter looked ten years younger than he had when he first arrived; his face was now healthily tanned and he had gained at least a stone.

Mr. Amherst, Cyrus's new assistant, was a fine-looking young fellow, with sandy hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. None of us had met him before, since he was fresh down from Oxford, where he had been studying classics. He was chatting with Evelyn, who had never looked lovelier.

The happiest face of all, however, belonged to Miss Marmaduke. As the only unmarried adult female present, she obviously considered herself the belle of the occasion and she blossomed under the attentions of the gentlemen. Her black frock had been altered to display her arms and throat and shoulders, and by some device not immediately apparent to me she had managed to put her hair up and keep it there. Her thin cheeks were becomingly flushed—or perhaps it was paint. The transformation was so great I wondered whether Sir Edward ...

"A good many tourists in Luxor this year," said Cyrus, interrupting a train of thought which probably did me no credit. "I wonder how many have been drawn here by the news of the tomb."

"Some have tried to see it, at any rate," I replied, recognizing several familiar faces. "Lord Lowry-Corry and his lady actually threatened Emerson with dismissal when he refused to let them mount the stairs."

"Dismissal from what?" Cyrus inquired with a bemused smile.

"Heaven only knows. I suppose they believe archaeologists must be employed by the British government." I nodded distantly at Lady Lowry-Corry, who proceeded to cut me dead.

Cyrus, who had observed the exchange, laughed heartily. "I hope you will forgive me for saying so, Mrs. Amelia, but there are advantages to a democratic form of government. The aristocracy can be a nuisance."

"Emerson would agree with you. But if
you
will forgive
me
for saying so, Cyrus, some Americans toady to aristocrats too—not only ours, but the American aristocracy of wealth. I deduce, from the way the ladies are fawning on him, that the gentleman at that table is a member of that group, for his appearance is not so prepossessing as to inspire such a degree of admiration."

"Right again, Mrs. Amelia." Cyrus scowled at the little man with the enormous mustaches, who was holding forth in a loud American accent. "He is a New Yorker and an old business rival of mine. Apparently he has become quite fascinated with Egypt, for he had the almighty gall to visit me and pump me about my excavations. Watch out for him. He'll be trying to bully his way into your tomb next, and I wouldn't trust him any farther than I could throw him."

"You could probably throw him quite a distance, Cyrus."

"And Emerson could throw him even farther." Cyrus's face relaxed into an anticipatory grin. "I just hope I'm on the spot if he tries his tricks on your husband."

I caught the eye of another gentleman who immediately rose and came to our table.

"How is your son getting on, Mrs. Emerson? Since you did not call me back I assume there were no complications."

"As you see, he is the picture of health." Turning to Cyrus, I said, "You remember Dr. Willoughby, Cyrus. I am glad to be able to thank you again, Doctor, not only for your prompt attention to Ramses's little accident, but for your care of my husband last winter."

"He certainly seems to have made a complete recovery," said Willoughby,looking at Emerson, who was, to judge by his impassioned gestures, arguing about philology with Walter.

"It was just as you predicted," I said. "As his physical health improved the—er—nervous disorder disappeared."

"I am delighted to hear it. And so would my patients be," he added with a smile, "if I were so unprofessional as to discuss my other cases with any but the patient and his family. But I may tell you, Mrs. Emerson, that your husband's case aroused my interest in—er—nervous disorders, and I have been able to help several individuals who have consulted me with similar problems. My practice is constantly increasing."

"Luxor is becoming known as a health resort," I agreed, "and the presence of a physician of your reputation must attract many invalids to the city."

After a further exchange of compliments the doctor returned to his table, and Cyrus, who was studying me curiously, remarked, "So Ramses has had another little accident—and one serious enough to require the attention of a surgeon?"

"The maternal instinct quite frequently inspires an exaggerated response," I replied, and, in the hope of changing the subject, went on without pausing. "Are the other people at the doctor's table patients of his, I wonder? Some of them seem to be suffering from nothing more serious than overindulgence."

"That fellow in the red fez could certainly profit from a few weeks on bread and water," Cyrus agreed with a chuckle. "He is a Hollander, Mrs. Amelia, and quite a bon vivant. The lady in black next to him is a subject of the Emperor of Austria. She lost her husband not long ago in a tragic accident; he was an ardent sportsman who tripped over a root and shot himself instead of the stag he was after. The poor lady appears to be very frail; that forbidding female at her left is a hospital nurse, who accompanies her everywhere."

"What a mine of information you are, Cyrus. Do you know everyone in Luxor?"

"I am not acquainted with the other ladies at Willoughby's table. Wouldn't mind an introduction, though. Nothing wrong with any of them that I can see."

"Too much money and too few brains, no doubt. Which do you fancy, Cyrus, the dark lady or the one with the Titian hair? I doubt it is the original color."

"Why, either one. I make no bones about my admiration for the fair sex, Mrs. Amelia, and since you are unavailable I must seek consolation elsewhere."

I am sure I need not explain to the Reader that vulgar curiosity was not the cause of my inquiries. In recent days I had seen no signs of the vultures, but I did not doubt they were still hovering, intent on gaining control ofthe empire Sethos had left leaderless. The trouble with unknown enemies is that they are so hard to identify. Any or all of these seemingly innocent tourists could be such a foe.

After dinner we retired to the garden for coffee. Lanterns hanging in the trees cast their soft glow on luxuriant greenery and tender blossoms; the cool pure air was a welcome refreshment after the crowded atmosphere of the dining salon. Emerson promptly proceeded to pollute the air with his pipe and Cyrus, after politely requesting my permission, lit one of his cheroots.

"So," said the latter, getting down to business, "when do you expect to reach the burial chamber?"

With a glance at Kevin, seated at an adjoining table, Emerson said, "One can almost see his ears prick, can't one? Don't bother straining your neck, O'Connell. The answer to Mr. Vandergelt's question is an unequivocal 'How the devil should I know?' It will be several more days before I finish with the antechamber, and then there is a passage of unknown length to be cleared of rubble. We will be lucky to reach the burial chamber, wherever it is, before March."

"Another month?" Kevin exclaimed, pulling his chair closer.

"At least."

"But I can't be hanging around Luxor so long! My editor won't stand for it."

"Neither, I fancy, can the
Times
and the
Mirror,"
said Emerson with a sinister smile. "You have my permission to pass the information on to them, O'Connell. Now, Vandergelt, you were asking about the next volume of my
History.
I mean to discuss at length the development of the temporal power of the priesthood of Amon and its effect . . ."

With a muttered "Begorrah!" Kevin got up and walked away. The ruse had been successful. He and his readers were not interested in Emerson's theories about the priesthood of Amon. I was, of course, so much so that it was not until after we had finished a refreshing little argument about Akhenaton that I realized several of our party had disappeared.

"Curse it!" I exclaimed. "Where is Nefret? If that girl has gone off with—"

"With Ramses, I expect," Emerson said ingenuously. "It is a fine moonlit night, Amelia, and young people are too restless to sit still for long."

"Have Evelyn and Walter gone for a moonlight stroll too?"

"It would appear so. Sit down, Peabody, what are you in such a state about?"

"It is her maternal instincts," Cyrus declared seriously. "I sympathize, Mrs. Amelia; the responsibility for two such young people must be stupendous. What with Ramses's propensity for accidents and Miss Nefret's prettyface . .. You'll be up to your—er—neck in lovesick swains before long, Emerson."

"Oh, good Gad," said Emerson, with a stricken look at me. "Peabody, perhaps you had better go look for her—them."

It was so like him to have ignored all the obvious signs, including my warnings, until a casual comment from another
man
caught his attention! I said coolly, "I intended to do just that, Emerson. Please do not disturb yourself."

Picking up my parasol (crimson, to match my frock) I followed the path leading into the shrubbery.

There were others enjoying the tropical beauty of the night—shadowy forms in the darkness, many of them arm in arm. As I went on, I began to regret I had allowed momentary pique to prevent me from urging that Emerson accompany me. Egyptian nights are made for romantic encounters—stars, soft breezes, the languorous scent of jasmine and roses heavy on the air. The moon, nearing the full, cast silvery rays across the path. How could I, who had been and still was susceptible to sentiments of that nature, entirely condemn a young person who yielded to its exquisite sensations?

Because she was fifteen years old, not... not as mature as I had been when 1 was swept off my feet by moonlight and Emerson.

It was the moonlight that betrayed them, glinting in his fair hair. Her form was in deeper shadow, half-concealed by a flowering vine. A breeze rustled the branches; the sound must have hidden the even softer brush of my skirts along the grass. I stopped; and then I heard a woman's voice.

"What is it they say here? Word of an Englishman?"

It was not Nefret's voice. In fact, it was hard to identify, for she spoke in a whisper and a hint of laughter colored the tones. I knew it must be Gertrude, though, even before the response came in the equally soft but unmistakable voice of Sir Edward Washington.

"You have it. Do you doubt me?"

"Give me your hand on it, then—as gentlemen do when they strike a bargain."

The only answer was an intake of breath. The gleam of fair hair vanished as he moved, and since I did not know whether he was moving forward or back toward me, I retreated at once.

Returning to the table, I was relieved to find the wanderers had come back.

"We went for a short stroll," Evelyn explained. "The view across the river is beautiful."

"Did you see the others?" I asked casually.

"We ran into Mr. O'Connell and Amherst," Walter replied. "They werelooking for tobacco. The shops are open half the night during Ramadan, you know."

"Sir Edward and Miss Marmaduke were not with you?" Well, I knew they had not been, at least not all the time, but a proper investigator takes nothing for granted.

"What business is it of yours?" Emerson demanded. "You are not responsible for them, nor are they accountable to you for what they do in their free time." He pulled out his watch. "It is late. We must be getting back."

"What's your hurry?" Cyrus gestured at a passing waiter. "The ladies are just as entitled to a holiday as the workers. If you won't take a day off, I would be delighted to act as escort. Temples, tombs or shops, ladies— whatever your pleasure, Cyrus Vandergelt, U.S.A., is your man. What about the Valley of the Kings, eh? I believe I may claim that is my particular bailiwick, and Miss Nefret tells me she has not seen it."

We had not been debating the matter long when the others returned. They were all three together. O'Connell was showering Gertrude with smiles and Irish compliments. Had she managed to work him in too? I decided I had better have a little chat with Gertrude.

In all fairness to myself, I must make it clear that my concern was dictated by simple duty. Emerson is always complaining about my weakness for young lovers, as he terms it, and I would be the last to deny that I take an interest in promoting alliances of a romantic nature. (Marital alliances, that is.) In this case there could be no question of marriage, but there might be a question of conspiracy. I owed it to my family to learn whether Sir Edward and Gertrude were in cahoots, as Cyrus might say, or whether the gentleman was only amusing himself. And in the latter instance my sense of moral responsibility demanded that I speak a word of kindly warning to a woman who had obviously not my experience with the masculine sex.

I explained this to Emerson later, after we had returned to the
Amelia.
I am sorry to say that he responded with remarks of the most frivolous nature, and proposed another theory which I prefer not to quote literally. To employ terms less vulgar than the ones he had used: Gertrude was not so inexperienced as she appeared. Sir Edward (ready as men always are to believe themselves irresistible) had been seduced by a cunning adventuress. Emerson added—let me think how to put it—that men may be violently attracted by attributes that are not immediately apparent.

It was difficult to deny the truth of this. I managed to counter it rather neatly, I believe. "I am in complete agreement, Emerson. In fact, it was I, if you recall, who first pointed out that Gertrude is not what she seems. She may be more than a simple adventuress. She may be a spy and a criminal! In fact—yes, the snatches of conversation I overheard strongly suggest that she is trying to enlist him in the conspiracy!"