The Hippopotamus Pool (41 page)

"No, we had better get back. The others will be on pins and needles. But," I added, smiling bravely at him, "I will take you up on that suggestion when we are at the
Amelia."

I was surprised to see how late it was. The sun was low over the western cliffs when we set sail for the West Bank. Emerson smoked for a while in silence and then said, "For the time being we must do precisely as he ordered. The absence of either of us from the excavation would surely be noted and reported by one of his spies. Agreed?"

"We cannot do otherwise. What do we tell the others?"

"Everything. In a case such as this, even O'Connell can be trusted to keep the thing quiet. He may have a suggestion. We are in no position to overlook any possibility."

"True. And one never knows—something may yet turn up!"

The Reader may wonder why I had not seen fit to tell him about my summons to Miss Marmaduke. The omission was not because I had forgotten or because I anticipated a rebuke. I had realized I must change my strategy. If Gertrude was in Riccetti's pay, the direct, forceful interrogation I had intended might be viewed as a violation of his orders—and the consequences of that were too horrible to contemplate. I would have to proceed with the utmost subtlety, simulating absolute confidence in her, lowering her guard, remaining on the alert for the slightest slip.

Luckily I had cautioned Evelyn and Nefret to refrain from direct accusations and to behave normally. They did not have my skill at extracting information from a reluctant witness, and I had known, when Riccetti's message came, that I would have to reconsider the situation.

So there was no need to tell Emerson about it. Possibly she would have left by the time we got back. She
had
left. And so had Nefret.

We did not discover this for almost an hour. I wondered why the girl was not waiting in anxious expectation, as were Evelyn and Walter, but when I asked about her, Evelyn explained she had gone to her room to rest after Gertrude's departure.

"I am afraid I was rather short with the poor woman," Evelyn admitted. "She kept weeping and wringing her hands and making futile suggestions. She tried Nefret's nerves even more than she did mine, I believe. We were so worried about you. It is a relief to have you safely back—but I can tell by your faces that the news is bad. What has happened?"

I allowed Emerson to tell them. Evelyn's distress was so great I had to administer a medicinal glass of whiskey. It did her good, but her agitated inquiries, and those of Walter, made me forget all else until I realized the sun was almost down.

"Where is Nefret?" I cried, rising impetuously to my feet. "She should have woken by now. There is something wrong."

She was not in her room, nor on the dahabeeyah. We searched it from stem to stern before one of the crewmen volunteered the information that the young Sitt had gone away in the carriage with the other lady.

"Did she go of her own accord?" Emerson asked.

"Would we allow one to take her away by force?" The poor fellow sensed something was wrong. His hands flew up in protestation. "She smiled at me, Father of Curses, and said she would soon return, and she ran to the carriage, which was on the road. No one was in it but the other lady, and only Vandergelt Effendi's man driving it ... I thought no harm of it. What have I done?"

"Nothing," Emerson said. "You are not to blame. Peabody, what do you say we call on our friend Vandergelt?"

"I am going with you," Evelyn declared. "You cannot prevent me, Emerson, I insist."

"Certainly," Emerson said. "We will all go."

Cyrus had not dressed for dinner. He came hurrying to meet us, still in his dusty work clothes. "I was just about to ride on over to see you folks. Any news?"

"What sort of host are you, Vandergelt, to keep us standing in the hall?"

Emerson inquired. "The library, I think; it is the pleasantest room in the house and I would like to see how Miss Marmaduke is getting on with my manuscript."

He led the way. Cyrus was so taken aback he forgot to offer me his arm. "I never heard my old pal sound like that," he exclaimed. "What's wrong, Mrs. Amelia? Good Lord Almighty, don't tell me the boy is—"

"It is not so bad as that," I replied. "But the situation could not be much worse. We have lost both of them, Cyrus. Nefret has gone too. I don't suppose Gertrude returned to the Castle this afternoon?"

"Why, I don't know. I just got back myself a while ago. Are you trying to tell me she's been abducted too?"

He ushered me into the library. Mr. Amherst rose politely from the chair where he had been sitting, a book in his hand. Emerson stood by the table at which Gertrude had ostensibly been working.

"Half a dozen pages copied," he remarked, indicating the manuscript of his book. "One is entitled to wonder how the woman spent her time. Where is her room?"

This time Cyrus led the way. Emerson did not speak at all; it was I who gave our friend—and his assistant, trailing timidly in our wake—a synopsis of what had occurred. Overcoming his alarm and distress with the sturdy American efficiency I would have expected from him, Cyrus snapped out orders.

"Willy, get the coachman in here. And the housemaid. Heck, may as well collect the whole staff. Vamoose."

With his own hands he assisted us in searching the room. Nothing was overlooked, not even the pockets of the garments hanging in the wardrobe.

"Her toilet articles are missing," Evelyn said quietly.

"And one of her traveling bags," I added.

"A good thing you ladies are here," Cyrus said. "I don't guess I'd have noticed that. She left most of her clothes."

"And her books." I tossed
Isis Unveiled
onto the table. "The incense and burner are gone, though. And the ring."

"The bare essentials," Emerson muttered. "And anything that might be of use to us in tracing her. Let us hear what the servants have to say."

The coachman, quivering with nerves under Emerson's searching questions, was the only one who could contribute anything useful. The Effendi had ordered him to drive the lady to visit her friends on the dahabeeyah. He had waited for her, as she directed, and waited again for the young Sitt.

"And then?" I broke in, unable to bear the suspense any longer. "Where did you take them?"

"To the ferry landing, Sitt Hakim. I asked if I should wait or come back for them, but the lady said no."

"Did they say where they were going?" I knew what the answer would be, but the question had to be asked.

"They spoke in English, Sitt Hakim." Observing our downcast faces, he added, with the obvious hope of being helpful, "The young Sitt gave me a paper for the Effendi."

"What!" Emerson shot out of his chair like an arrow from a bow. "God curse you for seven eternities in the deepest pit of Gehenna! Why did you not say so? Give it to me!"

With a faint shriek the man shrank back against the wall. "I do not have it, Father of Curses. I gave it to—"

He indicated the majordomo, who began gabbling. "I put it on the table, sir; it is with your other messages."

It was there, half buried in a pile of letters and newspapers, which must have arrived that day—a folded piece of paper which had obviously been torn from a small pocket diary. The flush of hope faded from Emerson's face, leaving it hard and drawn.

"No use," he said. "She must have written this with the woman looking on—dictating, even. It reads: 'I have gone to Luxor with Miss Marmaduke to meet someone who may know where Ramses is. We are only going to the Luxor hotel. I will come back as soon as I can.'"

"How could she be so gullible?" Walter demanded. "I had thought better of her."

"It is that infernal spirit of competition that has developed between her and Ramses," I said.

"And her affection for him," Evelyn said gently. "She has been desperately worried, Amelia."

"Wait a minute." Cyrus had been looking through the other papers. "What the dickens is this?"

The majordomo cleared his throat nervously. "You told me, sir, to copy any message that came for the lady."

For a moment no one moved. The disappointment had been so severe, we did not dare hope again.

"Read it aloud," Emerson said hoarsely.

Cyrus cleared his throat. " 'Riccetti has the boy. Now is your chance; she will come with you if you promise to lead her to him. She must steal away unseen or they will try to stop you, for they do not walk in the light as you do. She who guards the gates of the Underworld has given us a sign. Do not fail Her.' "

"Oh, heavens," I said with a sigh. "Crushed again. That is the usual psychic mumbo-jumbo. It is of no more help than Nefret's note."

Emerson was poring over the message. "There is more in this than we thought," he said slowly. "You were right all along, Peabody, and I hope you will be good enough to refrain from mentioning it more than a dozen times a day."

My heart swelled with affectionate admiration. No one, particularly myself, had ever doubted that Emerson was the bravest of men, but this quiet fortitude demanded more courage than the vigorous action to which he was usually prone. In an equally calm, cheerful voice I replied, "Yes, my dear. I congratulate you for grasping the implications so quickly."

"You might just explain them to me," Cyrus said, rubbing his forehead. "I guess I'm a mite dense this evening."

"I understand," Evelyn exclaimed. "There are two groups of criminals, just as you believed, Amelia—"

"The Jackals and the Hippopotami!" I cried. "And Gertrude is not a hippopotamus!"

"Yes!" We shook hands, and I clapped her on the shoulder.

Walter stared at his wife as if she had lost her mind. Cyrus gaped. Emerson studied me pensively.

"Peabody," he said, "in case I have not thought to mention it recently, you are the light of my life and the joy of my existence. Come, my dear, we must return to the dahabeeyah immediately."

There was no opportunity for conversation during the ride back; Emerson set a rapid pace and we were several minutes behind him by the time we arrived. I hurried at once to our room, where I found him wrapping a bundle of clothing in India-rubber sheeting.

"Remain in the saloon this evening," he said, tossing the bundle onto the bed and starting to unlace his boots. "If anyone is watching, it will be more difficult to ascertain how many of us are present."

"You need not spell it out. Emerson, must you go?"

"Now is the best chance, before the trail grows cold. It may be my only chance, Peabody; I must be seen to be at the tomb tomorrow, at the usual time. Curse it," he added, tugging at his shirt, "what did you use to sew these buttons, wire?"

"Take Abdullah. Or Daoud. Please, Emerson."

"I might as well wear a placard with my name in black letters," my husband replied acerbically. "Their faces are well known in Luxor."

"And yours is not?"

Emerson grinned at me. "I borrowed a beard from Ramses. A fine beard it is, too. I am leaving Daoud with you, you may need him, and I dare not risk having him take me across; we might be seen. Give me a kiss for luck, my dear."

Since I had intended to do so anyhow, I obliged. I sent him off with aword of cheer and a valiant smile, but after the door had closed behind him .. . But why describe my sensations or my actions? They did me no credit. Finally I stiffened my spine, fastened the smile back onto my face, and went to find Walter and Evelyn.

They had not anticipated Emerson's intentions as I had done, and were awaiting us on the upper deck. Walter raged at his brother for leaving him behind, and at me for allowing him to go. Evelyn's lips trembled as she contemplated the vacant chairs at the table. The steward had set six places, as usual. Six—and only three of us left. How many of the missing would ever return?

I instructed Mahmud to remove the dishes and bring the food to the saloon. Walter had calmed down a bit by then; he apologized to me and agreed we must carry on in the manner Emerson had suggested. No one had much of an appetite. We forced the food down, however, since it was necessary to keep up appearances.

It has often been said—and I firmly believe it—that Heaven does not try us beyond our strength. Scarcely an hour had passed (though I measured it, Reader, in units interminably long) since Emerson's departure and I was wondering how I could bear the endless hours that must yet pass, when Heaven came to my rescue. So tightly strung were my nerves that the voices outside the saloon made me drop my glass and leap to my feet. I knew those voices. One was Mahmud's, raised in shrill protest. The other .. .

I ran to the door and flung it open. Mahmud held the squirming, struggling boy by the arm. "You cannot enter, not like that. Go wash your filthy person and I will tell the Sitt—"

The boy raised a wild face toward mine. His black eyes were dilated, his black curls streaked with dust, his galabeeyah torn.

"Let him go," I said. "David—where is Ramses?"

Before Mahmud could obey or David could reply, the cat Bastet emerged from the shadows of the deck, considered the situation, and leaped onto Mahmud's back. Mahmud screamed and let go David's arm. Bastet jumped down and sauntered past me toward the dining table.

I drew the boy into the room and closed the door. At first I could not make him sit down or speak coherently. He kept pulling at me, demanding that I come with him.

It was Evelyn who intervened, gently detaching my hands from David and his from me. "Stop shaking him, Amelia. David, sit here by me. I am so glad you are safe."

"But he is not? He is not here?" His taut body relaxed as she put her arm around him, and he let out a long gasping breath.

"Tell us what happened," Evelyn said. "Tell us what you know. Speak Arabic, it will be quicker and easier."

Only she, I believe, could have got a sensible account out of the boy. He spoke in simple, declarative sentences, watching her anxiously as if it were vital that she understand. She appeared to follow him without difficulty. Perhaps those long conversations between them had improved her Arabic as well as his English. They had unquestionably established a bond of something warmer and more complex than friendship.