The Khamsin Curse (8 page)

She shook her head. “I don’t
believe so. Are they staying at the hotel?”

“Yes, but never mind, they are
apparently leaving first thing tomorrow. Do you know what time Mr
Lee intends to set off? We were told ‘after breakfast’ but that
leaves it open to interpretation.”

“Mr Lee will no doubt make an
announcement tonight at dinner, but my impression is that you can
board the Sekhmet anytime in the morning that suits you. Miss
Hypatia Lee likes to stay up late and then sleep in. She is fond of
roulette so we will not be leaving at first light. If you make your
way to the wharf, there will be porters standing by to help with
your luggage. And since we are a much bigger party than
anticipated, I suggested that Mr Lee allow me to engage a steward –
an Arab by the name of Azrafel - to see to the needs of his
passengers. He will direct you to your cabin. I have already
allocated the rooms; eleven in all with one to spare, and that is
counting the new addition, Mr Gideon Longshanks. I just had to make
sure to keep the three engineers away from Professor
Mallisham.”

Dr Watson noted that she was a
lot more intelligent than she came across those first two nights at
dinner, and quite an engaging conversationalist when away from the
stern eye her employer. “Yes, there is definitely some bad blood
between Camp Aswan and Camp Philae.”

She gave a lovely soft laugh
that rippled through him; she really was a most attractive lady,
and it wasn’t just the red hair that made him feel well disposed
toward her.

“You put that very well!” she
trilled, and laughed again. “I’m very pleased you and your
companion are joining our cruise. Your presence will help to
diffuse any tension. I couldn’t bear to have an unpleasant
incident. It will put a dampener on Miss Lee’s twenty-first
birthday which will fall on the day we arrive in Aswan. Mr Lee is
planning a surprise birthday party on the island of Philae.
Everything has been organized and all we need is for everyone to be
in good spirits. It will be quite splendid! The whole island to
ourselves! Moonlight and music and a genuine Egyptian temple!
That’s why I need the tulle bi telli caftans for the ladies – we
shall all dress up – the men in jellabiyas! Oh, I shouldn’t say any
more about it! But wait and see! It will be utterly romantic!” She
blushed a little before her tone changed back to that of efficient
secretary. “I better run or I will be late getting back to the
hotel. I’ll see you at dinner tonight, Dr Watson.”

Dr Watson had no inclination to
return early to the hotel so he wandered down one alley after
another, soaking up the aromatic smells of spicy food, the painted
arabesques that decorated the vaulted roofs and archways, the
colourful wares and the bustling crowd. It had long been a dream of
his to visit Egypt and now here he was.

Meeting the Countess had
changed his life. She had an engaging manner that attracted the
most interesting people. Wealth and title played their part, of
course, but interesting people could somehow tell that she would be
interesting too, people who would have given him a wide berth had
he been travelling on his own, not that he wasn’t interesting to be
with when you got to know him, but he lacked that
je ne sais
quoi
.

She had an adventurous spirit
that was utterly infectious too. Here they were with another
mystery to solve, albeit a more important challenge than the usual
whodunnit. Mycroft Holmes would never have assigned such a
challenge to him alone, but together the two of them were quite
unbeatable. Her courage and cleverness; his clear-sighted common
sense…

Eventually, he found himself
back at the Bab al-Ghuri gate.

He paused outside the coffee
shop where he and the Countess had earlier stopped for an Arabic
coffee, tossing up whether to go inside or not, when through the
open doorway he spotted Mrs Baxter at one of the tables.

He couldn’t believe his luck
and was just about to join her when he noticed she appeared to have
company - a man sitting adjacent to the table, smoking a shisha.
The man was wearing a stripy jellabiya and leaning back bonelessly
on a bench. He didn’t immediately recognize the man because several
Arabs were milling about, fiddling with their water-pipes.

Suddenly his heart jammed. It
was Colonel Sebastian Moran!

At first, he thought he must be
mistaken so he moved to the next window where the shutter was
propped up with a stick and fewer people were blocking his view. A
closer look confirmed that it was indeed the colonel and that he
was conversing with Mrs Baxter. In fact, they appeared comfortable
in each other’s company. The colonel said something that made her
laugh as he offered her a cigarette and signalled for the waiter to
bring another coffee to the table. The colonel then said something
to a man sitting at the next table who passed the lady an
ashtray.

In a state of mild shock, the
doctor hurried from the souk and hailed the first calash he could
find. Visibly perturbed, he daren’t return to the hotel where he
knew the Countess would immediately notice his consternation, so he
directed the driver to the wharf, yes, he could pay an impromptu
visit to the Sekhmet.

It wasn’t that he was jealous,
though there was a touch of that as well, it was the fact that
Moran seemed on such good terms with the private secretary of Mr
Lee. Granted, the colonel was providing security for Professor
Mallisham, and Mr Lee was financing the project so it was not
extraordinary for Mrs Baxter to have met the colonel. She may even
have organized his employment since she handled most if not all of
Mr Lee’s affairs.

If she had stopped for a coffee
at the maqha, as he and the Countess had done earlier, and where
several foreign women were doing likewise, then it was not unusual
that she may have bumped into the colonel who happened to also stop
by for some shisha.

But something wasn’t right. He
couldn’t put his finger on it. But something about the scene seemed
wrong. Though, if he admitted it, it might simply have been that he
was annoyed Sherlock’s nemesis was ingratiating himself into the
attractive widow’s good-books – offering her a cigarette, buying
her a coffee, organizing an ashtray!

By the time he reached the
wharf he had cooled down, which was just as well, for Mr Lee and
two men were standing at the foot of the gangway. Mr Lee was
red-faced, blustering on about something, pointing angrily at the
newly painted name of the paddle-steamer.

A tall man in naval uniform who
might have been the ship’s captain but who was in fact the newly
appointed Arab steward, Azrafel, was translating for the benefit of
an Egyptian holding a paintbrush, though not much translating was
required.

Sekhmet was missing a H.

Ordinarily, he would have seen
the funny side of it but the incident seemed to add to the minor
irritations of the day. He was almost ready to direct the driver to
continue to the barge which would ferry him across the river to the
west bank, whereby he could return to the hotel, when he spotted
Miss Lee, Miss Clooney and Mr Gideon Longshanks on the upper deck.
The handsome major was wasting no time pressing his considerable
charm on the young ladies.

They gave him a friendly wave
and it cheered the doctor no end to join them in a refreshing Pimms
under the striped canopy.

The ladies were amused by the
misspelling. The painter offered to work through the night to fix
the error and even Mr Lee lightened up. He gave the doctor a tour
of the paddle-steamer but he didn’t know whose cabin was whose,
apart from his own. Mrs Baxter took care of all that. She had been
with him just over twelve months and he didn’t know what he ever
did without her. This trip to Egypt would have been impossible to
organize without her expertise.

The boat was a hive of
activity. Foodstuffs were being loaded and finishing touches were
being put to the luxurious furnishings. The Arab steward seemed to
be juggling several balls at the same time.

“Azrafel is a great addition to
the crew,” pronounced the cattle king, “another good suggestion of
Mrs Baxter’s. What’s this? I said to put these boxes in the hold.
They’re the caftans and costumes for the surprise party. I don’t
want my daughter to see them.”

Azrafel snapped his fingers and
a couple of porters jumped to it.

Dr Watson managed to grab a
moment alone with Mr Longshanks on the aft deck when Miss Hypatia
Lee decided to check that Mrs Baxter had given her the largest
cabin as instructed, and Miss Clooney trailed after her to see what
her cabin looked like, not that she intended to make a fuss
whatever the size or state of it. Poor relations took what they
were offered. Her bedroom was on the lower deck.

“When I was in the bazaar I
spotted Colonel Sebastian Moran on two occasions,” the doctor said
in a lower tone. “The first time he was loitering by the Bab
al-Ghuri gate and I could have sworn he pushed a woman in a burqa
down the steps. The second time he was having some shisha in a
coffee shop and Mrs Baxter was seated at a table right next to him.
They were conversing comfortably, almost like old friends.”

“Hmm,” murmured the other, not
sure what to make of it, stroking his new blond beard. His money
was on the German archaeologist. He had it from a reliable source
that the German had purchased two train tickets – presumably the
second ticket was for his niece. An attractive female accomplice
was always a handy distraction on foreign missions. He would stake
his life on the fact the two Germans would soon make their way to
Aswan. “That’s interesting information but we’ve had our eye on
Colonel Moran for some time. He hasn’t made contact with any known
foreign agents. It could be that he’s hard-up for work and took the
gun for hire job out of desperation. He could be keeping Mrs Baxter
sweet because he knows she is the one likely to recommend further
work with rich clients.”

Dr Watson trusted Major Nash’s
judgment and instincts when it came to matters espionage so he
wasn’t going to quibble but Colonel Moran was in a class of his own
when it came to skulduggery. He resolved to keep an eye on him
nevertheless, and if that meant keeping the other eye on Mrs Baxter
then he would do that too. Not that he suspected her of anything
underhand, but he didn’t want her to get taken in by an unsavoury
character likely to use her for his own evil ends. “I will remain
vigilant where the colonel is concerned.”

“I would expect nothing less,
Dr Watson. But be careful,” he warned. “The colonel has the honed
instinct of a true predator. You might share what you witnessed
with the Countess. By the way, do you know where she is at
present?”

“She’s with Herr Graf and his
niece. They are touring some mosques together.”

The major’s smooth brow formed
a series of deep furrows. “How did that outing come about? I mean
to say, connections can seem casual, almost accidental in the
espionage game, but in reality they have been carefully
orchestrated. Where did the association with Herr Graf start?”

“He was on the Queen of Cairo
with us when we left Alexandria. And he is staying at the same
hotel. But today we bumped into him in Ali Pasha’s shop and then we
met up with him by chance again at the Citadel. Oh, I see what you
mean. Coincidence upon coincidence. His niece wasn’t on the steamer
ship. She wasn’t in the shop either. But she was already inside the
Citadel when we arrived. I think the Countess was impressed by Miss
Graf’s grasp of languages. She translated the Koranic verses for
us. She also speaks Hebrew and Greek and she can read hieroglyphs
as well.”

Major Nash’s blond brows shot
north. “Plus German and English - a handy repertoire of languages
to have under one’s belt in the spying game. What do you know about
her?”

“Not much. You will have to ask
the Countess. I dare say she will have Miss Graf’s life story
memorized by the time she gets back to the hotel.”

“Provided it is not
fabricated.”

“Mmm, it’s hard to know who to
trust in situations like this.”

“Trust no one.”

“Mmm, yes.” Dr Watson bit his
lip, tossing up whether to betray a friend.

“What is it?” prompted the
major, noting some inner anguish; a sure sign morality was
wrestling with itself.

“Well,” he lowered his tone
even more and looked about guardedly. “Let’s walk to the aft rail.
He looked around warily a second time. “At the Citadel this
afternoon I spotted Herr Graf and Colonel Hayter talking together.
The meeting appeared pre-arranged. The German gave an envelope to
the colonel and the way the colonel checked the contents it gave me
the impression it was full of money. The colonel then handed the
German a piece of paper. The German checked it and seemed pleased.
There was no exchange of words. They parted quickly. The whole
thing looked furtive. I don’t want to suggest my old army chum
could be up to anything, but, well…”

“I understand,” assured the
major before Dr Watson said another word. “You and Colonel Hayter
go back to the Anglo-Afghan conflict. You are loath to think badly
of him. He is a war hero. But the incident you witnessed could be
vital in cracking the mystery of who is passing secrets to the
enemy. You must keep an open mind. What you just imparted sounds
grave indeed. You could be onto something. I would follow it up but
I have my own mission to see to.”

“Yes, yes, if someone were to
sabotage the dam it would be a disaster. In fact, a double disaster
- Egypt and Britain.”

Major Nash looked anxiously
upriver and it was clear that he was thinking the same thing. “The
sooner we get to Aswan the better.”

A commotion on the wharf had
them both swinging round. Ali Pasha arrived in a calash that
stopped just short of a stack of watermelons. The antiquities
expert traded furious insults with the watermelon vendor before
charging up the gangway.