The Mummy Case (10 page)

"I too am deeply concerned," I assured him. "I dare not imagine what Ramses can do to Cairo in the space of a few hours. No doubt we will soon be receiving delegations of outraged citizens, with bills for damages."

I spoke half in jest. I did expect a confrontation, not with Ramses' victims, but with the police; for though Emerson resolutely refused to discuss the murder of Abd el Atti, I felt sure our involvement with that affair was not over. And indeed the message came as we were finishing breakfast, which had been brought to our room. The white-robed safragi bowed almost to the floor as he delivered it. Would we, in our infinite condescension, come to the manager's office, where an agent of the police wished to consult us?

Emerson flung down his napkin. "There, you see? More delay, more vexation. It is all your fault, Amelia. Come along, let's get this over and done with."

Mr. Baehler, the manager of Shepheard's, rose to greet us as we entered his office. He was Swiss—a tall, handsome man with a mane of graying hair and an ingratiating smile.

My answering smile turned to a grimace when I saw the other persons who were present. I had expected to find a police official. I had not expected that the official would have in his custody the small and incredibly filthy person of my son.

Emerson was equally affected. He brushed past Mr. Baehler, ignoring the latter's outstretched hand, and snatched Ramses up in his arms. "Ramses! My dear boy! What are you doing here? Are you injured?"

Crushed to his father's bosom, Ramses was incapable of replying. Emerson turned an infuriated look upon the policeman. "How dare you, sir?"

"Control yourself, Emerson," I exclaimed. "You ought rather to thank this gentleman for escorting the boy home."

The police officer gave me a grateful look. He was a grizzled, heavyset man, with a complexion of beautiful coffee-brown. His excellent English and tidy uniform displayed the unmistakable British discipline that has transformed Egypt since her Majesty's government assumed beneficent control over that formerly benighted land.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, touching his cap. "The young master is not hurt, I promise."

"So I see. I had anticipated, Inspector—is that the proper mode of address?—I had anticipated that you had come to question us concerning the murder last night."

"But I have, ma'am," was the respectful reply. "We found the young master at the shop of the dead man."

I sank into the chair Mr. Baehler held for me. Ramses said breathlessly, "Mama, dere is a matter I would prefer to discuss wit' you in private—"

"Silence!" I shouted.

"But, Mama, de cat Bastet—"

"Silence, I say!"

Silence ensued. Even Mr. Baehler, whose reputation for equanimity and social pose was unequaled, appeared at a loss. Slowly and deliberately I turned to focus my gaze on John, who stood flattened against the wall between a table and a tall carved chair.

It was not possible for a person of John's size to be inconspicuous. But he was trying his best. When my eye fell upon him he stammered, "Ow, madam, Oi tried me best, indeed Oi did, but Oi didn't 'ave the least idear where we was until—"

"Watch your vowels," I said sternly. "You are reverting to the unacceptable verbal customs of the ambience from which Professor Emerson rescued you. Five years of my training ought to have eradicated all traces of your past."

John swallowed. His Adam's apple quivered violently. "I," he said slowly, "did not know where we was—where we were— until—"

"Dat is right, Mama," Ramses piped up. "It was not John's fault. He t'ought we were only exploring de bazaars."

Everyone spoke at once. Mr. Baehler implored we would settle our family disputes in private, since he was a busy man; the inspector remarked that he had work to do elsewhere; Emerson bellowed at John; John tried to defend himself, his vowels suffering dreadfully in the process; Ramses defended John. I silenced the uproar by rising impetuously to my feet.

"Enough! Inspector, I presume you have no further need of Ramses?"

"I do not," said the gentleman, with heartfelt sincerity.

"John, take Ramses upstairs and wash him. Remain in your room—both of you—until we come. No, Emerson, not a word."

I was, of course, obeyed to the letter. After the miscreants had departed, I resumed my chair. "Now," I said. "To business."

It was soon dispatched. To my exceeding annoyance I found that the policeman's view of the case coincided with that of Emerson. He could hardly refuse to listen to my interpretation, but from the glances that passed among the gentlemen, not to mention Emerson's constant interruptions, I knew my views would be disregarded. "A falling-out between thieves," was the inspector's summary. "Thank you, Professor and Mrs. Emerson, for your assistance."

"When you have located the suspect, I will come to the police station to identify him," I said.

"Suspect?" The inspector stared at me.

"The man I saw yesterday talking to Abd el Atti. You noted down the description I gave you?"

"Oh. Yes, ma'am, I did."

"That description would fit half the male population of Cairo," Emerson said disparagingly. "What you really require, Inspector, is an expert to evaluate the contents of the shop. Most of it is stolen property; it belongs by rights to the Department of Antiquities. Though heaven knows there is no one in that dusty barn of a museum who has the slightest notion of how to care for the exhibits."

"My friends," Mr. Baehler said piteously. "Forgive me—"

"Yes, of course," I said. "Emerson, Mr. Baehler is a busy man; I cannot imagine why you continue to take up his time. We will continue our discussion of the case elsewhere."

However, the inspector unaccountably refused to do this. He did not even accept Emerson's offer of assistance in cataloging the contents of the shop. Emerson would have followed him, arguing, had I not detained him.

"You can't go out on the street looking like that. Ramses has rubbed off on you. What is that blackish, sticky substance, do you suppose?"

Emerson glanced at the front of his coat. "It appears to be tar," he said in mild surprise. "Speaking of Ramses—"

"Yes," I said grimly. "Let us speak of, and to, that young man."

We found John and Ramses sitting side by side on the bed, like criminals awaiting sentence—though there was little sign of guilt on Ramses' freshly scrubbed countenance. "Mama," he began, "de cat Bastet—"

"Where is the cat?" I asked.

Ramses became quite purple in the face with frustration. "But dat is what I am endeavoring to explain, Mama. De cat Bastet has been mislaid. When de policeman took hold of me, radder more roughly dan de circumstances required, in my opinion—"

"Roughly, did you say?" Emerson's countenance reflected the same angry shade as that of his son. "Curse it, I knew I should have punched the villain in the jaw. Remain here, I will return as soon as I—"

"Wait, Emerson, wait!" I caught hold of his arm with both hands and dug my heels into the mat. As we struggled, I to hold on and Emerson to free himself, Ramses remarked thoughtfully, "I would not have kicked him in de shin if he had been more courteous. To refer to me as a meddlesome imp of Satan was uncalled for."

Emerson stopped struggling. "Hmmm," he said.

"Forget the policeman," 1 cried. "Forget the cat. She will return of her own accord, Ramses; she is, after all, a native of the country."

"De reputed ability of animals to cross great stretches of unknown country is exaggerated, in my opinion," said Ramses.

"You have too many opinions," I retorted severely. "What were you doing at Abd el Atti's establishment?"

1 find myself incapable of reproducing Ramses' explanation. His style of speech was extremely prolix, and he appeared deliberately to select as many words as possible beginning with the diphthong "th." Nor was it a convincing explanation. Ramses said he had been curious to examine further several objects he had seen in the back room of the shop during his unauthorized visit the day before. When directly questioned, he admitted he had overheard us discussing our intention of visiting Abd el Atti that night. "I meant to go wit' you," he added accusingly, "but I could not stay awake, and you, Mama, did not waken me."

"I had no intention of taking you, Ramses."

"I suspected dat," said Ramses.

"What objects were you curious about?" his father asked.

"Never mind," I said. "Do you realize that the day is half gone? I have never known any group of people to waste so much time over inconsequential matters."

Emerson shot me a look that said, plain as speech, "And
whose fault is it that we have wasted half the day?" He did not speak aloud, however, since we try not to criticize one another before Ramses. A united front is absolutely essential for survival in that quarter. Instead he groaned, "I cannot shake the dust of this abominable city off my shoes too soon. I had hoped to leave by the end of the week, but..."

"We can leave tomorrow if we get to work at once," I replied. "What remains to be done?"

There was not really a great deal. I agreed to take care of our travel arrangements and the dispatch of the supplies I had purchased. Emerson was to go to Aziyeh, the nearby village from which we recruited our skilled workers, to make the final plans for their travel to Mazghunah.

"Take him with you," I said, indicating Ramses.

"Certainly," said Emerson. "I had intended to do that. What about John?"

John had lumbered to his feet when I entered the room. He remained standing, stiff as a statue, throughout the discussion, without venturing to speak. His eyes, fixed unblinkingly on my face, held the same expression of mingled shame and hope I had often seen on the countenances of the dogs after they had misbehaved.

"Madam," he began, with the most meticulous attention to his vowels, "I wish to say—"

"Too much has been said already," I interrupted. "I don't blame you, John. You are off your native turf, so to speak. In future I will define the perimeters of your wanderings more carefully."

"Yes, madam. Thank you, madam." John beamed. "Am I to go with Master Ramses and the professor, madam?"

"No. I need you. Is that all right with you, Emerson?"

Emerson, in his consummate innocence, said that it was quite all right with him.

And so, after a hasty meal, we separated to complete our assigned tasks. I was soon finished with mine. Europeans constantly complain about the dilatory habits of the East, but I
fancy that is only an excuse for their own incompetence. I have never had the least difficulty getting people to do what I want them to do. It only requires a firm manner and a determination not to be distracted from the matter at hand. That is Emerson's trouble, and, in fact, the trouble with most men. They are easily distracted. I knew, for instance, that Emerson would spend the rest of the day on a project that could have been completed in three hours, travel time included. He would loll around smoking and fahddling (gossiping) with Abdullah, our old foreman; Ramses would come home with his stomach stuffed with insanitary sweeties and his precocious brain stuffed with new words, most of them indelicate. I was resigned to this. The alternative would have been to take Ramses with me.

John followed me with mute and meticulous devotion while I carried out my tasks. The faintest shade of apprehension crossed his ingenuous countenance when I directed the driver of the carriage to let us out near the entrance to the Khan el Khaleel, but he held his tongue until we were almost at our destination.

"Ow, madam," he began. "Oi promised the master—"

"Vowels, John," I said. "Mind your vowels."

John fell in behind me as I passed under the archway leading from the square. "Yes, madam. Madam, are we going to that there—to that place?"

"Quite right."

"But, madam—"

"If you promised Professor Emerson you would prevent me from going there, you ought to have known better. And he ought not to have extracted from you a promise you could not possibly keep." John let out a faint moan and I condescended to explain—something I seldom do. "The cat, John—Ramses' cat. The least we can do is search for the animal. It would break the boy's heart to leave it behind."

A scene of utter pandemonium met our eyes when we turned into the street before the shop. The narrow way was completely blocked by bodies, including those of several donkeys. Most of
the people were men, though there were a few women, all of the humblest class, and all seemed intent on some spectacle ahead. They were laughing and talking, their bodies swaying as they tried to see over the heads of those in the front rank. Children wriggled through the crowd.

A few polite Arabic phrases, and the judicious application of my useful parasol to backs, shoulders and heads soon captured the attention of those nearest me. Obligingly they parted to let me pass.

Abd el Atti's shop was the focus of the crowd's interest. I had expected to find it locked and shuttered, with a constable on duty. Instead the place stood wide open, with not a policeman in sight. The small front room of the shop was filled with workmen wearing the cheap blue-and-white-striped robes of their class, and raglike turbans upon their heads. As soon as I saw what was going on I understood the amusement of the spectators. One workman would rush forward with a bundle in his arms, which he would load on the nearest donkey. Another workman would remove it. The process appeared to have all the futility of Penelope's weaving and unpicking of her tapestry, and at first I could not imagine what it all meant. Then I saw two people who stood nose to nose in the center of the room, shouting contradictory orders. One was a man, wearing a proper European suit and a bright red tarboosh. The other was a woman clad in dusty black from head to foot. In her agitation she had let fall her veil, disclosing a face as wrinkled as a currant and as malevolent as that of a witch in a German fairy tale. Her mouth gaped, showing toothless gums, as she alternatively shouted orders at the workmen and insults at her opponent.

It appeared to be the sort of situation that demanded the assistance of a sensible person. I applied the ferrule of my parasol briskly but impartially to the people blocking my way, and proceeded to the door of the shop. The old lady was the first to catch sight of me. She stopped in mid-word—a most improper word for anyone, much less a woman, to employ—and
stared at me. The workmen dropped their bundles and gaped; the crowd murmured and swayed, watching expectantly; and the man in the tarboosh turned to face me.