Crocodile on the Sandbank - Elizabeth Peters [93]
“Splendid,” I said sarcastically. “We now have a creature with the power to hurl thunderbolts. Emerson will be delighted to hear it.”
“Emerson’s opinions are of no interest to me,” Lucas snapped.
III
I slept soundly for what remained of the night. I believe Evelyn did not sleep at all. When I awoke it was to see the exquisite pink flush of dawn staining the sky, and Evelyn silhouetted against it. She was standing at the window; she was fully dressed, in a businesslike serge skirt and blouse. The moment I moved, she spoke.
“I am going to camp,” she announced firmly. “You need not come, Amelia; I will be back soon, I will hurry. I hope to persuade Mr. Emerson to bring his brother here, and to set sail at once for Luxor. But if they will not come, then—then I think we should go. I know you will not want to leave, Amelia; I have seen how interested you are in—in archaeology. But I think Lucas will go, if I ask him; and I shall leave, with him, if you want to remain here.”
The sight of her pale, resolute face checked the remonstrance that had risen to my lips. I saw that I must speak with careful consideration. The girl believed the awful idea that had come to her the previous night! It was both pitiful and amusing to note that she had no qualms about burdening Lucas with her deadly presence, as she thought it, when it came to a choice between endangering Lucas or Walter.
“Well,” I said, getting out of bed, “you will not go without breakfast, I hope. It would be silly to faint, from inanition, in the middle of the desert.”
Evelyn unwillingly consented to partake of breakfast. As she restlessly paced the upper deck, I sent a servant to summon Lucas. It was easy to see how the events of the night had affected the crew. Young Habib, our smiling waiter, was not smiling that morning; and the usual cheerful babble of voices from the lower deck was not to be heard.
Lucas joined us while we were drinking our tea. He looked perfectly fit, and said he felt the same. Evelyn immediately told him of her plan. Lucas was not fool enough to fail to understand her agitation. His eyebrows climbed alarmingly as she spoke. In case he should miss the point I kicked him under the table. And when he turned to me indignantly, I semaphored warning as well as I could. He took the hint.
“My dearest,” he said gently, “if you wish to leave this place, you shall leave. I told you that your slightest wish was my command. But I must make one small reservation. You can ask me for my life, but not for my honor as a gentleman and an Englishman! You cannot ask me to abandon our friends. No, do not speak; I will order the crew to be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice, and to carry you and Miss Amelia to Luxor, or wherever you wish to go. But I will remain. You would not respect me if I fled now.”
Evelyn sat in silence, her head bowed. I decided to intervene. I could hardly take exception to Lucas’s sentiments but he managed to create an atmosphere of sticky sentimentality that disgusted me.
“I have no intention of leaving unless the Emersons join us,” I said firmly. “And I will deal with my own crew, if you please, Lucas. You may give yours whatever orders you like.”
“I will,” Lucas replied huffily.
And he went off to do so, while I summoned Reis Hassan and made another effort to break through the language barrier. I had thought of asking Lucas for the loan of his dragoman as interpreter; but what I had seen of that shifty-eyed personage did not impress me, and if Emerson had not been able to induce Hassan to speak openly, I thought no one could.
Hassan managed to convey one concept unequivocally. He kept repeating the word “go,” and pointing upstream.
“Emerson?” I asked, and gestured toward the camp.
Hassan nodded vigorously. We were all to go. Today.
That was one Arabic word I understood, although the word for “tomorrow” is even more commonly used. I repeated it now.
Hassan’s face fell. Then he gave the queer Arab shrug.
“Tomorrow,” he said soberly. “In ‘shallah.”
I knew