He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [15]
Nefret had already jumped into the cab. Russell sighed. He got up onto the box next to the driver and Emerson politely handed me in.
After circling the Ezbekieh Gardens the cab passed the Opera House and turned into the Muski. The hour was early for Cairo; the streets were brightly lighted and full of traffic, from camels to motorcars. The excitement that had filled me at the prospect of action began to fade. This section of Cairo was boringly bright and modern. We might have been in Bond Street or the Champs Élysée.
“We are heading toward the Khan el Khalili,” I reported, peering out the window.
But we never reached it. The cab turned south, into a narrower street, and passed the Hotel du Nil before coming to a stop. Russell jumped down off the box and came to the door.
“We had best go on foot from here,” he said softly. “It isn’t far. Just down there.”
I inspected the street he indicated. It appeared to be a cul de sac, only a few hundred yards long, but it was nothing like the enticingly foul areas of the Old City into which I had often ventured in search of criminals. The lighted windows of several good-sized houses shone through the dark.
“Your fugitive appears to be overly confident,” I said disapprovingly. “If I hoped to elude the police I would go to earth in a less respectable neighborhood.”
“On the other hand,” said Emerson, taking my arm and leading me on, “they aren’t as likely to look for him in a respectable neighborhood. Russell, are you sure your informant was correct?”
“No,” the gentleman replied curtly. “That is why I asked you to come with me. It’s the third house—that one. Ask the doorkeeper to announce you.”
“And then what?” Emerson inquired. “Upon hearing our names Wardani will rush into the room and welcome us with open arms?”
“I’m sure you will think of something, Professor. If you don’t, Mrs. Emerson will.”
“Hmph,” said Emerson.
Russell struck a match and examined his watch. “It is a quarter past ten. I’ll give you half an hour.”
“Hmph,” Emerson repeated. “Nefret, take my other arm.”
Russell withdrew into a patch of shadow and we proceeded toward the door he had indicated. The houses were fairly close together, surrounded by trees and flowering plants. “What is he going to do if we don’t come out within thirty minutes?” Nefret asked in a low voice.
“Well, my dear, he would not have implied he would rush to our rescue if his men weren’t already in position,” Emerson replied placidly. “They are well trained, aren’t they? I’ve only spotted two of them.”
Nefret would have stopped in her tracks if Emerson had not pulled her along. “It’s a trap,” she gasped. “He’s using us—”
“To distract Wardani while the police break in. Certainly. What did you expect?”
Raising the heavy iron ring that served as a knocker, he beat a thunderous tattoo upon the door.
“He lied to us,” Nefret muttered. “The bastard!”
“Language, Nefret,” I said.
“I beg your pardon, Aunt Amelia. But he is!”
“Just a good policeman, my dear,” said Emerson. He knocked again.
“What are you going to do, Professor?”
“I’ll think of something. If I don’t, your Aunt Amelia will.”
The door swung open.
“Salaam aleikhum,” said Emerson to the servant who stood on the threshold. “Announce us, if you please. Professor Emerson, Mrs. Emerson, and Miss Forth.”
The whites of the man’s eyes gleamed as he rolled them from Emerson to me, to Nefret. He was young, with a scanty beard and thick spectacles, and he appeared to be struck dumb and motionless by our appearance. With a muffled oath Emerson picked him up and carried him, his feet kicking feebly, into the hall.
“Close the door, Peabody,” he ordered. “Be quick about it. We may not have much time.”
Naturally I obeyed at once. The small room was lit by a hanging lamp. It was of copper, pierced in an intricate design, and gave little light. A carved chest against one wall and a handsome Oriental rug were the only furnishings. At the far end a