He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [16]
Emerson sat the servant down on the chest and went to the foot of the stairs. “Wardani!” he bellowed. “Emerson here! Come out of your hole, we must talk.”
If the fugitive was anywhere within a fifty-yard radius, he must have heard. There was no immediate reaction from Wardani, if he was there, but the young servant sprang up, drew a knife from his robe, and flew at Emerson. Nefret lifted her skirts in a ladylike manner and kicked the knife from his hand. The youth was certainly persistent; I had to whack him across the shins with my parasol before he fell down.
“Thank you, my dears,” said Emerson, who had not looked round. “That settles that. He’s here, all right. Upstairs?”
He had just set foot upon the first stair when two things happened. A police whistle sounded, shrill enough to penetrate even the closed door, and from behind the screen at the top of the stairs a man appeared. He wore European clothing except for low slippers of Egyptian style, and his black head was uncovered. I could not make out his features clearly; the light was poor and the dark blur of a beard covered the lower part of his face; but had I entertained any doubt as to his identity, it would have been dispelled when he vanished as suddenly as he had appeared.
Fists and feet beat on the door. Amid the shouts of the attackers I made out the voice of Thomas Russell, demanding that the door be opened at once. Emerson said, “Hell and damnation!” and thundered up the stairs, taking them three at a time. Skirts raised to her knees, Nefret bounded up after him. I followed her, hampered to some extent by the parasol, which prevented me from getting a firm grip on my skirts. As I reached the top of the stairs I heard the door give way. Whirling round, I brandished my parasol and shouted, “Stop where you are!”
Somewhat to my surprise, they did. Russell was in the lead. The small room seemed to be filled with uniforms, and I noted, more or less in passing, that the young man who had admitted us had had the good sense to make himself scarce.
“What the devil do you mean by this, Mrs. Emerson?” Russell demanded.
I did not reply, since the answer was obvious. I glanced over my shoulder.
Straight ahead a corridor lined with doors led to the back of the villa. There was an open window at the far end; before it stood the man we had followed, facing Nefret and Emerson, who had stopped halfway along the passage.
“Is that him?” Emerson demanded ungrammatically.
There was no answer from Nefret. Emerson said, “Must be. Sorry about this, Wardani. I had hoped to talk with you, but Russell had other ideas. Another time, eh? We’ll hold them off while you get away. Watch out below, there may be others in the garden.”
Wardani stood quite still for a moment, his frame appearing abnormally tall and slender against the moonlit opening. Then he stepped onto the sill and swung himself out into the night.
Emerson hurried to the window. Putting out his head, he shouted, “Down there! He’s gone that way!” Shouts and a loud thrashing in the shrubbery followed, and several shots rang out. One must have struck the wall near the window, for Emerson ducked back inside, swearing. After milling about in confusion, the policemen who were inside the house ran out of it, led by Russell.
I descended the stairs and went to the door, which they had left open. There appeared to be a great deal of activity going on at the back of the villa, but the street was dark and quiet. Cairenes were not inclined to interfere in other people’s affairs now that the city was under virtual military occupation.
After a short interval I was joined by Emerson and Nefret.
“Where did he go?” I asked.
Emerson brushed plaster dust off his sleeve. “Onto the roof. He’s an agile rascal. We may as well go back to the cab. I’ll wager he’s got well away by now.”
Mr. Russell was quick to arrive at the same conclusion. We had not been waiting long before he joined us.
“Eluded you, did he?” Emerson inquired. “Tsk, tsk.”
“Thanks