He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [67]
When he came back to his senses he saw his mother bending over him, and his father, standing by. The cat was out of the bag now, or soon would be. He didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry.
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My frame of mind was considerably improved next day. David had gone off to Zawaiet alone and Emerson took Nefret with him to Giza, so I was able to spend a little time with Ramses. When I removed the bandages I saw that someone, probably David, had smeared Kadija’s green salve all over the area. Whether it was that, or the mercury and zinc-cyanide paste I had applied, or Ramses’s own recuperative powers, the infection I had feared had not occurred. He was still fussing about Thomas Russell, however, so I told him to stop worrying, that I would deal with the matter. He appeared somewhat alarmed at the prospect.
“I won’t scold him,” I promised. “But if you were to give me a few more details . . .”
He really had no choice but to do so. By the time I left him I had obtained answers to most of my remaining questions, and as I proceeded along the Giza Road I pondered the information.
After hearing his account of what had happened at the rendezvous and afterwards, I understood why he had been so insistent about carrying out his normal activities. The would-be assassin might have been the Turk, or Wardani’s ambitious lieutenant, or an unknown third party; whoever he was, and whatever his motive, he was probably aware of the fact that “Wardani” had suffered an injury of some sort. Ramses had also admitted, upon interrogation, that he had reason to believe his masquerade was suspected. He refused to elaborate, claiming it was more a sense of uneasiness than a specific fact—“like one of your famous forebodings, Mother.”
I could not quarrel with that, for I knew how significant such feelings could be. There were a number of ways in which the truth about Wardani’s whereabouts might have come out. The peculiar nature of Anglo-Egyptian officialdom had become even more complicated after the formal annexation of the country. Kitchener had been replaced by Sir Henry MacMahon, with the new title of High Commissioner; General Sir John Maxwell was the Commander of the Army; the Cairo Police force was still under the command of Harvey Pasha, with Russell as his assistant and Philippides, the unsavory Levantine, as director of the political CID; the new intelligence department was headed by Gilbert Clayton, who was also the Cairo representative of the Sirdar of the Sudan; under Clayton was Mr. Newcombe and his little group of Oxbridge intellectuals, which included Leonard Woolley and Mr. Lawrence. At the beginning Ramses had dealt only with Russell, whose intelligence and integrity he trusted, as he did not trust some of the others; but it had been necessary to involve higher authorities in order to carry out the supposed deportation of David and the secret imprisonment of Wardani. In theory the only persons who knew of the impersonation were Kitchener himself, MacMahon, General Maxwell, and Thomas Russell.
I didn’t believe it. Unnamed personages in the War Office in London must have been informed; General Maxwell might have confided in certain members of his staff and in Clayton. Men believe women are hopeless gossips, but women know men are. The poor creatures are worse than women in some ways, because they cannot admit to themselves that they are gossiping, or doubt the discretion of the individuals in whom they confide. “Strictly in confidence, old boy, just between you and me . . .”
Yes, the word would spread, in private offices and in the clubs, and, if I may be permitted a slight vulgarity, in the boudoir. I did not doubt there were agents of the Central Powers in Cairo; some might have penetrated the police and the intelligence departments. The longer the boys continued their perilous task, the greater the danger that the truth would reach the ears of the enemy. It might already have done so.
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