Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [110]
“Then what has become of her?” Ramsay asked. “She could not remain concealed for long, a woman with no knowledge of the language, the customs—”
“You underestimate our sex, sir,” I said, frowning. “Next time we meet you may have cause to amend your opinion, and I will expect an apology.”
After we left the office I heard the key turn in the lock.
“So much for that,” said Emerson as, for the second time, we emerged into the street. “Not very useful, was it?”
“No. Well, Emerson, what next?”
Emerson hailed a carriage and handed me into it. “I will meet you later at Shepheard’s,” he said. “Wait for me on the terrace if you finish your interrogation before I arrive.”
“And where are you going?”
“To the bazaars, to pursue the course I mentioned.”
“I will go with you.”
“That would be ill-advised, Peabody. The negotiations I mean to pursue are of the most delicate nature. My informants will be reluctant to talk at all; the presence of a third party, even you, might silence them.”
His argument could not be gainsaid. Emerson had a rare, I might even say unique, rapprochement with Egyptians of all varieties and social classes, stemming from his eloquence in invective, his formidable strength, his colloquial command of the language, and—it pains me to admit—his complete contempt for the Christian religion. To be sure, Emerson was tolerantly and equally contemptuous of Islam, Buddhism, Judaism, and all other faiths, but his Egyptian friends were only concerned about the religion they equate with foreign domination over their country. Other archaeologists claimed to have good relations with their workers—Petrie, I am sorry to say, was always boasting about it—but their attitude was always tempered with the condescension of the “superior race” toward a lesser breed. Emerson made no such distinctions. To him a man was not an Englishman or a “native,” but only a man.
I see that I have digressed. I do not apologize. The complex nobility of Emerson’s character is worthy of an even longer digression.
However, I felt certain there was another reason why he preferred I should not accompany him. In his bachelor days, before I met him and civilized him, Emerson had a widespread acquaintance in certain circles he was not anxious for me to know about. Respecting his scruples and his right to privacy, I never attempted to intrude into this part of his past.
Feeling that I was entitled to the same consideration from him, I did not feel it necessary to inform him that I had business of my own in the old section, and that if he expected me to sit meekly on the terrace of Shepheard’s until he condescended to appear, he was sadly mistaken. First, however, there were my inquiries at the hotel to be made, so I allowed the carriage driver to follow Emerson’s directions.
However, Mr. Baehler was a sad disappointment. He absolutely refused to allow me to examine the hotel registers for the previous winter. Upon my persisting, he finally agreed to consult them himself, and he assured me that Mr. Ronald Fraser had not been a guest at the hotel during that period. I was disappointed, but not downhearted; Ronald might have stayed at another hostelry.
I then asked the name of the safragi who had been on duty at the time of Kalenischeff’s murder. As I had expected from a man of Mr. Baehler’s efficiency, he knew the names and duties of every employee in the hotel, but again I met with a check. The person in question, whose assignment had been the third-floor wing, was no longer in the employ of the hotel.
“He had a bit of good luck,” Baehler said with a smile. “An aged relative died and left him a large sum of money. He has retired to his village and I hear he is living like a pasha.”
“And what village is that?” I asked.
Baehler shrugged. “I don’t remember. It is far to the south, near Assuan. But really, Mrs. Emerson, if it is information concerning the murder you want, you are wasting your time looking for him. The police questioned