Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [111]
“I see. I understand the police have fixed on some anonymous beggar as the killer, and that Miss Debenham is no longer under suspicion.”
“So I believe. If you will excuse me, Mrs. Emerson, I am expecting a large party—”
“One more thing, Mr. Baehler, and I will detain you no longer. The name of the safragi who was on duty in our part of the hotel while we were here.”
“I hope you don’t suspect him of wrongdoing,” Baehler exclaimed. “He is a responsible man who has been with us for years.”
I reassured him, and upon learning that the man in question was even now at his station, I dismissed Mr. Baehler with thanks, and went upstairs.
I remembered the safragi well—a lean, grizzled man of middle age, with a quiet voice and pleasant features marred only when he smiled by a set of brown, broken teeth.
The fellow’s smile was without guile, however, and he answered my questions readily. Alas, he could not remember anything unusual about the porters who had delivered our parcels. There had been a number of deliveries from a number of different shops; some of the men were known to him, some were not.
I thanked and rewarded him and left him to the peaceful nap my arrival had interrupted. I was convinced he was unwitting. His demeanor was that of an innocent man, and besides, if he had been aware of the identity of the delivery man, he would have been pensioned off, like the other safragi—who was, I felt sure, the same one who had claimed to have seen Donald inside the hotel. Sethos rewarded his loyal assistants liberally.
Since some of my inquiries had proved abortive, I found myself with plenty of time to carry out my other business, and I determined to proceed with it rather than pause for luncheon. Emerson would be occupied for several more hours, and if I hurried, I could be back at the hotel before he got there.
I was crossing the lobby when the concierge intercepted me. “Mrs. Emerson! This letter was left for you.”
“How extraordinary,” I said, examining the superscripture, which was in an unfamiliar hand. There was no question of a mistake, however, for the name was my own, and in full: Amelia Peabody Emerson. “Who was the person who left it?”
“I did not recognize the gentleman, madam. He is not a guest at the hotel.”
I thanked the concierge and hastened to open the sealed envelope. The message within was brief, but the few lines set my pulses leaping. “Have important information. Will be at the Café Orientale between one-thirty and two.” It was signed “T. Gregson.”
I had almost forgotten the famous private detective—as perhaps you have also, dear Reader. Apparently he had seen me enter the hotel. But why had he written a note instead of speaking to me personally?
I consulted my watch. The timing could not have been better. I could visit the shop of Aziz before keeping the appointment with Gregson.
Do not suppose, Reader, that I was unconscious of the peculiarity of the arrangement. There was a chance I might be walking into a trap. Mr. Gregson could not be Sethos; his eyes were not black, but a soft velvety brown. Yet he might be an ally of that enigmatic villain, or someone else might have used his name in order to lure me into his toils.
This seemed, on the whole, unlikely. I knew the Café Orientale; it was on the Muski, in a respectable neighborhood much frequented by the foreign community. And if my suspicion was correct—if Sethos himself lay in wait for me—I was ready for him. I was alert and on guard, I had my parasol and my belt of tools.
However, I felt it advisable to take one precaution. Going into the writing room, I inscribed a brief note to Emerson, telling him where I was going and assuring him, in closing, that if I did not return he was to console himself with the knowledge that our deep and tender love had enriched my life and, I trusted, his own.
Upon rereading this, I found it a trifle pessimistic, so I added a postscript. “My dear Emerson, I do not suppose that the M.C. will slaughter me out of hand, since it would be more in character for him to hold me prisoner in order to