Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [115]
“I will send a messenger to you. You may leave word for me at Shepheard’s, if you have news; I stop there every day or so to pick up my mail.”
“Very well.” I held out my hand. Mr. Gregson took it in both of his. They were white, well-tended hands, but the callouses on his palms and the strength of his long fingers proved that here was a man of action as well as a gentleman.
“We will soon meet again,” he said.
“I hope so. And I hope at that time to have the pleasure of introducing you to my husband.”
“Yes, quite. Until then.”
He strode off and, turning a corner, disappeared from sight. With Selim trailing disconsolately at my heels, I began to retrace my steps.
In fact, it required the combined concentration of myself and Selim to find our way. I had not taken note of the turns and zigzags, since I expected to have Mr. Gregson as escort on the return journey, and Selim had been too preoccupied with keeping us in sight to pay attention to where he was going. Eventually, however, we reached a part of the city that was familiar to me, and from there it was only a short distance to the Muski. I hired a carriage and ordered Selim to take a seat beside me.
“Now then, Selim,” I said. “I don’t want to put you in a difficult position with the professor, but I don’t see how we are going to get round what happened if we tell the truth.”
The boy raised his drooping head. “Oh, sitt,” he said tremulously. “I will do anything you say.”
“I never lie to the professor, Selim.”
Selim looked distraught. “However,” I said, “there is no reason why we cannot bend the truth a little. We will have to account for that lump on your head.”
“I could remove the bandages, sitt,” Selim said eagerly. “You were very generous with the bandages. I do not need them.”
“No, you must not do that. What I propose is this. You will tell Professor Emerson everything that happened up to the moment when I discovered you. Then say simply that someone fell upon you and attacked you, striking you with a heavy object.”
“Someone did,” said Selim.
“Precisely. It is not a falsehood. Omit the name of your attacker; let the professor think it was an ordinary thief. Upon hearing the altercation, I ran to your rescue.”
“It is good, sitt,” Selim exclaimed.
“Because of your injury I felt it necessary to return with you,” I continued. “The blow on the head left you dizzy and confused; if the professor asks you any awkward questions, you can just say you don’t remember.”
The lad’s soft brown eyes shone with admiration. “Sitt, you are my mother and my father! You are the kindest and wisest of women!”
“You know how I hate flattery, Selim. Your praise is unnecessary; just do as I say and everything will work out. Er—you might lean back and try to look faint. There is the hotel, and I see Emerson storming up and down on the terrace.”
Selim drooped and moaned so exquisitely that the sight of him quite distracted Emerson from the scolding he had meant to give me. “Good Gad,” he shouted, peering into the carriage. “What has happened? Is he dead? Selim, my boy—”
“I am not dead but I am dying,” Selim groaned. “Honored Father of Curses, give my respects to my father, to my brothers Ali and Hassan and—”
I jabbed him surreptitiously with my parasol. Selim sat up with a start. “Perhaps I am not dying. I think I will recover.”
Emerson climbed into the carriage and slammed the door. “To the railroad station,” he directed the driver.
“But, Emerson,” I began. “Don’t you want to know—”
“I do indeed, Peabody. You can tell me as we go. We will just catch the afternoon express if we hurry.”
He plucked off Selim’s turban. The boy gave a dismal yelp, and Emerson said coolly, “I recognize your handiwork, Peabody. One-half pennyworth of blood to this intolerable deal of bandages, eh? Tell me all about it, from the beginning.”
The tale was long in the telling, for I had to begin with my meeting with Mr. Gregson, and at first Emerson interrupted me every few words. “You must be out of your mind, Peabody,” he bellowed. “To follow that fellow into the heart of