Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [116]
I persevered, and by the time we reached the station I had told the modified version of the truth Selim and I had agreed upon. Emerson’s only comment was a gruff “Humph.” Tossing the driver a few coins, he helped Selim out of the carriage with a gentleness his scowling countenance belied, and hurried us toward the train. There was a little altercation when we took Selim with us into a first-class carriage; but Emerson silenced the conductor with a handful of money and a few firm comments, and the other passengers departed, muttering—but not very loudly.
“Ah,” said Emerson in a pleased voice. “Very good. We have the carriage to ourselves. We can discuss this remarkable story of yours at leisure.”
“First,” I said, hoping to distract him, “tell me what you learned in the sûk.”
He had—if I could believe him—discovered more than I. One acquaintance, whom Emerson chose not to identify by name, claimed he knew the murderer of Kalenischeff. The killer was a professional assassin, for hire by anyone who had the price. It was rumored that he sometimes carried out assignments for Sethos, but he was not an official member of the gang. The man had left Cairo shortly after Kalenischeff’s death, and no one knew where he was to be found.
“But,” said Emerson, his eyes narrowing, “I am on his trail, Peabody. Eventually he will return, for Cairo is where he does his business. And when he does, word will be brought to me.”
“But that may take weeks—months,” I exclaimed.
“If you think you can do better, Peabody, you have my permission to try,” Emerson said. Then he clapped his hand to his mouth. “No. No! I did not say that. I meant—”
“Never mind, my dear Emerson. My comment was not intended as criticism. Only you could have learned as much.”
“Humph,” said Emerson. “What have you been up to, Peabody? You never flatter me unless you have something to hide.”
“That is unjust, Emerson. I have often—”
“Indeed? I cannot remember when—”
“I have the greatest respect—”
“You constantly deceive and—”
“I—”
“You—”
Selim let out a groan and collapsed against Emerson’s broad shoulder. Taking a flask from my belt, I administered a sip of brandy, and Selim declared he felt much better.
I handed the flask to Emerson, who absently took a drink. “Now then, Peabody,” he said affably. “What else did you learn?”
I told him about the safragis and described my visit to Mr. Aziz. Emerson shook his head. “That was a waste of time, Peabody. I could have told you Aziz was not a member of the organization. He has not the intelligence or the—er—intestinal fortitude.”
“Precisely what I said to Aziz, Emerson. So it appears we are not much farther along.”
“We have made a start, at any rate. I did not anticipate bringing our inquiries to a successful conclusion in one day.”
“Quite right, Emerson. You always cut straight to the heart of the matter. And,” I added hopefully, “perhaps during our absence Sethos has done something, such as attacking the compound, which will give us more information.”
•
Twelve
•
At Emerson’s request the train stopped at Dahshoor long enough to let us disembark. We trudged off along the path, Emerson supporting Selim with such vigor that the boy’s feet scarcely touched the ground. After a short time Selim declared breathlessly that he was fully recovered and capable of walking by himself.
“Good lad,” said Emerson, with a hearty slap on the back.
Alternately rubbing his back and his head, Selim followed us. “He may have saved your life, Amelia,” said Emerson. “You didn’t happen to see the man who attacked him?”
“It all happened so quickly,” I said truthfully.
“The attacker may have been a common thief, you know. We need not see emissaries of Sethos everywhere.”
“I think you are right, Emerson.”
Before we reached the house we knew something was amiss. The gates were wide open and the place was buzzing like a beehive. The men had gathered in a group, all talking at once. Enid sat in a chair by the door, her face