Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [26]
Abdullah also prided himself upon the imperturbability of his countenance. This characteristic seemed more marked than usual that day; his thin, well-cut lips scarcely moved as he replied stiffly, “Think, honored sitt? I do not permit myself to think, unless ordered to do so by yourself or Emerson.”
I understood the reason for his ill-humor. “It was not because of dissatisfaction with your son Selim that we employed the Inglizi to act as guard to Ramses,” I assured him. “Like all your people, Selim is too valuable to be wasted as a nursemaid. Besides, we hoped to do a charitable action in helping the Englishman.”
Abdullah’s rigid face relaxed. “Ah. I understand, sitt. Charity is pleasing to Allah, and your kind heart is well known. But, sitt, do you know that the man is a smoker of opium?”
“I intend to break him of that vile habit, Abdullah.”
“Ah,” Abdullah said again, stroking his silky beard. “It is not easy to do that. But if anyone can break a man, it is you, Sitt Hakim.”
“Thank you, Abdullah. Will you please explain to Selim, so he won’t be disappointed? ”
“Disappointed,” Abdullah repeated thoughtfully. “No, sitt, I do not think Selim will be disappointed.”
“Good. What I meant, Abdullah, by my question, was whether the Englishman looked familiar. Think carefully, Abdullah. Have you ever seen him before?”
Abdullah did not stop to think at all. “No, sitt. Never.”
Thinking back over the events of the not-too-distant past, I realized that Abdullah had not beheld the Master Criminal in his final apotheosis, for he had been drugged at an early stage in the proceedings and had slept through the whole exciting denouement. However, he had seen the Master Criminal in his role as Father Girgis on a number of occasions.
“Are you certain, Abdullah? Do you remember the priest of Dronkeh?”
“Yes, how could I forget him? He . . .” Abdullah’s mouth remained open; his eyes emulated his mouth, widening till the whites showed around the dark centers. Then his shoulders began to twitch and strangling noises issued from his parted lips. A casual observer might have mistaken his reaction for amusement; but of course I knew better.
I hastened to reassure him. “There is nothing to be alarmed about, Abdullah. I have the matter well in hand. I am glad you were also sharp enough to penetrate the villain’s disguise—”
“No, sitt, no.” Abdullah regained control of himself. “You mistake me, sitt. A slight coughing spell . . . The dust in my throat . . . Perhaps my ears deceived me, or my aging brain failed to understand what you meant. Are you saying that this Inglizi is the—the same person as the—the . . .”
“You had better let me give you some medicine for your throat affliction,” I said. “Your ears did not deceive you, Abdullah, and your brain is as good as ever. Better than the brain of a certain person who ought to be wiser. I mention no names, Abdullah.”
“No, sitt, of course not. But, sitt, it cannot be. This is not the same man.”
“The huge black beard and the long black hair were false—”
“The priest had black eyes, sitt. This man’s eyes are blue.”
I should have known better than to depend on Abdullah. He was, after all, only a man. “I have no time to explain,” I said. “Just watch the fellow, Abdullah. It is better to have him with us, under our eye, than lurking in the desert plotting against us. But don’t trust him.”
“I hear and will obey,” said Abdullah, his lips twitching.
“I have the most implicit confidence in you, Abdullah. But I cannot stand around chatting any longer.