Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [71]
It was not difficult to find the place where Enid had concealed her belongings. She had not buried them deep, and in fact a fold of black fabric protruded from the sand like a sable banner.
I dug up the parcel, glancing furtively round as I thought Enid might do under those circumstances, and hoping the assailant I expected would make his move without delay. There were many places nearby where such a person might be concealed, for, as I believe I have mentioned, the rocky plateau was marked by innumerable ridges and crevices.
Nothing happened, however. Continuing my role, I gathered the bundle in my arms and returned with it to Enid’s tent, where I could examine it at leisure.
The worn black tob and burko (face veil) were of the poorest quality, and sadly worn—worn often and continuously, to judge by the odor that pervaded them. They would have to be washed—boiled, in fact—before they could be worn again, but I put the garments aside. One never knows when a disguise may be useful.
The robe had been wrapped around a small handbag within which was a pitiful collection of odds and ends, obviously snatched up at random in the panic of that fearful morning. A little box of pearl powder and a pot of lip paint, an ivory-handled brush and a dainty handkerchief were objects she might have had already in the bag. Crammed on top were a few pieces of jewelry, including a gold watch and a locket of the same precious metal, adorned with pearls. The most interesting item, however, was a large roll of banknotes. The total came to over five hundred pounds.
The girl had been described as an heiress, and the names of the couturiers she had mentioned bore out the assumption that she had ample wealth at her command. Yet this was an astonishing amount for a young woman to carry on her person. Thoughtfully I returned the money and the watch to the bag. There were unplumbed depths in that young person; they might or might not have bearing on her present dilemma, but I was determined to know the facts so that I might decide for myself. To that end I permitted myself another violation of propriety. I opened the locket.
It was with a sense of inevitability that I saw a familiar face enshrined there. The frame of the locket cut off the lower part of the chin, and the color of the hair was reduced to sober gray. I knew the color, though, as I knew the features.
Was the photograph that of Nemo or of the other man who so nearly resembled him? Was one, or both, Enid’s cousin Ronald? And if one was Ronald, which one? And which, if either, was Sethos?
I confess that for a moment my thoughts were in a whirl. But was I distracted from my purpose by this startling development? Never believe it, Reader! I hung the locket round my neck. I shook out Enid’s coat, which had been wrapped around the bag. It was quite snug across my chest—in fact, the buttons would not fasten. That was all to the good, however, for I wanted the locket to be seen.
Settling myself atop a promontory some distance from the tents, I prepared to wait. I had no assurance that anything interesting would occur that day, but sooner or later my efforts must bear fruit. Nothing escaped the notice of that unknown genius of crime; he must know of Enid’s presence at Dahshoor. He would not have been deceived by her masquerade any more than I had been. All things come to him who waits, as the saying goes, and I did not doubt that assault and/or abduction would come to me.
I felt horridly undressed