Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [8]
“Very well, very well. Be more careful in future.”
The vendor had changed the tone of his lament upon recognizing Emerson, who was leaning over the rail. “It is Emerson Effendi,” he cried. “O, Father of Curses, see what they have done to a poor old man! They have ruined me; my wives will starve, my children will be homeless, my aged mother—”
“Not to mention your extremely aged grandmother,” said Emerson, in extremely colloquial Arabic. The adjectives he used carried an implication that caused the listeners to burst into howls of laughter.
Emerson grinned. He does enjoy having his witticisms appreciated. Dropping a handful of coins into the vendor’s tray, he went on, “Buy a new gibbeh (robe) for your great-grandmother, that she may flourish in her profession.”
More raucous male laughter followed this improper remark. Emerson resumed his seat. Catching my eye, and hastily straightening his countenance, he exclaimed, “I told you we should not have come here, Amelia. What sort of hotel is this, to allow a criminal like Kalenischeff on the premises? I have half a mind to leave at once. Baehler! Herr Baehler!”
It is said that a good hotelier has a sixth sense for impending trouble. It is also said by ill-natured persons that Baehler expects trouble from Emerson and is constantly on the watch for it. Be that as it may, the manager appeared as if from thin air and made his way to our table.
“You called me, Professor Emerson?” he murmured.
“What are you whispering for?” Emerson asked curiously.
“He is attempting, by example, to persuade you to moderate your voice,” I said.
Baehler gave me a look of grateful acknowledgment, Emerson an outraged stare. “What the devil are you implying, Peabody? I never raise my voice. I would like to know, Herr Baehler, what you mean by letting a rascally reprobate like that in your hotel. It is an outrage.”
“You are referring to Prince Kalenischeff?”
“Prince? Ha!” Emerson exploded. “He has no right to the title, or to that of archaeologist. He is a thief and a villain, a member of the ring of antiquities thieves Mrs. Emerson and I unmasked last year—”
“Please, Professor.” Baehler wrung his hands. “People are staring. You are overheard.”
“Well, I mean to be overheard,” Emerson declared. “That is the function of speech, Baehler, to be heard.”
“All the same, Herr Baehler is right, Emerson,” I said. “You and I know the man is guilty, but we could not find legal evidence. We cannot expect Herr Baehler to evict him on those grounds. What I would like to know is the identity of the unfortunate young woman he was escorting. She appears to be very young. What is her mother thinking of, to allow her to appear alone in public with such a man?”
Baehler hesitated. From his untroubled brow and pleasant half-smile one would have supposed he was unconcerned; but I knew that he yearned to confide in a sympathetic and understanding person. He began cautiously, “The lady is an orphan. Perhaps you have heard of her. She is a countrywoman of yours—a Miss Debenham. The Honorable Miss Debenham, to be precise. Her father was Baron Piccadilly, and she is his sole heiress.”
“An heiress,” I said meaningfully.
Emerson grunted. “That explains Kalenischeff’s interest. No, Baehler, we are not acquainted with the young woman; we do not concern ourselves with the empty-headed upper classes. I don’t want to hear anything more about this Miss Devonshire, or whatever her name may be. Mrs. Emerson does not want to hear about her either. Mrs. Emerson has no time for such people.”
“Hush, Emerson. Mr. Baehler knows I never interfere in other people’s affairs; but I feel an obligation in this case, knowing what I know of Kalenischeff’s true character. The young lady should be warned. If I may be of any assistance . . .”
Baehler was only waiting for the opportunity to speak out. “I confess, Mrs. Emerson, that the situation is—er—uncomfortable. Miss Debenham arived in Cairo quite unaccompanied, even by a personal servant. She soon took up with the prince, and their behavior has become an open