Night Train to Memphis - Elizabeth Peters [53]
I was about to ask my tasteless boss how the exchange of merchandise and money could be made, since the little boats were a good thirty feet below us, when an object came hurtling through the air and landed with a splat on the deck.
I jumped back with the alacrity of a frog in reverse, and someone bent to pick up the parcel.
‘You seem a trifle tense this morning, Dr Bliss,’ John remarked. Turning with a gallant bow, he presented the parcel to Suzi Umphenour.
I had believed I was getting used to Suzi’s outrageous outfits, but she constantly surprised me. This garment might have come straight out of a thirties’ film starring Jean Harlow: bias-cut satin trimmed with marabou feathers at the neck and the cuffs of the flowing sleeves. The things she had on her feet were, I think, referred to as mules. How she had managed to get upstairs in them without breaking her neck I could not imagine. As she reached for the parcel she slipped and tottered. Several pairs of masculine arms, including those of Sweet and Bright, made hopeful grabs at her, but she managed to avoid them, and fell heavily against John. He had to detach both her hands before he could set her on her feet.
Giggling merrily, Suzi removed her purchase and held it up: a shift, very tight and very short, completely covered with gold sequins. There was, I regret to say, a matching cap.
‘Oh, very smart,’ said John.
‘It’s for the Egyptian party tonight,’ Suzi explained, with one of her wide white grins.
‘Ah, yes. I’d forgotten. Perhaps I’d better get something for Mary. Advise me, will you, Suzi? Your taste is so impeccable.’ He offered her his arm.
Did I follow them to the rail? Certainly. I was going that way anyhow. I heard Suzi ask why Mary wasn’t with him, and John’s reply: ‘I persuaded her to sleep late. She had rather a restless night.’
Plastic bags were landing all over the place. Schmidt had already retrieved one; tossing the hideous garment over a chair, he put money into the bag, knotted it tightly, and tossed it down. He had a good arm for a fat old guy; the seller snagged the bag without difficulty. Suzi’s aim wasn’t so good; her bag missed the boat entirely, splashing into the water, but it was neatly retrieved by the merchant using a long hook.
I didn’t see what gorgeous garment John bought for his bride. I was too busy trying to keep Schmidt from buying not one but several for me. I did succeed in talking him out of one of the gold-sequined shifts. More of the passengers had come on deck to join in the fun. It would have been fun, I guess, if it hadn’t been for my tense suspicious mind. Yet – I assured myself – it was an awfully sloppy method of exchanging contraband or delivering explosives. Especially when one of the boats down below was filled with men in black uniforms, who kept a keen eye on every transaction.
The party broke up when we started moving into the lock. It was a tricky manoeuvre, owing to the size of the Queen of the Nile; she filled the entire space, lengthways and sideways. The stone walls rose sheer on either side, broken only by a flight of stairs leading from the top to water level. Once we were in, even Suzi could have tossed a package into the hands of someone who stood on the steps.
The only person there, however, wore a black uniform and carried a rifle. There were more of them up above, lining the bridge that crossed the lock.
Schmidt tugged me away. ‘We will have breakfast,’ he announced.
In a meaningful manner I brushed the crumbs off his moustache. He chuckled. ‘That was not breakfast, only a little snack.’
Since we were not going ashore that day, the service of food was practically continuous; the passengers had to be kept amused, and for some of them eating was a favourite sport. I kept Schmidt company while he stuffed himself, trying to decide how to occupy the long leisurely day. I am not ashamed to admit that Ali’s death had put a damper on my enthusiasm, which had already been fairly water-logged. If Alice was my only ally, we were both in deep trouble. If she wasn’t, why the hell hadn’t the other person