The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [163]
“By God, it is,” Ramses muttered. “How the devil—”
“Never mind that now, Ramses,” I interrupted. “Sir Edward, are you here in lieu of your chief?”
“Straight to the point as always, Mrs. Emerson. You are right to remind me we ought not waste time. The answer to your question is no. I have been waiting for him.”
“Good Gad,” Emerson exclaimed, recovering from his understandable surprise. “I never expected to see you again, Sir Edward; the last I heard, you were in . . .” He broke off, staring at the empty sleeve.
“France,” said Sir Edward coolly. “As you see, I have returned to private life.”
“Did you follow us?” I asked.
“Only until you were safely out of the metropolis. Didn’t you hear me encouraging the riot? Kept everybody busy and happy and out of your way.”
“Oh,” said Emerson.
“I came straight on after that,” Sir Edward continued blithely. “It was a safe assumption that you would keep the appointment.”
“But he didn’t,” Emerson said. “Why not?”
Sir Edward scratched his side, murmured a genteel apology, and said, “He may have been unable to get away. Sahin’s been watching him closely, especially since Ramses escaped. There’s no use staying here any longer.”
“Where shall we go, then?” I inquired. “In my opinion it would be inadvisable for us to return to Khan Yunus until we are apprised of conditions there. Some of Sahin’s men may be lurking. Or were those assertive individuals not his men?”
“I assumed they were. Don’t tell me you have another set of enemies after you!”
“There would be nothing new in that,” said Ramses. “Have you anyplace in mind, Sir Edward?”
Sir Edward hesitated. Under the skillful makeup and the ingrained dirt and the wisps of beard I could see the lines of worry and indecision that marked his face. Then he shrugged, with all his old insouciance. “I know a place, yes. It’s a good ten miles away, too far for the ladies to walk. We’ll need transportation.”
“I will go back and get the motorcar,” Selim offered.
“Too risky,” Emerson said at once.
“And too conspicuous,” Sir Edward added. “We’ll have to borrow a few quadrupeds. Ramses, my lad, have you ever stolen a horse?”
“As a matter of fact, he has,” I replied.
“I don’t know why I bothered to ask,” Sir Edward muttered. “There’s a picket line a mile south of here. Ramses and Selim—no, Professor, not you. Someone must stay with the ladies.”
“This lady is going with you,” Nefret said.
FROM MANUSCRIPT H
There was only one sentry. The enemy wasn’t in the habit of sending out raiding parties, and local horse thieves had learned not to tangle with the men of the Desert Column. Trees and growing crops gave plenty of cover, and the moon was down. They crawled close enough to hear the snores of the men who lay rolled in their blankets beyond the line of horses. Sir Edward brought his mouth against Ramses’s ear.
“I’m beginning to think this was a bad idea.”
Ramses had been of that opinion from the start. Some of the straitlaced British officers considered the ANZACs an unruly lot, impatient of discipline, who didn’t even know how to ride properly. Personally he would have preferred to have a whole troop of fox-hunting Englishmen after him than a few of these hard-bitten colonials.
Bad idea or not, it had to be done. The girl couldn’t manage a ten-mile hike, and he was concerned about his mother, who would drop in her tracks rather than admit the task was beyond her. Anyhow, they had to get under cover before morning. It would take too long for the slower members of the party to walk that distance.
They had planned what they had to do, and he thought they could manage it, with a little luck—and Nefret’s help. He had had to overrule Sir Edward, and his own instincts, when she announced she was coming with them; common sense told him that her help would be invaluable. She was an excellent rider, and she had an uncanny knack with animals.
Dealing with the sentry was his job. It wasn’t difficult; the poor devil was tired and not