The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [176]
“That is all you have to say?” His frowning visage turned from Nefret to Emerson.
“It is all any of us have to say,” Emerson assured him. “When may we expect those supplies?”
Major Cartright’s countenance underwent a series of contortions. He had been sorely tried, but knew perfectly well that any attempt to detain Emerson against his will would result in an uproar that would reverberate through every level of British officialdom.
“I’m not certain I can obtain everything you need today,” he muttered.
“Oh, I think you can,” said Emerson, showing his teeth.
“Yes, sir. Then . . . I will see you in Cairo?” He looked at Ramses, who had remained silent.
“No doubt,” said Ramses.
“You are the one he would like to question,” I said, after Cartright had taken his departure. “I expect he will go haring off to General Chetwode and demand we be held here.”
“Chetwode has no authority to detain us,” said Emerson. He rubbed irritably at the cast, which was looking somewhat the worse for wear. “Nefret, can’t I have this cursed thing off?”
“Not yet, Father. As soon as we get to Cairo I’ll have a look at it.”
Selim returned from his inspection of the motorcar to report that everything seemed to be in order, and went off to commandeer some household assistance, since I did not suppose Major Cartright would consider that matter worthy of his attention. It had begun to rain, so we retreated into the room behind the open mak’ad, where we had left our baggage.
“We may as well unpack our bundles,” I said. “What with all our comings and goings, I have lost track of precisely what we still have. I gave my bar of soap to Mustafa, but here is my medical kit and my parasol—”
“You won’t need that, Mrs. Emerson. You will not be leaving the house just yet.”
I had missed one of the secret rooms. Unlike the makhba under the floor of the harem, this was a small hidden chamber whose door resembled that of a wall cupboard. He looked much the same as he had when I had seen him before, a big man with a grizzled beard and shoulders almost as impressive as those of Emerson. He had a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other.
“Sahin Pasha, I presume,” I said, after a slight catch of breath. “We ought to have anticipated that a clever man would comprehend the gravity of his predicament and escape before he could be apprehended. On the run, are you?”
“One might call it that. Now, if you don’t mind—”
“Coming here was also a clever move,” I mused. “There is a saying that the safest place for a criminal is in the police station.”
“Is there? No, my young friend, don’t take another step. I want all of you close together.”
Ramses stopped. “You daren’t use that gun,” he said. “The sound of a shot will bring the servants and a dozen soldiers.”
“If I am forced to fire, there will be more than one shot and by the time your assistants arrive it will be too late for some of you. There is no need for that. All I want is my daughter.”
“Let us discuss this calmly,” I said. “How do you propose to get her away from here, against her will, without killing all of us, which is, as you must see, impractical?”
A rather jolly rumble of laughter emerged from his parted lips. “Mrs. Emerson, it is a pleasure to meet you at last. I know you are hoping that your fascinating conversation will distract me. It won’t. But since you ask, I have already dealt with Esin. She is lying bound and gagged on the divan in the ka’ah. I found this hiding place last night. As soon as I have persuaded you to enter it, I will take her and go.”
“Go where?” I demanded. “Back into the lion’s den? You are being unrealistic if you believe you can convince your erstwhile friends that you are still to be trusted.”
The man’s strong jaw hardened. “I will prove my good faith by returning, with my daughter.”
It would require more than that. He knew it, and so did I. But if he could recapture the prisoner he had let escape . . . If he could herd us one