The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [73]
John scratched his head. “Well, madam, I will certainly try. But I see certain difficulties.”
“Such as?”
“Won’t he see me if I am standing outside ’is ’ouse when he comes out?”
“Don’t be absurd, John. He will not see you because you will be in hiding.”
“Where, madam?”
“Where? Well—er—there must be a tree or a wall or something of that sort nearby. Use your imagination, John.”
“Yes, madam,” John said doubtfully.
“What other difficulties do you anticipate?”
“Supposing someone sees me behind the tree and asks what I’m doing there?”
“If you are sufficiently well hidden, you will not be seen. Good heavens, John, have you no resources?”
“I don’t think so, madam. But I will do me best, which is all a man can do. Which of the chaps is it?”
I started to point, then thought better of it. “That one. Third from the end—no, curse it, second…. He keeps changing position.”
“You don’t mean Brother ’amid, madam?”
“Brother Hamid? Yes, John, I believe I do mean Brother Hamid. He is really a convert, then?”
“Yes, madam, and I know where he lives, for he sleeps in a storeroom behind the mission house. But, madam, I’m sure you are mistaken about ’im being a criminal. Brother Ezekiel has quite taken to ’im, and Brother Ezekiel could not take to a criminal, madam.”
“Brother Ezekiel is no more immune than other men to the blandishments of a hypocrite.” John gave me a blank stare, so I elaborated. “Godly persons are more vulnerable than most to the machinations of the ungodly.”
“I don’t understand all them long words, madam, but I think I take your meaning,” John replied. “Brother Ezekiel is too trusting.”
“That is a quality of saints, John,” I said. “Martyrdom is often the result of excessive gullibility.”
Whether John comprehended this I cannot say, but he appeared to be convinced. No doubt he had also realized that spying on Hamid would bring him closer to Charity. Squaring his shoulders, he exclaimed, “I will do just what you say, madam. Shall I ’ave a disguise, do you think?”
“That is an excellent suggestion, John. I am happy to see that you are entering into the spirit of the thing. I will borrow a robe and turban from Abdullah; he is the only one of the men who is anything near your height.”
John went off to assist Emerson and I remained where I was, keeping a close but unobtrusive watch over Hamid. After a while Abdullah came up to me. “What is the man doing, Sitt, that you watch him so closely?” he asked.
“What man, Abdullah? You are mistaken. I am not watching him.”
“Oh.” Delicately Abdullah scratched his bearded chin. “I was in error. I thought your keen eyes were fixed upon the foreigner—the man from Manawat.”
“No, not at all…. What do you know about him, Abdullah?”
The reis replied promptly, “He has not worked with his hands, Sitt Hakim. They are sore and bleeding from the pick.”
“How does he get on with the other men?”
“He has no friends among them. Those of the village who remain faithful to the priest are angry with the ones who have gone over to the Americans. But he does not even talk to the other new ‘Brotestants.’ Shall I dismiss him, Sitt? There are others who would like the work.”
“No, don’t do that. Only keep a close watch on him.” I lowered my voice. “I have reason to think Hamid is a criminal, Abdullah; perhaps a murderer.”
“Oh, Sitt.” Abdullah clasped his hands. “Not again, honored Sitt! We come to excavate, to work; I beg you, Sitt, do not do it again.”
“What do you mean, Abdullah?”
“I feared it would happen,” the reis muttered, passing a shaking hand over his lofty brow. “A village of unbelievers, hateful to Allah; a curse on the very house where we dwell—”
“But we have lifted the curse, Abdullah.”
“No, Sitt, no. The restless spirits of the dead are still there. Daoud saw one of them only last night.”
I had been expecting something of the sort—or if I had not expected it, I