The Snake, The Crocodile, And The Dog Part 13

It did. But when Emerson had settled into his usual sleeping position- flat on his back, arms folded across his breast like a statue of Osiris- I could not help remembering an occasion when the sight of me rising from the bath had prompted comparisons with Aphrodite. This afternoon he had simply handed me a towel.

The only invitation Emerson had not thrown away was one from Mr. George McKenzie. He was one of those eccentric individuals more common in the old days of archaeology than they are today: gifted amateurs who had excavated and studied Egyptology without the restrictions of government regulation. Some of them had done admirable work despite their.lack of formal training, and McKenzie's ma.s.sive three-volume work on ancient Egyptian culture was an invaluable source, for many of the reliefs and inscriptions he had copied in the 1850s had vanished forever. He was a very old man now, and seldom gave or accepted invitations. Even Emerson admitted this was a most flattering attention and an opportunity we ought not miss.

He refused to wear evening dress, but he looked very handsome in his frock coat and matching trousers.

I wore my second-best gown of silver brocade woven with red roses and trimmed with silver lace at the bosom and the cuffs of the elbow-length net sleeves. I hope I may not be accused of vanity when I say that all eyes turned toward us as we crossed the terrace toward the waiting carriage. A brilliant sunset blazoned the western sky, the domes and minarets of old Cairo swam in a dreaming haze.

Old Cairo was our destination- the medieval city with the beautiful four-story houses and palaces from which the cruel Mamluk warriors had tyrannized over the city. Many dwellings had fallen into disrepair and were now inhabited by the poorer cla.s.ses, whole families to a room, the elaborately carved latticework which had concealed the beauties of the hanm from envious eyes had been stripped away, and the laundered galabeeyahs of the humble drooped disconsolately from the decayed screens of mashrabiyya alcoves. McKenzie's house had belonged, it was said, to Sultan Kait Bey himself, and its architectural features were well preserved. I quite looked forward to seeing it

There are no street signs or house numbers in old Cairo. Finally the driver stopped his horses and admitted what I had suspected for some time, to wit, that he had no idea where he was going When Emerson indicated a street, or rather an opening between two houses just ahead, the driver declared he could not go there. He knew that street, it narrowed even farther as it proceeded, and there would be no place in which to turn the horses

"Wait for us here, then," Emerson said. As he helped me down from the carriage, he was unable to resist remarking, "I told you not to wear that frock, Peabody. I thought it likely we would have to go partway on foot."

"Then why didn't you say so?" I demanded, hitching up my skirts.

"You have been here before, haven't you?"

"Some years ago." Emerson offered me his arm and we started off. "Down this way, I think. McKenzie sent directions, but they were not . . Ah, yes, here is the sabil he mentioned. First turning to the left."

We had not gone far when the pa.s.sage narrowed even more, till there was scarcely room to walk abreast. It was like proceeding through a tunnel, for the high, secretive facades of the old houses rose sheer on either side and their jutting balconies almost met overhead. I said uneasily, "This cannot be right, Emerson. It is very dark and nasty here, and I haven't seen a soul since we left the fountain.

Mr. McKenzie would not live in such a slum, surely."

"There are no architectural cla.s.s distinctions here, the mansions of the wealthy adjoin the tenements of the poor." But Emerson's voice reflected my own doubts. He stopped "Let us go back. There was a coffee shop near the sabil, we will ask directions there."

It was too late. The narrow way was lighted only by a lantern some considerate householder had hung over a door a few feet behind us, but it cast sufficient light to allow us to see, in the shadows beyond, the hulking forms of several men Their turbans showed pale in the darkness.

"d.a.m.nation," said Emerson calmly "Get behind me, Peabody."

"Back to back," I agreed, taking up that position. "Curse it, why did I come out without my belt of tools?"

"Try the door there," Emerson said.

"Locked. There are other men ahead," I added. "At least two. And this is only a flimsy evening parasol, made to match my gown, not the one I usually carry."

"Good Gad," Emerson exclaimed. "Without your parasol we dare not face them in the open street. A strategic retreat would seem to be in order." With a sudden movement he whirled and kicked out at the door I had tried. The lock gave with a crack, the door swung back, seizing me around the waist, Emerson thrust me within.

Squeals and flutters greeted my abrupt appearance. The two men who had occupied the room fled, leaving the narghila they had shared bubbling gently. Emerson followed me and slammed the door. "It won't hold them for long," he remarked. "The lock is broken and there is no piece of furniture heavy enough to serve as a barricade."

"There is surely another way out." I indicated the curtained doorway through which the men had gone.

"We will investigate that if we must" Emerson leaned against the door, his shoulders braced. "I don't fancy more dark alleys, though, and I would rather not rely on the kindness of strangers- especially the sort of strangers that inhabit a warren like this. Let us consider other options, now that we have achieved a momentary- "

He broke off as a sound from without reached us through the flimsy panels of the door. I started, and Emerson swore. "That was a woman's scream- or worse, that of a child."

I flung myself at him. "No, Emerson! Don't go out there It may be a trick."

The cry came again- high, shrill, quavering. It rose to a falsetto shriek and broke off. Emerson tried to loosen my grip, I struggled to hold on, throwing my full weight against his.

"It is a ruse, I tell you! They know you, they know your chivalrous nature! Fearing to attack, they hope to lure you out of sanctuary. This is no simple attempt at robbery, we were deliberately led astray."

My speech was not so measured, for Emerson's hands had closed bruisingly over mine, and he was employing considerable force to free himself. It was not until a cry of pain burst from my lips that he desisted

"The damage is done, whatever it was," he said breathlessly. "She is silent now ... I am sorry, Peabody, if I hurt you."

His taut muscles had relaxed. I leaned against him, trying to control my own ragged breathing My wrists felt as if they had been squeezed in a vise, but I was conscious of an odd, irrational thrill. "Never mind, my dear. I know you didn't mean to."

The silence without did not endure. The voice that broke it was the last I expected to hear- bold, unafraid, official- the voice of a man giving crisp orders in faulty Arabic.

"Another ruse," I exclaimed.

"I think not," said Emerson, listening. "That chap must be English, no Egyptian speaks his own language so badly. Have I your permission to open the door a crack, Peabody?"

He was being sarcastic. Since I knew he would do it anyway, I agreed.

By comparison to the darkness that had prevailed earlier, the street was now brightly lit by lanterns and torches carried by men whose neat uniforms made their ident.i.ty plain. One of them came toward us. Emerson had been correct, his ruddy compexion proclaimed his nationality just as his erect carriage and luxuriant mustache betrayed his military training.

"Was it you who screamed, madame?" he inquired, politely removing his cap. "I trust you and this gentleman are unharmed."

"I did not scream, but thanks to you and your men we are quite unharmed."

"Hmph," said Emerson "What are you doing in this part of the city, Captain?"

"It is my duty, sir," was the stiff reply "I am serving as an adviser to the Cairo police force. I might with better cause ask the same question of you"

Emerson replied that we were paying a social call. The incredulity this answer provoked was expressed, not in speech, but in the young man's pursed lips and raised eyebrows. Obviously he did not know who we were.

He offered to escort us back to our carriage. "Not necessary," said Emerson. "You seem to have cleared the way very neatly, sir. Not even a fallen body in sight. Did they all get away from you?"

"We did not pursue them," was the haughty reply. "The prisons are overflowing with such riffraff and we had nothing to charge them with."

"Screaming in public," Emerson suggested.

The fellow had a sense of humor after all, his lips twitched, but he replied sedately, "It must have been one of them who cried out, if the lady did not. They did not attack you, then?"

"We cannot charge them with anything," I admitted. "In fact, you could arrest us, Captain, we forced entry into this house and broke the door."

The officer smiled politely. Emerson took a handful of money from his pocket and tossed it onto the table. "That should take care of any complaints about the broken door. Come along, my dear, we are late for our appointment."

We had taken the wrong turning at the fountain The proprietor of the coffee shop knew Mr. McKenzie's house very well, it was only a short distance away. But somehow I was not surprised when his servant informed us that he was not expecting guests that evening In fact, he had already retired. He was, the servant said reproachfully, a very elderly man.

CHAPTER 5.

"Men are frail creatures, it is true, one does not expect them to demonstrate the steadfastness of women."

Not so cursed elderly he had forgotten where he lives," Emerson remarked. "The directions are clear.

Left at the sabil."