The Snake, The Crocodile, And The Dog Part 46

He went off, crooning some sentimental Irish melody in a way that was calculated to annoy me. When I reached my own tent, Bertha was already asleep, or pretending to be. I fully intended to ask her what she had talked about with Kevin, but at that time I had other matters on my mind. Having sought my couch, I had at last leisure to consider what Evelyn had proposed.

Her first two suggestions I had myself considered. The third, I confess, I had not, and chagrin threatened to overcome me when I realized how stupid I had been. That a young gentleman should appear at the school on the very day Nefret was expected there, and that he should insist on meeting some of the scholars-it was highly suspicious, and I could not think why I had not seen it at the time Was it possible that maternal instincts I had never supposed I possessed had clouded my normally clear intellect?

Highly unlikely, I decided.

Evelyn's incisive outline had made clear to me something else I ought to have realized much earlier. No single suspicious circ.u.mstance but a combination of many- a piling up of confirmatory evidence- would be strong enough to induce an enemy to act with such violence and persistence. He might have been alerted in the first place by remembering a conversation with Willoughby Forth, who appeared to have babbled to every archaeologist in Egypt. Skillful questioning of the officers of the Sudan Expeditionary Force would add additional evidence. Greatly as I shrank from holding Walter culpable in the least degree, I had had to caution him more than once to be careful of appearing to know more than he should. He had several friendly rivals in the philological game, had he dropped hints to Frank Griffith, or another, that he was about to make a miraculous breakthrough in the decipherment of Meroitic? Griffith was honest, I had never suspected him,- but he might have spoken of the matter to someone else.

Having by such means established a possibility, the villain would seek further confirmation- and what better source than Nefret herself? She was not nearly so naive and helpless as Evelyn believed, but Evelyn's view was shared- as Nefret had herself pointed out- by society. There were a number of ways in which an acquaintance thus begun might be continued, if all else failed, the good old reliable "accident outside the gates of the park" might serve How surprised the injured young gentleman would be to recognize the charming girl he had met at Miss Mclntosh's! How reluctant he would be to impose on our kindness! How gratefully he would accept my ministrations, the friendly attentions of the dear children!

It had not been necessary. Evelyn had hit the nail on the head. I had seen Nefret perform the Invocation to Isis, and there was no way on earth she could have learned it from a family of missionaries, or even in a native village while under the supervision of such a family. It would take a trained scholar to recognize its origins- but that was true of the other evidence as well.

Yet still our deadly foe had held his hand until he discovered the final proof- objects, artifacts, that could only have come from a place such as Willoughby Forth had postulated. He must have searched our rooms in Cairo and found the scepters. The attacks on us had not begun until after we had been in the city for several days.

Evelyn- my dear, sweet Evelyn, whose intelligence I had so sadly underrated- had been right in every particular. The villain was no longer in England. He was in Egypt- in our very camp. I had known there was a traitor among us. Now I knew who he was.

"Charlie?!"

I had been waiting for Cyrus when he emerged from his tent next morning-at a discreet distance, of course, lest I embarra.s.s him by inadvertently observing his ablutions. The pleased smile with which he had greeted me vanished as he listened to my explanation, and the name burst from him with the force of incredulity.

"He is new with you this season, Cyrus. You had not known him before."

"No, but ... I know his father, his family. I wouldn't hire a fellow without- "

"He may be the true Charles H. Holly. Engineers and archaeologists are no more immune to greed than members of other professions."

"May be the true . . . Excuse me, Amelia, sometimes I have a doggone hard time following your train of thought. You surely don't suspect Charlie of being your Master Criminal in disguise?"

"It is possible, but unlikely. I doubt that Sethos would dare face me again. I could not be in his presence for long without penetrating any disguise he might a.s.sume." I added, with some asperity- for his skeptical expression annoyed me- "My reasons for suspecting Charles have nothing to do with Sethos. He fits the description of a man whom I have reason to believe- "

"Uh-huh. So you said. You want to run through that again, my dear? I am afraid I didn't follow you the first time."

So I ran through it again, and finished by reading the description Evelyn had given.

"But- but," Cyrus stuttered, "that description doesn't match Charlie in any particular. It sounds more like Rene. Not that I believe he- "

"That is the point, Cyrus. 'Sir Henry' was obviously disguised He would take care to change those aspects of his appearance when he came to us- the color of his hair, the mustache The long chin and narrow nose match Charlie's, and Charlie is approximately the same age."

"Jimminy," Cyrus muttered. "How many men that age have long chins and narrow noses, do you suppose? Two million? Five million?"

"But only one of them is here," I cried impatiently. "And one of us is a spy for Sethos! Consider that not only was our food drugged, but that the ambush set for me yesterday must have been arranged by one who antic.i.p.ated I would follow that path. He must have read the note from Kevin and realized I would respond as soon as I was able."

"An a.s.sumption that would certainly be made by anyone who had the honor of your acquaintance,"

said Cyrus, stroking his chin. "My dear girl, I am not denying there may be something in what you say.

But you would be the first to agree I cannot condemn a man on such equivocal evidence."

"I am not suggesting we hold a marsupial court- "

"I beg your pardon?" said Cyrus, staring.

"It is an American term, I believe? Having to do with illegal trials?"

"Oh. Kangaroo court, you mean?"

"No doubt. You know me better, I hope, than to suppose I would leap to unwarranted conclusions or subvert the principles of British justice In fact, I am inclined to agree that we ought to let him go on believing he is not under suspicion. Sooner or later he will betray himself and then we will have him!

And perhaps his leader as well. An excellent idea, Cyrus. He will have to be watched closely, of course."

"I guess I could manage that," Cyrus said slowly.

"I am glad we are in agreement. Now go and get your coffee, Cyrus. You appear a trifle sluggish this morning No offense taken, I hope?"

"None in the world, my dear. You will join me for breakfast, I hope?"

"First I must see how Mohammed is getting on. I confess I find myself postponing that task, his very presence- not to mention the varied insect life that pervades his person- makes my skin crawl. And don't suggest, Cyrus dear, that I leave the disgusting duty to another. That is not my way. Besides, it is possible that he may be able to speak today and I trust no one else to question him."

"I long ago gave up trying to talk you out of anything you had set your mind on," said Cyrus, smiling. "Your sense of duty is as remarkable as your boundless energy. Do you want me to come with you?"

I a.s.sured him it was not necessary, and he went off, shaking his head. It had become a habit of his recently.

I stopped outside the shelter to speak with the guard He was one of Cyrus's crew, a stocky, dark-skinned fellow with the aquiline features that spoke of Berber or Touareg blood. Like the desert men, he wore a khafiya or headcloth instead of a turban. He a.s.sured me he had looked in on Mohammed at regular intervals during the night and had found no change.

Yet as soon as I pushed the curtained hanging aside I realized that there had been a change-the most final change of all. Mohammed lay in the same position in which I had last seen him, flat on his back, with his mouth ajar and his eyes half-closed. But now no breath of air stirred the bristling hairs of his beard, and blood had issued from his mouth to stain the bandages around his jaws a rusty brown.

CHAPTER 13.

"Superst.i.tion has its practical uses."

"Sitt Hakim," said a voice behind me. "Will you admit this case is beyond even your skill?"

It was Emerson, of course, speaking in the annoying drawl that indicates he is trying to be sarcastic.

I turned, holding the curtain aside.

"He is dead," I said. "How did you know?"

"It requires very little medical expertise to realize that a man cannot live long with a knife in his heart."

I had not seen the shaft of the knife till then, I was a good deal more shaken than I would have admitted, especially to Emerson. "Not his heart," I said. "The knife is in the center of his chest. Many people make that mistake. The blade may have pierced a lung. A man in his condition would not survive even a slight wound."

Squaring my shoulders, I started toward Mohammed. Emerson pushed me rudely aside, and bent over the body. I made no objection. Revolting as Mohammed had been in life, he was even more disgusting dead. After a few moments I heard a nasty sucking sound and Emerson straightened, the knife in his hand.

"He has only been dead for a few hours. The blood has dried, but there is no sign of stiffening in the jaw or extremities. The knife is the kind most of the men carry, with no distinctive features."

"We must search the place," I said firmly. "Let me pa.s.s. The killer may have left some clue."

Emerson took my arm and pushed me out of the shelter. "When you own a dog you are not supposed to bark, Peabody. Where is your tame detective?"

He was sitting by the fire with the others, calmly drinking tea Surprise- and that short-lived- rather than horror was the general response to Emerson's terse announcement that Mohammed was no more. Charlie appeared to be as astonished as anyone, which only confirmed my suspicions. If a spy and a traitor does not learn how to counterfeit emotion convincingly, he does not last long in his profession.