The Snake, The Crocodile, And The Dog Part 52

The idea had a kind of insane attraction. That sinister master of disguise might well have been challenged by the prospect of playing the role of an individual as well known and distinctive in appearance as the Reverend Sayce, for example. I did not believe it, however. No one had greater respect for Sethos's abilities than I, but there would be no need for him to take such a risk. He had secret allies and employees throughout the world of archaeology. One of our guests might have mentioned my interest in the little fairy tale to such an individual. Regretfully I was forced to admit that this line of inquiry was no more fruitful than others I had considered. It led back to the same group I had always suspected of supplying information to the Master Criminal: archaeologists. Some of them might have done so in all innocence.

Every clue snapped in my hand when I attempted to grasp it. Noting the skill with which the bearded villain had inserted the hypodermic needle into Emerson's vein, I had thought he might have had formal medical training. That suspicion availed me naught, now that I knew Sethos was the man in question.

He had shown himself, on several occasions, to be well acquainted with the use and application of various drugs. In fact, I reminded myself, most excavators are familiar with simple medical techniques, since they are often obliged to deal with injuries incurred in the field.

Another line of inquiry that I had hoped at first might limit the field of suspects did nothing of the kind. The officers of the Sudan Expeditionary Force were not, all of them, in the Sudan. After the fall of Khartoum many had been given leave. I had myself seen one familiar face in the lobby of Shepheard's.

I had forgotten his name, but I remembered now where I had met him- at the house of General Rundle at Sanam Abu Dom. Sethos need not have been in the Sudan to acquire information from the officers who had known of our expedition. In a burst of frustration I brought my fist down on the table. Bottles and jars shook violently,- a little vial of cologne toppled over.

The thud of the falling bottle was echoed by a knock at the door There was only one individual I yearned to see at that moment, and I knew it was not he, Emerson did not tap softly on doors. "Come in," I said unenthusiastically.

It was Bertha. The change in her appearance was so astonis.h.i.+ng, I forgot my painful musings for a moment. Head and face were bare, she had put off her mournful black for a blue-and-white-striped robe. It was a man's galabeeyah, married women always wore black, and since girls were hustled into matrimony at indecently young ages, no female garment would have fit Bertha's mature figure. Though somewhat large for her, the robe displayed that figure to advantage, for the fabric was fine and I suspected she was wearing nothing under it. Her braided hair hung over her shoulder in a s.h.i.+ning rope, big around as my wrist. Her face was clear and unmarked,- her complexion was as fair as my own. Before I could remark on this she said, "I came to see if you wanted anything. The burn must pain you a great deal."

It throbbed like fury, in fact, but I do not believe discomfort is relieved by dwelling upon it. "Only time can improve it. We are somewhat deficient in ice here."

"Something to help you sleep, then."

"I cannot afford to dull my senses with drugs, Bertha. We are too vulnerable as it is."

"Won't you lie down, then?"

"I may as well, I suppose. No, I don't need to lean on you. Just hand me that parasol, will you?"

It was not the one I had carried that morning. I doubt I could have touched it again. Fortunately I always have several spares.

Bertha helped me arrange my garments and handed me a gla.s.s of water. I felt a trifle feverish, so when she dampened a handkerchief and began wiping my face I did not object. Her hands were very deft and gentle. That gave me an idea, and when she finished I said, "I am glad you came, Bertha. I have been wanting to talk to you. Have you ever thought of training as a nurse?"

The question seemed to surprise her a good deal. I am accustomed to having people react that way to my remarks, however. Those whose minds do not function with the agility of my own often fail to follow my train of thought.

"We must think of something for you to do," I explained. "The nursing profession is open to women, and although I would prefer to see females battering their way into occupations. .h.i.therto dominated by men, you do not appear to me to have the force of character necessary for social reform. Nursing might suit you, if you can overcome your squeamishness."

"Squeamishness," she repeated thoughtfully. "I think I might do that."

"It is only a suggestion. You ought to give the matter some thought, however. I will be sending you back to England as soon as this situation is settled. I would do it now- for candidly it would be a relief to have the responsibility for you off my hands- if I thought you would consent to go."

"I would not consent. Not until the . . . situation is settled." Hands folded in her lap, face composed, she studied me with considerable attention for a time and then said, "You would do that for me? Why should you?"

My eyes s.h.i.+fted under her steady gaze. The change in her was quite remarkable, but my reluctance to answer was due to quite another cause- one which did me no credit. I overcame that reluctance, as I hope I always overcome weaknesses of character "I saw what you did, Bertha, that night I came for Emerson. If you had not flung yourself at the door and tried to hold it against the man who meant to murder him I might not have got my pistol out in time. It was the act of a true, courageous woman."

A faint smile touched the corners of her lips. "Perhaps it was as O'Connell said- I did not have time to think before I acted."

"All the more credit to you, then. Your instincts are sounder than your conscious acts. Oh, I confess I have had some doubts about you. You will laugh," I said, laughing, "when I tell you that at one time I suspected you might be a man."

Instead of laughing she raised her eyebrows and ran her hands slowly over her body. The tightened fabric clung to it in a way that left no room for doubt. "The man you call Sethos?" she asked. "Even veiled and robed, only a very clever man could carry off such a masquerade."

"He is a very clever man. You ought to know."

"I don't think it was he."

"It must have been. Though I would not have believed he could use a woman as he did you . . . Ah, well, it only goes to show that even so astute a judge of character as I can sometimes be deceived. He chose a proper pseudonym in this case- the sly, creeping serpent, the deceiver of Eve."

Bertha leaned forward. "What does he look like?"

"Ah, but you see, that is the difficulty. His eyes are an indeterminate shade, they can appear gray or blue or brown, or even black. His other features are equally susceptible to alteration. He explained to me some of the devices he uses to disguise them."

"So you have spoken with him- been in his presence."

"Er- yes," I said.

"But surely," Bertha said, watching me, "no man can disguise himself entirely from the eyes of a woman who . . . who is as keen an observer as you. Was he young?"

"It is easier to counterfeit old age than youth," I admitted. "And in his attempt to ... In his consummate vanity he did display certain characteristics that are probably his own. He is almost of Emerson's height - a scant inch shorter, if that- and well-built. There was the elasticity of youth and physical strength in his step, his ... I think I have told you all I can. From what I saw of your erstwhile master, those characteristics would fit him."

"Yes." We sat in contemplative silence for a while, each occupied with her own thoughts. Then she rose.

"You should rest. May I ask you one thing before I go?"

"Certainly."

"Does he remember you?"

"He has good cause to ... Oh. Emerson, you mean?" I was weary, a sigh escaped my lips. "Not yet."

"He cares for you. I saw his face when he held the knife to your foot."

"No doubt you mean to cheer me, Bertha, and I appreciate the thought, but I fear you do not understand the British character. Emerson would have done the same for any sufferer and he would have felt the same pity for- for Abdullah. Especially Abdullah. Run along now, and do think seriously about the nursing profession."

I wanted to be alone. Her words, kindly though they had been meant, had cut deep. How desperately I yearned to believe Emerson's distress on my behalf was more than that any English gentleman would have betrayed toward any sufferer. Alas, I could not so delude myself And Emerson was (despite certain eccentricities) unquestionably an English gentleman.

Though I was not feeling quite my energetic self that evening, I insisted upon joining the others. I confess I felt like some heroine of fiction when I entered the saloon, reclining gracefully in the respectful grasp of my friend Cyrus and attired in my most elegant dressing gown. It was the same one I had worn that night in Luxor when Cyrus came to my room with the telegram from Walter, and as I fastened the clasps and tied the bows I was reminded of the extreme mental anguish I had suffered during that endless period. It was a salutary reminder. No matter what dangers yet faced us- no matter how doubtful my success in winning back Emerson's regard- no torment could compare with those terrible hours when I had not known whether he lived, or would ever be restored to me.

The faces of those who rose to greet me were wreathed in smiles of welcome and (if I may not be considered immodest for mentioning it) admiration. The face I had hoped to see was not among them.

He was not there.

"Curse it!" I said involuntarily.

Cyrus paused in the act of lowering me onto a sofa. "Did I hurt you? I am such a clumsy old- "

"No, no, you did not hurt me. Just put me down, Cyrus."

Rene hastened to me with a gla.s.s in his hand His expression indicated that he at least appreciated yellow silk and Chantilly lace. He was French, of course.

"No, thank you," I said. "I don't care for sherry."

"Here you are, ma'am." Kevin pushed Rene aside. "Just what the doctor ordered. I took the liberty of making it good and strong. For pain, you know."

The twinkle in his eye as he handed me the gla.s.s brought an involuntary answering smile to my lips.

I knew he was remembering a certain occasion in London, when he had entertained me in one of those curious establishments known, I believe, as public houses, and had choked on his own drink when I ordered a whiskey and soda. Not Kevin, I thought again- not the young man who had fought at my side against the masked priests, who had stood by us- when he was not writing insulting stories about us- during the Baskerville murder case.

"And may I say," Kevin went on cheerfully, "how well that yellow frock becomes your sun-kissed cheeks and raven locks, Mrs.-er- Miss Peabody."