"Some gesture of reassurance will work wonders," he prompted, in Oxonian English that startled me. It was as though we were an alliance of two in placating less sophisticated minds.
I returned my kit to the placid donkey, thinking furiously, and then retraced my steps to place both my palms on the turban of the shivering Arab and gazed skyward, fortunately towards the east, as I later learned from Gray.
"Dancer, Prancer, Donner, and Blitzen!" I intoned in a sepulchral voice, and then removed my hands, clapped them once and smiled.
Jerk a toy from a baby and laugh and he will laugh with you, for it is a game. Jerk it away and scowl and he will cry, for he is being mistreated. It pays to know how to handle children.
My intent audience all chanted in Arabic and clustered round their comrade, clapping him on the back as though he had just won the French Legion of Honor.
My patient, showing no signs of indisposition from his bloodletting, seemed pleased.
"Aside from your medical expertise, Doctor, your alarm may have prevented my wound from being fatal. I trust our paths will cross again, for I am in your debt."
He turned to bark orders to his crew, a sinister-looking group really, and they set themselves to work striking the tents and dragging off the body of the late assailant. As I mounted my donkey, I found Gray regarding me suspiciously.
"Doctor, you were with Gordon, I presume?"
"No. Indian Army."*
"There are no Arabs in India."
"But a great many Mohammedans, Colonel. The Sikhs and Afghans among them."
Our journey back to Cairo was made in silence. I don't think Gray could make me out.
*Actually, Watson did not serve with the Indian Army. The Northumberland Fusiliers were of the British Army stationed in India during the Afghan war.
Chapter Fourteen
The Caesar Code
I had something to mull over myself: an Arabian sheik, for such he had to be, speaking impeccable English with an accent that made it odds-on that he was a university graduate. What was he doing in the shadow of the Sphinx—leading a scurvy crew of land pirates? But then again, why not? Holmes had forecast a great meeting of Mohammedans in the Mosque of al-Ashar. No doubt my patient had come from some far-off oasis for just that gathering. I regretted that I had not questioned him regarding his social calendar but shoved that thought aside. Medical ethics, you know.
In our suite at Shepheard's, I was happy to find Holmes and Orloff alone. Their mood was a clue that their news was not reassuring, and such proved to be the case.
"Things have gone amiss, ol' chap. Chu's yacht arrived at Alexandria, but he is not aboard."
"Good heavens, Holmes!"
"They came by way of Rosetta. Obviously slipped Chu ashore there, and even now he is secreted aboard a native dhow making his way up the Nile Delta. Certain members of the secret service feel very chagrined, which helps us not a bit."
"But you are sure he's coming to Cairo?"
"There is going to be the great meeting we anticipated in the Mosque of al-Ashar in a week. That's what Chu is here for."
Orloff was seated upright in a chair, his weight balanced on the toes of his feet, his hands resting in his lap. The man's ability to remain completely motionless and relaxed was a source of wonderment to my medically trained mind. It was as though he saved every ounce of strength for those moments when it was needed. Possibly that was why he was able to move so fast when he had to. Now he spoke.
"Then there is the matter of the cable."
My eyes shot towards Holmes questioningly, and he seemed to wince.
"The Hishouri Kamu put in at Port Said. The coffin containing the corpse of Sidney Putz remained aboard, but a certain crate did not. Burlington Bertie and Tiny were not able to pursue the object, so we've lost that as well."
A horrible thought was crossing my mind.
"Look here, you are chiding yourselves for no reason. Chu suddenly altered his plans regarding himself and the sword. Might not my little foray last evening have been the reason? Certainly Loo Chan could have contacted the freighter, and I'll wager Chu's yacht has wireless equipment as well. The minute Chu learned we were in Cairo, he put an alternate plan into operation."
"It's possible, you know," said Orloff.
"There is an Arab expression," responded the sleuth, "'All things are possible in the caravan of life.' Now let us see what is possible for us. We've had reports from the Intelligence people, the army, the civil authorities; all more chaff than wheat. Chu will be in Cairo. It is his plan that eludes me. I can't shake the idea that those tablets might have contained a secret of the past. You were at the pyramids today, Watson. How did they build them almost five thousand years ago with nothing more than the lever, the roller, and vast embankments?"
"Plus the flood waters of the Nile to float the stone," added Orloff, "and unlimited manpower."
"Wait!" Surprisingly, it was my voice that rang out. "Gray told me something interesting today. In the twelfth century, Saladin's son had the notion to demolish the pyramids. He started with the Red Pyramid of Mycerinus, which had a casing of Aswan granite. They had the wheel and tools the Egyptians never dreamed of. Civilization had advanced four thousand years."
"What is your point?" asked Orloff.
"They couldn't do it. The best they could manage was two blocks a day. Destruction is easier than construction, but they couldn't tear it down."
At this point there was a knock on our door, revealing Colonel Gray, whom I had just quoted.
"Mr. Holmes," he said respectfully, "there's a Chinaman, Loo Chan, who requests permission to speak with you."
I had prepared myself a small libation and now almost dropped the glass.
"He is alone, I assume," said Sherlock Holmes, getting a nod in response. "By all means have him come up . . . Wait!" The sleuth's added thought caught Colonel Gray at the door. "He may be a messenger, a role he has played in the past. If I see him to the door, have the Oriental followed. If Dr. Watson shows him out, don't bother."
Gray's face brightened. This was more to his taste. "I'll be standing by, sir."
Orloff was at the sitting room windows, checking the street below out of habit. Holmes's eyes, alight with interest, encountered mine.
"This may prove a dividend from your nighttime excursion, ol' chap."
When Loo Chan was ushered into the room, the habitual sheen on his face was no more noticeable than at other times I had seen him. With a short, courteous bow to each of us, he assumed a chair in a nerveless fashion, a picture of Oriental calm. But he did not indulge in flowery preambles, so often a trademark of his race. He did not question the presence of Orloff, who was standing, watching him closely.
"Mr. Holmes . . . I need. . . ." Loo Chan took a quick breath, his only sign of agitation, and began again. "I am in great need of something, and I have something of interest."
"The one for the other," was Holmes's rejoinder. My friend was seated with his legs crossed, leaning on one arm of his chair and regarding the visitor without antagonism or any other emotion for that matter. Loo Chan nodded, and Holmes continued.
"Then let us deal with your need first."
"There is an 'Orient Middle East' liner entering the Suez Canal, destination Macao. I would like to be on it."