When we finally did reach Luxor, site of the ancient Thebes, it was evident that Orloff had made ample use of the cable. In the government buildings we were informed that the Scottish troopers were already over the river on the west bank awaiting Holmes's arrival. I was again wan and indisposed, for the swaying train had not benefited my touchy stomach. Though nauseous, I was fascinated by the lush green of the fertile Nile plain, more evident because of the stark grimness and desolation beyond it rising gradually to towering cliffs. Small wonder that the Egyptians have through the centuries loved and cherished their narrow belt of incredibly fertile land, surrounded as it is by a nothingness of rock and sand. It was at the foot of the distant cliffs, the Theban hills, that the historic valley lay in which were entombed so many of the Nile's greatest rulers. There was a look of sadness, almost apprehension, on Holmes's face as he conferred with me after Gray attended to details regarding the crossing of the river and the troops placed at the disposal of the detective.
"Now, ol' clap, we must come to a brief parting of the ways. I know our sea voyage did not sit well with you, nor the train trip ether. Gray tells me this valley is a desolate and forbidding place indeed. Best you remain here until we reconnoiter the area and find out what's going on."
My mouth automatically began to form protests at the mere thought of being left behind when the case was coming to a head, but strangely it was Colonel Gray who weighed down the scales.
"Doctor Watson, you must come to my aid. I'm well aware that Mr. Holmes can take care of himself, but no matter how you cut it, I'm responsible. Not only for him but for those soldiers who are a bit new to this area and only have a vague idea of where they are save that this is a training area on the road to India. Let's put it this way: if every man isn't tip-top, we're at a disadvantage."
What could I say? As a medical man I well knew I was ill-equipped to fudge over rocky and hilly terrain trying to match steps with vigorous young Highlanders. Holmes's whipcord body and fencer's legs could manage it, but I saw in my mind's eye a middle-aged general practitioner gasping for breath and falling behind as the column surged forward. I nodded in agreement with Gray's words and tried to summon some esprit de corps to suit the situation.
"Well, it's a rum show, but—you chaps watch out for yourselves, will you?"
Holmes, for the first time that I could remember, avoided my eyes, but his hand rested briefly on my shoulder and there was a reassuring pressure from his long, tremendously strong fingers. Then he and Gray were gone.
A young lieutenant, but recently from Sandhurst I judged, who really hadn't the vaguest idea of what was going on, also had the good taste not to try to expand his knowledge of the situation. He took me and my belongings to the Luxor Hotel and volunteered to show me round the modern city that stood in the place of the former capital, Thebes. I declined his kind offer and, after a bath and change of clothes, made my way to the hotel bar for a stiff brandy and soda, which I willed to stay peaceably in my stomach. There is much to be said for assertive action, and after several growls of protest, my intestinal tract reflected a comforting warmth. Since success had favored my efforts, I repeated the dosage and decided to have a look round on my own. There were no claims on my time until Gray and Holmes returned with what information they could glean from the distant hills.
Luxor was now a modern city and a far cry from the river port that had flourished as the capital of so many pharaohs of the old civilization. As I left the hotel in an aimless fashion, I determined to try to detect what remnants of former grandeur had withstood civilization's onrush and were still in evidence. However, my sightseeing was fated to be of short duration. I was passing the entrance to a mosque when a tall figure left the citadel of religion, turning in my direction so that we were face to face, and an acknowledgment of coincidence was impossible to avoid. It was the desert chieftain whom I had encountered near the Sphinx.
I confess being taken aback at this unexpected meeting, but the Arabian exhibited no surprise. Rather, his greeting was accompanied by a shrug, a gesture of his acceptance of Kismet.
"Ah, the good Doctor Watson. Our paths cross again. What brings you south from Cairo?"
"I was about to ask you the same thing," I responded guardedly. Holmes chided me on occasion as being the most revealing of men, and I had grown more cautious through the years.
"My journey to Cairo was, as anticipated, a fruitless one. Another witless tale spewed from idle tongues in the bazaars." He sighed and shook his head. His bearded face and predatory, sharp features reminded me of a desert eagle owl, free and fierce.
"Men with idle hands and empty pockets do tend towards mischief. But come, Doctor, motivations are a subject you hear much of. Let us seek refuge from the fading sun, and I shall secure some coffee for you unless you prefer tea."
In a most casual manner, as though our meeting had been planned, the tall Arabian was ushering me to a table at a café nearby, and I admitted that the shade cast by its awning was welcome. Whoever my chance acquaintance was, he secured prompt, nay obsequious, service, and we were soon enjoying coffee served in the Turkish manner in small cups. It was viscous and thick, but strong with a sweetness my taste buds were unaccustomed to.
"We have now met twice, Doctor, and both times you were separated from your most illustrious companion. I trust that Mr. Holmes is in good health."
Well, I thought, this fellow is certainly well informed. My suspicions were aroused, of course.
"Holmes is, at the moment, on other business," I replied. Two can play the information game, and I decided to take a stab at it.
"Sheik, you are most familiar with me and my friend. Have we met at another time? In England, perhaps?"
The bearded face registered a negative. "As you easily deduced, I was educated in your native land. However, I did not meet Mr. Holmes there."
My nostrils quivered at this, and the scent was the musky odor of doubt. Where would Holmes have met an Arabian sheik, pray tell? I had used that title as a quest for a name, but my companion had accepted it without comment. Then, of a sudden, my thoughts reversed. During the period that Holmes was thought dead, his wanderings had taken him to Khartoum, where he had visited with the Khalifa, a meeting that resulted in information communicated to the Foreign Office. I had always entertained private thoughts regarding his being in the Sudan at that particular time. My friend had never gone into detail regarding this part of his mysterious absence from England, though he had often spoken of his explorations during the same period when he passed himself off as the Norwegian "Sigerson."
"You are then of the Sudan?"
An affirmative nod joined forces with a smile. "I see you have pieced some facts together, Doctor. I am from the south and do know Sherlock Holmes. I was able to be of some service to him at one time, and," he added with a candor unusual for those of these parts, "the reverse is also true. Do I detect some concern on your part for your friend's safety? This land is known to me and I am, if you recall, obliged to you."
This put matters in a different light, for I had heard that even the greatest rascals in Arabia were scrupulous regarding a debt of honor. I had an impulse to match his frankness and decided to give in to it.
"Holmes is with an expedition going to the Valley of the Kings."
"The Scottish soldiers," he said instantly. Conscious of the return of suspicion to my face, he explained. "My men are camped on the west bank awaiting my arrival. We noted the Highlanders there." He thought for a moment. "Now what would the king of sleuths wish to find in the gateway to Amenti?"