“You really mean it, don’t you?” The strange gray-green eyes were, for once, very kind. “I’d like to, Nefret, but I can’t.”
“You are going back to the war, aren’t you?” I asked composedly. “I thought you had promised Margaret this would be your last assignment.”
“The job’s not finished yet, Amelia dear. I made a quick trip here because – well, for two reasons. I must be getting old; I did want to see all of you. The other reason is more… difficult.”
“Would you like me to leave?” Nefret asked.
“No. Please stay. Did Amelia tell you about a conversation we had recently concerning my daughter?”
Nefret’s eyes widened, and I said, “I considered it a private confidence. I have not even told Emerson.”
“Thank you, Amelia. I wasn’t quite myself at the time; what precisely did I say?”
“You said she held you accountable for her mother’s death, and that she had run away from home. You attempted to find her at that time, I presume. A girl of fifteen or sixteen should not have been able to elude a determined search.”
“She was sixteen. But very precocious in a number of ways. Like her mother. I did search, long and hard, without result. I believe she had help, from one of Bertha’s former friends – the same one who told Maryam – Molly – about her mother’s death. Recently I heard that she had found a – a protector, and was in Egypt. I’ve been playing with the Turks ever since; haven’t had time to look for her here.”
“I am very sorry,” Nefret said gently. “Can nothing be done to save her?”
“She doesn’t want to be saved. Especially by me.”
He had not given way, nor would he, but I knew he cared more for the girl than he would admit and that guilt as well as affection motivated his search. I began, “There is a chance that we might -”
“You may encounter her; our Egypt is a small world, in a sense. That is why I brought the subject up. But, Amelia dear, don’t assume that because you managed to reform me – up to a point – you can redeem the entire damned universe. If Maryam blames me for her mother’s death, how do you suppose she feels about you?”
He rose, rather heavily. “I’ll say good night, and good-bye. My regards to Ramses and – er – Emerson.”
“Won’t we see you again?” Nefret asked.
“Not this time. I have business in Luxor before I leave tomorrow. If you learn anything about Molly, a message to our mutual friend with the preposterous name will reach me eventually. He will notify you of any change in my situation.”
“Your death, you mean?” I asked steadily.
“Now, Amelia, it isn’t like you to look on the dark side. Who knows, it may be a wedding invitation!” His mocking smile faded and he said hesitantly, “If you should hear from Margaret -”
“I will write her tomorrow,” I promised. “Someone must know her current address.”
“Thank you.” He took my hand. “Turn your back, Nefret.”
She let out a gasp and so did I. Sethos laughed and caught me in his arms and kissed me – on the brow.
“You will always be the woman I love,” he said. “That doesn’t prevent me from loving Margaret as much. You understand, I think.”
“Yes,” I said. “Turn your back, Nefret.”
Cyrus was bitterly disappointed when he learned of Sethos’s departure, though the arrival of the steel door, a day ahead of schedule, distracted him temporarily. Selim assured him the men would bend their best efforts to have it in place the following day.
“Then I can send out my invitations to the fantasia,” Cyrus said. “Shame Ismail had to leave so soon, I was looking forward to seeing more of him.”
“Typical,” Emerson growled. “Comes and goes at his own convenience.”
“He has other duties,” I said reprovingly. “As you are well aware.”
We did hear from him once again, however. A letter, hand-delivered, awaited us when we got to the house that afternoon. It contained only two sentences: “There are strangers in Luxor. And my former customer is still in the market.”
“I can guess who that’s from, but what the dickens does it mean?” asked Cyrus, who had come back with us for tea.
Emerson glanced around to make sure Sennia wasn’t listening. He lowered his voice.
“It is confirmation of my suspicions, Vandergelt. Tonight is the last night the tomb will be open. I had a feeling Albion wouldn’t give up without a final attempt. He won’t get help from the Gurnawis, but strangers, hired criminals, might be willing to attack us if the rewards were high enough.”
“Good Lord!” Cyrus ejaculated. “We’d better get over to Luxor right away. Have the fellows rounded up and put the fear of God into Joe Albion.”
“I am surprised at you, Vandergelt. One cannot arrest people without evidence of a crime.” Emerson smiled. It was not a nice smile. “I weary of Mr. Albion and his family. We will arrange a little ambush and catch them red-handed.”
“Hmmmm.” Cyrus stroked his goatee. “I like the idea, Emerson. Just so nobody gets hurt.”
“And how do you mean to guarantee that?” I demanded. “What if they are armed?”
“We will have your pistol, Peabody,” said Emerson, grinning.
“We better have more than that,” Cyrus said. “I’ve got a couple of rifles and a pistol, latest-model Mauser. I only hope I can sneak ’em out of the house without Katherine seeing,” he added uneasily.
We had to get Sennia off to bed before we made the final arrangements. Emerson had sent word to Selim, warning him of our suspicions and giving him his instructions, and Cyrus did manage to get his weapons smuggled out of the Castle without Katherine’s knowledge. She would have been deeply distressed if she had known what we were up to.
A little contretemps arose at the last minute, when the men realized that Nefret and I and Jumana meant to accompany them. I put an end to their protests in short order, however.
“So long as you don’t bring that damned sword parasol” was Emerson’s way of conceding defeat.
The moon was on the wane, but the dazzling desert stars gave sufficient light for us to make our way over the ancient path that crossed the gebel. When we reached Deir el Medina, all was quiet. The coals of a fire burned near the place where our men were stationed; there were only four of them, including Selim. They had been ordered to look as if they had relaxed their guard, and on no account to resist an attack. One by one we descended the slope, and found concealment in the shadows of the ruined tombs.
We waited for over an hour before they came, from the south, creeping along the base of the hill. I counted the dim shapes: twelve in all. The last two carried rifles. Like the others, they were masked, but I had no difficulty in recognizing the rotund form of Mr. Albion and the taller outline of his son. One might have expected they would lead their troops from behind! When Selim sprang to his feet, Sebastian advanced, with his weapon aimed, while one of his hirelings called out in Arabic, “Do not move or we will shoot!”
For a moment I was afraid Daoud would forget his orders. It is not in his nature to submit meekly to threats. However, he remained seated, and within a few minutes our fellows were tightly bound, gagged, and blindfolded.
“Now?” Cyrus whispered.
Emerson shook his head.
Sebastian put his rifle down and began to climb the ladder. Obeying his gesture, five of the others followed. Neither he nor his father had spoken; our people could hear, if they could not see, and the use of English would have been a dead giveaway. Mr. Albion sat down with a grunt, and the other men stood close by him.
Emerson waited until Sebastian had reached the platform outside the tomb. His stentorian voice echoed between the cliffs. “Stop where you are, all of you. You are surrounded by armed men.” He added in English, “Drop the rifle, Albion.”