“We may as well unpack our bundles,” I said. “What with all our comings and goings, I have lost track of precisely what we still have. I gave my bar of soap to Mustafa, but here is my medical kit and my parasol -”
“You won’t need that, Mrs. Emerson. You will not be leaving the house just yet.”
I had missed one of the secret rooms. Unlike the makhba under the floor of the harem, this was a small hidden chamber whose door resembled that of a wall cupboard. He looked much the same as he had when I had seen him before, a big man with a grizzled beard and shoulders almost as impressive as those of Emerson. He had a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other.
“Sahin Pasha, I presume,” I said, after a slight catch of breath. “We ought to have anticipated that a clever man would comprehend the gravity of his predicament and escape before he could be apprehended. On the run, are you?”
“One might call it that. Now, if you don’t mind -”
“Coming here was also a clever move,” I mused. “There is a saying that the safest place for a criminal is in the police station.”
“Is there? No, my young friend, don’t take another step. I want all of you close together.”
Ramses stopped. “You daren’t use that gun,” he said. “The sound of a shot will bring the servants and a dozen soldiers.”
“If I am forced to fire, there will be more than one shot and by the time your assistants arrive it will be too late for some of you. There is no need for that. All I want is my daughter.”
“Let us discuss this calmly,” I said. “How do you propose to get her away from here, against her will, without killing all of us, which is, as you must see, impractical?”
A rather jolly rumble of laughter emerged from his parted lips. “Mrs. Emerson, it is a pleasure to meet you at last. I know you are hoping that your fascinating conversation will distract me. It won’t. But since you ask, I have already dealt with Esin. She is lying bound and gagged on the divan in the ka’ah. I found this hiding place last night. As soon as I have persuaded you to enter it, I will take her and go.”
“Go where?” I demanded. “Back into the lion’s den? You are being unrealistic if you believe you can convince your erstwhile friends that you are still to be trusted.”
The man’s strong jaw hardened. “I will prove my good faith by returning, with my daughter.”
It would require more than that. He knew it, and so did I. But if he could recapture the prisoner he had let escape… If he could herd us one by one into the secret room, leaving Ramses till last…
“Go on,” Sahin said, gesturing with the pistol. “You first, Mrs. Emerson.”
“No,” I exclaimed. “Emerson, do you see what -”
“It’s all right, Mother,” Ramses said quietly. “I think he’s bluffing. I wonder how many bullets are left in that pistol? Enough to stop all of us?”
“A good point.” Emerson nodded. “I call your bluff, sir. We are not sheep, to be herded into a pen. The girl stays with us, but we will give you… oh, let us say an hour… to get away.”
They measured one another, two men of commanding presence and stature. The Turk said slowly, “You would do that?”
“As the lesser of two evils. Your usefulness to your government has been destroyed. This way no one will be injured. You can trust us to look after the child, and when the war is over you may be reunited with her.”
“The word of an Englishman?” Sahin Pasha murmured.
“Don’t be foolish,” Ramses said urgently. “There are two – four, I mean – of us. Hand over the gun.”
Sahin smiled wryly. “Four? Ah well, it seems I have no choice. You were correct. The gun isn’t loaded. I had to fight my way out of Gaza.”
“Drop it, then,” Ramses said. He took a step forward and held out his hand. “Or give it to me.”
His eyes were fixed on the pistol. It might be a double bluff; we could not be certain, with a man so crafty. Sahin held it out – and then the knife flashed and Ramses stumbled back and fell, blood spurting from his side. Nefret flung herself down beside him.
“You never learn, do you?” Sahin shook his head regretfully. “You really ought to give up this line of work, my boy.”
Emerson had not stirred. “Nefret?” he asked softly.
Her quick surgeon’s hands had slowed the flow of blood. “It’s… not too bad,” she said.
“But now, you see, there are only three of you,” Sahin said. “And I lied when I said the gun was not loaded. Do I take the ladies on next?”
“Yes,” I said, and swung my parasol. It was one of my better efforts, if I do say so. The gun flew out of Sahin’s hand and fell with a clatter onto the tiled floor.
“Ah,” Emerson breathed. “Well done, Peabody. Get the gun.”
“Take my parasol, then.” I pulled out the little sword and forced the weapon into Emerson’s hand. Sahin Pasha let out a guffaw. Emerson swore, but he got the blade up just in time to parry a wicked cut at his good arm.
“I lied again,” said the Turk, grinning. “The gun is empty.”
“We will see about that,” I replied. I pointed the weapon out the window and squeezed the trigger. There was no explosion, only a click. “Curse it,” I remarked.
“This is so entertaining I hate to end it,” said Sahin Pasha. “Professor, I admire you, I respect you, and I do not want to injure you. Anyhow, my reputation would never be the same if I overcame a man armed with a parasol who has only one serviceable arm. I accept your offer. Put down the…” A gurgle of amusement escaped him. “The umbrella.”
“Oh, come, don’t insult my intelligence,” said Emerson in exasperation. “You have no intention of giving yourself up, and I have no intention of allowing you to take my son prisoner again. I cannot imagine how you could accomplish it, but I do not underestimate you. En garde.”
Ramses pulled himself to a sitting position. “Be careful, Father. He doesn’t -”
“Fight like a gentleman? Well, well. Neither do I.”
He bent his knee and lunged. A cry of alarm escaped me. It was almost certainly the most ineffective move he could have made. The blade of the sword was only three inches longer than that of Sahin’s knife. The Turk didn’t even bother to parry it. One quick step backward took him out of range, and as Emerson straightened, staggering a little, the Turk’s knife drove at his side.
It sank with a crunch into the plaster encasing Emerson’s raised forearm and stuck, just long enough. Emerson dropped the parasol and hit the other man in the stomach. Rather below the stomach, to be accurate.
“Oh, Emerson,” I gasped. “Oh, my dear! That was magnificent!”
“Most ungentlemanly,” said my husband, contemplating the writhing, wheezing form of his foe. “But I was never much good with a parasol.”
The capture of the chief of the Turkish secret service ended any doubts the military might have entertained about letting us leave. General Chetwode himself called to congratulate us, accompanied by several of his staff. We had quite a time getting rid of them.
“Medals again,” Emerson grumbled. “They seem to think we intended this all along.”
“You encouraged them to think so,” Ramses said. At Nefret’s insistence he was reclining on one of the divans. She had had to put a few stitches into the cut, which had bled copiously. “It was inspired lying, Father.”
“At least we got a bottle of whiskey out of them,” Emerson said complacently. “Much more useful than medals. Here, my boy, this will put a little color into your face.”
“I would like some too,” said Esin.
“Spirits are not suitable for young ladies,” I said, sipping my own whiskey appreciatively. It had been quite a busy day, what with one thing and another, and I was not in a good humor with the girl. After we freed her she carried on quite extravagantly, and she had accepted the news of her father’s capture with unbecoming equanimity.