Seeing a Large Cat (20 page)

"Er-quite," said Emerson gruffly. "It was in Cairo that she disappeared, I believe; have you any idea why he would mummify her and carry the body to Luxor?"

"He is a madman," Bellingham said.

Emerson rubbed his chin. "Hmph. No doubt he... Did you say 'is'?"

"He lives." Bellingham's fingers curled into his palms. "He lives-until I can find him. You doubted me, Professor Emerson, when I told you someone was trying to harm Dolly. Do you still doubt me?"

"You believe it is Scudder?" I asked.

"Who else can it be? The attacks on my little girl began after we arrived in Egypt. After abducting and murdering Lucinda, Scudder must have remained here in hiding all these years; seeing Dolly with me reawakened his homicidal mania. He followed us to Luxor and made certain I would be among the first to know what he had done to my poor wife. I told you, Mrs. Emerson, I had received an invitation yesterday. I ought to have known it was not you who sent it, though it bore your signature."

"Good Gad!" I exclaimed. "He must have been watching us too. He knew we would enter the tomb yesterday. What a diabolical plot!"

"The man is mad," Bellingham repeated. "You have seen the proof."

"Lunacy is a convenient explanation for otherwise inexplicable behavior," Emerson said dryly. "But your own behavior, Colonel, requires to be explained. Why the devil did you come back to Egypt?"

Bellingham leaned back in his chair and studied Emerson with a faint, appreciative smile. "You are a shrewd man, Professor. You must know the answer. There is only one thing that could bring me back to the scene of my tragic loss."

"Scudder wrote to you."

"Yes, a few months ago. The letter was sent from Cairo. He said..." Bellingham hesitated, as if trying to remember the precise words. "That if I returned to Egypt, he would restore my wife to me. As you saw, he did just that."

We were well on our way to Luxor before Emerson finished telling the others about our interview with Bellingham.

"I sure am ashamed of my evil mind," Cyrus said remorsefully. "Bellingham claimed at the time his wife had not left of her own free will, but it's what a man would say, isn't it, to save his pride?"

"The police must have had other reasons for doubting him," I said. "Had they quarrelled? Had she shown any preference for the young man?"

"Not that I know of. But see here, Mrs. Amelia, it isn't as easy as your novel writers make out to abduct a lady against her will. Especially when the lady disappears out of a big hotel in a big city, with no signs of a struggle."

"It is strange," Nefret said thoughtfully. "Where was her maid when it happened?"

"In her own room, waiting for the lady to send for her. She had been a trifle unwell-the usual sort of trouble that affects visitors-and Mrs. Bellingham, who was by all accounts a kind and considerate mistress, had told the girl to rest that afternoon while she attended some kind of tea party at the American consul's house. She was seen entering the hotel round about six, but nobody saw her leave it-or ever saw her again." Cyras shook his head. "It's still a mystery to me as to how Scudder managed it."

"My dear Cyrus, you exhibit a shocking lack of imagination," I said. "I can think of several ways in which it could have been done."

"I feel certain you can," grunted Emerson. "Spare me your melodramatic scenarios, Peabody."

"Poor man," Nefret said softly. "After all those years of suspense, never knowing what had become of her, fearing the worst-then to have his hopes raised again, only to be destroyed in such a hideous fashion! What sort of fiend is this man Scudder?"

I decided not to tell her that the Colonel had made a point of asking about her and had sent his respectful salutations.

"It is out of our hands." Emerson squared his broad shoulders. "And now for the Frasers, curse them!"

I persuaded Emerson to stop for luncheon first. It was still early, but I wanted time to consider my strategy.

I had no intention of allowing Emerson to interview Mrs. Whitney-Jones. Not that I feared he would bully her; it was the reverse, in fact. Emerson has a loud bark, but where women are concerned he is as toothless as an old hound. They can always get round him.

The Karnak Hotel, where we were lunching, is on the waterfront and offers a splendid view of the river and the West Bank. The day was unseasonably and pleasantly cool; the breeze from the water tossed Emerson's sable locks into becoming disarray.

"It is a perfect day for work," he grumbled with a longing glance at the silver-gold cliffs of his beloved Thebes.

I know a good opening when I hear one. "Go back to the Valley, then, if you cannot bear to be away from it for a single day," I said in the same grumbling voice. "I will talk with the Frasers. No, Emerson, I don't mind in the slightest. I am only too accustomed to doing the unpleasant chores you wish to avoid."

Emerson looked at me suspiciously. "What are you up to now, Peabody? I am not going to leave you on the loose in Luxor; you always get into mischief."

"I will make certain she behaves herself," said Cyrus, grinning. "We'll just have a little chat with Mrs. Whitney-Jones, and come right back. I admit I am looking forward to meeting the lady. She sounds like a smooth crook."

Emerson said he was not looking forward to seeing the lady and would be happy to leave her to Cyrus. I gave Cyrus an appreciative smile.

On our way back we stopped by the telegraph office and found, as we had anticipated, a reply from Cairo. Emerson scowled as he read it.

"Cromer appears to be losing his grip. He wants more information."

"You telegraphed Lord Cromer?" I exclaimed. "Emerson, he is the most important man in Egypt!"

"Precisely," said Emerson. "It is a waste of time to deal with underlings. I cannot imagine what else he wants from me; I sent him all the relevant information."

I asked to see the original telegram and, after fumbling through his pockets, Emerson produced a crumpled piece of paper. It was certainly succinct. "Have discovered body believed that of Mrs. Bellingham, American citizen, disappeared Cairo 1897. Advise."

"You might have elaborated a little," I said while Cyrus smiled over the message.

"Why waste money?" Emerson took out his watch. "I will leave it to you, Peabody, since you are so critical. Is anyone else coming across with me? . . . Then I will see you all at teatime."

After dispatching another telegram that would give the bewildered Lord Cromer more information, I led the procession toward the Luxor Hotel. "What are your plans?" I inquired of my son.

"I was under the impression we were to call on the Frasers," Ramses replied.

"We are not paying a social call, Ramses. I think it best if Mr. Vandergelt and I see Mrs. Whitney-Jones alone. We are, I believe, more intimidating than the rest of you."

"These two young fellows would intimidate me if they took a notion to," Cyrus said with a smile. "But I guess we won't want to resort to threats or low violence. What makes you so sure we'll find the lady at home and willing to receive us, Mrs. Amelia?"

"I have my methods, Cyrus. The rest of you run along and-er-do something harmless. We will meet you in the lobby of the hotel in an hour and a half."

"We might have a look in at some of the antika dealers," David suggested, adding with a laugh, "Who knows, we may find for sale some of the pieces I made for Abd el Hamed while I was his apprentice."

"Stay together," I called as they walked away. David had taken Nefret's arm; he gave me a reassuring nod over his shoulder. Ramses preceded them, his hands in his pockets.

The concierge informed us that Mrs. Whitney-Jones was indeed in the hotel, and when we sent up our names we were invited to join her in her sitting room. It was one of the most elegant suites in the hotel-paid for, I did not doubt, by Donald. Mrs. Whitney-Jones came to greet us and acknowledged my introduction of Cyrus with perfect composure, but she did not offer to shake hands. She wore an afternoon dress of silver-gray, with a yoke and boned collar of white spotted net. Her only ornaments were a locket and the gold band on her left hand.

"I rather expected you would come today, Mrs. Emerson, so I sent Mr. Fraser off to Karnak with his wife. He did not want to go, but I promised I would make it up to him."

"I hope you did not promise him a sight of the mummy we found yesterday. It would completely destroy your illusion."

Mrs. Whitney-Jones's smile made her look more than ever like a large, friendly tabby cat. "You don't mince words, Mrs. Emerson. I too am a realist. I know when the game is up."

"So," I said, "you admit you are a charlatan? That you are exploiting Mr. Fraser's weakness for monetary gain?"

"Why deny it?" She raised her shoulders in a ladylike shrug. "I know you by reputation, Mrs. Emerson. Had I realized that the Frasers were friends of yours, I would never have let the business go so far. You need not have brought Mr. Vandergelt as an additional deterrent, though I am of course happy to make his acquaintance. I would suggest, however, that before you proceed against me we discuss the effect such a disclosure would have on Mr. Fraser."

"If that is a threat," I began angrily.

"Regard it rather as a basis for negotiation," was the smooth reply.

Cyrus had not spoken or taken his eyes off her. Perched on the edge of the straight chair he had taken, his hat in his hands, he looked as uncomfortable as a young gentleman paying his first social call. Suddenly his rigid face relaxed, and he leaned back.

"You a poker player, by any chance, Mrs. Whitney-Jones? Or is it-Mrs. Jones?"

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, and I thought her mouth twitched a trifle. "Obviously you are, Mr. Vandergelt. You win that hand."

"I figured as much." Cyrus tossed his hat onto the sofa and crossed his legs. "Looks to me as if we're holding all the cards, ma'am. You've taken the Frasers for a tidy amount of money under false pretenses. I wouldn't be one bit surprised to learn you're not unknown to Scotland Yard. What have you got to negotiate with?"

She turned slightly to face him, folding her hands in her lap. "Mr. Fraser's sanity, Mr. Vandergelt." Then, with an abrupt change of manner, she clasped her hands tightly together. "I am to some degree culpable, I admit. But he is not the first-oh, yes, Mr. Vandergelt, you were quite right!-he is not my first client, not by any means. The gullibility of the human race is boundless; if people are stupid enough to believe in me, why not take advantage of it?

"Mr. Fraser is another matter. He is not the sort of man who would ordinarily seek out a person like myself. Not that he has sense enough to see the snares behind the illusion; he is quite uncritical, but he lacks the-the romanticism, the imagination-to desire the illusion in the first place. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"I guess so," Cyrus said slowly.

"I encountered him and Mrs. Fraser at the home of a friend. There were a good many other people there; I was a paid performer, turning tables and summoning the dead, for the amusement of the guests." Her mouth twisted. "Silly women and stupid men, looking for answers that don't exist.

"But it is unbecoming of me to mock my victims, you will say. Let me go on. I often acquire private clients from such performances. Mr. Fraser came to see me next day. One of my controls-you know the word?-is an Egyptian princess. Not very original, is it, Mrs. Emerson? But they are popular with believers, and it was Princess Tasherit with whom Mr. Fraser wanted to communicate, not his grandmother or his deceased father.

"From that time on ..." Another shrug. "You won't believe this, but it is true. He directed me. He did not ask, he demanded, and when I gave him what he wanted, he demanded more. It was he who insisted we travel together to Egypt. What drove him to this I do not know, but he has not yet found what he seeks, and he will not stop seeking it. In short, Mrs.

Emerson, your friend is on the verge of mania and I-I am out of my depth. Tell me what to do and I will do it. Give me your orders and I will obey them. Necessity has forced me to abandon many of the principles that were once mine, but I do not want a man's death on my conscience."

Chapter Seven

Love has a corrosive effect on the brain and the organs of moral responsibility.

After we had left Mrs. Jones we stood in the hall waiting for the lift, and Cyrus said solemnly, "Mrs. Amelia, I am eternally indebted to you for that experience."

"You did not believe her protestations, I hope."

"Well, I don't know whether I do or not," Cyrus said, stroking his goatee. "And I tell you, Mrs. Amelia, that's not something that happens to me every day. Usually I'm pretty good at spotting a liar, but that lady ... Consarn it, she wasn't anything like I expected. You think she was lying?"

"She left us no choice but to believe her until we can prove her false," I said bitterly. "If she is right, Donald is in a dangerous state of mind. How infuriating! I never thought when we came here that we would find ourselves in league with a confidence woman. I shudder to think what Emerson will say. Where is that confounded lift?"

"The operator's probably taking a nap. She came clean with us about her real name, you know. And she was brutally honest about her methods."

"That, my dear Cyrus, is how a skillful liar operates. She told us all the facts we could have learned for ourselves, and very little else."

The lift did not come-it was always breaking down-so in the end we descended the stairs. The interview had taken longer than I had expected, for we had discussed various methods of convincing Donald that his dream princess did not exist. Cyrus had further prolonged the proceedings by engaging in a good-humored verbal duel with the lady-or perhaps he would have described it as a verbal poker game. In the end, Cyrus declared that such a delicate matter required further deliberation. He wanted to meet Donald and make his own assessment of the latter's mental condition. "Here is your chance," I said as we entered the lobby. "I beg your pardon?" Cyrus had been deep in thought. "There is Donald now, with Enid-and David and Nefret as well. They were waiting for us, I suppose, when the Frasers came in. Curse it, I hope they didn't tell him . . . Where has Ramses got to, I wonder?"

Donald had seen me. Rising and smiling, he beckoned us to join them at their table. As he and Cyrus shook hands, I could see that Cyrus found this beaming, hearty, young gentleman a far cry from the wan neurasthenic he had pictured. It was Enid who looked ill. Her wide waist belt was unfashionably loose, though it had been buckled in to the last hole, and her eyes were shadowed.

I declined her invitation to take tea with them, explaining we were engaged to meet Emerson, but I allowed Donald to help me into a chair. "We will have to wait for Ramses, I suppose," I said. "Why isn't he here?"

David looked guilty-but then he usually did, poor lad.

Before he could answer, supposing he had intended to, Nefret said, "We misplaced him. You know Ramses, he is always wandering off to gossip with some tomb robber or forger."

Donald said cheerfully, "He always was a handful. Did you know, Miss Forth, that I was once young Ramses's tutor? Can't say I taught him much; it was the other way round. Never knew such a talker as that boy."

Cyrus gave me a questioning look, to which I replied with a shrug. Maniacs, as we all know, are unpredictable. Some insane persons I have known behaved quite rationally on all subjects but one. Cyrus had not seen Donald look heavenward in an ecstasy of worship or heard his wild cry of recognition. I knew it was only a matter of time before he broke out again.

Even so, I was taken aback when Donald continued, without the slightest alteration of tone or expression, "Miss Forth tells me, Mrs. Emerson, that the mummy you found yesterday was not that of Princess Tasherit. I could have sworn I recognized her."

I said, "Er ... no, Mr. Fraser, you were mistaken."

"You are certain?" He might have been inquiring about a mutual acquaintance. "We will have to continue looking, then. She was unable to give precise directions, since the terrain has changed a great deal in the past three thousand years, but once Mrs. Whitney-Jones has familiarized herself with the geography-"

Her face darkly flushed, Enid pushed her chair back and got to her feet. "Donald! For the love of heaven, stop it! You sound like..."

Fortunately her voice failed at that point, and she did not finish the sentence. I felt certain that whatever procedure might improve Donald's state of mind, this was not it. Rising in my turn, I took Enid firmly by the shoulders and was about to give her a little shake when her eyes widened and her rigid form relaxed.

"Oh," she said.

"I apologize for my tardiness," said Ramses. "I hope you have not been waiting long."

Dolly was with him, clinging to his arm. I did not doubt she was well aware of what a pretty picture she made, the brim of her flowery hat brushing his shoulder and her little gloved hand resting on his sleeve. Ramses detached her with, I thought, some difficulty and deposited her in a chair.

"Where is Mr. Tollington?" I asked. "Ramses! You didn't-"

"I sent him away," Dolly said, smoothing her gloves. "He was rude to Mr. Emerson."

I looked at Ramses, who had remained standing, hands behind his back and eyes downcast-avoiding mine, I assumed. I did not doubt he had been rude back to Mr. Tollington.

"It is time we went away," said Nefret. "Aunt Amelia?"

"Yes, we are late," I said, somewhat distractedly, for there was Doily on my hands again, unchaperoned and unescorted and hopelessly undisciplined. I could not in conscience leave the girl alone after her father's disclosures. "Miss Bellingham, have you met our friends? Mrs. Fraser, Miss-"

"We have met," Enid said with a brusque nod. "Good afternoon, Miss Bellingham. I trust you did not take a chill?"

I had the oddest impression that several people had stopped breathing. Dolly was not one of them. With the sweetest smile imaginable she replied, "You were the one without a shawl, Mrs. Fraser. A lady your age ought to be more careful; the garden gets real chilly around midnight."

David clapped his hand over his mouth and turned away.

"Something caught in your throat?" I inquired. "Ramses, you might just give him a little pat on the back."

"Gladly," said Ramses, and did so, with such hearty goodwill that David staggered.

I presented the gentlemen to Dolly, and Cyrus, demonstrating the shrewd American acumen I had counted upon, relieved me of my difficulty. "I reckon I'll just join my new friends in a cup of tea," he declared with a meaningful look at me. "And make sure this young lady gets safe home to her daddy afterwards. I am acquainted with your father, Miss Bellingham, and as Mrs. Emerson can testify, you will be in good hands with me."

"I'm sure," said Dolly unenthusiastically.

Enid drew me aside. "Well?" she demanded. "Did you see her?"

"Yes. I must speak with you privately, Enid; this is not the time nor the place for a long conversation. Can you come to the house tomorrow afternoon, without Donald?"

Enid wrung her hands. "Why not tonight? I cannot endure this much longer, Amelia."

"I promise you I have matters under control," I said, hoping it was so. "One word of advice, Enid. Don't challenge him or berate him. Remain calm, do nothing to excite him, and all will be well."

Her eyes moved from me to the children, who were waiting for me by the door. "Will... the Professor be there?"

"Yes, and Cyrus, and, if you do not object, the children. They are quite sensible for their age. We will have a little council of war."

"I do not object. Thank you, Amelia, I will be there."

When we arrived at the house we found Emerson on the verandah, his feet on a stool and Sekhmet draped across his knees.

"Finally," he said. "What kept you so long? Never mind, I do not want to hear about it. Ramses, I took the liberty of borrowing Risha this afternoon, so he will not be in need of exercise. Nefret, those photographs need to be developed. David-"

"Please go and tell Ali we are ready for tea," I interrupted, nodding at David.

"I don't want any cursed tea," said Emerson.

"Yes, you do." I seated myself and removed my hat. "So the darkroom is now ... unoccupied?"

Emerson laid his book aside. "Willoughby's people took her away this afternoon. Cromer is sending someone down from Cairo to take charge, but he cannot be here before tomorrow evening."

"At least in this case there is no need for haste." "No. She should keep indefinitely." Ramses and Nefret had followed David into the house, so I did not object to the unseemly manner in which he had stated this undeniable fact. Emerson is the most sensitive of men, but he sometimes conceals his feelings under a shell of callousness.

"Cyrus and I had a most interesting conversation with Mrs. Jones," I said. "Do you want me to-"

"No," said Emerson. "Where are the children? Where is my tea?"

His irritable, clearly audible questions brought prompt responses from the persons concerned. We settled ourselves comfortably, and Sekhmet crawled from Emerson's lap onto that of Ramses, who immediately handed her over to David.

"So what have you been doing all afternoon?" Nefret asked, perching on the arm of Emerson's chair and depositing a kiss on the top of his head. She had seen he was a trifle out of sorts, and her affectionate ways seldom failed to improve his state of mind.

"A sensible question at last," he grumbled. "Do you mean there is someone in this family who is interested in Egyptology?"

"We all are, sir," David assured him earnestly. "I am sorry if I-"

"Never mind, David," said Emerson in a more affable voice. "You apologize too cursed often, my boy. My activities this afternoon-in striking contrast with those of certain other individuals-produced useful results. We have not finished with tomb Twenty-A. Not by a damned sight," he added happily.

"Why, Emerson, what do you mean?" I asked-for I knew the hint had been directed at me.

Emerson took out his pipe and tobacco pouch. "That single chamber is not all there is to the tomb. It continues for some distance."

"What!" I cried. "Why, Emerson, how did you discover that?"

Emerson gave me a critical look. "You are overdoing it, Peabody."

"And you, my dear Emerson, are deliberately prolonging the suspense. How did you know there was more to the tomb?"

"You ought to have known it too, Peabody. If you had not been so preoccupied with the body-an understandable distraction, I admit-you might have observed that the dimensions and shape of the space did not resemble those of a tomb chamber. It was barely six feet wide and the ceiling sloped sharply down. I suspected at once that the floor had been artificially levelled, and that the original rock floor sloped down at the same angle as the ceiling-that, in short, what we saw was not a chamber, but the first section of a descending passageway."

"How exciting!" Nefret exclaimed.

Emerson did not accuse her of overdoing it. He gave her a fond smile and patted her hand. Then he looked questioningly at Ramses.

Ramses had not exclaimed aloud or given any evidence of surprise. A few years earlier he would have claimed, truthfully or not, that he had observed the same clues. Now he said, "Well done, Father."

"I removed enough of the rubble on the floor yesterday to prove my theory was correct," Emerson said in a pleased voice. "How far the passage extends I cannot tell, but the tomb is obviously much more extensive than we realized."

"A royal tomb," Nefret exclaimed, her eyes shining.

"An unjustified assumption," said Ramses, running his forefinger along his mustache. "Several of the private tombs have corridors and multiple chambers. We can hardly hope to find another tomb as rich as Tetisheri's. Two such discoveries-"

"Oh, you are always throwing cold water," Nefret said in exasperation. "Does nothing excite you? And stop playing with that silly mustache!"

David and I spoke at once. I said, "Now, children," and David said, in a feeble attempt at distraction, "Would anyone like another cup of tea?"

Emerson's forceful tones dominated ours. "Speculation of any kind is a waste of time. We will see how we get on tomorrow."

Unnoticed by any of us, including Ramses, Sekhmet had oozed (the word was, I had to admit, accurate) back onto his lap. He picked the poor creature up and returned her to David, unmoved by her plaintive protest.

"If you do not need me tomorrow, Father, I will get on with my copying. Mr. Carter has given me permission to work at Deir el Bahri."

"Don't sulk, Ramses," said Nefret, smiling at him. "I am sorry I was rude about your mustache."

"I never sulk," Ramses said. "Father?"

"Yes, of course, my boy. Just as you like."

It was agreed we would all have an early night. Ramses and David returned to the dahabeeyah, and Nefret declared she had a dozen things to do-washing her hair, catching up on her reading, mending her stockings. She was no more fond of sewing than I and her stockings were always in a shocking state of holiness, so I commended her diligence and bade her good night with all the more approval because I was anxious to have a long private conversation with Emerson.

To my pleased surprise, he was just as anxious to talk with me about matters he had profanely refused to consider heretofore.

"Please do me the favor of refraining from gloating, Peabody," he remarked after we had made ourselves comfort-

192 able in our own room. "Because I won't stand for it, do you hear?"

"Of course not, my dear. What particular event has caused you to change your mind?"

"No single event, but the relentless accumulation of evidence. Bellingham's disclosures today put the lid on it," Emerson admitted, scowling. "We were goaded into finding that tomb, with its grisly contents. The murdering bastard went so far as to mark the exact spot for us, curse him! It must have been he who attacked the girl in the Ezbekieh-for I flatly refuse, Peabody, to postulate two villains when one will serve. He sent the Colonel a message that brought him to the Valley yesterday in time to see us carry the body away."

"It makes excellent sense, Emerson."

"No, by heaven, it does not!" Emerson exploded. "There are too many unanswered questions. Why does this fellow continue to bear such a grudge against Bellingham? Why didn't he bury the body in the desert and leave it there? Why did he select us as the instrument of his disclosure? And don't so much as breathe the word 'madman,' Peabody. This fellow cannot be a raving lunatic; there is purpose and method behind his actions."