The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog (16 page)

The dying light, glinting off an object on the table, gave me the answer. It was a hypodermic needle.
Scarce had the horror of that sight penetrated my mind when I saw something else. I had observed that his arms were stretched over his head in a stiff, unnatural position. Now I realized why. From the manacles on his wrists a chain looped over and through the bars of the headboard of the narrow bed.
I cannot explain why that detail affected me so powerfully. It was certainly a reasonable precaution, in fact, anyone who wished to keep Emerson in a place where he did not care to remain would have been
a fool to neglect such restraints Nevertheless, it did upset me a great deal, and perhaps the intensity of
my outrage accounts for what— as I am told— happened next.
I had been vaguely aware of voices at the door The guard had been joined by another man, they were talking loudly and, I suppose, telling improper stories, for there was a good deal of raucous laughter. The sounds faded into a dim insect-buzzing. A black cloud enveloped me, and a roaring fury filled my ears.
I came back to my senses to find Abdullah's alarmed face nose-to-nose with mine. One of his hands
was clamped over my mouth. "The guards have gone, to fetch beer, but they will return," he hissed.
"Do you hear me, Sitt? Has the demon departed?"
I could not speak, so I blinked at him. Finger by finger, watching me nervously, he loosened his grip. I became aware of a sharp, shooting pain in my hands. Looking down, I saw that I had seized the heavy grille and lifted it up out of the framework on which it rested My fingers were torn and bleeding.
Abullah was muttering in Arabic—spells and incantations, designed to ward off the powers of evil
"The— er— demon has gone," I whispered "How very curious. This is the second time such a thing
has happened, I believe. I laughed at Emerson when he told me of the first occasion. I must tell him,
and apologize for doubting him, when he ... when we...
To my consternation, I found I could not control my voice. I lowered my head onto my folded arms
A hand, gentle as a woman's, stroked my hair. "My daughter, do not weep. Dost thou believe I would dare to call myself a man and a friend if I left him to lie there? I have made a plan."
Abdullah had never spoken to me except with formal respect, nor used a term of endearment. I had known the depth of his regard for Emerson, "love" would not be too strong a word, had not that word been corrupted by European romanticism, but I had not been aware that in his own fashion Abdullah loved me too. Infinitely moved, I replied in kind.
"My father, I thank thee and bless thee. But what shall we do? He is drugged or sick, he cannot move.
I had counted on his strength to help us."
"I feared we would find him thus," Abdullah replied. "One does not chain the lion without clipping his claws, or cage the hawk without— "
"Abdullah, I love and honor thee as a father, but if thou dost not get to the point I am going to scream."
The old man's bearded jaws opened in a smile. "The Sitt is herself again We must go quickly, before
the guards return. My men wait at the crossroads."
"What men?"
"Daoud and the sons and grandsons of my uncles. They all have many sons," Abdullah added proudly. "The sun is setting, it is a good time to attack, at nightfall."
It did not occur to me for a moment to protest this dangerous and illegal procedure, but when he tugged
at my sleeve I resisted. "I cannot leave him, Abdullah. They may carry him away or kill him if they are attacked."
"But, Sitt, Emerson will have my heart to eat if you— "
"So long as he is alive to eat it. Hurry, Abdullah. And— take care, my dear friend."
His hand gripped mine for a moment and then he was gone. I twisted around to watch, and saw him vanish over the wall as silently as he had come.
I had, of course, no intention of remaining on the roof. My normal strength might not have sufficed to
lift the grille, fortunately that little matter had been taken care of. One side of the heavy metal square
now rested on the lip of the opening, I had only to push it aside. The opening was, I thought, just large enough to admit my body. It would have to, for I meant to get in by one means or another.
Before I could carry out this scheme I heard the men returning. Their voices were more subdued this time, and after a moment another voice broke in. It spoke Arabic, but I knew from the accent and the tone of command that the speaker was not an Arab. Fear— for my husband, not for myself— and fury strengthened every sinew. He was here— the leader, the unknown villain who had perpetrated this foul deed.
The group paused outside the door and I hesitated, hands clenched on the metal, scarcely feeling the
pain of my bleeding fingers. I must not act prematurely They had no reason as yet to suspect rescue
was imminent.
Then the speaker switched to English "Wait here until I come for you. I want him wide awake and rational when he sees you"
To my astonishment the voice that responded, in the same language, was that of a woman. "I tell you,
he is not so easily deceived. He will know I am not—"
"That, my dear, is the point of this exercise— to test the truth of his claim of amnesia In that costume
and in the gloom, with a gag hiding the lower part of your face, you look enough like her to deceive an affectionate spouse— for long enough, at least, to win a betraying cry of alarm from him That will tell
me what I want to know. And if he believes you are she, I will have at last the means of persuading
him to tell me what I want to know."
A wordless murmur from the woman brought a mocking laugh from the leader. "The threat will be enough, I believe. If not— well, my dear, I won't damage you any more than I can help."
Every violent emotion I had repressed during the days of waiting now boiled within me, with raging curiosity added to the mix. I had an inkling of what the villain planned, and I was on fire to see my double. His despicable trick might succeed, if the copy was faithful enough.
The door swung open, admitting a glow of light. It did not come from the sun, which was now below
the horizon The man who entered carried a lamp. You may believe, Reader, I studied his face intently. His voice had been familiar, but the features I saw did not match the appearance I expected. They were distorted by shadows, and masked by a heavy black mustache and imperial It might be he, I could not
be certain.
Putting the lamp on the table, he bent over Emerson and shook him roughly. There was no response. Straightening, the monster swore under his breath and turned toward the door. "I told you to keep out!"
The woman's voice was almost inaudible "He lies so still."
"The last dose of opium must have been too strong. Never mind, I'll have him awake and cursing in a moment."
He picked up the needle and plunged it into a bottle. The whisper came again.
"You use too much. He will die."
"Not until it suits my purpose," was the calloused response. "Now get back. He'll come round before long."
I forced myself to watch and remain passive. The needle went into a vein, with a careless skill that suggested some medical expertise. I made a note of this, even while my skin crawled with loathing and hatred. Whatever the substance was, it was effective. Moments later Emerson stirred. His first word
was a feeble but heartfelt oath. Tears came to my eyes, and I promised myself I would never again complain of any language he chose to employ.
His adversary laughed. "Awake, are we? Another word or two, if you please, I want to be certain you
are able to appreciate the treat I have for you."
Emerson obliged with a pithy description of his captor's presumed parentage. The fellow laughed again.
"Excellent. I presume you are still unwilling to admit me to your confidence?"
"Your conversation has become tedious," said Emerson. "How many times must I repeat that I have
not the faintest idea what you are talking about? Even if I were able to supply the information you want
I would not, I have taken a dislike to you."
"Give up any hope of rescue." The other man's voice hardened. His toe nudged the square object,
which I now saw to be a wooden hatch or cover. "Have you also forgotten what lies beneath this?"
"Again you repeat yourself," was the bored reply "I don't know where you get these melodramatic notions. Out of some novel, I suppose."
This comment seemed to madden the villain. He darted forward, for a moment I thought he would strike his helpless prisoner. Mastering himself with an effort that made his upraised hand quiver, he hissed,
"The well is at least forty feet deep. If anyone attempts to force his way in here, the guard will see that you have the opportunity to measure its precise depth."
"Yes, yes, you said that." Emerson yawned.
"Very well. Let us see if I have found a means of persuading you to change your mind."
Leaving the lamp on the table, he went to the door. Emerson's eyes followed him, the pupils were so dilated they looked black instead of blue. After a moment the door opened again and the man entered, pushing a slighter form before him.
She would have deceived ME. The costume she wore was an exact copy of my old working uniform— Turkish trousers, boots, and all— even a belt hung with tools. Her hair was the same jet-black, it
tumbled over her shoulders, as if it had been loosened in a struggle. Her supposed captor's arm pinned hers to her sides and held her back out of the light, so that her features would have been hard to make
out even if a white cloth had not covered the lower part of her face.
"A visitor to see you, sir," said the unknown, in a mocking parody of a butler's announcement. "Haven't you an affectionate greeting for your wife?"
Emerson's face was impassive. Only his eyes moved, from the top of the woman's head to her boots,
and back again. "She does appear to be female," he said, in an offensive drawl. "Hard to tell at first, in that outlandish garb . . ."
"You claim you don't recognize your own wife?"
"I don't have a wife," Emerson said patiently. "I seem to have forgotten a good many things, but of that
I am certain."
"You contradict yourself, Professor. How can you be certain if you claim to be suffering from amnesia?"
A gasp of laughter came from Emerson's cracked lips. "Whatever else may have slipped my mind, I
could hardly forget something so monumentally stupid. Never in my weakest moment would I be
damned fool enough to saddle myself with a wife." Narrowing his eyes, he went on, "Is she, by any chance, the female who brought me food and water yesterday ... or the day before . . . can't
remember . . ."
His eyes closed. The woman had bowed her head—in shame, I hoped. The man who held her loosened his grasp. She shrank back against the wall and pulled the gag from her face.
"He is fainting," she whispered. "Let me give him something—water, at least . . ."
Fists on his hips, the villain studied her with a sardonic smile. " 'O Woman! in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please . . . When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou!
I Minister, then. If he dies before I can get that damned woman into my hands I'll have no means of persuading her to talk." He turned to the door, adding, over his shoulder, "Don't be long."
She waited until the door had slammed before relaxing. A long sigh issued from her lips.
"I have never understood the female sex," said a voice from the bed. "Why do you tolerate such treatment?"
She spun around to face him. "You are awake? I thought so. You only pretended. . ."
"Not . . . entirely," said Emerson.
She knelt by the bed, holding a cup of water to his lips and supporting his head while he drank thirstily. He thanked her, in a stronger voice. She lowered his head gently onto the hard mattress and stared at
her stained fingers.
"It will not heal," she murmured. "Does it pain you?"
"I have the devil of a headache," Emerson admitted.
"And your poor hands . . ." Her fingers slid slowly up his right arm and touched the swollen, bloody
flesh of his wrist.
"It would be pleasant to stretch a bit." His voice had changed. I knew that purring note, and a shiver
ran through me. I dislike, even now, admitting the emotion that prompted it. I believe it is not necessary for me to do so.
Emerson went on, in the same tone, "If my arms were free I could better express the appreciation I feel for your kindness."
She let out a little laugh, in which coquetry and defiance were mingled. "Well, why not? You cannot
pass the guards, you are not strong enough, and if you think you can win freedom by holding me
hostage you deceive yourself.  No English gentleman would harm a woman. He knows that."
The key to his manacles were on the table. I appreciated the refinement of cruelty that left freedom in sight, but unattainable. As she bent over him to unlock them a tress of her hair brushed his face.
Well! I would like to believe I could have held firm, even in the face of what was obviously about to transpire, but I had seized the edge of the grille with both hands and my muscles were tensed, when
there was an outcry from the direction of the house. Voices shouting, the rattle of gunfire! My faithful Abdullah and his valiant friends had arrived! Rescue was at hand! The time for action had come!
One heave of my shoulders pushed the grille aside. I inserted my feet into the opening and.. and stuck,
at a region I prefer not to specify. There was not a moment to lose, gritting my teeth, I squeezed myself through, landing with bent knees, upright and ready. Pulling out my pistol, I leveled it at the door.
In the nick of time! And I might not have been in time, owing to that moment of delay, had she not
flung herself at the yielding door. Her strength was not great enough, even as I aimed my pistol she
was crushed behind the opened panel. The sounds of combat rose in pitch and a dark form rushed in, intent on obeying his leader's dastardly command
There was no time for a reasonable discussion I fired I could hardly avoid hitting him, for his body filled the doorway, but the wound was not mortal, his cry, as he recoiled, held more surprise than pain. Curse it, I thought, and fired again. I believe I missed him entirely on that occasion. However, the effect was gratifying. With another howl, he fled. These hired thugs are never reliable
I now turned my attention to the woman, who had emerged from behind the door and stood watching
me It gave me an odd sensation to see her—the shadowy image of myself.