The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog (18 page)

It came about in this wise.

Finally! I thought, turning the page—and ground my teeth when instead of telling me what I ached to know, Ramses went off on another tangent.

If I have not mentioned Nefret you may be certain it is not because she was inactive or
deficient in courage and intelligence. She is ... [Here several words had been scratched out. Either Ramses's vocabulary had been inadequate to express his feelings, or he had repented of having expressed those feelings so openly.] She is a remarkable person. She. . . But perhaps
an account of what occurred will demonstrate her Dualities more effectively than mere words
of mine could do.
I had anticipated—erroneously, as it turned out, but not without reason—that Nefret would be the person most in need of protection. For, if Papa's hints in his telegram and my own deductions based on those hints were correct, she was the one most directly connected with the aforesaid SECRET. It is true that my theory ignored the fact that the disheveled gentleman had apparently been intent on seizing ME, so perhaps chivalry had clouded my ordinarily acute reasoning powers. I once remember thinking that being a little gentleman seemed more trouble than it was worth. The incident I am about to relate confirmed that opinion, as you will see.

"I certainly hope so," I muttered, wishing I had the little "gentleman" with me so I could shake him and force him to get to the point.

Nefret had set out in the carriage that day as usual, to go to the vicarage for a Latin lesson and religious instruction. She was attended not only by Gargery, who insisted on driving, but by
Bob and Jerry as well. Uncle Walter felt this would be protection enough, but I had a certain foreboding (such as Mama often has) about the expedition, and so I took one of the horses and went after them, remaining at a discreet distance, for I had reason to suppose that Gargery,
Bob, Jerry, and perhaps Ne/ret herself, would object to this procedure.
They had let their guard down, as they later admitted, when they were almost at their destination. After passing along that deserted stretch of road (you remember it) where ambush might be expected and where nothing of the sort ensued, they were within a hundred yards of the first
house of the village when another carriage appeared around the curve in the road, coming
toward them at a considerable speed. Gargery drew to one side to let them by. Instead of doing
so the driver pulled up and even before the wheels had stopped rolling, men burst out of the carriage.
I saw everything that transpired, for the road runs straight at that point and nothing impeded
my vision. I am sure I need not tell you I reacted promptly and swiftly, urging my steed to a gallop. Before I was able to reach the scene of action, Gargery had taken a cudgel (his favorite weapon) from under his coat and smashed it down on the head of the individual who was attempting to pull him from the seat. Bob and Jerry were grappling with three other miscreants.
A fifth man tugged at the door of the carriage.
A cry burst from me at this terrible sight and I fear I so forgot myself as to kick poor Mazeppa
in an attempt to induce greater speed. This turned out to be unwise as well as unkind. Unaccustomed to such treatment, Mazeppa came to a sudden halt, and I fell off. I landed on my head. Undaunted, despite the blood that flowed freely from the wound, I was crawling toward
the scene of battle when rough hands seized me and a voice shouted, "I've got him! Come on,
lads, hold 'em off!"
Or words to that effect. The lads held them off with such success that my captor reached the criminous carriage and transferred his grip to the back of my neck and the seat of my trousers, preparatory, one must suppose, to pitching me inside.
At that moment, when all seemed lost, I heard an odd whistling sound, followed by a soft thud.
The man in whose grip I hung helpless and dizzy (for a blow on the head, as you know, has the effect of disorienting the recipient to a considerable degree) shrieked aloud and dropped me.
I am happy to report that discretion prevailed over the lust for battle that
had brought me to my predicament. I rolled under the carriage, out the opposite side, and into a convenient ditch.
I was plucked from this refuge a few moments later by Gargery, in time to see the miscreants' vehicle retreating in a cloud of dust. My knees were a trifle unsteady, so Gargery very kindly
held me up by my collar, while my eyes sought the object of my chief concern. "Nefret?"
I gurgled. (I had swallowed a quantity of rather muddy water.)
She was there, leaning over me, an angelic vision . . . [Ramses had crossed this out, but the
words were legible.] . . . her face pale with concern . . . for ME.
"Dear brother," she cried in poignant accents. "You are wounded: You are bleeding!" And with her own hand, careless of the mud and gore that stained her spotless white gloves, she parted
the hair on my brow.
It was not my injury but the sight of what she held in her other hand that struck me dumb
(a state, Mama might claim, that is uncommon with me). The object was a bow.
Swooning, I was carried away by Gargery and we soon found ourselves safe at home. Unfortunately I came back to my senses before the doctor stitched up my head. It was cursed painful. That was when some of my hair was cut off, but Aunt Evelyn says it will soon grow
back. Everyone else was unhurt except for bumps and bruises.
It was Nefret herself, as you may have deduced, who saved the day. The villain who was attempting to open the carriage door went sprawling, his nose bloodied, when she slammed it
into his face, and the villain who carried me off was deterred by an arrow directed with a skill worthy of Robin Hood himself (if legend is to be trusted, which I doubt it is).
The bow she had concealed under her heavy cloak (the weather being quite chilly) was the one
she had brought with her from Nubia. Unlike the composite bows carried by the military, hers
is a single-staff weapon only twenty-nine inches long, employed ordinarily for hunting. But why, one might ask, had she deemed it expedient to carry such a weapon? I did in fact ask, and she answered the question after my affectionate friends had gathered around my bedside for a
council of war.
"I have kept a weapon close at hand ever since the Professor's telegram arrived," she explained coolly. "He is not a man to start at shadows, and although I am deeply grateful for the loyal protection of our friends, it is not in my nature to cower in a comer while others risk their lives
in my defense. The Professor made it clear that Ramses and I were the ones in danger, not of assassination but of abduction. We know what the abductors want. Who could give them that information? Only your
 
mother and father, Ramses, they alone know the way to the place the villains seek."
"I could retrace my steps— " I began with some indignation. She raised a finger to her lips.
"I know that, dear brother. But in this world children are treated like pet animals, without sense or memory, and you are one of the few who could do what you claim. I could not. If they want
you, it can only be as a hostage, to wring information from those who love you."
"And you," I hastened to assure her.
"Those who threaten us may reason so. Fear not, I will defend myself/ I carry a knife as well as
a bow and will use either if I must." Her face grew grave. "It is not for us I fear, but for the Professor and Aunt Amelia. They have not our strong protectors. They are in the greatest danger." Her wise words made me realize, dear Mama and Papa, that in my concern for her I had not given enough attention to your predicament. I should be at your side. I proposed this to Uncle Walter, but he absolutely refused to buy a steamship ticket for me, and since I only possess one pound eleven shillings sixpence I cannot carry out the transaction without his financial assistance. Please telegraph at once and tell him to let me come. I am reluctant to leave Nefret, but the duty (and of course affection of a son supersedes all other responsibilities. Besides, she has Gargery and the others. Besides, she does very well without me. Please telegraph immediately. Please be careful.
Your loving (and at this point in time extremely anxious) son,
Ramses.
P.S. Gargery was very disappointed that he could not rescue Nefret like Sir Galahad.
P.P.S. If you telegraph immediately I can be with you in ten days' time.
P.P.P.S. Or thirteen at the most.
P.P.P.P.S. Please be careful.

It would have required a great deal to turn my attention from Emerson at that moment, but this astonishing epistle almost succeeded. I recalled having mentioned to Ramses, on one occasion, that literary flourishes were best restricted to the written form. Obviously he had taken the suggestion to
heart, but his questionable literary devices (swooning, indeed! What had the child been reading?) did
not conceal his genuine emotion. Poor Ramses! To be rescued instead of rescuer— to fall off a horse,
to be dragged out of a ditch and held up like a sack of dirty laundry, dripping with muddy water, before the eyes of the girl he yearned to impress . . . His humiliation had been complete.
And he had taken it like a man and an Emerson! He had only praise for her whose achievements had
cast his into the shade. And how touching to a maternal heart was that piteous admission: "She does
very well without me." Poor Ramses indeed.
As for Nefret, her behavior confirmed my initial impression of her character and convinced me that she would be a worthy addition to our little family. She had acted with the same vigor and independence I would have displayed, and as effectively. I am not accustomed to cower in corners either.
The very idea of Ramses at my side trying to protect me chilled the blood in my veins, and I only hoped Walter could prevent him from robbing a bank or playing highwayman in order to get the money. Not
that I doubted the sincerity of his protestations. I must remember to telegraph next day, though how precisely to couch the message presented some difficulty. To inform without alarming them . . .
At that moment the rustle of linen brought me flying to Emerson's side. He had turned his head! It was only a slight movement and he did not stir again, but I hovered over him the rest of the night counting every breath and tracing every line of that beloved face with gentle fingers.
The beard would have to go, of course. Unlike his hair, Emerson's beard is very stiff and prickly. I objected to it as well on aesthetic grounds, for it hid the admirable contours of his jaw and chin, as
well as the cleft in the latter organ.
In time of emotional distress the mind tends to focus on petty details. That is a well-known fact and accounts, I believe, for my failure to consider several problems rather more important than Emerson's beard. They were brought to my attention the following morning, when Cyrus entered to fetch me a breakfast tray and inquire how we had passed the night. I persuaded him— without difficulty— to join
me in a cup of coffee, and entertained him by reading excerpts from Ramses's letter.
"I must telegraph at once, to reassure them," I said. "The question is, how much shall I tell them?
They know nothing of what has transpired— "
"My dear Amelia!" Cyrus, who had been chuckling and shaking his head over the letter, immediately sobered. "If they don't know already, they soon will. We made no secret of his disappearance— heck,
we plastered the whole town with notices. Unless I miss my guess, the English newspapers will get
wind of the story from their Cairo correspondents and then we'll be in the headlines. You and your husband are news, you know."
The seriousness of the matter was immediately apparent to me. With Cyrus's help I determined on a course of action. We must telegraph at once, assuring our loved ones that Emerson had been found
and that we were both safe and well, and warning them not to believe anything they read in the newspapers. "For I shudder to think what garbled versions of the facts those confounded journalists
will report," I said bitterly. "Curse it, Cyrus, I ought to have anticipated this I have had enough
unpleasant encounters with the 'gentlemen' of the press."
"You had other things on your mind, my dear. The most important thing is to get poor old Emerson
back on his feet and in possession of his senses He'll take care of the reporters."
"No one does it better," I replied, with a lingering glance at the still face of my spouse. "But the danger is not over. The man responsible for this dastardly act got clean away. We dare not assume he will abandon the scheme. We cannot relax our vigilance for an instant, especially while Emerson lies helpless."
"Don't worry about that" Cyrus stroked his goatee. "Abdullah's relatives have surrounded the place like
a band of Apaches besieging a fort. They've already manhandled my cook and beat up a date peddler."
With my mind at ease on this point, and the telegram having been dispatched, I could return my attention to where my heart already lay. It was a trying time, for as the effects of the opium wore off, other, more alarming, symptoms appeared. They were due, Dr. Wallingford thought, to the other drugs Emerson had been given, but treatment was impossible since we did not know what they were.
Abdullah had returned to the prison to find the place swept clean. The police denied having taken anything away, and I was prepared to believe them, since they would not have had the sense to search
the scene of the crime. It was evident that the kidnapper had returned to remove any evidence that might incriminate him. This was an ominous sign, but I had no leisure to consider the ramifications or contend with the reporters who, as Cyrus had predicted, besieged us clamoring for news. Dr Wallingford moved into one of the guest rooms and concentrated on his most interesting patient. His full attention was required, for coma was succeeded by delirium, and for two days it required all our efforts to prevent Emerson from harming himself or us. "At least we know his physical strength is not seriously impaired,"
I remarked, picking myself up off the floor where Emerson's flailing arm had flung me.
"It is the unnatural strength of mania," declared Dr. Wallingford, rubbing his bruised shoulder.
"Nevertheless, I find it reassuring," I said. "I have seen him this way before. It is my own fault, I ought
to have known better than . . . Get hold of his feet, Cyrus, he is trying to get out of bed again!"
Anubis had prudently retired to the top of the dresser, where he squatted, watching with wide green eyes. In the brief lull that followed Emerson's fit of agitation I became aware of a low rumbling sound. The cat was purring! Abdullah would have taken it for another sign of diabolical intelligence, but I felt a strange, irrational surge of renewed hope— as if the creature's purr were a good omen rather than the reverse.
I needed all the encouragement I could find during the dreadful hours that followed, but finally, after midnight on the third night, I dared to believe the worst was over. At last Emerson lay still. The rest of
us sat round the bed, nursing our bruises and catching our breath. My eyes blurred, I was giddy and light-headed from lack of sleep. The scene was unreal, like a two-dimensional photograph of some
past event— the smoky lamplight casting its shadows over the strained faces of the watchers and the emaciated features of the sick man, the silence unbroken except for the rustle of leaves outside the
open window and Emerson's slow, regular breathing.
My senses did not dare to register that sign at first. When I rose and tiptoed to the bed, Dr. Wallingford came with me His examination was brief. When he straightened, his tired face wore a smile.
"It is sleep— sound, natural sleep. Get some rest now, Mrs. Emerson He will want to see you smiling
and well when he wakes in the morning."
I would have resisted, but I could not, Cyrus had to half-carry me into the adjoining dressing room,
where a cot had been placed for me. The unconscious mind— in which I firmly believe, despite its questionable status— knew I could now abandon my vigil, and I slept like the dead for six hours.
Waking, filled with energy, I bounded from bed and rushed to the next room.
At least such was my intention. I was brought to a sudden stop by an apparition that appeared before me— shockingly pale, dreadfully disheveled, wild-eyed and unkempt. It was several seconds before I
recognized my own image, reflected in the mirror over the dressing table.
A quick glance into the adjoining chamber assured me that Emerson still slept and that the good doctor, eyeglasses askew and cravat loosened, dozed in the chair next to the bed Hastily I set about making a
few essential repairs, smoothing my hair, pinching color into my cheeks, assuming my most elaborately ruffled and beribboned dressing gown. My hands shook, I was as tremulous as a young girl preparing
for an assignation with her lover.
Sounds from the next room brought me flying to the door, for I recognized the querulous grunts and groans with which Emerson was wont to greet the day. If he was not himself again, he was producing
a good imitation.
Cyrus, who must have been listening outside the door, entered when I did. Dr. Wallingford waved us back. Leaning over the bed, he said, "Do you know who you are?"
He was weary, poor fellow, or no doubt he would have found more felicitous phraseology. Emerson stared at him. "What a damned fool question," he replied. "Of course I know who I am. More to the point, sir, who the devil are you?"
"Please, Professor," Wallingford exclaimed. "Your language! There is a lady present."
Emerson's eyes swept the room in a slow survey and came to rest on me where I stood with hands clasped to my breast in order to still the telltale flutter of the ruffles that betrayed my wildly beating
heart. "If she doesn't care for my language she can leave the room. I did not invite her."
Cyrus could contain himself no longer. "You blamed fool," he burst out, clenching his fists. "Don't you recognize her? If she had not dropped in uninvited a few days ago, you wouldn't be alive and
blaspheming this morning."
"Another confounded intruder," Emerson muttered, glowering at Cyrus. He looked back at me ... And
this time there could be no mistake. The brilliant blue orbs were clear and conscious, and cool with indifference. They narrowed and his brows drew together. "Wait, though— the features are familiar, though the costume is not. Is she the unsuitably attired female who popped into my pleasant little room last night, like a cork forced into a bottle, and then proceeded to pepper the empty doorway with bullets? Females should not be allowed to handle firearms."
"It wasn't last night, it was three days ago," snapped Cyrus, his goatee quivering. "She saved your life with that pistol, you— you— " He broke off, with an apologetic glance at me.
A gleam of white teeth appeared amid the tangle of Emerson's beard. "I do not know you, sir, but you appear to be a hot-tempered fellow— unlike myself. I am always calm and reasonable. Reason compels me to confess that the doorway may not have been empty, and that this lady may have rendered me some small assistance. Thank you, madam. Now go away."
His eyes closed. A peremptory gesture from the doctor sent both of us from the room. Cyrus, still quivering with indignation, put a protective arm around me. Gently but decisively I removed it.
"I am quite composed, Cyrus. I do not require to be soothed."
"Your courage amazes me," Cyrus exclaimed. "To hear him deny you— sneer at your devotion and daring— "
"Well, you see," I said with a faint smile, "it isn't the first time I have heard such remarks from
Emerson. I had hoped, Cyrus, but I had not really expected anything else. Having nerved myself to
expect the worst, I was prepared for it."
In silence he placed his hand on my shoulder. I allowed it to remain, and neither of us spoke again until the doctor emerged from Emerson's room.
"I am sorry, Mrs. Emerson," he said gently. "Pray don't be disheartened. He has not forgotten everything. He knows his name and his profession. He asked after his brother Walter, and declared his intention of proceeding at once to his excavations."
"Where?" I asked intently. "Did he say where he intended to work this season?"
"Amarna," was the reply. "Is that important?"
"It was at Amarna that he was working when we became . . . well acquainted."
"Hmmm. Yes. You may have found the clue, Mrs. Emerson. His memory of events is clear and precise up to a period approximately thirteen years ago. He remembers nothing that has happened since that time."
"Since the day we . . became acquainted," I said thoughtfully.
The doctor put his hand on my other shoulder. Men seem to think this gesture has a soothing effect. "Don't despair, Mrs. Emerson. He is out of danger, but he is still much weaker than his— er— peremptory manner might lead you to believe. It may be that his memory will return as his health improves"
"And maybe it won't," muttered Cyrus. "You're pretty doggoned nonchalant about it, Doc, isn't there anything you can do?"
"I am not a specialist in nervous disorders," was the huffy reply. "I would certainly welcome a second opinion "
"No offense meant," Cyrus said quickly. "I guess we're all pretty tired and short-tempered. A specialist
in nervous disorders, you said . . Hey! Wait a minute!"
His face lit up and he stopped twisting his goatee, which had gone quite limp under his attentions.
"I guess the good Lord must be on our side after all. One of the world's greatest experts in mental disorders is on his way to Luxor at this very moment, if he is not already here. Talk about the luck
of the devil!"
"What is his name?" the doctor asked skeptically.
"Schadenfreude. Sigismund Schadenfreude. He's a crackerjack, take my word for it."
"The Viennese specialist? His theories are somewhat unorthodox— "
"But they work," Cyrus declared enthusiastically. "I was a patient of his myself a few years ago."
"You, Cyrus?" I exclaimed.
Cyrus looked down and shuffled his feet like a guilty schoolboy. "You remember, Amelia— that business with Lady Baskerville? I gave my heart to that woman, and she smashed it to smithereens. I went around like a droopy-eared hound dog for quite a while, and then I heard about Schadenfreude. He set me straight in a matter of weeks."
"I am very sorry, Cyrus I had no idea."
"Water over the dam, my dear. I've been footloose and fancy-free ever since. I told Schadenfreude
when we parted company to let me know if he was ever in Egypt and I'd show him what an archaeological dig was like. He must have arrived in Cairo right after I left Got his letter a few days ago—paid no attention to it at the time—other things on my mind— but if I remember rightly, he
planned to be in Luxor sometime this week. What do you say I run over and see if he's available?"
Of course the matter was not so easily arranged as Cyrus's sympathetic enthusiasm led him to hope.