Lion In The Valley Part 1

LION IN THE VALLEY.

by Elizabeth Peters.

Foreword.

In this, the fourth volume of the memoirs of Amelia Peabody Emerson (Mrs. Radcliffe Emerson), the editor once again deems it expedient to explain certain anomalies and obscurities in the text. Mrs. Emerson was not as careful as she might have been about noting the dates of her entries. She seems to have picked up the current volume of her journal and scribbled away until something happened to distract her. However, from certain internal evidence, it seems likely that the current volume concerns events of the 1895-96 season. (Egyptologists tend to use this method of dating, since the archaeological "year" runs from late fall until early spring, the climate of Egypt making summer excavations extremely difficult.) As the editor has had occasion to mention, the names of most of the persons involved have been changed, in order to spare the feelings of descendants of said individuals. The informed reader will recognize some names as those of well-known archaeologists, who appear only peripherally. Mrs. Emerson seems to have been fairly accurate in describing their activities; however, it would be a serious error to a.s.sume that she was equally accurate in reporting their conversations with her, for, like her distinguished husband, she had a decided tendency to attribute to other people opinions of her own.

Another obscurity in the ur-text (if the editor may so describe the journals themselves) arises from the fact that at some point Mrs. Emerson apparently decided to edit them for eventual publication. (See her remarks on p. 73) Since she was as inconsistent about her revision as she was about dating her pages, the result is sometimes a peculiar blend of journalistic and novelistic styles.

In other words, none of the eccentricities of the present volume are the responsibility of the editor. She has done the best she could and would suggest that complaints, criticisms, and other pejorative comments be addressed to the heirs of Professor and Mrs. Emerson, not to her.

One.

"My dear Peabody," said Emerson, "pray correct me if I am mistaken; but I sense a diminution of that restless ardor for living that is so noted a characteristic of yours, particularly upon occasions such as this. Since that happy day that saw us united, never a cloud has dimmed the beaming orb of matrimonial bliss; and that remarkable circ.u.mstance derives, I am certain, from the perfect communion that marks our union. Confide, I implore, in the fortunate man whose designated role is to support and shelter you, and whose greatest happiness is to share your own."

I felt certain Emerson must have worked this speech out in advance. No one talks like that in the course of ordinary conversation.

I knew, however, that the formality of his speech failed adequately to express the sincere devotion that had inspired it. My dear Emerson and I have been of one mind and one heart ever since the day we met in the Egyptian Museum of Boulaq. (In actual fact, our first meeting was distinctly acrimonious. I was a mere tourist at that time, on my maiden visit to the land of the pharaohs; and yet, scarcely had I set foot on that fabled soil than the bright flame of Egyptological fervor was kindled in my bosom, a flame that soon became a roaring conflagration. Little did I suspect, that day in the museum, as I energetically defended myself against the unwarranted criticisms hurled at me by the fascinating stranger, that we would soon meet again, under even more romantic circ.u.mstances, in an abandoned tomb at El Amarna. The setting, at least, was romantic. Emerson, I confess, was not. However, a subtle instinct told me that beneath Emerson's caustic remarks and black scowls his heart beat only for me, and, as events proved, I was correct.) one mind and one heart ever since the day we met in the Egyptian Museum of Boulaq. (In actual fact, our first meeting was distinctly acrimonious. I was a mere tourist at that time, on my maiden visit to the land of the pharaohs; and yet, scarcely had I set foot on that fabled soil than the bright flame of Egyptological fervor was kindled in my bosom, a flame that soon became a roaring conflagration. Little did I suspect, that day in the museum, as I energetically defended myself against the unwarranted criticisms hurled at me by the fascinating stranger, that we would soon meet again, under even more romantic circ.u.mstances, in an abandoned tomb at El Amarna. The setting, at least, was romantic. Emerson, I confess, was not. However, a subtle instinct told me that beneath Emerson's caustic remarks and black scowls his heart beat only for me, and, as events proved, I was correct.) His tender discernment was not at fault. A dark foreboding did indeed shadow the joy that would normally have flooded my being at such a time. We stood on the deck of the vessel that had borne us swiftly across the broad Mediterranean; the breeze of its pa.s.sage across the blue waters ruffled our hair and tugged at our garments. Ahead we could see the Egyptian coast, where we would land before the day was over. We were about to enter upon another season of archaeological investigation, the most recent of many we had shared. Soon we would be exploring the stifling, bat-infested corridors of one pyramid and the muddy, flooded burial chamber of another-scenes that would under ordinary circ.u.mstances have inspired in me a s.h.i.+ver of rapturous antic.i.p.ation. How many other women-particularly in that final decade of the nineteenth century-had so many reasons to rejoice?

Emerson-who prefers to be addressed by his surname, since he considers "Radcliffe" affected and effeminate (his very words)-had chosen me as his equal partner, not only in marriage, but in the profession we both have the honor to adorn. Emerson is the finest excavator of Egyptian antiquities the world has seen. I do not doubt his name will be revered as "The Father of Scientific Excavation" as long as civilization endures upon this troubled globe. And my name-the name of Amelia Peabody Emerson-will be enshrined alongside his.

Forgive my enthusiasm, dear Reader. The contemplation of Emerson's excellent qualities never fails to arouse emotion. Nor is his excellence restricted to his intellectual qualities. I feel no shame in confessing that his physical attributes were not the least of the elements that made me decide to accept his proposal of marriage. From the raven hair upon his broad brow to the dimple (which he prefers to call a cleft) in his chin, he is a model of masculine strength and good looks.

Emerson appears to be equally appreciative of my physical attributes. Candidly, I have never fully understood this att.i.tude. Mine is not a type of beauty I admire. Features rather less p.r.o.nounced, eyes of a softer and paler hue, a figure greater in stature and more restrained in the region above the waist, locks of sunny gold instead of jetty black-these are my ideals of female loveliness. Luckily for me, Emerson does not share them.

His large brown hand lay next to mine on the rail of the vessel. It was not the hand of a gentleman; but to me the callouses and scars that marked those tanned and stalwart members were badges of honor. I remembered the occasions on which they had wielded weapons or tools in the course of his labors; and other occasions on which they had demonstrated a delicacy of touch that induced the most remarkable of sensations. induced the most remarkable of sensations.

Emerson has many admirable qualities, but patience is not one of them. Lost in my reveries, I failed to respond at once to his question. He seized me by the shoulders and spun me around to face him. His blue eyes blazed like sapphires, his lips curled back from his white teeth, and the dimple in his chin quivered ominously.

"Why the devil don't you answer me?" he shouted. "How can you remain unmoved by such an appeal? What ails you, Peabody? I will be cursed if I can understand women. You ought to be on your knees thanking heaven-and ME ME-for the happiness in store for you. It wasn't easy, you know, persuading de Morgan to give up the site to us; it required all the subtle tact of which I am capable. No one but I could have done it. No one but I would would have done it. And how do you repay me? By sighing and moping!" have done it. And how do you repay me? By sighing and moping!"

It would have been immediately apparent, to anyone familiar with the circ.u.mstances he described, that Emerson was again engaging in his endearing habit of self-deception. The Director of the Antiquities Service, M. de Morgan, had had yielded to us the archaeological site at which he himself had worked the previous year, and which had already produced a number of remarkable discoveries. However, Emerson's subtle tact, a quality that exists only in his imagination, had nothing to do with it. I was not precisely sure what had produced M. de Morgan's change of heart. Or, to be more exact, I had certain suspicions I preferred not to think about. It was a natural progression from those suspicions to the excuse I now uttered to account for my somber mood. yielded to us the archaeological site at which he himself had worked the previous year, and which had already produced a number of remarkable discoveries. However, Emerson's subtle tact, a quality that exists only in his imagination, had nothing to do with it. I was not precisely sure what had produced M. de Morgan's change of heart. Or, to be more exact, I had certain suspicions I preferred not to think about. It was a natural progression from those suspicions to the excuse I now uttered to account for my somber mood.

"I am distressed about Ramses, Emerson. To have our son misbehave so badly, just when I had hoped we might get through one voyage without incident....

How many boys of eight, I wonder, have been threatened with keelhauling by the captain of a British merchant vessel?"

"That was merely the captain's bluff, maritime exaggeration," Emerson replied impatiently. "He would not dare do such a thing. You are not concerned about Ramses, Peabody; he does this sort of thing all the time, and you ought to be accustomed to it."

"This sort of thing, Emerson? Ramses has done a number of unspeakable things, but to the best of my knowledge this is the first time he has instigated a mutiny."

"Nonsense! Simply because a few ignorant seamen misunderstood his lectures on the theories of that fellow Marx-"

' 'He had no business lecturing the crew-or being in their quarters in the first place. They gave him spirits, Emerson, I know they did. Even Ramses would not have spoken back to the captain in such terms had he not been intoxicated."

Emerson looked as if he wanted to protest, but since he obviously shared my opinion he found himself with nothing to say. I went on, "What is even more incomprehensible is why the crewmen should endure Ramses' presence, much less share their cherished grog, as I believe it is called. What possible pleasure could they find in his company?"

"One of them told me they enjoyed hearing him talk. 'Wot a mouth that nipper 'as' was the exact phrase."

A reluctant smile touched his lips as he spoke. Emerson's lips are among his most admirable features, chiseled and flexible, shaped with precise delicacy and yet not lacking in fullness. I felt my own lips respond with an answering smile. The untutored sailor had hit the nail on the head, so to speak.

"Forget Ramses," Emerson said. "I insist, Amelia, that you tell me what is worrying you."

Despite his smile he was not in good temper with me; his use of my proper name indicated as much. "Peabody," my maiden name, is the one he uses in moments of marital or professional approbation. With a sigh, I yielded.

"A strange foreboding has come over me, Emerson." Emerson's eyes narrowed. "Indeed, Amelia?" "I am only surprised you do not share it." "I do not. At this moment my heart is suffused with the most agreeable sensations. Not a cloud-"

"You have made your point, Emerson. And if you will forgive my mentioning it, that particular metaphor-" "Are you criticizing my rhetorical style, Amelia?" "If you are going to take offense at the least little thing I say, Emerson, I cannot confide in you. I didn't want to cloud your happiness with my worries. Are you certain you want me to tell you?"

His head on one side, Emerson considered the question. "No," he said.

"You mean you are not certain, or-" "I mean I don't want you to tell me. I don't want to hear about your foreboding." "But you asked-" "I have changed my mind." "Then you share the sense of impending-" "I didn't until this moment," Emerson snarled. "Curse it, Amelia-"

"How strange. I was certain the sympathy between us was complete."

The expression on Emerson's handsome countenance might have led an observer to suppose it was not sympathy but rising fury that caused his brows to lower and his eyes to snap. Since I had a few doubts on that subject myself, I hastened to satisfy the curiosity he had expressed some minutes earlier. his eyes to snap. Since I had a few doubts on that subject myself, I hastened to satisfy the curiosity he had expressed some minutes earlier.

"Naturally I look forward to the work of this season. You know my enthusiasm for pyramids, and one could hardly find finer specimens than at Dahshoor. I particularly antic.i.p.ate investigating the burial chamber of the Black Pyramid under more auspicious circ.u.mstances than those that surrounded our initial visit. One's critical faculties are not at their best after one has been dropped through Stygian darkness into a flooded subterranean pit and left to perish there."

Emerson had released his hold on my shoulders and turned back to the rail. His eyes fixed on the horizon, he said rapidly, "We will have to wait until later in the season to explore the Black Pyramid, after the inundation has receded to its lowest point. If the chamber is still flooded, perhaps a pump-"

"I have also considered that problem, my dear Emerson. However, that is not the issue at the present time."

"A hydraulic pump, with a hose-"

"Have you forgotten, Emerson, the circ.u.mstances under which we first made our acquaintance with the interior of the Black Pyramid?"

"I am not so elderly that I suffer from lapses of memory," Emerson replied waspishly. "Nor have I forgotten your response when I expressed my intention of dying in your arms. I confess I had expected a trifle more appreciation."

"You misunderstood me, Emerson. As I said at the time, I would be happy to have that arrangement prevail should the inevitability of doom be upon us. I never doubted for a moment, my dear, that you would find a way out. And I was quite correct."

I moved closer and leaned against his shoulder.

"Well," Emerson said gruffly. "We did get out, didn't we? Though if it had not been for Ramses-"

"Let's not talk about Ramses or the circ.u.mstances of our escape. You know what is on my mind, Emerson, for I am certain that it haunts you in equal measure. I will never forget our final encounter with the villain who was responsible for our near demise. I can still see his sneering smile and hear his contemptuous words. 'This, then, is farewell. I trust we shall not meet again.' "

Emerson's hands clenched on the rail with such force that the tendons stood out like whipcord. However, he did not speak, so I continued, "Nor can I forget the vow I made at the time. 'We will meet again, never fear; for I will make it my business to hunt you down and put an end to your nefarious activities.' "

Emerson's hands relaxed. In a querulous tone he remarked, "You may have been thinking that at the time, Amelia, but you certainly didn't say so, not until that young whippersnapper from the Daily Yell Daily Yell interviewed you this past July. You deliberately deceived me about that interview, Amelia. You never told me you had invited O'Connell to my house. You smuggled him in and smuggled him out, and instructed my own servants to keep me in the dark-" interviewed you this past July. You deliberately deceived me about that interview, Amelia. You never told me you had invited O'Connell to my house. You smuggled him in and smuggled him out, and instructed my own servants to keep me in the dark-"

"I was only trying to spare you, my dear, knowing how you dislike Mr. O'Connell. After all, you once kicked him down the stairs-"

"I did no such thing," said Emerson, who honestly believed this. ' 'But I might have done, if I had caught him in my drawing room smirking and leering at my wife and getting ready to print a pack of lies about me. His story was absolutely embarra.s.sing. Besides, it was inaccurate."

"Now, Emerson, I must differ with you. I am certain one of us hurled that challenge at the Master Criminal; perhaps it was you who said it. In the interview I may have omitted a few of Ramses' activities, for I thoroughly disapprove of giving children too high an opinion of themselves. In every other way the report was entirely accurate, and it certainly did not embarra.s.s ME. What, am I not to praise my husband for his courage and strength, and commend him for rescuing me from certain death?"

"Er, hmmm," said Emerson. "Well, but Peabody-"

"Mark my words, Emerson, we have not seen the last of that villain. He managed to escape us, but we foiled his plot and deprived him of his ill-gotten treasure. He is not the man to accept defeat without an attempt at revenge."

"How can you say that? You don't know a thing about the fellow, not even his nationality."

"He is an Englishman, Emerson. I am convinced of that."

"He spoke Arabic with as much facility as English," Emerson pointed out. "And you never saw his face when it was not swathed in hair. Never in my life have I seen such a beard! Would you know him if you saw him again sans beard?"

"Certainly."

"Humph." Emerson put his arm around my shoulders and drew me closer. "Well, Peabody, I admit that nothing would give me greater pleasure than to punch that swine on the nose, and if he intrudes into our affairs I will deal with him as he deserves. But I have no intention of looking for trouble. I have better things to do. Promise me, Peabody, that you will leave well enough alone."

"Oh, certainly, my dear Emerson."

"Promise."

"I promise I will not go looking for trouble."

"My darling Peabody!" Emerson drew me into a fond embrace, careless of the watching sailors.

I had every intention of keeping my word. Why look for trouble when trouble is certain to come looking for you?

After disembarking at Alexandria, we boarded the train for Cairo. The journey takes a trifle over four hours, and it is considered somewhat tedious by most travelers, since the route crosses the featureless alluvial plains of the Delta. To the trained eye of an archaeologist, however, each mound, or "tell," indicates the presence of a buried city. Ramses and Emerson were constantly arguing about the identification of these sites, an argument in which I took no part since I do not see the sense in debating matters concerning which so few facts are known. As I told them, only excavation will determine the truth.

Not until we were within a few miles of our destination was the view enlivened by the sight of the Giza pyramids in the purple distance, framed by the low Libyan hills. It was always at this point, and not on the crowded quay at Alexandria, that I felt I had really arrived in Egypt.

Emerson smiled at me in silent sympathy before turning back to feast his eyes upon the glorious vision. He had profanely consented to put on his new gray suit, and was looking particularly handsome-though I confess that Emerson's splendid physique shows to best advantage in his working costume of shabby trousers and a rumpled s.h.i.+rt open at the throat, with rolled sleeves baring his muscular forearms. He was not wearing a hat because Emerson consistently refuses to wear a hat even when working under the baking sun, and it is beyond my powers of persuasion (extensive though they are) to overcome this prejudice of his. sleeves baring his muscular forearms. He was not wearing a hat because Emerson consistently refuses to wear a hat even when working under the baking sun, and it is beyond my powers of persuasion (extensive though they are) to overcome this prejudice of his.

The elegance of his appearance was only slightly marred by the great brindled feline perched on his knee. The cat Bastet was staring out the window of the train with an interest as keen as Emerson's, and I wondered if she realized she had returned to the land of her birth. Ramses would have claimed she did, for he had an exaggerated opinion of the creature's intelligence. She had been his constant companion ever since she had joined our family several years before, and was now an experienced traveler, since Ramses insisted on taking her with him wherever he went. I must say she was far less trouble than her youthful master.

Ramses-ah, Ramses! My eloquent pen falters when I attempt in a few words to convey the complex personality contained in the body of the eight-year-old boy who is my only child. Some superst.i.tious Egyptians actually claimed he was not a child at all, but a jinni that had taken up its abode in Ramses' meager frame. There are good jinn and evil jinn (the latter being commonly called efreets), for this cla.s.s of mythological beings is morally neutral in origin, an intermediate species between men and angels. I had not chosen to inquire to which cla.s.s Ramses was commonly believed to belong.

Ramses was grubby and disheveled, of course. Ramses is almost always grubby and disheveled. He is drawn to dirt as a crocodile is drawn to water. He had been (for Ramses) relatively tidy when we got on the train. An hour or so after we left Alexandria I looked around and found him missing from our compartment. This did not surprise me, since Ramses had an uncanny knack of disappearing when the spirit moved him to do so. It was a particularly disconcerting talent in a boy whose normal progression through a room was marked by a singular degree of clumsiness, owing in large part to his propensity to undertake tasks beyond his ability. knack of disappearing when the spirit moved him to do so. It was a particularly disconcerting talent in a boy whose normal progression through a room was marked by a singular degree of clumsiness, owing in large part to his propensity to undertake tasks beyond his ability.

At Emerson's insistence I went looking for the boy and found him in a third-cla.s.s carriage, squatting on the floor and engaged in animated conversation with a woman whose flimsy and immodest attire left no doubt in my mind as to her profession. I removed Ramses and returned him to our compartment, placing him in a seat next to the window so he could not elude me again.

He, too, had turned to admire the pyramids. I could see only his filthy collar and the tumbled ma.s.s of tight black curls that adorned his head; but I knew his saturnine countenance betrayed no emotion to speak of. Ramses' countenance is habitually impa.s.sive. His nose is rather large, and his chin matches his nose. His coloring is not at all English; one might easily mistake him for an Egyptian youth, and it was this resemblance, in addition to his regal manner, that had prompted Emerson to give him the nickname of Ramses. (For I hope the reader knows, without my telling him or her, that I would never agree to have a British infant christened with such an outlandish appellation.) Since the heads of Ramses and Emerson, not to mention the cat, blocked my view, I leaned back and relaxed-without, however, taking my eyes from the back of my son's head.

As was my custom, I had engaged rooms at Shepheard's. Emerson complained bitterly about staying there. He complains every year, so I paid no attention. Some of the newer hotels are as comfortable, but in addition to offering all the amenities a person of refinement can expect, Shepheard's has the advantage of being the center of the haut monde of Cairo. My reasons for preferring this hotel are the very reasons why Emerson complains of it. He would much prefer lodgings in the native quarter, where he can wallow in the genial lack of sanitation that distinguishes lowercla.s.s hotels and pensions. (Men are by instinct untidy animals. Emerson is one of the few who has the courage to state his sentiments aloud.) Now I can "rough it" with the best of them, but I see no reason to deny myself comfort when it is available. I wanted a few days to recover from the crowded and uncomfortable conditions on board s.h.i.+p before retiring to the desert. addition to offering all the amenities a person of refinement can expect, Shepheard's has the advantage of being the center of the haut monde of Cairo. My reasons for preferring this hotel are the very reasons why Emerson complains of it. He would much prefer lodgings in the native quarter, where he can wallow in the genial lack of sanitation that distinguishes lowercla.s.s hotels and pensions. (Men are by instinct untidy animals. Emerson is one of the few who has the courage to state his sentiments aloud.) Now I can "rough it" with the best of them, but I see no reason to deny myself comfort when it is available. I wanted a few days to recover from the crowded and uncomfortable conditions on board s.h.i.+p before retiring to the desert.

A most reasonable att.i.tude, I am sure all would agree. Emerson's claim, that I stay at Shepheard's in order to catch up on the gossip, is just one of his little jokes.

I have heard people say that it is difficult to get accommodations at Shepheard's during the height of the season, but I have never had the least trouble. Of course we were old and valued clients. The rumor that Mr. Baehler, the manager, is in mortal terror of Emerson and fears to deny him anything he asks is, of course, ridiculous. Mr. Baehler is a tail, st.u.r.dy gentleman, and I am sure he would never be intimidated in that manner.

He stood on the terrace waiting to greet us-and, naturally, the other guests who had arrived on the Alexandria train. His splendid head of silvery-white hair stood out above the crowd. As we prepared to descend from our carriage, another conveyance drew up behind. It would have attracted our notice, if for no other reason, because of the effect it had on the guests sitting at the tables on the terrace. A kind of universal stiffening ran through them; all heads turned toward the newcomers, and a moment of breathless silence was succeeded by an outbreak of hissing, whispered conversation. an outbreak of hissing, whispered conversation.

The open carriage was drawn by two perfectly matched grays. Scarlet plumes adorned their harness, and they tossed their handsome heads and pranced like the aristocratic beasts they clearly were.

The driver jumped from his seat and handed the reins to the groom who had been mounted behind. The former was tall and thin, lithe as a panther in riding costume and polished boots. His black hair looked as if it had received a coating of the same boot polish; his narrow black mustache might have been drawn in India ink. A monocle in his right eye caught the sunlight in a blinding flash.

Emerson exclaimed aloud, "By the Lord Harry, it is that villain Kalenischeff!"

Emerson's accents are not noted for their softness. All heads turned toward us, including that of Kalenischeff. His cynical smile stiffened, but he recovered himself almost at once and turned to a.s.sist the other pa.s.senger from the carriage.

Jewels shone at her throat and on her slender wrists. Her frock of gray-green silk was of the latest Paris mode, with balloon sleeves bigger around than her narrow waist. A huge cravat of white chiffon was pinned by a diamond-and-emerald brooch. Her parasol matched her frock. Under it I caught a glimpse of a lovely, laughing face with cheeks and lips more brilliant than Nature had designed.

The das.h.i.+ng couple swept up the stairs and into the hotel.

"Well!" I said. "I wonder who-"

"Never mind," said Emerson, taking me firmly by the arm.

We had our usual rooms on the third floor, overlooking the Ezbekieh Gardens. After we had unpacked and changed our attire, we went down to take tea on the terrace. Emerson grumbled less than usual at the performance of what he terms "an absurd social ritual," for we were all thirsty after the long, dusty ride. and changed our attire, we went down to take tea on the terrace. Emerson grumbled less than usual at the performance of what he terms "an absurd social ritual," for we were all thirsty after the long, dusty ride.

Tea on the terrace of Shepheard's is certainly one of the popular tourist activities, but even old hands like ourselves never tire of watching the vivacious procession of Egyptian life that pa.s.ses along Ibrahim Pasha Street. The environs of the hotel teem with crowds of beggars, vendors, donkey boys and carriage drivers, all vying for the custom of the guests. Once we had seated ourselves and given the waiter our order, I took a list from my pocket and read it to Ramses. It was a list of things he was forbidden to do. It began, as I recall, with "Do not talk to the donkey boys," and ended, "Do not repeat any of the words you learned from the donkey boys last year." Ramses' Arabic was fluent and unfortunately quite colloquial.

We saw a number of acquaintances pa.s.s in and out of the hotel, but none came to speak to us, and there were none with whom we cared to speak; not an Egyptologist in the lot, as Emerson put it. I was about to suggest that we retire to our rooms when another oath from my outspoken husband warned me of the approach of someone who had inspired his disapproval. Turning, I beheld Kalenischeff.

He wore his fixed smile like a mask. "Good afternoon, madame-Professor-Master Ramses. Welcome back to Cairo. May I... ?"

"No," said Emerson, s.n.a.t.c.hing the chair from Kalenischeff's grasp. "How dare you address Mrs. Emerson? Your very presence is an insult to any respectable woman."

"Now, Emerson." I raised my parasol to indicate another chair. Kalenischeff flinched; he was remembering, no doubt, another occasion on which I had been forced to jab the point into his anatomy in order to prevent a rude encroachment upon my nether limbs. I went on, "Let us hear what he has to say." no doubt, another occasion on which I had been forced to jab the point into his anatomy in order to prevent a rude encroachment upon my nether limbs. I went on, "Let us hear what he has to say."

"I won't take much of your time." Kalenischeff decided not to sit down after all. He lowered his voice. "I would like to come to an agreement with you. A bargain-"

"What?" Emerson shouted. "A bargain? I don't enter into agreements with murdering, thieving-"

"Hush, Emerson," I implored. The people at the adjoining tables had abandoned all pretense of good manners and were eavesdropping as hard as they could. "Hear him out."

Kalenischeff's smile stayed glued in place, but drops of perspiration stood out on his brow. "I know your opinion of me," he hissed. "No bargain, then, only a promise from me. I am about to leave Cairo-to leave Egypt, in fact. Only give me a few days to wind up my affairs-don't interfere with me-and I swear you will never see or hear from me again."

"Where are you going?" I asked curiously.

"That need not concern you, Mrs. Emerson."

"You will have to travel to the ends of the earth to escape the long arm of your former master," I said significantly.