The Hippopotamus Pool (46 page)

"Good afternoon, Bertha," I said.

The nurse had followed me in. Instead of returning my greeting, Bertha said, "Search her. She is usually a walking arsenal, so don't miss anything."

I did not resist as the woman's hands moved over me, removing my pistol and knife. Resistance would have been futile and undignified. And those were not the weapons I meant to use.

"Now will you offer me a chair?" I inquired.

"Did you recognize me, then? I thought I had taken every possible precaution."

"No, I deduced your presence," I said. "Would you like me to explain?"

She studied me suspiciously. "I must admit you have aroused my curiosity, but if this is a ruse to detain me until your friends arrive—"

"Nothing of the sort. I came alone. Won't you sit down? In your condition you should not be standing."

"That too?" She laughed, briefly and harshly, but she followed my suggestion, smoothing the black fabric across her abdomen in a gesture that confirmed my diagnosis. "How?"

"Taueret. She was the patroness of childbirth. I didn't catch that at first," I admitted handsomely. "I believed the hippopotamus goddess had quite another significance. However, I had deduced that one of the tourists must be the unknown enemy we feared, and when I saw the poor widow lady in Luxor . .. There is a certain way of walking characteristic of a woman who is advanced in pregnancy. Six or seven months, isn't it? In heaven's name, Bertha, how could you risk your life and that of the child in this desperate enterprise?"

"It is kind of you to be concerned," she said with a sneer. "But I risked nothing. I expected to conclude the enterprise and return to Europe this month, and if I was delayed—well, Egypt is becoming known as a health resort and Dr. Willoughby has an excellent reputation. Aren't you going to ask the name of the father—or have you deduced that as well?"

"That is not my affair," I replied.

"So long as it is not your husband?" Another burst of harsh laughter. "I would like to make you believe that, but I could not, could I?"

"No."

The nurse had slipped out of the room. Now she returned and nodded at Bertha, who acknowledged the nod with one of her own.

"You did tell the truth; no one has followed you. Speak then, Mrs. Emerson. I presume you are anxious to prove how clever you are."

"Boasting is a habit in which I never indulge," I replied, settling myself more comfortably. "I sought you out because I too was curious about a few minor details. I knew that other criminals would attempt to take over Sethos's lucrative business as soon as the news of his death got out. Who would know of it sooner than you, who was with us last year when he met his end? You saw the opportunity, and, with a quickness and audacity I would admire had it been devoted to a nobler end, decided to take advantage of it. But no woman could assume that dominant role in this male-oriented society—or, if I must be honest, in our own—without male authority to reinforce hers. You have represented yourself as acting for Sethos, haven't you? The reference I overheard one night, to 'the Master,' ought to have made me suspicious. I ought to have expected as well that legends would form around that towering figure, as they formed around other great leaders, such as Charlemagne and Arthur. His superstitious followers considered him a mighty magician; it would not be difficult to convince them that he had survived and would return one day; and he had the ability, I believe, to command the loyalty—even the affection—of his lieutenants. By claiming to be his representative you could win that loyalty for yourself."

I waited for her to comment. She said nothing, only watched me with unblinking blue eyes and a most curious expression, so I continued.

"You needed all the help you could get against a man like Riccetti, but you had one advantage he lacked: you knew where the tomb was located. As I reconstruct the story, the tomb was found some ten years ago and certain objects, like the statuette of Tetisheri, were taken from it. After Sethos took over the antiquities trade, the looting of Tetisheri's tomb stopped. I am not entirely certain of the reasons, which are in any case irrelevant to this discussion. The discovery of the grisly mummy may have been a factor, or the mysterious disappearances of certain men of Gurneh, or fear of Sethos. After his death the Gurnawis decided it would be safe to renew their activities. You learned of this through your connections with the followers of Sethos, but you were not the only one who wanted to replace the Master Criminal. Riccetti, driven from his position by Sethos, determined to regain it. He knew there was such a tomb, but he did not know its location. He sent Shelmadine to us with a story he hoped would arouse the competitive instincts of my husband, and inspire us to find the tomb for him. He had already conceived the ingenious idea of allowing us to clear it and then steal the treasures.

"You had been watching Riccetti. You did not know how much he knew, and you were afraid Shelmadine would be able to direct us to the tomb. You were staying at Shepheard's; you sent one of your people—our friend Matilda here?—to kill Shelmadine. You dispatched the suffragi on an errand, and Matilda carried the body to your room."

She gave me neither yea nor nay; her unblinking blue eyes remained fixed on my face.

"You were less subtle than Riccetti," I went on. "At first you intended a straightforward robbery of the tomb. We fought off several such incursions, and then you had intelligence enough to revise your plans.

"You had a spy in Riccetti's camp—Abd el Hamed. His desire for revenge—and the persuasions of the female person in the next room— made him a ready ally. You knew where Riccetti was staying in Luxor and what he was doing; but you wisely refrained from challenging him directly. You waited, with that serpentine patience of yours, and finally Riccetti made the mistake you had prayed he would make, by kidnapping Ramses. It was your men, who had Riccetti's house under constant observation, who seized David. Riccetti (being a man) assumed we would not care about the boy's fate. You knew better. But then you had another idea. You made use of Ramses's disappearance to get your hands on Nefret, and once you had her, you no longer needed David. So you freed him, hoping he could lead us to Riccetti's headquarters, and that we would rid you of your most dangerous rival. It was a brilliant improvisation, worthy of awoman's superior intelligence. Riccetti learned of Abd el Hamed's treachery and—"

I broke off. It had only been a fleeting glance, at the curtained doorway behind me, and a faint smile; but something in that smile chilled my blood. Abd el Hamed had been horribly mutiliated. Surely no woman would ...

Clearing my throat, I continued.

"The cleverest thing you did was to make use of poor stupid Miss Marmaduke. Hoping to enlist a spy in our camp, you had talked with her and about her while you stayed at Shepheard's; you knew of her belief in reincarnation. Lurking on the balcony, Matilda overheard the story Shelmadine told us. She took the ring—with no ulterior motive in mind at the time— it was gold and it was valuable. Later, when she repeated Shelmadine's story to you, you realized how it could be used to seduce Gertrude. You were not the only one to observe the coincidental resemblance of Nefret to Tetisheri; Gertrude was a willing believer when you made something more of it."

At last she broke her silence. "Is that all?"

"Yes, I think so. Oh—one more thing. It was you in the garden of the Luxor hotel that night with Sir Edward, was it not? I ought to have known it was not Miss Marmaduke, but you spoke so softly and so briefly, I did not recognize your voice."

"Is that all?" Bertha said again.

I nodded. She leaned forward, her eyes brightening.

"Very clever, Mrs. Emerson. So clever that I am amazed you would make the fatal error of coming here alone."

"What would it profit you to harm me?" I asked calmly. "The game is up, Bertha. You cannot hold me captive, not here in the heart of Gurneh."

"Is it a stalemate, then? You wouldn't send me to prison, would you? In my condition?" She spat the last word at me and then burst out laughing. "Careers for women! That is a favorite theme of yours, I believe? Why, then you should commend my efforts, for I have given gainful employment to women—downtrodden, oppressed females of this and other countries, who work not for men but for themselves—and for me. A criminal organization of women! Heading such an organization is a far more interesting and lucrative career than the one you once suggested. You thought I might train for a nurse—if I could overcome my squeamishness. I have overcome it, Mrs. Emerson—as you will soon see."

Before I could reply, her face underwent a dreadful change and her voice dropped to a whisper. "How can you be so blindly complacent? Don't you know how much I hate you—and why? Night after night I have lain awake picturing the ways in which I would kill you. Some of them were very ingenious, Mrs. Emerson—oh, very ingenious! Unfortunately there is notime for them now, I will have to do it quickly and more painlessly than I would like. Matilda—"

I had not underestimated the woman's strength; I had simply failed to anticipate this particular development. I was still pondering it, in some confusion of mind, when the nurse's muscular arm lifted me out of my chair and her fingers closed round my throat. The pressure was quick and cruel and skillful; my senses swam, and my efforts to free myself were as feeble as those of an infant.

"Don't let her lose consciousness," Bertha murmured, gliding toward me. "I want her to know what is going to happen."

From under her robe she took a jeweled dagger.

I tried to speak. Only a harsh gasp emerged from my lips, but the hard fingers tightened. Blackness covered my eyes and through the ringing in my ears I heard Bertha cursing. She was berating the other woman for squeezing too hard. I had planned to feign unconsciousness in the hope my captor would loosen her grip, but apparently I had waited a little too long.

My last thought, as I had always known it would be, was for Emerson. I imagined I could hear his agitated reproach: "Peabody, how could you be so bloody stupid!"

I did hear him! Or at least... My senses swam, but vision had returned to me, and sensation; I had fallen to the floor, and the voice was clearer now. Not Emerson's—but it was a man's voice, speaking English, and with considerable agitation.

"Are you mad? Give me the knife!"

The sentence ended in a grunt or gasp. I decided I had better find out what was going on, so I lifted myself onto my elbows. At first all I could see was his boots; then a hand caught me under the arm and raised me to my feet.

"Are you uninjured, Mrs. Emerson?"

"Yes, thank you, Sir Edward," I croaked, rubbing my throat. "But why the devil are you standing there? Go after them!"

The room was empty except for the two of us. He held a pistol—mine. His fair hair was unruffled, his face composed, his attire impeccable, except for the blood that saturated his left sleeve.

"I don't believe that is within my powers at this moment," he said politely, and slumped to the ground at my feet.

Well, of course, that was the end of that. By the time I had ascertained the extent of his injury and stopped the bleeding, there was no hope of catching them up. He came back to his senses while I was bandaging his arm and began apologizing.

"I was unarmed, you see; I found that pistol on a table in the outer room,but I simply could not bring myself to fire, even after she came at me with her knife. Not at a woman."

"Hmph," I said. "No doubt your sentiments do you credit, Sir Edward, but they can be cursed inconvenient. I presume that it was the lady who seduced you, instead of the other way round?"

"Seduced? Good heavens, Mrs. Emerson, what are you saying?"

"I saw you—heard you, rather—with her in the garden at the Luxor hotel the night we dined with Mr. Vandergelt."

"Heard," he repeated slowly.

"I thought it was Gertrude with you," I admitted. "But it was not she, was it?"

"No." The reply was prompt and emphatic. "I don't know what you heard, Mrs. Emerson, but your interpretation of my relationship with the lady—such as it was—is completely in error. I would never dream of— uh ... Even if she had not been—er ... I took her for what she appeared to be, a lonely, grieving woman in need of sympathy and friendly companionship. We talked, that was all. I assure you, that was all!"

"But you had some idea of its becoming something more."

His eyes shone with unconcealed amusement. "I have never taken you in, have I, Mrs. Emerson? You know how it is with us younger sons; an advantageous marriage is our only hope of getting on in the world. She represented herself as a wealthy widow; she was young, attractive, and— er—receptive to sympathy."

"And Nefret?"

He laughed aloud and shook his head. "You need have no fears for the virtue of your ward, Mrs. Emerson. I was unaware of her identity when I first met her. Once I learned that she was Lord Blacktower's heiress ... Well, she is worth waiting for, don't you think? In a few more years she will be even more beautiful, and in control of her own fortune."

"I admire your candor if not your principles," I said. "It might be advisable for us to leave now, don't you think?"

Unaided, he got to his feet and preceded me into the next room. It was unoccupied; Layla had deemed it advisable to remove herself.

"Can you manage?" I asked. "Take my arm, if you are feeling faint."

"The injury is superficial. I feel very foolish for having behaved so feebly."

The injury
was
superficial. He had feigned faintness because he was reluctant to lay violent hands on a woman—not only a woman, but a lady, and a lady, moreover, for whom he had felt some tenderness. Some might call this chivalrous. I call it silly and impractical, but his action had relieved me of a painful decision. It would have been difficult to condemn a woman in her delicate condition to the rigors of prison, and in fact I had no proofof criminal behavior on her part except for her attack on me—and I understood the motive for that only too well. Had I not felt the same pangs of jealous rage when I feared I had lost Emerson's love to another? My jealousy had been transitory and without foundation; Bertha's was fixed and without hope, for Emerson would never be hers. No wonder she hated me!