A River in the Sky

“They expected you would kill him,” Selim suggested, in a tone that indicated he would have expected the same thing.

Ramses shook his head. “I don’t think so. I had delivered a rather pompous speech about murdering an unarmed prisoner, and Ismail knew I meant it.”

“Well, we know the identity of one of the group,” I said. “Rabbi Ben Ezra.”

Emerson turned. “We know two. Our landlord. Has he been round today, Peabody? No? Nor did he turn up at the site of my excavation. Odd, isn’t it, considering how ubiquitous he was at first.”

The other servant came in and began to lay the table, as I had taught her. She did quite well, except for mixing up the forks and spoons and forgetting the napkins. I corrected her in a kindly manner and she scuttled out.

“We will pursue that inquiry tomorrow,” I said, suppressing a yawn. “I believe dinner is almost ready. While we eat, you can tell us what you discovered today, Emerson.”

“I believe we are on the track of something interesting,” said Emerson, as the servant returned with baskets of bread and a steaming pot. “Ah-that smells good.” He nodded amiably at the woman, who drew her veil tightly across her face and backed out.

“As I was saying,” Emerson went on, “we managed to get a grid laid out-”

“I am very happy for you,” I said, ladling out the stew. “But when I mentioned a discovery, I was referring to our primary reason for being here. What is Major Morley doing? Was Frau von Eine with him? Did you see anything of Mr. Plato? You had better let the food cool a bit, Emerson, you will burn your tongue.”

He had already done so. “Try a sip of water,” I said, over his mumbled swearwords. “Nefret made sure it was boiled. Now, you were about to tell us about Major Morley.”

“Hmph,” said Emerson. “Well, in a nutshell, Morley never appeared. He’s there, the guards admitted as much, but insisted he was deep down in his damned tunnel and couldn’t be disturbed.”

“How do you know he never appeared if you spent most of the day at your dig?” I inquired.

Emerson took a cautious bite and chewed. He looked at me, at Nefret, at Ramses, and at Mr. Camden, who looked off into space.

“You sent him to watch Morley,” I said. “Well, that makes sense. We have had enough nonsensical secrecy, Emerson. If the rest of you do not know Mr. Camden is really Mr. Tushingham and a British agent, it is high time you did.”

“Who?” said Emerson.

“Speaking of secrecy,” Ramses said, fixing me with a hard stare, “you told me this morning that Macomber’s death had been reported, but refused to say how. Am I to assume that Camden here was the means?”

“I had not yet determined that it was necessary for you to know that,” I explained.

“And now you have? May I ask why?”

His tone was decidedly critical. Since I could not explain what had prompted my change of mind-it had to do with my infallible instincts-I ignored the questions.

“The Sons of Abraham will have to wait,” I said. “Mr. Tushingham, please make your report.”

“Who?” said Emerson, looking round.

“Camden,” I said with a sigh. “Emerson, please pay attention.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Mr. Camden, as I must continue to call him. “Well, after the Professor left me I hung about for several hours, mingling with the pilgrims and the water carriers. Once I tried to pass the guards, claiming I was a friend of Morley’s, but I was summarily dismissed. So I retreated into a clump of cacti and squatted there with my binoculars fixed on the entrance to the excavation. At around noontime Morley appeared, covered with dust and looking, I thought, disgruntled. A few minutes later Frau von Eine showed up, on horseback, and joined him for luncheon. I would have given a great deal to have heard what they were saying, but there was no way I could get closer without being discovered. She did most of the talking. After luncheon she remounted and rode off, and Morley went back into the shaft.”

“So much for her supervision,” Emerson exclaimed. “It was a token gesture, to keep me away.”

“Never mind that now, Emerson,” I said. “You saw no sign of Mansur?”

“Not unless he was one of the workmen. They were indistinguishable, all half naked and smeared with dirt. I never set eyes on the fellow, you know.”

“What about Mr. Plato? You are familiar with his appearance, and I cannot imagine he would consent to hard manual labor.”

“He’d have been first at the luncheon table,” Emerson agreed.

“Well, he wasn’t. He can’t have been at the site or I would have spotted him sooner or later.”

“I wonder what has become of him,” I mused. “Mr. Fazah told me he left the hotel yesterday morning, with his luggage.”

“Which we supplied,” Emerson growled. “I doubt we’ve seen the last of him. Mark my words, he’ll turn up before long.”

He did turn up. But not in the way any of us expected.

“THE SERVANTS SEEM TO BE working out well,” I said at breakfast. “How is your coffee, Emerson?”

“Not bad,” grunted Emerson, who was still on his first cup.

“Quite good,” said Nefret, with an encouraging smile at the house maid. “Tell the cook, Safika.”