"I will go with you," Walter declared. "What the devil did I do with my gla.s.ses?"

"Here." Evelyn handed them to him. "Walter, dear-"

He knew what she was about to say. Adjusting the eyegla.s.ses, he took her by the shoulders and smiled at her. "Perhaps I can be Selim's hands or run errands for him, if I can do nothing more."

"I too," said Bertie. "I know a little something about engines."

"Selim, I strictly forbid you to let that horse gallop," I called after them. "Walter, make sure he obeys."

"Losing control of your subalterns?" Sethos inquired. "I am your willing slave, as always. What orders have you for me? Another whiskey, perhaps?"

"I am in no mood for humor," I informed him.

"Only trying to relieve the tension, my dear. The fact is, I believe we have matters under control here. The children are all in the main house, and it is surrounded-men every ten feet, all aroused and looking for trouble. The women and children will be safe-"

A united outcry from every female in the room silenced him. "If you think I am staying here," Lia began.

"Or me!" Evelyn cried, brandishing the parasol.

"You will both do what you are told," I said. "By me. We must decide how our forces can best be employed. Someone must remain to deal with M. Lacau. He is due tomorrow."

"He's here," Cyrus said. "Got in this evening. How can you worry about him at such a time as this?"

"For one thing, he may be persuaded to join in the hunt for Isis."

"Not very likely," Cyrus said. "He'll be too worried about his consarned treasure. What about the other tourist boats?"

"I could not in conscience ask a party of innocents to take an active part. We could ask the cruise boats to keep an eye out for the Isis, but I expect by morning she will have altered her appearance. Since our enemies have departed en ma.s.se, I doubt there is danger to anyone here-"

"An a.s.sumption we dare not make," said Sethos. "We believed the immediate family had not been targeted. That is what we were meant to believe. Now they have taken Nefret. They didn't plan on Emerson, but now they've got him they aren't likely to let him go. We know the motive now. It applies equally strongly to the rest of you-and to me."

He went to the sideboard again and splashed whiskey into his gla.s.s. I could have used another myself. We had skirted round the subject, but it could no longer be avoided.

"I am sorry," I said haltingly. "I had hoped she was innocent."

Sethos swung round to face me. "She looks so innocent, doesn't she? Those childish freckles and wide hazel eyes . . . She took me in, too, Amelia, if that is any consolation."

I saw the pain his controlled countenance endeavored to conceal, and so did my dear Evelyn. Going to him, she embraced him like a sister. "She may be a prisoner, dear-er-"

The tenderness of her manner, and the stumble over his name, were too much for him. Affection and laughter choked his voice. "Dear Evelyn. Would you like me to tell you my real name?"

"You need not tell me if you would rather not."

"Seth."

"What?" I cried. "Not Gawaine, or George, or Milton, or-"

Visibly amused, Sethos lifted his gla.s.s to me. "What an imagination you have, Amelia. Where do you suppose I got my nom de guerre? My parents gave me a perfectly respectable biblical name, but when I realized how close it was to that of an ancient Egyptian pharaoh I couldn't resist. And how appropriate! Sethos, the follower of Set, G.o.d of storm and chaos, deadly enemy of his n.o.ble brother-" He broke off with a snap of his teeth. "Ramses, will you for G.o.d's sake have a drink, or say something, or at least sit down? You make me nervous planted there like a b.l.o.o.d.y granite statue. We'll get her back."

It might have been the thought of the other young woman, the loving daughter Sethos would never get back, that broke Ramses's stony control.

"I'm sorry," he began.

Sethos snarled at him. "I don't want your pity. I want information. There is nothing we can do for several more hours, so we may as well talk. I don't suppose anyone intends to sleep. Is there any longer the slightest doubt as to what has motivated this string of extraordinary occurrences?"

"No," I said. "Once I realized that revenge for Bertha's death was the motive, every incident fit snugly into the pattern. The first, which I flat-out missed until recently, was the death of Ha.s.san-or rather, his sudden turn to religion. What had he done that he should feel the need of forgiveness?"

Ramses nodded. "That's what Selim said, in almost those precise words. I missed it too. Ha.s.san was one of the men who was with us that day at Gurneh, when Abdullah died and Bertha . . . Are you suggesting that it was Ha.s.san who struck the blow that killed her?"

"I think that if he did not, he believed he had, or claimed the credit-for creditable it would have seemed to those who revered Abdullah and held the old tribal beliefs-an eye for an eye, a death for a death. Do you remember the letter Ramses read us, from a man to his deceased wife? I would not be surprised if Ha.s.san did not hold the same view about ill fortune-that it must be due to a malevolent spirit. Ha.s.san had lost his own wife, and he had begun to suffer the effects of old age. Guilt and the hope of forgiveness made him seek the protection of a holy man-even if he had to invent one himself! Most of the other men are dead, except for-"

"Selim and Daoud," David breathed. "Good G.o.d. She would have no trouble murdering Ha.s.san-poison in one of the dishes of food he was brought-but I can't believe-"

"Selim and Daoud," Sethos said, in a hard flat voice, "were next. She played with them like a cat with a mouse. None of the incidents proved to be fatal, but any one of them might have been. She staged her own misadventures to allay your suspicions. Martinelli would seem to be an aberration. I don't know why she went after him. To the best of my knowledge, she never met him."

"There are a number of things you do not know," I said. El-Gharbi's revelations had been overshadowed by the magnitude of the catastrophe that had befallen us, but they were vital to the case. Evelyn and David had voiced a hope, a doubt, which must be present in the minds of the others. It was hard to picture that fresh-faced girl as capable of murder.

"It is important that all of us understand precisely what we are up against," I went on. "It is not a-er-disturbed young woman with a crew of venal cutthroats. There is at least one other individual involved, a hardened criminal with the same motive as Maryam's. Maryam is not Bertha's only child."

For almost the first time since I had known him, Sethos lost his composure. His face went white. "No," he said hoa.r.s.ely. "No. Not another of my . . . Who told you that?"

"El-Gharbi," Ramses said. "That was where we went today, to his village, where he had been exiled. Mother remembered something he had said-about the young serpent also having poisoned fangs. Why she didn't see fit to mention this to anyone else-"

"I forgot," I admitted. "It was so vague, like one of those Nostradamus predictions that can be interpreted in many different ways. We were at that time involved with that vicious boy Jamil, who could certainly have been described in those terms. Emerson also knew, but like myself he forgot or dismissed the warning. Not until last night, when I finally began to see the pattern we had been seeking, did I realize el-Gharbi might have information we did not."

"You ought to have told us," Evelyn said accusingly.

"It is easy to see what one ought to have done after the event," David said quietly. "I want to know more about this second child."

Lia let out a cry. "Justin. Is it Justin? But he's even younger than Maryam, he cannot be more than fourteen. He-"

"He," I said, "is a young woman. The short stature, the beardless face, the high-pitched voice should have alerted us. She was in her late teens when el-Gharbi knew her in Cairo. One of the more-er-exclusive, I suppose I should say-houses of prost.i.tution was owned by an older woman, a European, who also had a hand in various illegal operations. She and el-Gharbi were never in compet.i.tion; they operated, so to speak, on different levels, but he was familiar with her activities. Her customers included the highest officials and the wealthiest, most fastidious tourists. Justin was her protege, and her able a.s.sistant in every criminal activity, from drugs to murder."

"Not mine, then," Sethos said in a ragged whisper. "Not mine."

I understood his feelings. If the information gave him any comfort, I was ready to give it.

"According to el-Gharbi's sources, her father was an Englishman named Vincey, the man with whom Bertha lived for several years before we exterminated Vincey and Bertha went to you. No. You are not her father. She and Maryam are half sisters. How they met and when I do not know, but Justin is unquestionably the ringleader. She is the elder, and unlike Maryam she has lived all her life with criminals."

"That doesn't absolve Maryam," Sethos said. Except for the perspiration that beaded his forehead, he might have been talking about a stranger. "She was a willing partic.i.p.ant from the start. The attack on her was staged; the result was that Ramses 'rescued' her and brought her to you-with well-feigned reluctance that gained your sympathy and support. She's been spying on you and reporting back to the others."

"She may be under duress," Evelyn said.

"Give it up, Evelyn," Sethos said. "She is a true child of her mother-and G.o.d help us, of me."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

FROM Ma.n.u.sCRIPT H.

The boy wasn't ill. She ought to have known it had been a ruse. He stood lightly poised, swaying with the motion of the vessel, and his face was as pretty and bland as a wax doll's.

"Were you lapping the water like a dog?" Justin asked.

There was a note in his voice that sent alarm bells jingling through Nefret's head. She tried to speak, but produced only a rusty croak.

"A nice cup of tea is what you need," Justin said cheerfully. "Can you walk, or shall Francois carry you?"

The last hope faded when she saw he was not alone. What part he played in this she could not yet determine, but at best he was useless, incapable of understanding and too frail to resist. Francois had to be one of them, though. He reached for her, grinning unpleasantly. Nefret staggered to her feet, pushing his hand away.

"As you like," Justin said. "Come with me."

Nefret followed him along the pa.s.sageway and into the saloon, with Francois close behind her. Smiling sweetly, Justin indicated a chair, and Nefret sank gratefully into it. Tea was set out on a table, a handsome service of silver, but there was no one in the room except herself and the boy and his attendant. Her eyes moved to the windows. It was dark outside. And the boat had stopped.

"Drink your tea," said Justin, pouring. "You must be very thirsty."

Something about the gesture, the turn of his wrist, caught Nefret's attention. She watched him as he lay back against the cushions of the divan, one hand behind his head, the other gracefully limp.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

The light peal of laughter, a tone higher than Justin's, was the final clue. My G.o.d, how could I have missed it? she wondered. "His" coat was open and the thin shirt clung to the curves of a woman's b.r.e.a.s.t.s, now unconfined.

"My name, you mean? I have had a number of them. You may continue calling me Justin. It sounds a little like Justice, and that is what I am about to deal out."

Nefret shook her head dazedly. "Why are you doing this? What do you want of us?"

"Justice. For a dead woman and her children. Come now," she said impatiently, as Nefret stared openmouthed. "How stupid you are. Your family took my mother's life and would have left me to die, unprotected and exploited, had it not been for her friends and my own talents."

"Your mother," Nefret echoed. She picked up her cup and burned her tongue on the scalding tea. "Who . . . ?"

"It shouldn't be that difficult. How many women have met their deaths at the hands of your virtuous family?"

"None. Not even . . . Oh, good Lord." Nefret gasped. "Bertha? You are her child? But-but that's not fair, we didn't even know you existed. Mother and Father would have helped you. They would help you now."

"I don't want help. What I want I will take, as my due, not as charity."

Nefret couldn't think what to say. In all their theorizing, they had never antic.i.p.ated this. She sipped the tea, stalling for time until she could get her wits back. "What have you done to the Professor?"

"Not as much as he deserves." Francois had taken up a position beside his . . . mistress. His scarred face twisted. "He is only chained and locked into that room. She wouldn't let me-"

"I did not give you leave to speak." The light voice pierced like a sword blade. Francois recoiled, and then dropped to his knees and began mumbling apologies.

"It really would serve him right," Justin said, ignoring her groveling servant. "He has thrown all our plans into disarray. Would you like to know what they were, and how they have changed? Francois, where are your manners? Offer our guest a biscuit."

"I'm not hungry," Nefret said. "Tell me."

Justin lay back against the cushions, her hands under her head, b.r.e.a.s.t.s lifted.

"Hathor," Nefret said in stunned disbelief.

"On both occasions, yes. You suspected Maryam, didn't you? I did it for her. She wants your husband. If the Professor hadn't interfered today, she'd have got him."

"Never," Nefret said steadily.

"Oh, I think her chances were excellent. You see, our original intention was to get you aboard and then, wearing your clothing and hat, I would have gone ash.o.r.e and strode briskly off into the alleys of Luxor. When I returned it would have been as myself. By the time your friends came looking for you, the Isis would have sailed and a dozen gaping witnesses would have reported you had left the boat."

Watching her, Nefret was reminded of something Ramses had once said about the art of disguise. It wasn't so much a matter of physical change as of demeanor and gesture, speech and movement. She had played a boy's role well, but she couldn't have pulled it off if they had not thought of Justin as not quite normal. No wonder she had reacted so vehemently to being touched. She might bind her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and wear loose boy's clothing, but her body was a woman's.

"But now that's out of the question," Justin went on briskly. "Those same gaping witnesses saw both you and the Professor board the boat; they had told him you were here and he was prepared to tear the place apart to find you. We had no choice but to move up the time of our departure and take both of you along." She sighed. "Poor Maryam. She can't go back and pretend innocence now."

"Where is she?" Nefret asked.

"Sulking in her cabin. She's been complaining all day," Justin added contemptuously.

Nefret's eyes wandered to the window. It opened onto the deck. The shutters had been thrown back. She could see stars, and the dark outline of land not far away. Her heart sank at the idea of abandoning Emerson, but if she could get onto the deck . . .

Nefret made a dash for the window. Her legs were still shaky, so it wasn't so much a dash as a series of stumbles. Francois was after her the moment she moved. He twisted her arms behind her and held her.

Nefret shook the straggling hair out of her eyes. Knowing you look like a fright, dirty and sweaty and disheveled, has a demoralizing effect on any female. The woman lounging on the couch knew that; smiling, she ran her hands caressingly over her body. She made a very pretty woman with that head of crisp curls, bright as gold shavings, and that slender young body.

Nefret tried to stop herself, but it was no use. She had to know. "Why did you take Ramses prisoner? What would you have done to him if he hadn't got away?"

"It was a test, of sorts, to see how well my people performed," Justin said, stretching like a cat. "And I was curious about what Maryam saw in him. Then-well, I saw. I thought it would be fun to have him make love to me."

"You're insane," Nefret said. "You couldn't have made him do that."

"Oh, yes, I could, if I'd had a little more time. I quite looked forward to it. I enjoy men, and he is a particularly handsome specimen-in every way. Maryam doesn't appreciate that sort of thing. She only married that vulgar American because she wanted his money. She thinks she's in love." The tone was one of pure disgust.

"You've never been in love?" Nefret asked. She was following one of the family's basic rules: Keep the other person talking, watch for a slip of the tongue or a moment of carelessness. One never knew what might turn up! And there was a horrible fascination in the conversation. She had never encountered a woman like this. But then, she reminded herself, I never knew Bertha.

"In love?" The pretty mouth curled. "I wanted him, though, and I'd have had him if he hadn't got away from me. I may succeed yet. I generally get what I want, and I expect he'd be willing to do anything to keep me from hurting you."

"Not anything," Nefret said. "And you'd be a fool to let him get close to you when he's angry."

"What an innocent you are," Justin murmured. "There are ways . . . I know most of them."

She was baiting her prisoner, only too successfully. Nefret swallowed the sickness rising in her throat. "What are you going to do with us?" she demanded.

"Nothing just yet" was the careless reply. "We may need you."

"What for?"