"Oh, good Gad," I exclaimed, jumping to my feet "I quite agree with the premise you are suggesting, at such unnecessary length: there are undoubtedly dozens of people who would like to murder you for dozens of different reasons. You want evidence that this particular individual is after one particular piece of information? I will give you evidence. Come with me."

He had no choice but to obey or leave his curiosity unsatisfied, for I was on my way to the door even as I spoke. Stamping heavily and muttering under his breath, he followed me until I reached my room and flung the door open.

"Here!" he exclaimed, starting back. "I refuse to- "

Exhilarated, amused, and exasperated, I got behind him and gave him a shove. "If I make a rude advance you can scream for help. When you see what I have to show you, you will understand why I prefer not to remove it from this room. Sit down."

Eyeing the canopied bed as if it might extend ruffled tentacles to grasp him, Emerson circled around it and lowered himself cautiously into a chair. He stiffened when I went to the bed, but relaxed a little after I had taken the box out from under the mattress and handed it to him.

The sight of the contents brought a soft whistle to his lips, but he did not comment until after he had examined both scepters thoroughly, and when he raised his eyes to my face they glittered with the old blue fire of archaeological fever. "If they are fakes they are the finest I have ever seen, and you and Vandergelt have gone to considerable trouble to deceive me."

"They are genuine. We are not deceiving you. Not even Cyrus has seen these, Emerson. He knows no more about the matter than does our unknown enemy, who put together the same clues Cyrus- "

"Unknown? Not to me."

"What?" I cried. "You recognized him?"

"Of course. He had grown a beard and dyed it and his hair, and he looked older . . . which," Emerson mused, "is only to be expected, since he was older. No doubt about it, though. Well, well. This explains why he was so bad-mannered. I could not imagine why he was put out with me, since I had been one of the few to defend him. What a sad world it is, when greed proves stronger than grat.i.tude and the l.u.s.t for gold overcomes friendship- "

"Men are so naive," I exclaimed. "The commonest reaction to favors rendered is resentment, not grat.i.tude. He probably detests you even more than he does those who condemned him. So it was Mr. Vincey. I thought I recognized his voice."

"You know him?"

"Yes. That is his cat." I indicated Anubis, who was curled up on the sofa. "He asked us- curse his insolence!- to care for the animal while he went to Damascus."

"He certainly was not in Damascus," Emerson said. "Very well, let us get down to business instead of wandering all around the subject the way you women are inclined to do. Vincey is on the loose and it would be extremely careless of us to a.s.sume he has given up his little project. He has all the more reason to be vexed with me now, after I got away from him so neatly. I could . . . What's the matter? Something caught in your throat? Have a gla.s.s of water and don't distract me."

It did not seem an opportune moment to remind him that his escape had been neither neat nor due to his efforts. Choking on my indignation, I remained silent. Emerson went on thoughtfully, "I could track him down, I suppose, but I will be d.a.m.ned if I allow him to interfere with my professional activities any more than he already has. If he wants me, he will come after me. Yes, that will be best. I can get on with my work, and if he turns up, I'll settle the fellow."

I was meditating how best to respond to this complacent statement when I heard someone approaching. The steps were those of Cyrus, the rapidity of their pace made my scalp p.r.i.c.kle with apprehension. He was almost running, and as he neared my door he began to call out.

"Amelia! Are you there?"

"Just a moment," I called, s.n.a.t.c.hing the box from Emerson and hastening to restore it to its hiding place. "What is it, Cyrus? What has happened?"

"Big trouble, I opine. We have found a stowaway!"

As soon as I had the box concealed, I admitted Cyrus. In my excitement I had overlooked the fact that Emerson's presence might cause some embarra.s.sment- particularly to Emerson-until I saw Cyrus's jaw drop and color flood his lean cheeks. Emerson had gone equally red in the face, but he decided to brazen it out.

"You are interrupting a professional discussion," he growled. "What's all the fuss about?"

"A stowaway," I reminded him. "Who? Where?"

"Here," Cyrus said.

One of the sailors pushed her into the room. One had to a.s.sume she was female from her dress, though the worn black robes completely covered her shape and the dusty veil hid all but a pair of terrified dark eyes.

"It is some poor village woman fleeing a cruel husband or tyrannical father," I cried, my sympathies immediately engaged.

"h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation," Emerson exclaimed.

Her eyes found him where he sat bolt upright, hands clutching the arms of his chair. With a sudden effort she tore herself free and flung herself at his feet.

"Save me, O Father of Curses! I risked my life for you, and now it hangs by a thread."

Exaggeration seemed to be in the air that day, I thought to myself. She had tried to keep the murderous guard from entering Emerson's prison, but how could her dread master know of that? Was this even the same woman? Her voice sounded different-huskier, deeper, and with a distinct accent.

"You are safe with me," Emerson said, studying the bent black head with- I was happy to observe- a rather skeptical expression. "If you speak the truth."

"You doubt me?" Still on her knees, she sat back and wrenched the veil from her face.

I cried out in horror. No wonder I had not recognized her voice, the prints of fingers showed dark on her bruised throat. Her face was equally unrecognizable, swollen and stained by the marks of brutal blows.

"This is what he did to me when he learned you had escaped," she whispered.

Pity had not altogether wiped out my suspicions. "How did he learn ..." I began.

Replacing the veil, she turned to me. "He beat me because I had shown compa.s.sion and because . . . because he was angry."

Emerson's face was impa.s.sive. Those who had never beheld a demonstration of the seething sea of sentiment his sardonic exterior conceals might have believed him to be unmoved,- but I knew he was thinking of the child-woman he had been unable to save from her murderous father.* Nothing of this showed in his voice when he said gruffly, "Find her a room, Vandergelt. G.o.d knows you've enough useless s.p.a.ce on this boat."

She kissed his hand, though he tried to stop her, and followed Cyrus out. Frowning, Emerson took out his pipe. I heard Cyrus summon his steward after directing the fellow to show the lady (he stumbled a bit over the word, but I had to give him credit for the effort) to a vacant stateroom, he returned.

"Are you loony, Emerson? The da- er- darned woman's a spy."

"And her bruises were incurred in an effort to give verisimilitude to an otherwise unconvincing story?" Emerson asked dryly. "How devotedly she must love her tormentor."

Cyrus's lean face darkened. "That's not love. It's a kind of fear you'll never know."

"You are right, Cyrus," I said. "Many women know it- not only the helpless slaves of a society such as this, but Englishwomen as well. Some of the girls Evelyn has taken in off the streets ... It does you credit, Cyrus, that you can understand and sympathize with a condition so alien from any you could ever have experienced."

"I was thinking of dogs," Cyrus said, blushing at my praise but too honest to accept it when it was undeserved. "I've seen 'em come fawning back to the feet of the varmint that had beaten and kicked them. You can reduce a man to that state too, if you go about it right."

Emerson blew out a great cloud of blue smoke. "If you two have quite finished your philosophical discussion, we might try to settle this matter. The girl's arrival raises another point which I was about to make when Miss- er- Peabody got me off the track. Vincey may not be the only one involved."

Cyrus expressed surprise at the name, and I took it upon myself to explain. "I thought at the time his voice was familiar, Cyrus, but he had disguised his appearance so well I could not be certain. Emerson has just now confirmed my a.s.sumption, and I suppose he could hardly be mistaken. Do you know Mr. Vincey?"

"By reputation," Cyrus replied, frowning. "From what I've heard I wouldn't put such a trick past him "

"He certainly was not the only one involved," I went on. "Abdullah claims to have killed at least ten of the enemy."

This little sally produced a smile from Cyrus, but not from Emerson. "Local thugs," he said curtly.

"Such men can be hired in any city in Egypt or in the world. The girl is another such tool. Vincey has an unsavory reputation as regards women."

"Women of the- of that cla.s.s, you mean," I said, remembering Vincey's grave courtesy toward me, and remembering as well Howard's veiled hints about his reputation. Repressing my indignation, I went on, "I find your use of the word 'tool' interesting. She may still be serving him in that capacity. Cyrus is right- "

"I am not so naive"- Emerson shot me a malignant glance- "as to accept the girl's story unreservedly.

If she is a spy, we can deal with her. If she is telling the truth, she needs help"