I knew our little group would be sadly reduced in number that evening, but I did not expect to find the saloon deserted except for Kevin. He was scribbling in his beastly notebook, of course. When he saw me he made a feeble attempt to rise.

"Sit down," I said, doing so myself. "And don't pretend to be overcome with exhaustion or grief."

"I am grieved about poor old Vandergelt," Kevin said "But if a man has to go- and all men do- that was how he would have wished it to be. 'Greater love hath no man- '"

"You will no doubt quote that in your story," I said severely. "We must discuss that, Kevin. But where is everyone?"

"Rene and Charlie have left for Derut, with- "

"Yes, I know. What about Bertha?"

"In her room, I suppose I asked for the pleasure of a conversation with her, but she put me off. As for your- er- the professor- "

"He is here," I said, as Emerson entered

To my fond eyes he had never appeared handsomer. His damp hair lay in shining waves, only the ugly half-healed scar marred the perfection of his chiseled features. With a smile at me and a scowl at Kevin he went to the sideboard. "The usual, Peabody?" he inquired.

"If you please, my dear. We might drink a toast, to absent friends and love pa.s.sing the love of-"

"Watch your tongue, Peabody. That cursed journalist is writing down every word."

He handed me my gla.s.s and then confronted Kevin, whose jaw had dropped and whose eyes were popping. "I want to see your story before you send it off, O'Connell. If it contains anything libelous I will break both your arms."

Kevin swallowed. "You- you have just destroyed my lead, Professor. You have regained your memory!"

"Is that the absurd tale that is making the rounds? How interesting. I wonder how much the courts will award me in damages when I sue the lot of you."

"But I never- believe me, sir- " Kevin stammered, trying to cover the paper with his elbows.

"Good," said Emerson, baring his teeth. "Now, Mr. O'Connell, I am going to give you your next dispatch. You may take notes," he added graciously.

It was, I confess, as neat a lie as I might have composed. Emerson omitted all references to the Forth affair, describing Vincey as "another of those old enemies who keep cropping up." His vivid descriptions of our various thrilling encounters with Vincey kept Kevin scribbling furiously. "So," Emerson concluded, "having tired of his attentions, I lay in wait for him this evening, with the a.s.sistance of Abdullah and two of Mr. Vandergelt's guards, whom he kindly lent me. Vandergelt was supposed to keep Mrs. Emerson out of the way. That did not succeed, thanks to her inveterate habit of- "

" 'Love gave her insight into her adored spouse's intention. " Kevin muttered, his pen driving across the page. " 'And devotion lent wings to her steed as she rushed headlong. . . .'"

"If you dare print that, Kevin," I said. "I will break both your arms."

"Hrmph," said Emerson loudly. "Let me finish. Owing to an unavoidable- er- misapprehension on the part of my a.s.sistants, Vincey was able to get past them and enter the cave where we had taken refuge.

A slight altercation ensued, in the course of which Vincey shot Vandergelt. I was- er- unable to reach my own weapon in time to prevent it, but my bullet reached its target a moment later."

"A bit terse and flat," Kevin muttered. "Never mind, I can fill in the details. So what was the fellow's motive, Professor?"

"Revenge," said Emerson, folding his arms. "For an old, fancied injury."

" 'Years of brooding over an old, fancied injury had driven him mad . . .' You wouldn't care to be more explicit? No," Kevin muttered. "I see you would not. And the attacks on Mrs. E.?"

"Revenge," Emerson repeated firmly.

"Yes, of course. 'Knowing that no dart could strike deeper into that devoted heart than danger to his . . .' Yes, that's the stuff. I can reel that off by the page."

"You are incorrigible, Mr. O'Connell," said Emerson, unable to repress a smile. "Remember I insist on seeing it before you send it off. Come along, Peabody, I promised Abdullah we would talk to him."

The story Emerson told our men was quite different. It was like coming home again, to perch on a packing case on the deck with the men gathered around, smoking and listening, with occasional "Wahs!" and murmurs of amazement interrupting the tale. The stars shone brightly overhead, the soft breeze stirred Emerson's hair.

Some of what Emerson said was new to me as well. He had had an advantage over me, of course, having "enjoyed" Vincey's hospitality so long, as he put it. And when I thought of that despicable villain, lounging at ease in his comfortable chair and gloating over his suffering prisoner, I only regretted that Emerson had despatched him so quickly. I had observed the incongruity of that article of furniture in the foul kennel where Emerson had been imprisoned, but not until I heard the note in Emerson's voice when he referred to it did I fully comprehend how so harmless an object as a red plush armchair could become a symbol of subtle and insidious cruelty. I would never be able to sit in one that color again.

Vincey's alibi had been wholly convincing to me. The written evidences of his residence in Syria had been forged, of course, but even if I had questioned them I would not have got around to checking their validity until it was too late. Nor had I Emerson's reason for doubting poor Karl von Bork (I reminded myself I must inquire after Mary and see how I could be of a.s.sistance to her), especially when Bertha confirmed . . .

"What?" I cried, when Emerson reached this part of his narrative. "Bertha was Vincey's spy all along?"

"One up for me," Emerson remarked with a self-satisfied smile and a vulgar gesture.

"But her bruises-her courageous gesture in throwing herself at the door of your cell to prevent the guard from entering- "

"She was only trying to get out," Emerson said. "She wanted no part of murder and she was frantic to escape. Seeing you come popping down out of the ceiling like a demon in a pantomime was enough to throw anyone into a panic. I myself was- "

"Please, Emerson," I said with as much dignity as I could command. It was not much, the horrid little creature had fooled me completely. I wanted to squirm when I remembered telling her she should overcome her squeamishness. Squeamishness! It must have been she, then, who drove the knife into Mohammed.

"Yes," Emerson said, when I expressed this opinion. "She was as deadly and sly as a snake. Small wonder, when you think of the life she has led."

"I suppose her sad story of being thrown into poverty by the death of her father was a lie, too," I said, clenching my teeth.

"Oh, is that what she told you? I fear her- er- career began much earlier, Peabody, she had been Vincey's companion for several years. One of his companions ... As for her bruises, they were all paint and padding. Weren't your suspicions aroused when she refused your medical attention and kept her face hidden until the supposed injuries could heal?"

"Oh, curse it," I said. Abdullah had concealed his face behind his sleeve and several of the younger men were snickering audibly. "Was that why you went to ... Never mind."

"I had set out to win her over early on," Emerson said. His voice was quite serious. "By appealing, not to her better nature, but to her self-interest. She is a brilliantly clever young woman, with no more morals than a cat. Vincey was only the latest of her- er- a.s.sociates. Affection had nothing to do with those relationships, she has changed allegiance as often as expediency dictated, seeking, I rather imagine, a man whose amoral intelligence was the equal of her own. Women are sadly handicapped in criminal activities, as in all others, society makes it difficult for them to employ their natural talents without the a.s.sistance of a male partner. I fear, Peabody, that your honorable and forthright character limits you when it comes to dealing with such persons. You always try to bring out the hidden virtues in people. Bertha had none."

I let him enjoy his triumph, though of course he was mistaken. I remembered the expression on the girl's face when she said, "How you must love him." It had not been one of contempt or sneering amus.e.m.e.nt. She had been touched, I knew it. And I did not doubt that Emerson's splendid attributes-of character, I mean- had softened her as they had affected so many other women.

"She carried your message to Vincey, then," I said. "When you informed him you would be at the rendezvous tonight."

"Rendezvous," Emerson repeated throughtfully. "It certainly was, wasn't it? You are correct, Peabody. She had never lost touch with him. Several of the villagers were in his employ, all she had to do was slip a note to Ha.s.san or Yusuf when we pa.s.sed through the village. While we were in the royal wadi she communicated with him by leaving messages in a selected spot not far from our camp. One of the villagers served as post-boy, those rascals know every inch of the cliffs and can creep in and out and up and down un.o.bserved

"I did not succeed in convincing her that she would be better off with us than with Vincey until after we returned to the dahabeeyah yesterday. She . . . What are you smirking about, Peabody?"

"Nothing, my dear. Do go on."

"Hmmph," said Emerson. "I laid the whole case before her and promised her immunity if she joined us, and imprisonment if she did not. The message she pa.s.sed on this morning did not incriminate her, it was only a notification to Vincey that I would be along the northern cliffs this evening."

"But," said Abdullah, who was not especially interested in the evil machinations of women, much less their reformation, "why did the men who were supposed to defend you take me prisoner instead?

Were they also in the evil man's pay? For surely Vandergelt Effendi would not- "

"That is right, Abdullah," I said. "Emerson, I believe we had better go now. You have not eaten, and you must be very tired."

Emerson took my hint. It was not a subject I cared to discuss. With the memory of Cyrus's sacrifice so fresh in my mind I would not, could not, think of how close he had brought us to disaster. I knew the motive that had prompted him to the one ign.o.ble gesture of his n.o.ble life, and I blamed myself for failing to realize the depth of his feelings for me. It must have been my rejection that had driven him to madness. Temporary insanity was the kindest and most likely explanation for his betrayal of Emerson- which he had redeemed with his life.

Bertha did not come to dinner. When we went to look for her, we found her room empty and her few possessions missing. Inquiry produced the information that a woman of her description- which would, I admit, have fit most of the women in the village- had hired a boat to take her across the river several hours earlier.