“I see we are thinking along the same lines.” Ramses drew the straps tight and slung the case over his shoulder.

“It is one possible explanation for his failure to meet you, but it may not be the right one. Let us not look on the dark side!”

“The way our luck has been running, it is difficult not to.” The words were flung at me from over his shoulder; he had already started off. I broke into a trot and caught him up. “There is no need to hurry. Your father won’t leave without us.”

“Sorry.” He slowed his steps. After a moment of frowning concentration, he said, “Were you included in the invitation?”

“Not in so many words, but—”

“But you are coming anyhow.”

“Naturally.”

“Naturally.”

We left for Cairo as soon as we had changed. Russell was waiting for us in the reception area of the Administration Building —if a bare, dusty room containing two cracked chairs and a wooden table could be called by that name. His face was set in a look of frozen disapproval, which cracked momentarily when he saw Nefret.

“No!” he exclaimed loudly. “Professor, I told you—”

“He couldn’t prevent me from coming,” Nefret said. She gave him a bewitching smile and held out a small, daintily gloved hand. “You wouldn’t be so rude as to exclude me, would you, sir?”

For once Nefret had met her match. Russell took her hand, held it for no more than two seconds, and stepped back. “I could and I would, Miss Forth. What the Professor chooses to tell you and Mrs. Emerson hereafter is his affair. Police matters are my affair. Take a chair. One of the men will bring you tea. Come to my office, gentlemen.”

“I asked you here,” Russell said, his voice as cold and formal as his manner, “because one of my men informed me you were present night before last when we raided Aslimi’s shop. Did you get a look at the fellow we were after?”

“Yes,” Emerson said.

“You followed him, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Caught him, too,” Emerson added.

“Damnation, Professor! You have the infernal gall to stand there and tell me you let the fellow go?”

“I told you when we first discussed the subject that I would not help you capture Wardani, but that I would attempt to speak with him and convince him to turn himself in.”

Emerson’s voice was as loud as Russell’s. Ramses didn’t doubt that every police officer in the building was in the corridor, listening.

“It wasn’t Wardani!”

“Well, I didn’t know that, did I?” Emerson demanded indignantly. “Not until after I had cornered the fellow. As it turned out, he was one of Wardani’s lieutenants. We—er—came to an agreement.”

“Would you care to tell me what it was?”

“No. I may do after I’ve spoken with him.”

“It’s too late for that,” Russell said. “Come with me.”

They followed him along the corridor and down several flights of stairs. Being underground, the room was a few degrees cooler than the floors above, but not cool enough. The smell hit them even before Russell opened the door. The only furnishings were a few rough wooden tables. All but two were unoccupied. Russell indicated one of the shrouded forms.

“Damned inefficiency,” he muttered. “That one should have been buried this morning, he’s not keeping well. Here’s our lad.” He pulled the coarse sheet off the other corpse.

Farouk’s face was unmarked except for a line of bruising around his mouth and across his cheeks. If he had died in pain, which he certainly had, there was no sign of it on the features that had settled into the inhuman flatness of death. His naked body showed no signs of injury except for his wrists, which were not a pretty sight. The ropes had dug deep into his flesh and he must have struggled violently to free himself.

Russell gestured, and two of his men turned the body over. From shoulders to waist the skin was black with dried blood over a patchwork of raised welts.

After a moment Emerson said, “The kurbash.”

“How can you tell?”

Emerson raised his formidable eyebrows. “You can’t? Why, man, it’s an old Turkish custom. The marks left by a whip made of hippopotamus hide are quite different from those of a cat-o’-nine-tails or bamboo rod. I’ve seen it before.”

Ramses had seen it too. Once. Like Farouk, the man had been beaten to death. Unlike Farouk, he had not been gagged. He had screamed till his voice gave out and even after he lost consciousness his body convulsed at every stroke of the whip. An old Turkish custom—and one Ramses would have experienced if his father had not burst on the scene before they started on him. The memory still made him break out in a cold sweat of terror, and it was one of the reasons why he had agreed to take Wardani’s place. Anything that would help keep the Ottomans out of Egypt .

Fingering his chin, Emerson added, “Government by kurbash. Popular in Egypt , as well.”

“We outlawed the kurbash years ago,” Russell said stiffly.

Emerson shot out a series of questions. “Any other marks on the body? How long has he been dead? Where was he found?”

“Answer my question first, Professor.”

“What question? Oh, that question.” Emerson scowled. “If we are going to engage in a prolonged discussion, I would prefer to do it elsewhere.”

He led the way back to Russell’s office, where he settled himself in the most comfortable chair, which happened to be the one behind Russell’s desk. Again Russell left the door ajar. The ensuing dialogue—Ramses could not have got a word in even if he had wanted to—got louder and more acrimonious as it proceeded. Emerson extracted the information he had demanded and gave a grudging, carefully edited account of their activities in the Khan el Khalili on the night in question.

“Why didn’t you tell my men about the back entrance?” Russell shouted.

Emerson glared at him. “Why didn’t they have the rudimentary intelligence to look for one?”

“Confound it, Professor!” Russell brought his fist down on the desk. “If you had not interfered—”

“If I had not, the fellow would have got clean away. He agreed to meet with me because he trusted my word.”

“And because you offered him a bribe.”

“Why, yes,” Emerson said in mild surprise. “As my dear wife always says, it is easier to catch a fly with honey than with vinegar. Unfortunately it appears the other side got wind of his intentions. Not my fault if he was careless. Well, well, that is everything, I think. Come along, Ramses, we’ve wasted enough time ‘assisting’ the police. Trying to do their job for them, rather.”

He got up and started for the door.

“Just a damned minute, Professor.” Russell jumped up and went after him. “I must warn you—”

“Warn me?” Emerson thundered. He whirled round.

Ramses decided it was time to interfere. His father was enjoying himself immensely, and he was in danger of getting carried away by his role.

“Please, sir,” he exclaimed. “Mr. Russell is only doing his duty. I told you we oughtn’t get involved.”

“I might have expected you would say that,” Russell said contemptuously. “Thank you for coming, Professor. You are one of the most infuriating individuals I have ever encountered, but I admire your courage and your patriotism.”

“Bah,” said Emerson. He gave the door a shove. A dozen pair of boots beat a hasty retreat.

Ramses lingered only long enough to breathe a few words and see Russell’s nod of acknowledgment.

Still in character, Emerson stamped into the waiting room, collected his womenfolk, and swept the entire party out of the Administration Building .

“Well?” Nefret demanded.

“It was he,” Emerson replied. “What was left of him. Found early this morning lying in an irrigation ditch near the bridge. Dead approximately twelve hours.”

“How did he die?”

Emerson told her. He did not go into detail, but Nefret had an excellent imagination and a good deal of experience. Some of the pretty color left her face. “That’s horrible. They must have found out he meant to betray them, but how?”