“But now, you see, there are only three of you,” Sahin said. “And I lied when I said the gun was not loaded. Do I take the ladies on next?”

“Yes,” I said, and swung my parasol. It was one of my better efforts, if I do say so. The gun flew out of Sahin’s hand and fell with a clatter onto the tiled floor.

“Ah,” Emerson breathed. “Well done, Peabody. Get the gun.”

“Take my parasol, then.” I pulled out the little sword and forced the weapon into Emerson’s hand. Sahin Pasha let out a guffaw. Emerson swore, but he got the blade up just in time to parry a wicked cut at his good arm.

“I lied again,” said the Turk, grinning. “The gun is empty.”

“We will see about that,” I replied. I pointed the weapon out the window and squeezed the trigger. There was no explosion, only a click. “Curse it,” I remarked.

“This is so entertaining I hate to end it,” said Sahin Pasha. “Professor, I admire you, I respect you, and I do not want to injure you. Anyhow, my reputation would never be the same if I overcame a man armed with a parasol who has only one serviceable arm. I accept your offer. Put down the…” A gurgle of amusement escaped him. “The umbrella.”

“Oh, come, don’t insult my intelligence,” said Emerson in exasperation. “You have no intention of giving yourself up, and I have no intention of allowing you to take my son prisoner again. I cannot imagine how you could accomplish it, but I do not underestimate you. En garde.”

Ramses pulled himself to a sitting position. “Be careful, Father. He doesn’t -”

“Fight like a gentleman? Well, well. Neither do I.”

He bent his knee and lunged. A cry of alarm escaped me. It was almost certainly the most ineffective move he could have made. The blade of the sword was only three inches longer than that of Sahin’s knife. The Turk didn’t even bother to parry it. One quick step backward took him out of range, and as Emerson straightened, staggering a little, the Turk’s knife drove at his side.

It sank with a crunch into the plaster encasing Emerson’s raised forearm and stuck, just long enough. Emerson dropped the parasol and hit the other man in the stomach. Rather below the stomach, to be accurate.

“Oh, Emerson,” I gasped. “Oh, my dear! That was magnificent!”

“Most ungentlemanly,” said my husband, contemplating the writhing, wheezing form of his foe. “But I was never much good with a parasol.”

The capture of the chief of the Turkish secret service ended any doubts the military might have entertained about letting us leave. General Chetwode himself called to congratulate us, accompanied by several of his staff. We had quite a time getting rid of them.

“Medals again,” Emerson grumbled. “They seem to think we intended this all along.”

“You encouraged them to think so,” Ramses said. At Nefret’s insistence he was reclining on one of the divans. She had had to put a few stitches into the cut, which had bled copiously. “It was inspired lying, Father.”

“At least we got a bottle of whiskey out of them,” Emerson said complacently. “Much more useful than medals. Here, my boy, this will put a little color into your face.”

“I would like some too,” said Esin.

“Spirits are not suitable for young ladies,” I said, sipping my own whiskey appreciatively. It had been quite a busy day, what with one thing and another, and I was not in a good humor with the girl. After we freed her she carried on quite extravagantly, and she had accepted the news of her father’s capture with unbecoming equanimity.

“Aren’t you at all concerned about your father?” I asked.

“What will happen to him?”

“He is a prisoner of war,” Emerson said. “Do you want to see him before we leave? I can probably arrange that.”

“No.” She shivered. “He tried to take me away. He says he loves me, but he will not allow me to do what I want. Is that love?”

“Sometimes,” Nefret said.

The silence that followed was broken by a penetrating shriek from outside the house. I could not make out all the words, but there were references to the will of Allah and the blessings of various prophets, up to and including the greatest, that is, Mohammed. When Sir Edward had arrived on the scene, I did not know, but he must have seen the military go off with their prisoner. This was his farewell to us, and none of us doubted that his chief would soon be informed of the news.

Emerson smiled. “Clever beggar, isn’t he?”

Selim, who had missed all the excitement and was still brooding about it, said under his breath, “Beggar. Yes. He is a clever man. And so is -” He broke off, with a glance at me.

“We will talk about it later, Selim,” I said, as softly as he had done.

“As you say, Sitt. So – it is over?”

“Yes. It is over.”

PART THREE. The Handof the God

12

Sped on by every assistance the military could provide, we reached Cairo in less than two days. Selim left us off at Shepheard’s just in time for tea. He was to take the motorcar on to a prearranged location and leave it. What would become of it after that I did not know and did not ask; I was only happy to be rid of the thing, for I had feared Emerson – and Selim – would want to keep it. They did want to, very badly; but Emerson admitted it might be a trifle difficult to explain how we had acquired it.

The terrace was crowded, and our appearance aroused a certain amount of ill-bred attention, even from acquaintances who ought not have been surprised at anything we did. I heard Mrs. Pettigrew’s trumpeting voice address her husband: “There are the Emersons again, Hector, looking even more disreputable than usual. It is positively embarrassing to be acquainted with them.” I waved my parasol at her in a conspicuous manner.

There was some justice in her description; two days’ motoring on military roads does not improve an individual’s appearance, and our wardrobes had been deficient to start with. However, Ramses and Emerson in Arab dress, Nefret and I in sadly crumpled European attire, and Esin, enveloped in veils, as Nefret’s maidservant, occasioned no comment from the well-trained staff of Shepheard’s, and I was not surprised to learn our old rooms had been reserved for us. The luggage we had left was brought to us, so for the first time in days we were able to clean up and dress in proper clothing. There were a number of messages, most of them from Cyrus or Katherine, asking when we would return to Luxor. They had no news to report, except that Jumana was still sulking (Katherine’s word) or grieving (Cyrus’s).

“We had better take the train tomorrow night,” I said.

Emerson grunted. He had not found the message he hoped for.

“What’s your hurry, Peabody? I thought you’d want to shop and do your usual social round.”

“Replenishment of certain supplies would be expedient,” I agreed. “But I can accomplish that tomorrow. What do you say, Nefret? Do you want to spend some time at the hospital?”

Nefret was watching Ramses, who had taken up the latest issue of the Egyptian Gazette. “I may run in for an hour or so, Mother, but I would just as soon go on to Luxor at once. Ramses?”

“I am ready whenever you are” was the reply.

“Is Ramses concealing something?” Emerson asked, when he and I were alone. “I expected he would be anxious to get back to work, but he sounded almost indifferent.”

“I am pleased to find you more sensitive to your son’s feelings, Emerson. In this case I can interpret them for you.”

“Pray do,” said Emerson coldly.

“He was only exhibiting his usual consideration for the opinions of others, particularly those of Nefret. In fact I believe he would like to put this whole business behind him. You know,” I continued, sorting garments that required washing, “that when he is in the thick of the action, he rather enjoys it. He doesn’t have time to think about what he is doing. Later, when there is leisure for introspection, his overly active conscience reproaches him for employing and even enjoying violence. He is -”