Free The Serpent and the Scorpion by Clare Langley-Hawthorne Page A

Agency for questioning. Isn’t that how you chaps operate?”
    Harrison knew better than to take the bait.
    “Aren’t you a little far from your usual territory?” Ursula continued, taking a quick sip of her champagne. “I thought East End anarchists and German spies were now your sort of thing?”
    Harrison accepted a tall glass of Pimm’s from one of the servant’s trays that passed by.
    “I admit my remit has widened since we last met, Miss Marlow, but there’s no need for concern. I am not here to search for any German spies.”
    “Well, that’s a relief,” Ursula responded drily.
    “Perhaps we could speak alone for a moment?” Harrison said evenly. “Whittaker, would you mind?”
    Ursula noticed that Harrison’s East End accent, which used to creep through, was now totally suppressed.
    “Not at all, old chap!” Whittaker replied blithely. “I’ll see you back inside,”
    Once Whittaker had left, Ursula allowed Harrison to light her a cigarette as they stood side by side, gazing out over the polo field. She was amused. A year ago Harrison would have been horrified to see a woman smoking.
    “How have you been?” Harrison began cautiously.
    “Fine,” Ursula replied blandly. “Apart from witnessing another murder, of course.”
    “His lordship was very concerned to hear about that,” Harrison responded, and held up his hand quickly before she could react. “Don’t worry, he didn’t send me here. . . . I merely meant that we had been in communication since my arrival in Cairo. He is aware of what happened to Mrs. Vilensky.”
    “I’m not sure I understand. What has Lord Wrotham got to do with any of this?” Ursula asked, taking a long drag on her cigarette to suggest her indifference as to the answer.
    “No interest, except obviously in your well-being,” Harrison replied as he smoothed down his neatly trimmed mustache. “As for the Vilensky matter, well, it’s probably best not to talk too much about it here.” Harrison tossed aside his cigarette. “Are you available to meet tomorrow?”
    “But I thought this was an internal political matter?”
    Harrison shrugged. “I’m conducting a routine follow-up. Nothing more.”
    “Really?” Ursula didn’t bother to hide her skepticism. “So tell me, why would a member of the Scotland Yard’s Special Branch be interested in conducting a routine follow-up?”
    Harrison ignored her. He merely raised his drink and smiled.
    “Mr. Vilensky is a powerful man,” he replied.
    “Yes, he is.”
    “Powerful men have powerful friends.”
    “Yes,” Ursula replied carefully. “They can also have powerful secrets.”

Six
    The following morning, Harrison arranged for Ursula to visit a private house on Rhoda Island, southwest of central Cairo. He was accompanied by a young Egyptian in a cream suit and red fez, who remained silent and implacable as he stood in the corner of the room while they spoke. Ursula sat on the huge be-cushioned divan beneath the lattice-screened window, her body almost consumed by the polished cottons and silks that surrounded her. Her simple white frock seemed flimsy and insubstantial in contrast to the elaborate decoration of the inlaid marble and fretwork that adorned the high-ceilinged room.
    Harrison started by asking Ursula to describe the scene at the bazaar on the day Katya died, taking out a tan-and-black notebook from his jacket pocket. He scribbled his notes in it with the lead of a half-chewed pencil. He was particularly concerned about whether Ursula could describe any of the men who had been in the bazaar that day.
    Ursula screwed up her eyes but could recall only a sea of indistinguishable faces, the flash of dark eyes, and the swirl of white cloth.
    “I really only remember the man with the monkey—and it’s not like that’s a rare sight in downtown Cairo. But I would describe him as bigger than the other men—stockier, I mean. Yes. And although he had brown eyes, I remember thinking that he didn’t