Free Lion in the Valley by Elizabeth Peters

who cleared his throat and remarked, "If you
will excuse my mentioning it, Mama, that is not strictly accurate. Several
facts contradict your assumption, and one, I fear, is insuperable."
    Emerson
looked hopefully at his son. "And what is that, my boy? Something you
observed while you were alone with the young man?"
    "No,
Papa, you and Mama observed it too. I do not refer to Mr. Nemo's struggle with
the men who carried me off, which might conceivably have been staged— though I
must say it was done with a degree of verisimilitude few actors could have
achieved—for I can think of several reasons why the Master Criminal might have
arranged such a misleading performance, in order to—"
    "Ramses,"
I said.
    "Yes,
Mama. The fact that demolishes your otherwise intriguing theory is that my
rescuer's physical attributes were not those of the man we knew as Father
Girgis."
    "He
is a master of disguise, Ramses," I said. "The black beard and wig he
wore were false—"
    "But
the black eyes were not," said Ramses. "We had ample opportunity to
observe their color, did we not? The eyes of the Englishman—or, as Papa
observed, the Scot—are blue."
    It
was a cruel blow. I tried to rally. "The scientific achievements of master
criminals often exceed those of scholars. A method of changing the color of the
eyes—"
    "Exists,
I fear, only in fiction," said Ramses. "I have made some study of the
matter, Mama, and I know of no method of dying one's irises."
    Emerson
began to laugh. "A hit, Peabody—a palpable hit! Talk your way out of that
one."
    I
did not deign to reply. Though admitting I may have been in error on one small
point, I could not see that Ramses' statement had affected the essential issue.
The poor young English lady was innocent; and if the renegade Englishman was
not the Master Criminal himself, he was surely one of the latter's lieutenants.
I felt certain he had been involved in the abduction of Ramses, and that we
would never see him again.
    There
is no railroad station at Dahshoor, which is almost equidistant between
Medrashein and Mazghunah. Rather than have our extensive baggage transported by
donkeyback from either of those locations, Emerson had requested that the train
stop briefly at the point nearest the site. I daresay that this favor would not
have been accorded anyone else; but Emerson's reputation is so well
known and his powers of persuasion, particularly of a vocal variety, are so
emphatic, that the engineer of the train did as he was asked, and the
complaints of the other passengers were ignored by the porters.
    A
party of our loyal men awaited us. They had been there for five hours, since we
had been unable to notify them that we had missed the early train. They were
not put out by, or worried about, the delay; when we first caught sight of them
they were sprawled in a patch of shade, smoking and fahddling (gossiping).
The Egyptian temperament accepts delay with a shrug and a murmured reference to
the will of Allah. This attitude exasperates Europeans and Americans
(especially the latter), who complain that the most frequently used word in the
Arabic vocabulary is bokra (tomorrow). Emerson says the Egyptian
approach is much more intelligent than our own constant bustle and fuss, but
although he may be correct in his judgment, he is the first to fly into a rage
when his plans are thwarted.
    Be
that as it may, as soon as the train slowed, the brave fellows got to their
feet, and when one of them saw Emerson descend from the carriage, the whole
group erupted into wild gesticulations of welcome. Outstanding among the men in
physical stature as in dignity was the reis, Abdullah, who had served as our
able foreman for many seasons. He immediately enfolded Emerson in a fraternal
embrace, the voluminous folds of his robe billowing around my husband like a
sudden snowstorm. Emerson suffered this gesture stoically, and sent the rest of
the men scampering off to