Free Lion in the Valley by Elizabeth Peters Page A

assist with the removal of our baggage.
    I
received Abdullah's respectful and affectionate salutation somewhat
distractedly, for, to my utter astonishment, there before me was the man who
had called himself Nemo.
    He
made no attempt to conceal his presence. He stood aloof from the other men, his
arms folded across the breast of his ragged robe. He was bareheaded, and the
noonday sun turned his red-gold hair to flame.
    Abdullah's
eyes followed the direction of my gaze. "I hope I did not err in allowing
him to remain here, sitt. He is dressed like the lowest beggar, but he said
Emerson had hired him, and when we saw he was an Inglizi..."
    "Yes,
quite right, Abdullah." So that was why the fellow had abandoned his
disguise. Our loyal men would have driven him away otherwise.
    Nemo
strolled toward me. "Good morning, Mrs. Emerson. Or should it be good
afternoon? I am a trifle out of practice with expressions of polite
usage."
    The
fellow had the effrontery to be sarcastic. His drawling voice and educated accent,
the courteous inclination of his head (in lieu of removing his hat, of which he
had none) were in the best manner. He had even shaved. I must confess that the
countenance thus displayed would have prejudiced me in his favor had I not had
reason to suspect him of the most appalling duplicity. It was no wonder I had
taken him for a Berber. His high cheekbones and hawklike nose, his broad brow
and thin lips were characteristic of that race.
    "How
is your arm?" I inquired.
    "I
beg you will not mention it." The scowl that accompanied this courteous
disclaimer turned the statement into a demand.
    '
'It is necessary for me to mention it in order to ascertain whether you are fit
for the duties for which you have been employed," I declared. "I do
not allow anyone on my expeditions to suffer from an ailment I can relieve.
That includes the donkeys. Abdullah—"
    "Yes,
sitt," Abdullah said resignedly. "The donkeys have been washed."
    "Good.
You see, Mr. Nemo, I am showing you the same concern I would show a donkey—an
animal which in many ways you resemble. If you are not ready to accept this,
you can take yourself off."
    A
spark of emotion that might have been amusement or anger warmed the sea-blue
depths of Nemo's eyes. They were clear; apparently he had not recently indulged
in drugs. "Very well, Mrs. Emerson. I will demonstrate my ability to carry
out my duties, and I think I had better begin at once. Young Ramses is about to
be flattened by that packing case, which is too heavy for him."
    So
saying, Nemo departed. His leisurely stride was deceptive; he covered the
ground at quite a rapid pace, arriving on the scene he had described just in
time to lift the case under whose weight Ramses was slowly sinking to his
knees.
    "Well,
Abdullah," I said. "What do you think?" I had the greatest
regard for Abdullah, whom I had known for many years. He was a splendid
specimen of manhood, almost as tall as Emerson; and though his hair and beard
were snowy white, he had the strength of a man half his age. He and his group
of associates had been trained by Emerson in the methods of proper excavation,
so that many of them were better qualified than the majority of European
archaeologists. They were in great demand by other excavators, but their
loyalty to Emerson—and, I think I may say, to me—was paramount. I would have
trusted Abdullah with my life; Emerson trusted him with his excavations, which
was as high a mark of favor. Indeed, Abdullah's only weakness (aside from his
extensive collection of wives) was an irradicable and deep-seated
superstitiousness. He had never abandoned his belief in efreets and demons,
although on innumerable occasions he had seen us tear the veil from seemingly
supernatural terrors and expose the ordinary human villains behind the mystery.
    Abdullah
also prided himself upon the imperturbability of his countenance. This
characteristic seemed more marked than