Free Lion in the Valley by Elizabeth Peters Page B

usual that day; his thin, well-cut lips
scarcely moved as he replied stiffly, "Think, honored sitt? I do not
permit myself to think, unless ordered to do so by yourself or Emerson."
    I
understood the reason for his ill-humor. "It was not because of
dissatisfaction with your son Selim that we employed the Inglizi to act as
guard to Ramses," I assured him. ' 'Like all your people, Selim is too
valuable to be wasted as a nursemaid. Besides, we hoped to do a charitable
action in helping the Englishman."
    Abdullah's
rigid face relaxed. "Ah. I understand, sitt. Charity is pleasing to Allah,
and your kind heart is well known. But, sitt, do you know that the man is a
smoker of opium?"
    "I
intend to break him of that vile habit, Abdullah."
    "Ah,"
Abdullah said again, stroking his silky beard. "It is not easy to do that.
But if anyone can break a man, it is you, Sitt Hakim."
    "Thank
you, Abdullah. Will you please explain to Selim, so he won't be
disappointed?"
    "Disappointed,"
Abdullah repeated thoughtfully. "No, sitt, I do not think Selim will be
disappointed."
    "Good.
What I meant, Abdullah, by my question, was whether the Englishman looked
familiar. Think carefully, Abdullah. Have you ever seen him before?"
    Abdullah
did not stop to think at all. "No, sitt. Never."
    Thinking
back over the events of the not-too-distant past, I realized that
Abdullah had not beheld the Master Criminal in his final apotheosis, for he had
been drugged at an early stage in the proceedings and had slept through the
whole exciting denouement. However, he had seen the Master Criminal in his role
as Father Girgis on a number of occasions.
    "Are
you certain, Abdullah? Do you remember the priest of Dronkeh?"
    "Yes,
how could I forget him? He ..." Abdullah's mouth remained open; his eyes
emulated his mouth, widening till the whites showed around the dark centers.
Then his shoulders began to twitch and strangling noises issued from his parted
lips. A casual observer might have mistaken his reaction for amusement; but of
course I knew better.
    I
hastened to reassure him. "There is nothing to be alarmed about, Abdullah.
I have the matter well in hand. I am glad you were also sharp enough to
penetrate the villain's disguise—"
    "No,
sitt, no." Abdullah regained control of himself. "You mistake me,
sitt. A slight coughing spell... The dust in my throat... Perhaps my ears
deceived me, or my aging brain failed to understand what you meant. Are you
saying that this Inglizi is the—the same person as the—the.
    "You
had better let me give you some medicine for your throat affliction," I
said. "Your ears did not deceive you, Abdullah, and your brain is as good
as ever. Better than the brain of a certain person who ought to be wiser. I
mention no names, Abdullah."
    "No,
sitt, of course not. But, sitt, it cannot be. This is not the same man."
    "The
huge black beard and the long black hair were false—"
    "The
priest had black eyes, sitt. This man's eyes are blue."
    I
should have known better than to depend on Abdullah. He was, after all, only a
man. "I have no time to explain," I said. "Just watch the
fellow, Abdullah. It is better to have him with us, under our eye, than lurking
in the desert plotting against us. But don't trust him."
    "I
hear and will obey," said Abdullah, his lips twitching.
    "I
have the most implicit confidence in you, Abdullah. But I cannot stand around
chatting any longer. We must get underway."
    The
donkeys had been loaded, but it was necessary for me to greet each of the men
individually, or their feelings would have been hurt. They were all old
friends, and most were sons of Abdullah (I have already referred to his
proclivities toward procreation). Selim was the youngest of his offspring, a
lad of fifteen with an almost Grecian beauty of feature. I congratulated him on
his recent marriage, for the proprieties had to be observed even though I
deplore the horrid eastern custom of sending