The Khamsin Curse Read online

  He moved on before they noticed him staring at them.

  The tobacco shop was two doors down. He bought a large quantity of Latakia and was coming out of the shop when he bumped into Mrs Baxter. She had two items in her possession, both wrapped in brown paper. One was an odd shape, most likely a statuette. The other was in the shape of a scroll. He assumed it was a papyrus. Tourists often had them framed when they returned home. The hieroglyphs were works of art worthy of any wall.

  “Hello, there,” he said genially, pleased with his tobacco purchase and feeling inclined to be friendly. “You’ve been having a busy day.”

  She seemed flustered to meet him; a return to her naturally retiring nature. “Oh, Dr Watson, yes, the souk is marvellous.”

  He glanced at her latest purchases. “I saw you in the shop of Ali Pasha as I passed. Were you picking something up for Mr Lee?”

  She seemed even more flustered. “Oh, yes, just a couple of things. It’s all frightfully expensive. But then Mr Lee can well afford it.”

  “Did you try to haggle the price down?”

  She must have realized that he had seen her arguing with the crocodilian trader. “Oh, no, I was just incensed with Ali Pasha. He made a…a… rather inappropriate remark to me.”

  That comment left a sour taste in the doctor’s mouth. It spoiled the delicious lunch he had enjoyed in the home of the hospitable antiquities trader.

  “Would you like me to escort you back to the hotel?”

  “Oh, that is very chivalrous of you, Dr Watson, but I have several more things to collect for Mr Lee. Besides, I am used to foreign cities. I am a widow now but my late husband worked for the diplomatic service and together we travelled widely throughout the Middle East. I’m afraid I will be quite a while yet. I need to go to the Wikala al Qutn for some assuit caftans.”

  “Assuit?”

  “Assuit is flax threaded with open metalwork – copper, silver or gold – also known as tulle bi telli. It is an amazing fabric that drapes beautifully; it was worn in ancient times.” She paused and looked around. “You appear to have lost your travelling companion?”

  “The Countess is sightseeing with Herr Graf and his niece. Are you acquainted with the Grafs?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t believe so. Are they staying at the hotel?”

  “Yes, but never mind, they are apparently leaving first thing tomorrow. Do you know what time Mr Lee intends to set off? We were told ‘after breakfast’ but that leaves it open to interpretation.”

  “Mr Lee will no doubt make an announcement tonight at dinner, but my impression is that you can board the Sekhmet anytime in the morning that suits you. Miss Hypatia Lee likes to stay up late and then sleep in. She is fond of roulette so we will not be leaving at first light. If you make your way to the wharf, there will be porters standing by to help with your luggage. And since we are a much bigger party than anticipated, I suggested that Mr Lee allow me to engage a steward – an Arab by the name of Azrafel - to see to the needs of his passengers. He will direct you to your cabin. I have already allocated the rooms; eleven in all with one to spare, and that is counting the new addition, Mr Gideon Longshanks. I just had to make sure to keep the three engineers away from Professor Mallisham.”

  Dr Watson noted that she was a lot more intelligent than she came across those first two nights at dinner, and quite an engaging conversationalist when away from the stern eye her employer. “Yes, there is definitely some bad blood between Camp Aswan and Camp Philae.”

  She gave a lovely soft laugh that rippled through him; she really was a most attractive lady, and it wasn’t just the red hair that made him feel well disposed toward her.

  “You put that very well!” she trilled, and laughed again. “I’m very pleased you and your companion are joining our cruise. Your presence will help to diffuse any tension. I couldn’t bear to have an unpleasant incident. It will put a dampener on Miss Lee’s twenty-first birthday which will fall on the day we arrive in Aswan. Mr Lee is planning a surprise birthday party on the island of Philae. Everything has been organized and all we need is for everyone to be in good spirits. It will be quite splendid! The whole island to ourselves! Moonlight and music and a genuine Egyptian temple! That’s why I need the tulle bi telli caftans for the ladies – we shall all dress up – the men in jellabiyas! Oh, I shouldn’t say any more about it! But wait and see! It will be utterly romantic!” She blushed a little before her tone changed back to that of efficient secretary. “I better run or I will be late getting back to the hotel. I’ll see you at dinner tonight, Dr Watson.”

  Dr Watson had no inclination to return early to the hotel so he wandered down one alley after another, soaking up the aromatic smells of spicy food, the painted arabesques that decorated the vaulted roofs and archways, the colourful wares and the bustling crowd. It had long been a dream of his to visit Egypt and now here he was.

  Meeting the Countess had changed his life. She had an engaging manner that attracted the most interesting people. Wealth and title played their part, of course, but interesting people could somehow tell that she would be interesting too, people who would have given him a wide berth had he been travelling on his own, not that he wasn’t interesting to be with when you got to know him, but he lacked that je ne sais quoi.

  She had an adventurous spirit that was utterly infectious too. Here they were with another mystery to solve, albeit a more important challenge than the usual whodunnit. Mycroft Holmes would never have assigned such a challenge to him alone, but together the two of them were quite unbeatable. Her courage and cleverness; his clear-sighted common sense…

  Eventually, he found himself back at the Bab al-Ghuri gate.

  He paused outside the coffee shop where he and the Countess had earlier stopped for an Arabic coffee, tossing up whether to go inside or not, when through the open doorway he spotted Mrs Baxter at one of the tables.

  He couldn’t believe his luck and was just about to join her when he noticed she appeared to have company - a man sitting adjacent to the table, smoking a shisha. The man was wearing a stripy jellabiya and leaning back bonelessly on a bench. He didn’t immediately recognize the man because several Arabs were milling about, fiddling with their water-pipes.

  Suddenly his heart jammed. It was Colonel Sebastian Moran!

  At first, he thought he must be mistaken so he moved to the next window where the shutter was propped up with a stick and fewer people were blocking his view. A closer look confirmed that it was indeed the colonel and that he was conversing with Mrs Baxter. In fact, they appeared comfortable in each other’s company. The colonel said something that made her laugh as he offered her a cigarette and signalled for the waiter to bring another coffee to the table. The colonel then said something to a man sitting at the next table who passed the lady an ashtray.

  In a state of mild shock, the doctor hurried from the souk and hailed the first calash he could find. Visibly perturbed, he daren’t return to the hotel where he knew the Countess would immediately notice his consternation, so he directed the driver to the wharf, yes, he could pay an impromptu visit to the Sekhmet.

  It wasn’t that he was jealous, though there was a touch of that as well, it was the fact that Moran seemed on such good terms with the private secretary of Mr Lee. Granted, the colonel was providing security for Professor Mallisham, and Mr Lee was financing the project so it was not extraordinary for Mrs Baxter to have met the colonel. She may even have organized his employment since she handled most if not all of Mr Lee’s affairs.

  If she had stopped for a coffee at the maqha, as he and the Countess had done earlier, and where several foreign women were doing likewise, then it was not unusual that she may have bumped into the colonel who happened to also stop by for some shisha.

  But something wasn’t right. He couldn’t put his finger on it. But something about the scene seemed wrong. Though, if he admitted it, it might simply have been that he was annoyed Sherlock’s nemesis was ingratiating himself into the att
ractive widow’s good-books – offering her a cigarette, buying her a coffee, organizing an ashtray!

  By the time he reached the wharf he had cooled down, which was just as well, for Mr Lee and two men were standing at the foot of the gangway. Mr Lee was red-faced, blustering on about something, pointing angrily at the newly painted name of the paddle-steamer.

  A tall man in naval uniform who might have been the ship’s captain but who was in fact the newly appointed Arab steward, Azrafel, was translating for the benefit of an Egyptian holding a paintbrush, though not much translating was required.

  Sekhmet was missing a H.

  Ordinarily, he would have seen the funny side of it but the incident seemed to add to the minor irritations of the day. He was almost ready to direct the driver to continue to the barge which would ferry him across the river to the west bank, whereby he could return to the hotel, when he spotted Miss Lee, Miss Clooney and Mr Gideon Longshanks on the upper deck. The handsome major was wasting no time pressing his considerable charm on the young ladies.

  They gave him a friendly wave and it cheered the doctor no end to join them in a refreshing Pimms under the striped canopy.

  The ladies were amused by the misspelling. The painter offered to work through the night to fix the error and even Mr Lee lightened up. He gave the doctor a tour of the paddle-steamer but he didn’t know whose cabin was whose, apart from his own. Mrs Baxter took care of all that. She had been with him just over twelve months and he didn’t know what he ever did without her. This trip to Egypt would have been impossible to organize without her expertise.

  The boat was a hive of activity. Foodstuffs were being loaded and finishing touches were being put to the luxurious furnishings. The Arab steward seemed to be juggling several balls at the same time.

  “Azrafel is a great addition to the crew,” pronounced the cattle king, “another good suggestion of Mrs Baxter’s. What’s this? I said to put these boxes in the hold. They’re the caftans and costumes for the surprise party. I don’t want my daughter to see them.”

  Azrafel snapped his fingers and a couple of porters jumped to it.

  Dr Watson managed to grab a moment alone with Mr Longshanks on the aft deck when Miss Hypatia Lee decided to check that Mrs Baxter had given her the largest cabin as instructed, and Miss Clooney trailed after her to see what her cabin looked like, not that she intended to make a fuss whatever the size or state of it. Poor relations took what they were offered. Her bedroom was on the lower deck.

  “When I was in the bazaar I spotted Colonel Sebastian Moran on two occasions,” the doctor said in a lower tone. “The first time he was loitering by the Bab al-Ghuri gate and I could have sworn he pushed a woman in a burqa down the steps. The second time he was having some shisha in a coffee shop and Mrs Baxter was seated at a table right next to him. They were conversing comfortably, almost like old friends.”

  “Hmm,” murmured the other, not sure what to make of it, stroking his new blond beard. His money was on the German archaeologist. He had it from a reliable source that the German had purchased two train tickets – presumably the second ticket was for his niece. An attractive female accomplice was always a handy distraction on foreign missions. He would stake his life on the fact the two Germans would soon make their way to Aswan. “That’s interesting information but we’ve had our eye on Colonel Moran for some time. He hasn’t made contact with any known foreign agents. It could be that he’s hard-up for work and took the gun for hire job out of desperation. He could be keeping Mrs Baxter sweet because he knows she is the one likely to recommend further work with rich clients.”

  Dr Watson trusted Major Nash’s judgment and instincts when it came to matters espionage so he wasn’t going to quibble but Colonel Moran was in a class of his own when it came to skulduggery. He resolved to keep an eye on him nevertheless, and if that meant keeping the other eye on Mrs Baxter then he would do that too. Not that he suspected her of anything underhand, but he didn’t want her to get taken in by an unsavoury character likely to use her for his own evil ends. “I will remain vigilant where the colonel is concerned.”

  “I would expect nothing less, Dr Watson. But be careful,” he warned. “The colonel has the honed instinct of a true predator. You might share what you witnessed with the Countess. By the way, do you know where she is at present?”

  “She’s with Herr Graf and his niece. They are touring some mosques together.”

  The major’s smooth brow formed a series of deep furrows. “How did that outing come about? I mean to say, connections can seem casual, almost accidental in the espionage game, but in reality they have been carefully orchestrated. Where did the association with Herr Graf start?”

  “He was on the Queen of Cairo with us when we left Alexandria. And he is staying at the same hotel. But today we bumped into him in Ali Pasha’s shop and then we met up with him by chance again at the Citadel. Oh, I see what you mean. Coincidence upon coincidence. His niece wasn’t on the steamer ship. She wasn’t in the shop either. But she was already inside the Citadel when we arrived. I think the Countess was impressed by Miss Graf’s grasp of languages. She translated the Koranic verses for us. She also speaks Hebrew and Greek and she can read hieroglyphs as well.”

  Major Nash’s blond brows shot north. “Plus German and English - a handy repertoire of languages to have under one’s belt in the spying game. What do you know about her?”

  “Not much. You will have to ask the Countess. I dare say she will have Miss Graf’s life story memorized by the time she gets back to the hotel.”

  “Provided it is not fabricated.”

  “Mmm, it’s hard to know who to trust in situations like this.”

  “Trust no one.”

  “Mmm, yes.” Dr Watson bit his lip, tossing up whether to betray a friend.

  “What is it?” prompted the major, noting some inner anguish; a sure sign morality was wrestling with itself.

  “Well,” he lowered his tone even more and looked about guardedly. “Let’s walk to the aft rail. He looked around warily a second time. “At the Citadel this afternoon I spotted Herr Graf and Colonel Hayter talking together. The meeting appeared pre-arranged. The German gave an envelope to the colonel and the way the colonel checked the contents it gave me the impression it was full of money. The colonel then handed the German a piece of paper. The German checked it and seemed pleased. There was no exchange of words. They parted quickly. The whole thing looked furtive. I don’t want to suggest my old army chum could be up to anything, but, well…”

  “I understand,” assured the major before Dr Watson said another word. “You and Colonel Hayter go back to the Anglo-Afghan conflict. You are loath to think badly of him. He is a war hero. But the incident you witnessed could be vital in cracking the mystery of who is passing secrets to the enemy. You must keep an open mind. What you just imparted sounds grave indeed. You could be onto something. I would follow it up but I have my own mission to see to.”

  “Yes, yes, if someone were to sabotage the dam it would be a disaster. In fact, a double disaster - Egypt and Britain.”

  Major Nash looked anxiously upriver and it was clear that he was thinking the same thing. “The sooner we get to Aswan the better.”

  A commotion on the wharf had them both swinging round. Ali Pasha arrived in a calash that stopped just short of a stack of watermelons. The antiquities expert traded furious insults with the watermelon vendor before charging up the gangway.

  “Go down and see what his beef is,” instructed Major Nash. “I’m guessing he’s gunning for Mr Lee. I’ll stay here and keep the demoiselles amused. They are heading our way. I’ll rendezvous with you later tonight. Do you know where the lion fountain is in the garden?”

  Dr Watson nodded.

  “I’ll meet you there at midnight. Hurry.”

  Dr Watson arrived at the door of Mr Lee’s cabin in time to overhear an angry altercation.

  “It’s not enough! If you think you can rob me…”


  “Calm down,” rebuked the cattle king. “I’m not out to rob you. It’s just the first payment. But I want to know it’s the real thing I want value for money.”

  “Value for money!” spat the trader. “What do you think you are buying! Bifsteaks! What I give you is…”

  “Yes, yes, but how do I know you aren’t robbing me blind?”

  “You question me! You question Ali Pasha! If you do not wish to pay I will do business with…”

  “Don’t be hasty. I never said I wouldn’t pay. I’ll give you five hundred greenbacks now and the rest when I get back from Aswan.”

  “You think I am a fool! Pay all now! Or we are finished doing business!”

  “All right! All right! But you will have to settle for promissory notes. All my greenbacks went to settle some, er, gambling accounts. I have more greenbacks coming from Khartoum but they are being delivered straight to Aswan by a private courier organized by the bank. I was planning to purchase some antiquities from the professor, you see. You can have the money as soon as I get back from Aswan.”

  “Mallisham will sell you fakes! You want genuine treasure – you buy from Ali Pasha! I go to Aswan too! You pay then or we are finished!”

  “Well, yes, certainly, if that’s what you want, I cannot stop you going, but you will have to make your own way there. The Sekhmet has a full complement.”

  “I go by train. I will see you in Aswan. And you will pay me or I speak to…”

  “No need to make threats, Ali Pasha. You will get your money.”

  6

  Perfumed Garden

  Dr Watson replayed the argument between Mr Lee and Ali Pasha over and over in his head as he hurried back to the hotel. The thing he couldn’t understand was why Mr Lee had lied. They had a spare cabin. Mrs Baxter said so. There were twelve cabins and only eleven of them were occupied. Ali Pasha could have travelled with them to Aswan. Clearly, Mr Lee did not want the antiquities trader on his floating ranch.