Egypt -- Fiction; Mystery and detective stories; Short stories
I left Chundermeyer to his opulent cigar without regret. That he was
an astute man of affairs and an expert lapidary I did not doubt, for
he had offered to buy my Hatshepsu scarab ring at a price exactly ten
per cent below its trade value; but to my mind there is something
almost as unnatural about a Hindu-Hebrew as about a Græco-Welshman or
a griffin.
Of course, Daphne Collis was not ready; and, Sir Bertram going up to
their apartments to induce her to hurry, I strolled out again into the
gardens for a quiet cigarette and a cocktail. As I approached a
suitable seat in a sort of charming little arbor festooned with purple
blossom, a man who had been waiting there rose to greet me.
With a certain quickening of the pulse, I recognized Abû Tabâh,
arrayed, as was his custom, in black, only relieved by a small snowy
turban, which served to enhance the ascetic beauty of his face and the
mystery of the wonderful, liquid eyes.
He inclined his head in that gesture of gentle dignity which I knew;
and:
"I have been awaiting an opportunity of speech with you, Kernaby
Pasha," he said, in his flawless, musical English, "upon a matter in
which I hope you will consent to aid me."
Since this mysterious man, variously known as "the _imám_" and "the
Magician," but whom I knew to be some kind of secret agent of the
Egyptian Government, had recently saved me from assassination, to
decline to aid him was out of the question. We seated ourselves in the
arbor.
"I should welcome an opportunity of serving you, my friend," I assured
him, "since your services to me can never be repaid."
His lips moved slightly in the curiously tender smile which a poor
physiognomist might have mistaken for evidence of effeminacy, bending
towards me with a cautious glance about.
"You are staying at this hotel throughout the Christmas festivities?"
he asked.
"Yes; I have temporarily deserted Shepheard's in order to accept the
hospitality of Sir Bertram Collis, a very old friend. I shall probably
return on the Tuesday following Christmas Day."
"There is to be a carnival and masquerade ball here to-morrow. You
shall be present?"
"I hope so," I replied in surprise. "To what does all this tend?"
Abû Tabâh bent yet closer.
"Many of your friends and acquaintances possess valuable jewels?"
"They do."
"Then warn them--individually, in order to occasion no general
alarm--to guard these with the utmost care."
My surprise increased. "You alarm me," I said. "Are there rogues in
our midst?"
"No," answered the _imám_, fixing his melancholy gaze upon my face;
"so far as my knowledge bears me, there is but one, yet that one is
worse than a host of others."
"Do you mean that he is here--in the hotel?"
Abû Tabâh shrugged his slim shoulders.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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