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On he walked, faster and faster, out of the strange eerie quiet of old Cairo and back towards the bustle of the new city. All he could do was continue to search. And what clue would she give him finally? Another senseless killing; and that murder too would be blamed on the man known as Reginald Ramsey and it would drive another sword through Julie's heart.
But there was little chance that Julie would ever forgive him now. He had hopelessly compounded his folly, and she had expected greater wisdom from him, greater courage. And he had been a man standing in that little house, a man staring at
the suffering image of his lost love.
And so he had sacrificed a finer, stronger love for a passion that had enslaved him centuries ago. He no longer deserved that finer lover, and he knew it. Yet he wanted it, lusted for it; just as he lusted for the doomed one whom he must somehow control or somehow destroy.
All consolation was now quite beyond his reach.
*
Now there were gorgeous garments, dresses she could love, for they had the old softness to them and the old simplicity, and they were threaded through and through with silver and gold.
She came up to the brightly lighted window, and placed her hand on it. She read the sign in English:
ONLY THE FINEST FOR THE OPERA BALL
Yes, she required the finest. And there was plenty of money in this bag. She needed shoes like that, high shoes with daggers for heels. And jewels as well.
She went to the door and tapped. A tall woman with silver hair came to answer.
"We're about to close, my dear. I'm sorry, if you come back ..."
"Please, that dress!" she said. She opened the bag and withdrew a great handful of the money. A few pieces of it fluttered out and down to the ground.
"My dear, you mustn't display that much money at this time of night," the woman said to her. She bent down and gathered up the loose pieces. "Come inside. Are you all alone?"
Oh, but it was quite lovely in here; she touched the rich fabric of the small gilded chair. And behold, more of the statues she'd seen in the window, and these were decked not only with rich flowing silks, but furs as well. The long strip of white fur in particular attracted her.
"I want this," she said.
"Of course, my dear, of course," said the proprietress.
She flashed her sweetest smile at the baffled woman. "Is this ... is this ... for the opera ball?" she asked.
"Oh, it would be perfectly lovely! I shall wrap it for you."
"Ah, but I need a gown, you see, and those slippers, and I need pearls and rubies, if you have them, for you see, I have lost all my finery, I have lost my jewels."
"We shall take care of you! Please be seated. Now, what would you like to see in your size?"
It was going to work. It was an absurd story: Henry breaking into the Museum of Antiquities to steal a mummy in order to pay his debts. But the simple fact was--and he must remember this--the truth was even more absurd! No one would believe the truth at all.
He rang his old friend Pitfield as soon as he reached the suite.
"Tell him it's Elliott Rutherford, I'll hold on for him. Ah, Gerald. I'm sorry to interrupt your dinner. It seems I'm in a bit of legal trouble here. I think Henry Stratford's mixed up in it. Yes. Yes, this evening if you could. I'm at Shepheard's, of course. Ah, wonderful, Gerald. I knew I could count on you. Twenty minutes from now. In the bar."
He looked up to see Alex coming through the door as he put down the phone.
"Father, thank God you're back. They've confiscated our passports! Julie is frantic. And Miles has just been at her with another wild story. Some poor American murdered at the pyramids, and an English fellow killed outside the International Cafe."
"Alex, pack your trunk," he said. "I've already heard that whole story. Gerald Pitfield's on his way over. He'll have your passports back for you before morning, I promise, and then you and Julie are to be on the train."
"You'll have to tell her that, Father."
"I will, but right now I have to see Pitfield. Give me your arm, and help me to the lift."
"But, Father, who is responsible ...?"
