Moslems in the mosque as he stood there, a tiny speck of light shining in his eyes.
'Julie,' he said, turning back to her with a deep sigh. 'If you go home to England now, you can still recover your old life.'
'Oh, you hurt me, Ramses!' she said. 'You wound me to the quick. Do you love her, Ramses? Do you love this thing you've raised from the grave?'
She had not meant to say this. She stopped, defeated, and now it was she who turned away.
'I know I love you, Julie Stratford,' he whispered. 'IVe loved you from the first moment I saw you. I braved discovery to save you. And I want your love now.'
'Then don't speak of my leaving you,' she said, her voice breaking. 'Ramses, if I never see you again after this night, my life is destroyed.'
'On my honor, you shall see me.'
He took her in his arms.
'My love, my brave love,' he whispered, caressing her. 'I need you-both of you-more than I can say.'
'May the old gods be with you, sire,' Samir whispered. 'We will count the minutes until we receive some word.'
* * *
Only a dim light burned in Winthrop's office. He was staggered by the report on his desk. The young official standing before him waited for orders.
'And his head was crushed, you said?'
'Neck broken also. Like the maid in the museum. And all his money had been taken, though his passport had been left in the mud.'
'Double the watch on Shepheard's,' said Winthrop. 'And get the Earl of Rutherford over here immediately. We know he's there, I don't care what his son says. We saw him go in.'
* * *
Out of the back door of the wing, Elliott walked swiftly, stiffening his left leg to take the weight off the knee. He crossed the dark parking lot and headed towards old Cairo. Only when he was two streets away from Shepheard's did he hail a passing cab.
* * *
Julie slipped into her suite, and locked the door. The Arab robe was folded tightly under her arm. She had removed it in the cab, and she stuffed it now in the bottom of die wardrobe behind her trunk.
Going into the bedroom, she drew the small suitcase down from the wardrobe shelf. What few things did she need? So much she possessed did not matter to her. Only freedom mattered now, freedom with Ramses, to somehow escape this hideous tangle of events.
But what if she never again laid eyes upon this man who had thrown her entire past life into shadow? What was the point of packing this suitcase until she knew what had happened?
Suddenly the entire thing overwhelmed her. She lay down on the bed, weak, sick at heart.
She was crying softly when Rita came in.
* * *
The Babylon. He could hear the drums and cymbals as he hurried down the crooked little stone street. How odd that at this moment he would remember Lawrence so keenly, his beloved Lawrence.
Suddenly a soft collection of sounds behind him forced him to stop. Someone had dropped down off the roof! He turned around.
'Keep walking,' said die tall Arab. It was Ramsey! 'There is a bar around the corner which I prefer for this meeting. It is quiet. Go in ahead of me and sit down.'
Elliott was weak with relief. He obeyed immediately. Whatever happened, he was no longer alone in this nightmare. Ramsey would know what to do. He pushed on to the little bar, and went inside.
Beaded curtains; low flickering oil lamps; wooden tables; the usual collection of disreputable Europeans. An indifferent serving boy swabbing a table with a filthy rag.
A tall blue-eyed Arab in handsome robes sat at the last table, his back to the right wall. Ramsey. He must have entered from the rear.
Several patrons eyed Elliott arrogantly as he made his way to the back. He was conspicuous in his proper clothes. The least of his worries.
He took the chair to the right of Ramsey, with its back to the rear door.
The sputtering little lamp on the table reeked of scented oil. Ramses already had a drink in his hand. There was a bottle without a label and a clean glass.
'Where is she?' Ramsey said.
'I have no intention of telling you,' Elliott said.
'Oh? What are the rules of this game? Or am I to remain at a major disadvantage?''
Elliott was quiet for a moment. He reflected upon his decision again. Worth it. Worth the shame of the moment. He cleared his throat.
'You know what I want,' he said to Ramsey. 'You've known since the beginning. I didn't make this journey to Egypt to protect my future daughter-in-law's chastity. That's absurd.'
'I believed you were an honorable man.'
'I am, though today I've witnessed things that would sicken a monster.''
'You should never have followed me to the museum.'
Elliott nodded. He picked up the bottle, uncorked it and filled the glass. Whisky. Ah, yes. He took a stiff drink.
'I know I shouldn't have followed you,' he said. 'It was a young man's folly. And maybe I would be young again . . . forever.'
He looked at Ramsey. There was more than a touch of majesty to the man in these white robes. He looked biblical, larger than life. His blue eyes were rimmed with red, however. And he was weary, and suffering. That was quite clear.
'I want the elixir,' Elliott said politely. 'Once you've given it to me, once I've drunk it, then I'll tell you where she is. And she shall become your responsibility. And believe you me, I don't envy you. Though I have done all that I could.'
'What state is she in? I want to know precisely.'
'Healed, but not enough. She is beautiful and she is deadly. She killed Henry, and his Egyptian mistress, Malenka.'
Ramsey said nothing for a moment, then:
'Well, young Stratford got what he deserved, to use your modem expression. He murdered his uncle. He tried to murder his cousin. I rose from the grave to stop him. The story he told you of my trying to strangle him was true.'
Elliott sighed. Another great wash of relief passing through him, but not without bitterness, deep bitterness. 'I knew it... the part about Lawrence. About Julie I never guessed.'
'With my poisons,' Ramses sighed.
'I loved Lawrence Stratford,' Elliott whispered. 'He was my ... my lover, once, and always my friend.'
Ramses gave a small nod of respect.
'This killing, was it easy for her? How did it come about?'
'She is incalculably strong. I'm not sure she fully understands what death is. She killed Henry because he was firing a gun at her. Malenka she killed because the girl was frightened and had begun to scream. She broke the necks of these two people. The maid in the museum, the same.'
'She speaks?'
'Clearly. She picks up English from me as if imbibing it. She told me who she was. But something's wrong with her, something profound. She does not really know where she is, or what's happening to her. And she suffers. She suffers unspeakably because of the great gaping sores on her body, through which the bones are visible. She
